Procopius of Caesarea

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Procopius of Caesarea

Tyranny, History, and Philosophy

at the End of Antiquity

Anthony Kaldellis

PENN

University of Pennsylvania Press

Philadelphia
Copyright © 2004 Universityof PennsylvaniaPress
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America on acid-freepaper
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Published by
Universityof PennsylvaniaPress
Philadelphia,Pennsylvania19104-4011

Library of CongressCataloging-in-PublicationData

Kaldellis,Anthony.
Procopiusof Caesarea: tyranny, history, and philosophy at the end of antiquity /
Anthony Kaldellis.
p. cm.
ISBN: 0-8122-3787-0(cloth: alk. paper)
Includes bibliographicalreferencesand index.
1. Procopius. I. Title

DF505.7.P7 K35 2004

907.202-dc22 2003070518
For JohnV. A. Fine, Jr.
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 Contents

Acknowledgments IX

Introduction 1

1 Classicism and Its Discontents 17

The Prefaceof the Wars 17
A Typologyof Classicism 24
A Distorting Mirror? 38
Introducing the Secret History and the Buildings 45

2 Tales Not Unworthy of Trust: Anecdotes and the

Persian War 62
Arcadius and Isdigerdes(1.2.1-10) 65
Anatolius and Vararanes (1.2.11-15) 67
Ephthalites,Persians,and Romans (1.3.1- 1.4.13) 69
The Pearl of Perozes (1.4.14-3 1) 75
The Tyranny of Cavades (1.5-7) 80
The "History of the Armenians" (1.5.7-40) 88

3 The Secret History of Philosophy 94

The Sequenceof RegimesEnds in Tyranny 94
Tyranny and the Politicsof Philosophy 99
Plato's Nightmare 106
Platonic Texts,PlatonicReaders 115

4 The Representation of Tyranny 118

Chosroesand Justinian, "Emperorsof East and West" 119

"Vanity of Vanities":Despotism and Imperial Ceremony 128

"The Rule of Women" and the Plan of Secret History 1-5 142

Laws,Demons, and the Limits of Classicismin the Secret History 150

Alternatives and Solutions 159

vui Contents

5 God and Tyche in the Wars 165

Christianity? 165
Copingwith Tyche 173
The Supremacy ofTyche in the Vandal War 176
The StruggleBetween Virtue and Tyche in the Gothic War
Catastrophein the Persian War 204
Tyche and God in Book 8 of the Wars 213
Precedentsand Conclusions 216

Appendix 1. Secret History 19-30 and the Edicts of

Justinian 223

Appendix 2. The Plan of Secret History 6-18 229

List of Abbreviations 231

Notes 233

Bibliography 275

Index 299
 Acknowledgments

This book has been read at various stages by John Fine, Trai-
anos Gagos, Ray Van Dam, Beate Dignas, Stephanos Efthymiadis, Dimitris
Krallis, Kim Vogel, and Chris Lillington-Martin, all of whom I thank for
their valuable suggestions. Dimitris was present at the creation on that gray
day in November 1999 overlooking the Gulf of Corinth. Stephanos is proba-
bly the best philologist of Byzantine Greek I will ever know and has taught
me much about the literary merits of Byzantine texts. Traianos and Ray I
have thanked before and will no doubt do so again for the sound advice
they have given me over the years on both personal and professional mat-
ters' as well as for sharing with me their expertise and insight. To John,
who guided my first steps as a scholar, an overdue dedication. I could not
have asked for an advisor more kind, generous with his time, or open-
minded.
I am also grateful to Eric Halpern of the University of Pennsylvania
Press for his interest in my work and for seeing it through all stages of the
publication process. The anonymous reader of the Press offered a model of
constructive criticism that improved especially organization and presenta-
tion. I am also grateful to my own Department of Greek and Latin and
College of Humanities at the Ohio State University, which have provided
for the past two years a friendly and intellectually diverse environment in
which to work and funds to assist with publication.
My greatest debt always remains to my parents.
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 Introduction

Justinian was the last Roman emperor of ecumenical impor-

tance and the last to claim a place among the famous rulers of antiquity.
After the late eleventh century, he was known to every educated man in the
West as the arbiter of the Roman legal tradition. The Corpus was indeed
the empire's last great contribution to the cultural heritage of Europe.
Yet the impact that Justinian had on his own world, from Spain to
Iran, was more immediate and destructive as he sought to extend Roman
authority once again to all the shores of the Mediterranean. His armies
conquered North Africa and Italy, terminating the historical existence of
their Vandal and Gothic overlords. Both lands, especially Italy, would lie in
ruins for centuries as a result. Meanwhile, the war effort weakened imperial
defenses at home. The Persians seized the opportunity to plunder Syria and
destroy its metropolis Antioch, which never recovered from the combined
assault of sacking, plague, and earthquake. The Arabs grew in power be-
tween the two warring empires, paving the way for their meteoric rise in
the next century. The Slavs made their historical debut, plundering and
settling across the Balkans, which began to slip from imperial control. Ger-
manic federations, including the Saxons, Gepids, and Lombards, continued
their restless westward trek, disrupting the fragile equilibrium established
in the previous century during the great migrations. Justinian's agents and
often his armies were in contact with all these peoples, influencing their
movements in ways that imperial policy could not always predict. The 540S
witnessed the outbreak of a plague that decimated the population of Europe
and the Near East, especially along the coasts.
Important transformations were also taking place within the eastern
empire. Beyond the legal compilation, Justinian issued a continuous stream
of new and often contradictory laws on almost every topic, sometimes con-
fusing even himself. He was eager to streamline the administration and
impose doctrinal uniformity and did not allow tradition to get in his way.
He dispensed with the aristocracy when it would not bend to his will and
ruled through hand-picked agents, who were often rude, ruthless, unpopu-
2 Introduction

lar, and, like himself, of lowly origin. The government became markedly
autocratic, as was reflected in the ceremonies of the court and its ideology.
A popular rebellion in the capital, backed by elements of the old order, was
brutally suppressed, leaving 3°,000 dead in the hippodrome. Justinian did
not neglect culture either, though he did not promote it. At his imperial
command, the 90o-year saga of Platonic philosophy came to an end,
though its high priests lingered under Persian protection. Justinian also
persecuted pagans and other religious minorities. Purges purified the bu-
reaucracy-or so it was thought. While some took their own lives, others
learned dissimulation. Imperial culture became more orthodox and less
classical. Book production declined. Heresy was also on Justinian's mind,
too much so for the liking of many. His efforts to impose doctrinal unity
finally led to the creation of an independent Monophysite Church, setting
Constantinople against both Rome and the eastern provinces. At the same
time there was a frenzy of imperial construction: dozens of churches and
forts across the empire were ascribed to Justinian's initiative. He rebuilt
Constantinople after the riots of 532, and the church that replaced Hagia
Sophia still stands as the chief symbol of Byzantine Christianity.
History seemed to accelerate during Justinian's reign, and many be-
lieved that the result was chaos and upheaval. Few emperors had started so
many wars or tried to enforce cultural and religious uniformity with such
zeal. There had been despots before, but few, or none, had made despotism
a matter of legal principle. This is important, for Justinian was anything
but unprincipled. Few rulers had ever been as eager to provide ideological
justification for their policies. In his edicts Justinian buttressed everything
from his wars to his regulation of the price of vegetables with divine author-
ity. He was constantly musing about how his reign fit into God's plan and
expected total ideological conformity from all writers linked to the court.
In the words of one legal historian, Justinian was "conscious of living in
the age of Justinian."! Perhaps he hoped in this way to shape posterity's
view of him.
It was not to be. Most of the history of the sixth century, and much
of what is summarized above about the reign, we know chiefly through the
words of another, the historian Procopius of Caesarea in Palestine. The age
does not lack literary sources or dissidents critical of the regime, but the
works of Procopius proved the most popular and influential, both at the
time of their publication and afterward. In part this is because they present
a comprehensive picture, treating wars, the ethnography of foreign nations,
court scandal, economic and administrative reforms, and architectural in-
 Introduction 3

novations. The range of competence reflected here is impressive. Procopius'

description of Hagia Sophia is technically precise, his account of the plague
was composed with an eye for medical detail, and his narrative of the Nika
riots is gripping from a literary point of view. By themselves these passages
would testify to his versatility. But in his case, versatility has become an
ambiguous virtue. As Edward Gibbon noted, Procopius "successively com-
posed the history, the panegyric, and the satire of his own times.'? This
made him unique among ancient historians and notorious in the eyes of
modern scholars.
The Secret History, finished around 551but never published by its au-
thor, who feared for his life, contains a vicious attack on Justinian and
every aspect of his regime. Its tendency to exaggerate rhetorically cannot be
denied, but its basis in fact has not been successfully impugned. The Secret
History shatters the facade of consensus and benevolence presented by Jus-
tinian and his spokesmen by confirming the worst that cynics can imagine
about the motives and behavior of emperors and their officials. The image
of the regime never recovered after the publication of this treatise in the
early seventeenth century. The Buildings, on the other hand, written some-
time in the 550S, endorses Justinian's ideology of Christian rule, paying
special attention to the construction or repair of churches, fortifications,
and other public works. It is difficult to avoid the conclusion that the au-
thor of the Secret History was insincere when he wrote the Buildings, and it
is possible that he wrote it under pressure. If the first text offers a rare
glimpse into a dissident mind of late antiquity, the second shows how that
mind responded to the constraints of imperial orthodoxy. Tyrannies always
require displays of conformity, with seemingly schizophrenic results.' These
two works allow us to study the Janus-like relationship of dissent and or-
thodoxy in the sixth century.
Yet the fame of Procopius rests primarily and justly on his narrative
of the wars of Justinian. Seven books described events to 551-the year in
which the Secret History was finished-and a supplement written two years
later covered the events of 552. The Wars ranks among the most expertly
written histories to have survived from antiquity and Byzantium. Its author
was an eyewitness to much that he described, for he traveled along the
eastern frontier, to North Africa, Italy, and the capital, in the service of
Belisarius, the most celebrated general of the age. His work had to narrate
simultaneous warfare on at least four fronts and, to the degree that it was
safe, relate those wars to events at court. Procopius was up to the challenge.
His informants had traveled throughout the world, and he knew how to
4 Introduction

scrutinize sources carefully and organize his wide-ranging material coher-

ently. If his narrative is sometimes sketchy when his sources were few or
unreliable, it can be gripping when he had a front-row seat or was himself
present on the stage of history. His prose is simple and direct and, if read
aloud, its rhythm is often pleasing to the Greek ear. But there were mo-
ments when prudence cautioned obscurity or circumstance called for elo-
quence.
Procopius' cultural views were firmly rooted in the classics. He prized
above all what he called "liberal education" and men of "liberal character"
and watched with sadness as both were destroyed by a corrupt regime
whose values did not stem from classical culture. He denounced Justinian's
ideological persecution of dissidents and religious minorities and dismissed
Christian theology as an "insanely stupid" attempt to investigate the nature
of an unknowable entity.' Such skeptical attitudes were less rare among the
educated classes of the sixth -century empire than is usually assumed. But
more important for the purposes of the present study is Procopius' intimate
familiarity with classical literature, especially with his models Herodotus
and Thucydides. He was also a careful reader of Plato, whose political phi-
losophy deeply affected how he wrote history. It is therefore no surprise to
find that Procopius had close links to the non -Christian Neoplatonists of
his time, though in contrast to them he was skeptical about the possibility
of metaphysical knowledge and seems not to have believed in divine provi-
dence. All these claims will occasion controversy, and we will return to
them again. Yet no one disputes that Procopius at least tried to write history
in the classical style or that he is the single most important source for his
age. He was among the first authors to offer contemporary evidence about
Anglo-Saxon Britain and pre-Viking Norway, where he was eager to travel
though never had the chance." He preserves crucial information about
many of the peoples who were changing the landscape of Europe and the
Near East, from Frankish Gaul to Yemen and the steppes of central Asia.
And yet, despite the abundance of information in his work, Procopius
was no mere compiler. Relying on the canons of historiography, he tried to
make sense of his rapidly changing world, relating the behavior of groups
to their underlying values. He was generally tolerant and inquisitive about
the customs of foreign groups-more so than any of his contemporaries-
and interpreted his material in such a way as to both instruct and entertain
his readers. Though modern historians will find much with which to quar-
rel, on the whole the result is a success. No one who reads the Wars can
dismiss it casually. It was acclaimed an instant classic in its author's lifetime,
 Introduction 5

and soon writers could be found who aspired to imitate him; praised his
learning, eloquence, and wisdom; and corrected him with diffidence." "I
neither have nor desire another guide than Procopius," wrote Gibbon,
"whose eye contemplated the image, and whose ear collected the reports,
of the memorable events of his own time."?
The existence of such a guide has had predictable effects on general
surveys of the age of Justinian. Many paraphrase the Wars and Secret His-
tory, often failing to include information contained in other sources rele-
vant to the same events. Even historical novels, written in many languages,
have a distinctively Procopian feel. Yet among scholars esteem for Procop-
ius has lessened of late. Studies issuing mostly from Britain have impugned
his judgment, denied his learning and even his mental competence, and
cast him as a proponent of state repression and Christian theocracy. His
classicism, it is said, was only superficial affectation, for at heart he be-
longed to the surrounding culture of churches, holy men, and relics, how-
ever much he may have tried to hide that fact from himself and his readers.
He was an average thinker-there being no other in those times-and had
not yet come to grips with the implications of his Christian beliefs. In other
words, in emulating the classics he was out of touch with his own self. If
his testimony has not been convicted of serious error, his flaws are rather
mediocrity in analysis, limited vocabulary, irrelevant anecdotes, and vapid
speeches. This view is now dominant and is expressed in many recent publi-
cations.
The present study takes issue with the current consensus, though the
uncritical use of Procopius as a factual source will also be questioned, even
if not for the reasons alleged by his critics. What both approaches lack is
sensitivity to the literary dimension of ancient historiography. There is a
point to speeches, anecdotes, elevated language, and allusions, beyond the
degree to which they can be reduced to facts. Both those who rely on Pro-
copius' testimony uncritically and those who see him as out of touch with
his world dismiss much of what he wrote as "rhetoric." But in doing so
they tacitly admit that their aim is not to understand his work on its own
terms. What does it tell us about his methods that whole passages of the
Wars are lifted verbatim from Plato's Republic? Equally important, what
does it tell us about current methods that this has not yet been seen? Aca-
demic specialization has played a role here. Procopius' modern readers are
usually social, military, or art historians who seem to have limited familiar-
ity with the literary side of ancient historiography and almost no knowledge
of philosophy. But Procopius indicated his fundamental allegiance to those
6 Introduction

two traditions through both the form and the content of his works. To
ignore this is like trying to read Augustine without knowing Scripture.
Procopius must be restored to his proper context. This means that we
must understand classical historiography on its own terms by paying careful
attention to precisely those literary aspects that make it so different from
modern conceptions of how history should be written. For instance, it was
for a good reason that so many ancient historians renounced poetic inven-
tion in their prefaces." That could only have happened in the presence of
temptation or precedent. Modern historians do not feel the need to make
such disclaimers because their poetic impulses have been checked by long
years of graduate training. When we pick up a modern monograph, we
know exactly what to expect: an introduction, perhaps with a "theoretical"
discussion, thematic chapters with footnotes citing sources, and a bibliogra-
phy. Also, we know the kind of research that went into its making and the
kinds of conclusions it aims to establish (generally factual, relating to his-
torical causation or cultural analysis). Yet ancient texts reflect a different
set of priorities, methods, and goals; in particular, a greater acceptance of
techniques that today are regarded as more appropriate to literature than
to history.
Considerable controversy surrounds the discussion of the rhetorical
aspects of historical narratives. There is a widespread apprehension that
such inquiries imply that those narratives are nothing other than works of
literature, that they have no basis in fact and are essentially equivalent to
fiction." One might label this reaction hyperbolic were it not for the im-
mense influence exerted during the past few decades by theories that assert
just that. Hostile to the very concepts of truth and reality, postmodernist
theorists have argued very polemically that history is fundamentally a form
of fiction. By drawing attention to the many similarities between historical
and literary texts, they have affirmed that historians, like novelists, essen-
tially invent the content of their works, except that they labor under the
illusion that they are also describing a truth that is independent of their
creative efforts.
Though I do not believe that this epistemology has merit," I also do
not think that we are entitled to ignore the literary dimension of historiog-
raphy. Granted, there is a difference between fact and fiction, and historians
have a duty to seek the truth. Yet ancient historians knew that the truth can
be presented in literary form and that different truths can be told about the
same event. They also knew that facts by themselves are meaningless, even
if they are true; what matters are the ideas and interpretations that are built
 Introduction 7

on them, for these constitute historical insight. Thucydides used a variety

of dramatic devices taken from tragedy to fuse fact and interpretation. 11
Other ancient historians actually invented material, or at least substantially
recreated it, in order to reveal deeper or general truths. Livy and Tacitus
shaped, possibly invented, but certainly tampered with the facts in order to
make indirect points about the age in which they lived." We need not
discuss here the thorny issue of the degree to which Herodotus invented
the stories that grace his Histories. Suffice it to say that general introduc-
tions now admit that his work can be read intelligently, his meanings dis-
covered and deciphered, without any regard for factual veracity. This is
merely to say that the Histories can be read as literature." At the end of
the ancient tradition, Procopius tells stories that he deems "not altogether
unworthy of trust," though he admits they are factually unreliable." It is
incumbent on us to explain what he found worthwhile in fictional stories.
While postmodernists forget the difference between creating and rec-
reating, positivist approaches miss the importance of literary creativity. Ar-
istotle also took too narrow a view of history when he compared it
unfavorably to poetry, arguing that "the one relates actual events, the other
the kinds of things that might occur. Consequently, poetry is more philo-
sophical and more elevated than history, because poetry relates more of the
universal, while history relates particulars."15 Though he was referring to
Herodotus, possibly the most inventive ancient historian, Aristotle failed to
recognize the degree to which history is also poiesis and thus the degree to
which it can be philosophical. It is in any case naive for scholars to subject
ancient authors to a positivist analysis that aims to do nothing more than
separate fact from falsehood by identifying biases and removing distortions.
This approach is quite inadequate for authors of the caliber of Thucydides,
and even when applied to his imitators it yields only shallow misunder-
standings. Too much Byzantine scholarship has taken this path.
A more fruitful approach is proposed by Socrates in the Phaedrus, a
dialogue that subjects rhetoric to philosophical criticism and gives insight
into the practices of reading and writing. Asking "in what way is it beautiful
to speak and to write" (25ge), Socrates sets out the principle of "logo-
graphic necessity," according to which "every speech, just like an animal,
must be put together to have a certain body of its own, so as to be neither
headless nor footless but to have middle parts and end parts, written suit-
ably to each other and to the whole" (264c). In discourses of this kind
nothing is redundant, not a single word. Everything exists for a reason and
is so articulated as to serve specific functions within the whole. Speech thus
8 Introduction

acquires the organic unity of a living animal. To understand such a creature,

one must grasp the "necessity" that calls it into being and determines the
shape of each of its parts and then relate those parts to the activity of the
whole. This principle formulates metaphorically modern notions about
what it means to interpret literary texts," and there is evidence to suggest
that it became part of theorizing about history in antiquity and shaped the
way in which historians actually wrote, though some undoubtedly did so
better than others. Diodorus of Sicily, for instance, whose history was well
known to Procopius and his contemporaries, stated that "the genre of his-
tory is simple and self-consistent and as a whole is like a living organism.
If it is mangled, it is stripped of its living charm" (20.1.5). The same com-
parison had already been made by Polybius (1.4.7-8), another author who
was read in late antiquity.
The discussion in the Phaedrus is meant to illustrate how Plato wrote
his own "speeches," the dialogues, and how they ought to be understood."
Yet can a work of history be written in this way, constrained as it is to relate
events that have already happened, that the historian cannot control, and
that may not necessarily fit into an organic whole? Philosophers are usually
not interested in specific historical facts and enjoy greater control over the
shape and content of their writings. Plato never claimed to be writing a
factual account of the life of Socrates and even deliberately flouted chronol-
ogy to make philosophical points on occasion." Yet, even granting the con-
straint imposed on historians by the nature of their subject, when we
consider the range of interpretations that they may place upon their mate-
rial through organization and arrangement, choice of language, selection
and omission, implication and nuance, rhetorical strategies, or the indirect
messages they may convey through speeches, anecdotes, and allusions, the
principle of logographic necessity may justifiably be brought into play in
interpreting their works as well. "Just as fictional objects and events owe
their identity to the multiple aspects, descriptive and evaluative, through
which they are presented, so too real objects make their appearance in
works of fiction, not through a fully extensional presentation, but only
under some set of aspects or other.":"
The same holds true for real objects and events that appear in works
of history. For example, no one doubts that the Sicilian expedition really
happened, and only narrow specialists are interested in the military details
for their own sake." The important questions are why it occurred, what
broader political developments it was linked to, why it failed, and whether
it could have succeeded under the command of Alcibiades. Thucydides'
 Introduction 9

suggestions about these issues structure his narrative and determine his
choice of words at every point, but they are nowhere formulated explicitly.
Procopius, it will be argued, was a careful reader of Thucydides and, con-
trary to what is commonly believed, copied more than just his vocabulary.
How might this approach work in practice? When reading ancient
historians of proven intelligence and literary skill, certainly those who were
first-rate thinkers, for example Thucydides and Xenophon, but also those
who placed philosophy at the heart of their thought, for example Polybius
and Procopius, we must not confine our analysis to the level of accuracy,
bias, and ideology. Of each we must of course ask Is he accurate? and What
were his sources?, but also Why does he tell this story here, especially when
it is not obviously relevant to the sequence of events? Why does he tell it in
this way, using these words? What purpose does it serve? What themes hold
his work together so that it is not merely a chronological assemblage of bits
of information? We must understand the general reasons behind specific
choices, the dialectical relation between the parts and the whole." Here, for
example, are some questions about Procopius that will be asked for the first
time in this study: Why does he sometimes refer to the Persian king Chos-
roes by his patronymic ("the son of Cavades") and sometimes not? Why
does he use language taken from the liturgy or ecclesiastical architecture
when discussing Justinian and Theodora? Why is his account of the trial of
the Persian nobleman Seoses lifted almost entirely from accounts of the
trial of Socrates?
These questions may at first sight seem trivial, and those who have
failed to ask them may be tempted to dismiss them in this way. But closer
inspection reveals that they are indeed perplexing. If we cannot answer
these questions, we cannot claim to understand Procopius' authorial strat-
egy' and this in turn undermines our use of the Wars as a historical source,
for these details point toward the deeper concerns that unify his work and
shape it on many levels.
It is worth looking more closely at Thucydides here, both because he
was Procopius' model and because scholarship on him has provided models
for my own research into Procopius. Discussion of Thucydides has tradi-
tionally been more focused on the history that he records, the rise and fall
of the Athenian empire, and has treated the historian as a source of infor-
mation who stands between us and those events. Thucydides himself used
Homer in this way when he tried to reconstruct the distant past of Greece.
Disregarding the poetic qualities of the Iliad, or suspecting them as sources
of distortion, Thucydides counted the vessels and men in the Catalogue of
10 Introduction

Ships (1.10); this was the extent of his Homeric exegesis. Likewise, modern
historians study Thucydides' literary techniques, personality, possible bi-
ases, and limitations in order to understand how personal factors may have
shaped his view of events. The goal here is to remove the man from the
work. He is studied chiefly in order to be circumvented, however much he
may be admired.
But what if this kind of investigation should prove inconclusive by
revealing that the personality of Thucydides cannot be so easily extracted
from his narrative? What if personal factors go well beyond a simple bias
against an individual politician such as Cleon or a disregard for economic
policies such as the Megarian Decree? Such particular distortions and limi-
tations can in theory be identified, and the narrative can be corrected to
reflect a less personal view of events. And much scholarship does proceed
according to such optimistic and, in the case of Thucydides, at least, sim-
plistic assumptions. It is in fact doubtful whether any such biases exist in
Thucydides, and they are often postulated by scholars whose own ideologi-
cal priorities are easier to discern. The problem posed by Thucydides does
not concern particular, localized distortions but is rather the possibility that
every aspect of his text, from the level of individual passages to its overall
structure, is indelibly shaped by his pedagogical intentions and literary
methods. The mind of Thucydides is reflected everywhere in his work. It is
a grid that binds the whole together on every level, giving it shape and
meaning. It affects decisions about what to include, about the language
appropriate to each situation, and about the structure and aims of the nar-
rative. And what if, to push the matter further, Thucydides' political analy-
sis is ultimately so profound that it takes a philosopher of the first rank,
such as, say, Thomas Hobbes, to fully understand it?
At this point, research into the Peloponnesian War itself may be put
on hold, perhaps indefinitely, superseded by the study of its historian. The
greatest of Thucydides' living interpreters, Jacqueline de Romilly, has la-
bored for decades to expose the complexity of his narrative and the care
with which it was composed. Tying her analysis initially to a traditional
topic-Thucydide et Timperialisme athenien-she soon abandoned histori-
cal questions altogether. Histoire et raison chez Thucydide is a close literary
reading of the text that exposes the careful deployment of vocabulary, the
deliberate omissions, the subtle correspondences between seemingly unre-
lated passages, the structure of individual episodes, and the purpose they
serve within the overall context of the work; in short, how literary tech-
niques create impressions and even convey the historian's main ideas,
 Introduction 11

though only to the most careful readers. This point needs emphasis: Romi-
lly insists that Thucydides, like virtually all other classical authors, never
presents his deepest ideas directly and explicitly. He "hides" them every-
where in his work yet nowhere in particular. They are known only to those
who can detect hidden thoughts behind the language. The "history" of the
Peloponnesian War recedes further and further. There is not a single phrase
in Thucydides that is not complicit in his interpretive design. There is no
pure, uncontaminated factual reporting, just as there are no biases, preju-
dices, or ideology. This conclusion is not a trivial one. It cannot be applied
to just any author. According to Nietzsche, Thucydides unconditionally
refused to deceive himself about anything. Yet "one must follow him line
by line and read no less clearly between the lines: there are few thinkers
who say so much between the lines.'?"
Where does this leave the study of the Peloponnesian War? Well, per-
haps that topic no longer seems as interesting as it did at the outset. It is
possible to fall so completely in love with the mind of Thucydides-as
seems to have happened to Romilly-that it now becomes the chief object
of inquiry. Put bluntly, Thucydides is more interesting than the Peloponne-
sian War. From this point of view, the war is studied only insofar as it casts
light on its historian. The hierarchy of objectives has been reversed. Here
everything external to the text, even the history it describes, is subordinated
to the understanding of the author's intentions and strategies.
Historical inquiry thus leads to literary analysis. Scholars have exam-
ined how Thucydides manipulates his readers' reactions and expectations
through the use of sharp breaks, shifts in perspective, gradual reversals of
roles, withholding crucial information until moments of greatest impact,
and the use of paradigmatic instances in place of constant repetition."
These are not "merely literary" aspects of the text that the modern historian
can set aside in producing a "purified" narrative. It is only through this
approach that Thucydides' main themes emerge, around which he has
structured every aspect of his text. We see the Athenians become a naval
people to defeat the Persians, then establish an empire and threaten the
freedom of Syracuse, which in turn becomes a naval city to repel the new
Persians. We witness the growth of imperial ambition, the exposition of its
internal logic, and its downfall as it turns in on itself. What is more impor-
tant, we learn about two views of justice, that of Athens and that of Sparta,
and their consequences for political communities and their neighbors.
Much of this can also be found in Procopius, who, as we will see, had
studied Thucydides as carefully as any of the scholars discussed above and
12 Introduction

applied what he had learned to the composition of his own work. Procopius
actually reproduced what we are only now beginning to understand in Thu-
cydides. This indicates a careful study of his classical models. Procopius'
alleged "limited vocabulary" is also a Thucydidean strategy: it enables read-
ers to track the distribution of key concepts and appreciate subtle connec-
tions and changes.
Procopius learned from many others who wrote in the millennium
that lay between him and ancient Athens. From Herodotus he learned how
to use anecdotes to make general points and how ethnography can be used
to discuss one's own culture indirectly. Anecdotes are of special interest
precisely because they are foreign to modern historical methods. Ancient
authors, including Procopius, are criticized for them. This reaction misses
their purpose, in large part because it applies modern notions of factual
truth to ancient texts, which often subordinate the facts to a broader con-
ception of "truth," one that can paradoxically be truer than the facts. Con-
sider the following example. At no point in history did Pontius Pilatus
allow the Jews to choose between Jesus and the armed "robber" known as
Barabbas. The story was made up, probably by the evangelist known as
Mark. From his standpoint after the great Jewish revolt, it was entirely true
to say that the Jews chose the armed resistance of Barabbas over Jesus' way
of peace, but this "choice" was made on a far larger scale than could be
captured by any single episode. A false story contains a deeper truth, one
moreover that historians cannot dispute." To worry about its lack of histo-
ricity is to miss its underlying point. There are many such stories in Procop-
ius. As has been noted, sometimes "historiography is concerned with a
larger, typical truth that overrides the facts in specific cases.":"
An additional device used by many ancient writers is the literary allu-
sion. As will be argued throughout this book, this was not "affectation" but
a central aspect of the way many authors constructed and presented their
meanings. These cannot be deciphered unless the reader establishes a dia-
logue between the two texts. I will give an example from Plato's Republic.
The reason for this choice (and for the choice of the New Testament above)
is that in these texts we observe how literary devices can serve broader
religious or philosophical aims, such as I believe that Procopius also had.
To be sure, his aims were not as profound as those of Plato or Mark, but
he took certain liberties with history that are not altogether different from
those taken by the authors of the deeds and sayings of Socrates and Jesus,
who were, after all, historical individuals. Plato's Socrates is traditionally
considered a foe of democracy, and a passage always adduced in support of
 Introduction 13

this position is his sequence of regimes in Book 8 of the Republic, which

places democracy fourth, only one step above tyranny. Yet few have noted
that Socrates explicitly bases his sequence on that of the ages of man in
Hesiod: golden, silver, bronze, heroic, and iron." Democracy corresponds
to the age of heroes, a startling conclusion. This does not of course mean
that Plato's heroes were the same as those of Athens, but his hero was a
product of Athens and Plato knew it. It is therefore not a coincidence that
he makes Socrates say that all philosophical politics must begin in a democ-
racy. This suggests a more nuanced view than the traditional view would
allow (to say the least), though we have to follow a literary allusion to see
it. There are very many such allusions in Procopius, chosen carefully and
not merely for literary pretension.
Rarely have the strategies discussed above been applied to the histori-
ans of late antiquity, and the approach proposed here may strike some
scholars as counterintuitive and misguided. Byzantinists in particular tend
to treat historical narratives as nothing more than "sources" and subordi-
nate them to the imperatives of social, military, or political history. The
purpose of "source-studies" is to pave the way for additional historical
research. This attitude stems in no small part from the very low opinion
Byzantinists have of the works they study, a problem that will be confronted
below. The literary ambitions of Byzantine authors are often treated with
contempt and regarded as little more than distortions that only hinder the
search for historical truth. Such attitudes essentially preclude the very possi-
bility of intellectual history and result in profound misunderstandings of
the sources on which modern, allegedly purified, reconstructions are based.
Yet there are signs that attitudes are slowly changing." One scholar has
even gone so far as to wonder whether Procopius has been read at all in
modern times, by this referring not to the text itself but to its comprehen-
sion."
We come then to the basic questions that will be asked in this study.
What was Procopius' relation to his classical models? Chapter 1 reexamines
the problem of classicism. The dominant consensus holds that it was largely
a matter of vocabulary, an artificial affectation that ultimately blinded Pro-
copius to the realities of his own age. In contrast, it will be argued here
that Procopius learned far more from his models than has been suspected,
including the sequence of exposition and the characterization of protago-
nists through the contrast between speech and action. More important, it
will be shown that through literary allusions Procopius makes his classical
sources complicit in his own strategies of meaning and that unless we ex-
14 Introduction

amine them in tandem we will miss the point of his own work. Also, it is
in part through a network of carefully chosen and locally varied allusions
that Procopius establishes a relationship among his three works.
Why does the main narrative of the Wars begin with a series of anec-
dotes of almost no historical value? Chapter 2 seeks to rehabilitate the use
of anecdotes by looking at the most notorious sequence of them in the
Wars. It will be argued that they are not merely silly and entertaining digres-
sions (from a narrative that has not yet begun!) but actually layout the
fundamental parameters of the history that follows. Reports of omens also
work in the same way later in the narrative.
Why are whole chapters of the Wars lifted from Plato's Republic?
Chapter 3 will restore the centrality of Platonic political philosophy to the
historical thought of Procopius by exposing the many passages of the Wars
that are directly modeled on Plato's dialogues, often through extensive quo-
tation. Connections will be discovered between Procopius and the non-
Christian Platonists of his own day. Their fear of the regime of Justinian is
reflected in the Wars, as is their strategy for avoiding its grasp, a strategy
that Procopius both followed and recommended when he wrote the Secret
History. This Platonic mimesis will add an entirely new level to the classi-
cism of late-antique authors, taking the problem to the most fundamental
level of their thought.
How did Procopius represent the regime of Justinian? Chapter 4 will
argue that there is considerable continuity between the Wars and the Secret
History and that the negative portrayal of the regime in the latter text
"seeps" into the former. The Persian king Chosroes is something of a surro-
gate for Justinian in the Wars, in accordance with the general parallel that
Procopius establishes between the later Roman empire and classical ideas
of oriental despotism. This chapter also takes a close look at the Secret
History itself, which is not a random collection of accusations. It is instead
a carefully written literary work, and part of it contains the first extant
commentary on the laws of Justinian. It also argues that Procopius' classical
education did not sufficiently prepare him (though nothing could) for the
kind of tyranny represented by Justinian, which was rooted in metaphysics,
ascetic in practice, and bureaucratic in logic. This explains the shrill tone
of the Secret History and its ultimate failure to understand the regime.
Why does Procopius talk about tyche, that is, amoral chance, on some
occasions and about God on others? Chapter 5 will take a fresh look at one
of the most controversial questions about Procopius: what are we to make
of his baffling view of divine things? Contrary to the consensus that holds
 Introduction 15

that he was a conventional Christian who became confused by reading too

many classical authors, it will be argued here that Procopius makes many
statements that cannot reasonably be ascribed to a Christian, if due allow-
ance is made for the fact that he lived in an age of persecution, which he
more than any of his contemporaries abhorred and decried. The main flaw
with prior treatments of his views about God and tyche is that they have
never examined those passages in the context of his narrative as a whole.
When this is done, it emerges that Procopius modulates his vocabulary
carefully with an eye to the particular situation and the overall impression
he wants to convey in each of the Wars. It will be shown that he did not
believe in a providential deity, but rather in a battle between human virtue
and amoral chance in which the latter tended to prevail.
This study does not offer a history of Justinian's wars or even a histori-
cal commentary on the Wars. Rather, it asks a question prior to both of
those tasks: how should Procopius be read? This is emphatically a historio-
graphical study. Yet his works fill many hundreds of pages, and a general
study covering most major themes would inevitably result in superficiality.
It is the details that interest us here, and I have chosen to focus on details
that are dismissed with impatience, such as anecdotes, or never discussed,
such as philosophy. Military, social, and cultural historians will be cau-
tioned and admonished and given new guidelines for the use of these texts.
I have tried to identify Procopius' classical models and examine his use of
them while taking into account recent studies of those models. Much has
no doubt escaped my attention on both counts, as I lack the depth of his
classical learning and my academic specialization has taken its toll. Also,
given the recent growth of interest in the sixth century and the fact that
Procopius is a major source for almost every aspect of it, it has proven
impossible to cover all the bibliography. I have made an effort to identify
the most insightful and up-to-date discussions (and it has been gratifying
to see how often those two coincide). I have tried to be as thorough as
possible with scholarship dealing with Procopius as a historian, though no
doubt much has escaped me.
This study will situate Procopius in his immediate historical context
as well as in his transhistorical literary context. Classicism was, after all, a
way of talking about the present by using ancient paradigms whose store of
accumulated meaning could be modulated to respond to new circum-
stances. A new evaluation of intellectual life in the age of Justinian is in
order. Writing before the very end of antiquity, Procopius and his fellow
travelers represented the last flowering of classical thought in an empire
16 Introduction

that was abandoning classical models. At least we can say that in following
those models Procopius left behind some of his own. This brings us back
to Thucydides, his ancient imitators, and his modern students.
Thomas Hobbes was not primarily interested in the Peloponnesian
War when he decided to translate Thucydides, "the most politic historiog-
rapher that ever writ." Hobbes believed that "a man of understanding ...
may from the narrations draw out lessons to himself, and of himself be able
to trace the drifts and counsels of the actors to their seat.'?" Conversely,
"the narration itself doth secretly instruct the reader, and more effectually
than can possibly be done by precept. "30 Those lessons were timeless, as
Thucydides himself had predicted, because they were based on the con-
stancy of human nature. In this way, he rose above the particular event that
he chose to narrate. Hobbes and others, for example Romilly, studied Greek
history in order to understand Thucydides. From this point of view, the
only reality reflected in the text worthy of study is the clarity, dignity, and
humanity of Thucydides himself.
 Chapter 1

Classicismand Its Discontents

The Preface of the Wars

"Procopius of Caesarea composed a record of the wars which Justinian, the

emperor of the Romans, waged against the barbarians of the east and of the
west." The first sentence of the Wars announces its author and his theme
and does so by imitating the first sentences of Thucydides and, to a lesser
degree, of Herodotus. This form of mimicry was by no means original. In
the second century A.D., the satirist Lucian of Samosata had complained
that many historians of his time tried to imitate the great founders of classi-
cal historiography in this very way, hoping to appropriate for themselves
the hallowed prestige of the classics. An acerbic and unforgiving critic, Lu-
cian castigated them for superficial affectation. "Crepereius Calpurnianus
the Pompeiopolitan composed the history of the war between the Parthians
and the Romans." Such introductions constituted crimes against good taste.
Yet we must also admit that they were the inevitable product of the undis-
puted and stifling authority of classical texts. There simply were no alterna-
tive models. In the end, even Lucian could only encourage future historians
to model themselves on Thucydides, albeit in a more thoughtful and taste-
ful manner. His response to bad imitation was better imitation.' But the
dearth of grand themes made the imitation of great historians as shallow as
it was inevitable.
In the age of Justinian, four centuries later, those models no longer
held sway unchallenged. Competing conceptions of historiography had de-
veloped and even gained popularity. The universal chronicle evolved to
meet the needs of those who desired concise summaries of world history
that highlighted the importance of Christianity within the course of cre-
ation. By the time Procopius finished the Wars, John Malalas had released
the first edition of his chronicle, covering events from creation to the reign
of Justinian. Marcellinus, who had worked on that emperor's staff, had
twice updated the chronicle of Jerome, itself a translation and continuation
18 Chapter 1

of that of Eusebius.' The triumph of the Church was likewise accompanied

by the rise of ecclesiastical history. Its founder Eusebius conceived it explic-
itly in opposition to the themes of politics and war. Others, he says deri-
sively, have written of victories and trophies and endless slaughter; he will
instead commemorate the peaceful wars of the spirit and document the
triumph of universal piety over local chauvinism.' His successors knew that
they belonged to a tradition that did not trace back directly to Herodotus
and Thucydides, though they admitted that they had to deal increasingly
with secular events.'
So the first line of the Wars does more than simply announce its au-
thor's name and theme. It acts as a declaration of allegiance to a specific
cultural tradition amid viable competing alternatives. Procopius intends to
adhere to the canons of classical historiography and compose a narrative in
the high style that tackles the eternal themes of politics and warfare. Just as
modern historians use introductions to explain their subject matter and
method and situate themselves within broader philosophical debates, their
ancient counterparts used prefaces to create a niche for themselves within
the broader tradition of classical historiography and reveal their political
and pedagogic aims." The entirety of the preface to the Wars is riddled
with allusions to Thucydides, Herodotus, and other classical texts, notably
Homer. This places constraints upon us, his modern interpreters. Before
we attempt to situate him within his specific historical context, we must
first make an effort to view him as he viewed himself, namely within the
transhistorical context of classical historiography. His dialogue with Thu-
cydides takes priority over his possible links to John Malalas. In this chap-
ter, therefore, I will discuss Procopius' complex relationship to his classical
models. As we will see, it was not a straightforward relationship of imita-
tion' for circumstances forced Procopius to adopt an ironic stance toward
both his models and his subject matter.
We should note first that Procopius' laconic introduction elegantly
captures a crucial difference between his theme and those of his models.
Whereas Herodotus declared his intention to record the great deeds of both
the Greeks and the Persians, who are presented in his first sentence as equal
contenders for fame; and Thucydides chose to write about the war between
the Peloponnesians and the Athenians, who were equally guilty for the war,
Procopius' theme lacks balance. It concerns the wars waged by one man,
Justinian, against the barbarians of both the east and the west." Justinian is
situated at the center of events, both geographically and in terms of the
logic of the narrative. He gets all the praise or blame, as the case may be.
 Classicism and Its Discontents 19

He is the equivalent of a nation in Herodotus and a polis in Thucydides.

Procopius has formatted the standard prologue-form to the unique re-
quirements of his own narrative. We are reminded of the way Thucydides'
own first sentence both recalls and distances itself from that of Herodotus."
Alluding next to Herodotus, Procopius states that his purpose is to
rescue momentous events from the oblivion of time," for memory of them
may be useful both to his own contemporaries and to future generations,
who may find themselves in similar circumstances (1.1.1).His narrative will
benefit those who are at war as well as those "who are engaged in any kind
of contest" by showing what the outcome was for those who planned their
actions well (1.1.2).9The Wars therefore was written for posterity. It was
designed to be both comprehensible and useful to future generations. This
means that Procopius based his narrative and lessons on the fundamental
nature of man, which, at least according to Thucydides, transcends the
particulars of time and place. It also requires that his text be comprehensi-
ble to future readers. That is why it was written in a language that had
survived the test of time in the past and could therefore be relied upon to
do so in the future. This is, of course, the language of classical literature. In
other words, the very purpose of the Wars depends upon the timelessness
of human nature and the continuity of language. These might be taken at
first sight to be the two pillars of Procopius' "classicism." And human na-
ture is perhaps best understood through a study of classical literature, link-
ing the two together. It is therefore not surprising to discover that
throughout his work he is fascinated, and irked, by the changes that are
constantly occurring in the names of places and things and in the meaning
of words. The psychological explanations that he offers for these changes
again draw upon his classical models, notably Thucydides."
It is also worth forming a preliminary notion of the pedagogical aims
of the Wars. Procopius' claim that the work will benefit those who are at
war seems to associate him with Polybius, who filled his History with tacti-
cal advice for generals and statesmen, and distance him somewhat from
Thucydides, whose primary aim was to improve his readers' "understand-
ing."!' But war, as we will see, was not the only arena in which Procopius
intended the Wars to be useful. And he does refer vaguely to those "who
are engaged in any kind of contest."
Be that as it may, Procopius next states his qualifications as a historian
(firsthand witness, advisor to the most important general of the age);"
draws the customary distinction among rhetoric, poetry, and history (only
the last aims at truth);" and asserts that his own testimony will be impartial
20 Chapter 1

(1.1.3-5). Yet he emphasizes that this impartiality will chiefly involve the
blame of close associates, perhaps of the general whom he has just now
mentioned. He will not disguise their "wretched" deeds (~ox8f)Qa). The
truth expounded in the Wars by the man who also wrote the Secret History
of the reign of Justinian will consist mainly of blame. This contrasts
strongly to his most moralistic predecessor, Polybius, and his immediate
successor, Agathias, who emphasized that the praise of virtue can inspire
future generations to emulate great deeds. In their view, truth was not pri-
marily about blameworthy actions." Perhaps Procopius could find no
models of virtue in contemporary history, and perhaps Belisarius was not
the primary target of criticism in the Wars. Let us note that at the beginning
of the Secret History, a work that he wrote at the same time, Procopius
declares that he will reveal first the wretched deeds (~ox8f)Qa) of Belisarius
and then the wretched deeds of Justinian and Theodora (1.10). It is no
accident that this word is used in the programmatic statements that intro-
duce both works." This establishes a pattern of resonance that recurs
throughout the two works. We must also remember that both Justinian
and Belisarius were still alive when the Wars was completed. In contrast to
Procopius, for instance, Agathias deliberately wrote about those who were
dead. He could criticize Justinian with relative freedom. 16
Alluding now again to Thucydides, Procopius makes the bold claim
that the events recounted in the Wars are the greatest and mightiest in all
of history. They are more "amazing" than anything else of which we have
knowledge. This boast, however, is subsequently qualified and potentially
deflated: "assuming that the reader of this work does not give the prize to
ancient times, in the belief that current events are unworthy of amazement"
(1.1.6-7). Most Greek historians, especially those to whom Procopius al-
ludes in his preface, unequivocally asserted the greatness of their own
themes in a deliberate attempt to surpass their predecessors. I? Procopius is
following in this tradition, although, as we will see, with an ironic intention.
He was the first to even suggest the possibility that ancient wars were
greater and modern ones "unworthy of amazement." Herodotus, for in-
stance, deliberately presented the army of Xerxes in such a way as to make
it surpass the Achaean expedition against Troy, whose forces are listed in
the second book of the Iliad. Thucydides, Procopius' chief model in this
section of the preface, was the first to produce a rigorous comparison be-
tween the ancients and the moderns in order to support his contention that
the Peloponnesian War was greater than all wars of the past, both in the
heroic age (i.e., Homer) and in recent history (i.e., Herodotus). Thucydides
 Classicism and Its Discontents 21

gave ample justification for his bold claim, by tracing and explaining the
growth of power in Greece from pre-Homeric times to his own day. Poly-
bius also made a cogent argument for assigning an even greater importance
to the conquest of the world by the Roman republic, an event that had no
equal in scale, swiftness, novelty, or duration. 18
Let us pause and consider the many legitimate points that Procopius
could have made in defense of the importance of the wars of Justinian:
warfare on all three continents against warlike enemies; 19 the reconquest of
extensive territory, perhaps more than was ever taken by the Romans in the
same amount of time; spectacular victories; the capture of enemy kings;
tens of thousands of men mobilized and killed by war and plague; and
many cities captured and destroyed. In his legislation, Justinian exulted in
the military accomplishments of his reign and expected writers close to the
court to broadcast his triumphal boasts. John Lydus, a civil servant and
antiquarian, wrote that the emperor had asked him to deliver a panegyric
on his reign and "write the history of the war that he had successfully
conducted against the Persians.">' In the Buildings, a panegyrical work ca-
tering to similar needs, Procopius praised the conquest of new territories
and the subjugation of barbarians." In the Secret History, he likewise ex-
panded upon the momentous effects of Justinian's wars, though from a
negative point of view, by stressing the destruction they caused to both
the conquered regions and to the Roman empire itself. Justinian "caused
calamities for the Romans, so great and so numerous as had never been
heard of previously by anyone in the entire history of the world."22 Despite
its pessimism, this statement still affirms the greatness of the historian's
theme in the traditional agonistic manner. Obviously, Procopius could not
express those views openly in the preface to the Wars. Yet he offers there
no serious justification for his Thucydidean boast, whether panegyrical, vi-
tuperative, or just plain descriptive. Not one of the emperor's boasts is
confirmed in the preface." The historian seems to be rejecting imperial
propaganda passively, through silence. He even suggests, through some
imaginary naysayers, whom he seems to have invented for this purpose,
that antiquity was greater after all.
Procopius fails to defend the greatness of his theme in any way compa-
rable to Thucydides and Polybius, who argued the point with the utmost
seriousness and methodological rigor. Instead, he reduces the comparison
between ancients and moderns to a bizarre contest between Homeric ar-
chers and the cavalry of the sixth century. This contest, incidentally, aims
to defend the latter from ridicule rather than establish its greatness. The
22 Chapter 1

levity of the comparison trivializes the alleged greatness of Justinian's wars.

In addition, the defense of modern archery contains fatal logical flaws,
which one might label obvious were it not for the fact that they have not
yet been noticed.
There are some, Procopius claims (1.1.8), who assert that modern sol-
diers are mere archers, whereas ancient soldiers were true hand -to- hand
warriors whose valor no longer survives. These devotees of antiquity, who
in this respect followed classical Greek models," apparently did not think
very highly of archers. To refute their position properly, Procopius must
either defend archery itself or argue that modern soldiers, whether archers
or not, are equal to the hand -to- hand fighters of antiquity. But he does
neither, and this is to say nothing about whether a contest of archers can
by itself establish the greatness of Justinian's wars. Procopius begins by
denigrating Homeric archery (1.1.9-11), which only strengthens the position
of his imaginary opponents. He then contrasts the weakness of Homeric
archers to the mounted and armored archers of the sixth century, to the
latter's obvious advantage (1.1.12-15). The argument is, of course, inconclu-
sive, as he almost admits afterward. For in order to counter the position of
the defenders of antiquity, he must show not only that modern soldiers are
better than the most despised element of the Homeric armies but that they
are equal or comparable to its highest glories, namely to Achilles and the
other heroes. This he does not even attempt to do. The Homeric age was
great because of its heroes, but heroes are absent from Procopius' preface.
This is why he admits, at the end of his comparison, that despite his argu-
ments and the greatness of Justinian's wars, some will still revere antiquity
and think poorly of modern times (1.1.16). This is more a tacit admission
of the weakness of his claim than resignation in the face of the irrational
tenacity of the reverence for antiquity. By restating the view that favors the
ancients as completely unaffected by his arguments, he hints that he has
done little to diminish its credibility. Nothing in the age of Justinian can
match the glory of the Homeric heroes. An age may be redeemed or enno-
bled by a great leader, as Plutarch thought of the democracy led by Pericles,
but this possibility is also not even hinted at by Procopius. In the Buildings,
he would describe a statue erected in the capital depicting Justinian in the
"heroic" guise of Achilles." Again, such flights of imperial fancy find no
support in the preface to the Wars.
Unfortunately, many scholars have been deceived by the hollow fan-
fare of the preface into thinking that Procopius genuinely admired
mounted archers. They fail to appreciate the inconclusive and ironic nature
 Classicismand Its Discontents 23

of the preface, and they also fail to compare what he says there to what
actually happens in the remainder of his narrative. This is not unrelated to
the refusal to read historical texts in any but the most literal ways. I will
argue in a separate study that far from admiring mounted archers, Procop-
ius was highly troubled by their prominence in sixth-century warfare and
expressed nostalgic admiration for the infantry armies of ancient Rome.
Mounted archers represented to him yet another aspect of the empire's
gradual barbarization. But only a critical examination of his entire text can
reveal the rhetorical purpose that is served by their presence in the preface.
As for the archers of the Iliad, Procopius has unfairly underestimated
their effectiveness in order to lower the standard that modern soldiers must
meet for his argument to have prima facie plausibility. Given that he cites
many specific passages of the Iliad as evidence and that he probably knew
that work as well as anyone else, we are entitled to scrutinize his representa-
tion of Homeric archers. He claims that the word "archer" was an insult
but does not mention that it was used in such a way by Diomedes, whose
wounding by Paris had just removed him from the fight. Frustrated, Dio-
medes expresses the view neither of the other warriors nor of the poet
himself, and his abuse is aimed specifically against the effeminate Paris, not
archers in general. 26Procopius unfairly ascribes Paris' cowardly attributes
to all archers." Hand-to-hand fighters were honored more, yet "archery
was a crucial factor in the Trojan War."28 At least two gods and a number
of lesser heroes are presented as archers." Procopius wrongly claims that
they played no role on the battlefield and could not inflict serious injuries.
In reality, bows were used in battle by whole contingents as well as by
individual heroes and could kill or incapacitate individual warriors just as
they could turn the tide of battle. Procopius fails to mention these events
and hides the fact that many heroes survived arrow wounds only through
direct divine intervention. 30
To summarize. Procopius mentions none of the factors that could
validate his claim for the greatness of Justinian's wars. He compares them
only to the Trojan War and even then avoids comparing modern archers
to the heroes of Homer. Moreover, he fails to convince us that the archers
of Justinian were unquestionably superior to those depicted in the Iliad. It
has been suggested, with justice, that this is a mockery of the classical tradi-
tion' and the "proof" that Procopius adduces for the importance of his
theme has been viewed as woefully inadequate even by those who do not
perceive its levity." The contest of archers satirizes Thucydides' rigorous
Archaiologia and Polybius' grand arguments for universal history. The
24 Chapter 1

mockery, however, is probably aimed not at the tradition itself but at the
pretentious ideology that surrounded Justinian's wars. Procopius was no
fool. When he offers us palpably bad arguments for the claim that those
wars were the greatest in history, we may suspect that he is directing our
attention to the very weakness of that position, a position, moreover, that
he could not very well refute openly. It was through pointed omissions that
ancient authors tended to "emphasize" their ideas, however counterintu-
itive that may seem to US. 32 Procopius' fatuous contest of archers subtly
exploits the literary devices of the tradition to deflate the emperor's achieve-
ments and deprive them of the glory that only a work of classical historiog-
raphy could bestow.

A Typology of Classicism

Yet perhaps the foregoing analysis is premature. We have initiated a dia-

logue between Procopius and his classical models without first determining
their precise relationship. Procopius was a subject of the later Roman em-
pire and a product of its intellectual trends, yet by constructing his preface
around classical allusions he seems to position himself within the broader
context of classical historiography. His theme is contemporary, yet as a
historian he intends to stand above or to the side of his age, reporting on
it as would another Thucydides. But can we take this stance at face value?
How deep was his knowledge of classical literature? Varying degrees of en-
gagement can be imagined. Perhaps he was an attentive student of classical
texts, especially of Thucydides, which would have granted him a critical
perspective on the postclassical realities of the sixth century. On the other
hand, it is possible that his classicism was merely literary affectation and
that he knew classical texts only from anthologies and his rhetorical train-
ing. His classicism would then be a mask of high culture beneath which hid
a typical man of his age, that is, Christian, superstitious, and theocratic,
according to the prevailing view of this period. This second alternative is
the one that scholars now overwhelmingly favor. Upon this question hinges
our entire understanding of Procopius as a historian and, by extension, of
the sixth century in the transition between antiquity and Byzantium. The
problem of Procopius is the problem of classicism.
It is customary, when discussing the classicizing historians of the later
empire, to cite Lucian's famous treatise on How History Should Be Written.
The only one of its kind surviving from antiquity, this level-headed and
 Classicism and Its Discontents 25

amusing little book laments the general decline in standards among histori-
ans. Written toward the end of the century that began with Tacitus and
Plutarch, it stands midway between them and Herodian. It already con-
demns the classical affectation, shallow pomp, and corrupt Greek style for
which scholars continue to blame Byzantine literature.
At the very end of his treatise, Lucian alludes to certain aspects of
ancient historiography that are in danger of being forgotten today. These
we may call artistic, in the sense that Lucian intends when he compares
historians to architects. Like architects, historians can craft works that con-
tain multiple and overlapping levels of meaning, give false initial impres-
sions, and conceal their secrets from casual observers. The following story
that he tells about the lighthouse of Alexandria, the ignored conclusion of
his otherwise often -cited text, proves that despite the banalities proffered
elsewhere in his treatise, Lucian had an eye for the subtlety and esoteric
qualities of ancient writing.

Do you know what the Cnidian architect did? He built the tower on the Pharus,
the greatest and most beautiful of all works, that a beacon might shine out from it
to sailors far out at sea, lest they be driven on to Paraetonia, which they say is an
extremely difficult coast and impossible to get away from once you have hit upon
the reefs. So, having built this work, he inscribed his own name on the masonry
inside, and, having plastered it over with gypsum and hidden it, inscribed upon it
the name of the reigning king, knowing, as indeed happened, that a short time
afterwards the letters would fall away with the plaster and the following would be
revealed: "Sostratus of Cnidus, the son of Dexiphanes, to the Savior Gods on behalf
of those who sail at sea." Thus, he too did not have his eye on the immediate
moment or his own brief life-span, but rather on our time and on eternity, for as
long as the tower shall stand and his art (techne) shall abide."

The lighthouse of Alexandria was one of the wonders of the ancient world,
but Lucian does not explain exactly how this story is relevant to the writing
of history. Clearly, historians should write for posterity and eschew the
allure of immediate celebrity. But this does not account for Sostratus' deceit
or for the multilayered nature of his work. Perhaps authors too can hide
things in their texts, away from the gaze of kings. In time, these hidden
truths can be safely discovered by future readers or by those who know
how to look past the "plaster" that lies on the surface. Like the lighthouse
of Alexandria, a work of history may be designed with two different audi-
ences in mind.
It is interesting that Lucian rounds off his discussion of Sostratus'
esotericism by combining two famous classical allusions that few of his
26 Chapter 1

readers would have missed. By joining the famous Hippocratic saying that
"life is short, but art (techne) is long" to Thucydides' ambition to produce
"a possession for eternity," Lucian suggests that historians can confer im-
mortality upon their works if they treat their practice as an "art" or "sci-
ence" like medicine. This involves adhering to certain rules, like those laid
down in his own treatise or exemplified by canonical authors such as Thu-
cydides.
Noone went farther in pursuit of this goal than Procopius of Caesarea,
though there is considerable room for disagreement about the extent to
which even he succeeded. Procopius and his successor Agathias exemplify
what is today called classicizing historiography. This term designates a class
of historical texts produced during the later Roman empire that share cer-
tain literary features. It also implies that their authors were not fully classi-
cal but only attempted or pretended to be so. Their goal was imitation, not
the development of a new kind of historical narrative, one perhaps more
suited to the changed realities of their own times. They recognized a higher
standard that was created in the past and aspired to recreate it in a postclas-
sical world. Procopius and Agathias lived in a Christian empire full of
churches, monks, and theological disputes but wrote as though they lived
in classical Athens. They used the language of Thucydides and Demosthe-
nes, not the spoken Greek of their own time, and often copied phrases
verbatim into their narratives from their classical models. They avoided
nonclassical words as though they were foreign and strange, particularly
Christian ones. And, like most ancient historians, they focused on wars and
politics. Ethnographic digressions such as those in Herodotus and grand
speeches such as those in Thucydides were also standard features of classi-
cizing historiography.
This style of writing has elicited little but disapproval and apprehen-
sion from modern scholars. The first reaction was one of suspicion. In the
nineteenth century, German philologists realized that classicizing historians
such as Procopius lifted words and phrases directly from their classical
models, thereby possibly distorting or even inventing the history they were
describing. Procopius clearly modeled contemporary events on passages in
Thucydides. For example, an extensive network of verbal correspondences
makes his account of the sixth-century plague suspiciously similar to Thu-
cydides' account of the plague in Athens. By the late nineteenth century, it
seemed as though the details of that event, along with the details of certain
sieges, which Procopius modeled on the siege of Plataea in Thucydides,
might vanish from the history books in a puff of Teutonic source-criticism.
 Classicism and Its Discontents 27

Classicism was not just a matter of style; the factual content itself was per-
ceived to have been contaminated. As Lucian said of shallow imitators of
Thucydides, one could leave them "and still know exactly what they were
going to say next," because they were more interested in literary affectation
than factual reporting." Yet these fears proved to be misplaced. The histo-
ricity of the events in question has been confirmed through the indepen-
dent testimony of nonclassicizing sources. Procopius' accounts have also
been shown to differ in crucial ways from those of his classical models,
despite the undeniable verbal borrowings. It is now common practice to
defend the accuracy of his account of the plague and the sieges and even to
assert the compatibility of verbal imitation with factual reliability. 35
Since then the interpretive problems associated with classicism have
tended to become increasingly more trivial, focusing exclusively on matters
of vocabulary. In the mid to late 1960s, scholarly attention focused on the
peculiar circumlocutions by which Procopius and Agathias referred to
Christian subjects and Roman administrative terms. For example, Procop-
ius referred awkwardly to monks as "the most temperate among the Chris-
tians, whom they usually call monks." And, when describing the church of
Hagia Sophia, Agathias wrote not "dome" but "that circle or hemisphere
or whatever else they call it that projects on top in the middle."> Previously
scholars believed that this "objective" way of referring to Christianity indi-
cated that these authors were probably unbelievers, but recent examinations
have shown that this form of expression was an integral part of the imita-
tion of classical literature and does not necessarily have any bearing on
religious belief. Classicizing authors pretended that nothing had changed
since the days of Thucydides and so had to explain neologisms to their
readers. Even Christian authors wrote in this way, for example the seventh-
century historian Theophylact. Classicism is now seen as mere "affecta-
tion. " It was "just a stylistic device. "37
Since classicism no longer poses interesting challenges, whether histor-
ical or religious, it has become a dead issue. It is generally assumed that the
problem has been laid to rest simply because a few odd circumlocutions
have been assigned from the sphere of religion to that of style." Classicism
is now treated as merely a matter of style, and bad style at that, as an
affected attempt to reproduce a "high" form of literature. One commonly
reads statements such as "Procopius' classical mask is purely literary," and
these are always made in connection with his vocabulary and awkward
circumlocutions." In fact, many recent discussions imply that classicism
was a matter only of words and phrases." This view, as we will see, barely
28 Chapter 1

scratches the surface of the problem, but the consensus that has developed
around it has had a stifling effect on discussion. Furthermore, relegating
the whole matter to the realm of style has made it easier for Byzantine
scholars to indulge the bizarre contempt they feel for Byzantine literature.
Classicizing historians, we are told, were "undoubtedly more interested in
artistic packaging than factual content," and that packaging is invariably
"distasteful to modern readers. "41
A more promising approach was suggested by Averil Cameron in her
study of Procopius, a lucid and influential monograph that is, sadly, fraught
with fundamental contradictions. Cameron correctly notes that classicism
"goes much deeper than the superficial adoption of vocabulary," all the
way down to the author's very "modes of thought." Consequently "there
is no separation between his thought and its expression .... The under-
standing of the classicism of Procopius is not a simple matter of peeling off
an external layer. " And because classicism is not merely a stylistic device, it
must be part of any discussion of the historian's opinions." Unfortunately,
these laudable programmatic statements prove to be a false start. The
book's actual thesis is that Procopius was a typical "product of his age"
whose fundamental beliefs owed nothing to classical thought." His classi-
cism was a "superstructure," whereas his "underlying approach" was thor-
oughly Christian." So thought and expression are radically separated after
all. The "seductively classical appearance" constitutes only "the surface of
Procopius' work," a mere "classical tinge.":" And as for classicism shaping
"modes of thought," that seems to mean nothing more than that Procopius
followed Thucydides in writing a narrative with speeches and battles. Imita-
tion gave the "external characteristics" of his work merely a "Thucydidean
100k."46This is only a modern restatement of Lucian's complaint of super-
ficial imitation.
Cameron's insight that content cannot be understood apart from form
must be preserved, even if she did not follow through with it. What Pro-
copius has to say is inseparable from how he says it. Classicism goes well
beyond the level of words and phrases, of "tinges" and "external character-
istics." Opportunities for new discoveries are being missed here through
sheer prejudice. One could, for instance, examine the narrative structure of
these texts. I am referring to the way in which writers such as Procopius
shaped factual information and the techniques by which they interpreted
it without crudely interjecting their own personal opinions. It is these
devices that give narratives a literary dimension by creating expectations,
 Classicism and Its Discontents 29

manipulating reactions, and leading readers to a deeper understanding of

events.
Consider, for example, speech-and-battle sequences, a staple of both
classical and classicizing historiography. Jacqueline de Romilly has carefully
dissected the structure of such episodes in Th ucydides, demonstrating that
speeches delivered before battles debate the same points in perfect corre-
spondence and use the same language, only from opposite points of view.
The ensuing battle is then narrated in such a way as to reveal which of the
two commanders had a better grasp of the situation prior to the engage-
ment. It is only through the speeches that the reader can actually under-
stand what happens during the battle and why. This includes the
motivation, planning, and tactics of both sides as well as the outcome. Ide-
ally, not a single word is wasted-recall Plato's principle of "logographic
necessity." Romilly chose as her principal example the naval battle of 429
near Naupactus." The commanders on both sides had to address dispirited
soldiers in need of encouragement, and Thucydides mentions this fact
before each of their speeches. However, we need not discuss this specific
passage, because a passage of Procopius' Wars shows exactly the same nar-
ratological features.
In 534, the Roman general Solomon brought his troops against the
Moors at a place called Mammes (4.11). The commanders on both sides
had to address soldiers who were dispirited and in need of encouragement,
and Procopius mentions this fact before each of their speeches. He uses the
same words on each occasion, and they are also exactly the same words
with which Thucydides describes the low morale of both sides before Nau-
pactus." This allusion serves to establish a correspondence between his text
and that of Thucydides, a correspondence on which Procopius will follow
through. He did not choose to quote the Athenian historian here for rea-
sons of "affectation" or because he allegedly found the phrase in some
putative anthology of Thucydidean cliches. As we will see, the entire struc-
ture of his account of the battle is Thucydidean through and through.
In his speech, Solomon reminds his troops of their victory over the
Vandals, who, in turn, had defeated the Moors in the past (23-24). He
disparages the enemy's equipment: their armor is shabby and they flee after
throwing their spears (25-27). So if the Romans withstand the first attack,
they will easily rout the enemy (28), for they are better trained and more
experienced, whereas the Moors trust in numbers, and preparation almost
always prevails over numbers (30-32). The camels should not be feared,
because missiles will drive them back (33). And the Moors' resolve will
30 Chapter 1

collapse, because it is based on a false sense of victory that does not reflect
their actual strength (34-3S). Finally, Solomon urges his troops to observe
silence and good order (36), repeating exactly the orders issued by the
Athenian Phormio before the battle at Naupactus in Thucydides."
The Moorish leaders rebut Solomon's speech point by point in reverse
order. They strengthen their soldiers' resolve by mentioning their recent
victories and greater numbers (38-39). They point out what Solomon had
omitted, that they are fighting for freedom because "necessity" impels them
to resist "slavery" (40-41). They disparage Roman equipment and tactics:
if the Romans advance on foot, they will be defeated by Moorish speed,
whereas their horses will be terrified by the camels (42). The Roman defeat
of the Vandals proves nothing: not only had the Moors also defeated the
Vandals in the past, but the outcome of war depends on either chance
(tyche) or the general's virtue, and Belisarius, the general who defeated the
Vandals, is absent (43-4S).
The account of the ensuing battle consists largely of phrases taken
from the speeches, as the latter are proven alternately prescient or mistaken
by the actual course of events. The Roman horses were thrown into disor-
der (akosmia) by the camels (48), just as the Moors had predicted (42),
frustrating Solomon's call for an orderly deployment (kosmos: 36). The
Moors advanced and threw their spears (49), just as Solomon had predicted
they would (27). Thinking quickly, Solomon bid his troops to dismount
and hold their ground behind their shields (SO-Sl). He knew, of course,
that Roman arms could withstand Moorish weapons (29). Taking some of
his men on foot, he killed the camels and routed the Moors (Sl-S3). Just as
he had predicted, the Romans could defeat the Moors easily if they could
just withstand the initial assault (27-28).
The predictions and strategies formulated by the commanders on ei-
ther side are put to the test during the course of the battle. The Moors were
correct that the camels would throw the Roman cavalry into confusion, and
Solomon's claim that missiles would drive them back came to nothing. But
ultimately the Roman had the better grasp on the situation, knowing that
arms and discipline would prevail if only the Romans could stand their
ground during the initial confusion. What no one could predict was that
the Romans would win by dismounting and fighting on foot, but this strat-
egy is attributable to the same general's genius. In the thick of battle, he
devised a way to counter the disadvantages of his army (the horses) and
stake the outcome on its advantages. So the Moors were correct that the
 Classicismand Its Discontents 31

battle would be won by either chance (tyche) or the general's virtue. Tyche
is accordingly never mentioned during the battle.
It is only because of the speeches that the reader can understand the
course of the battle. The narrative by itself is a bare factual summary that
proves nothing. We can learn from it what happened but not why. For this
we need plans, intentions, and analysis. That analysis is not offered by the
historian in his own voice. He allows the protagonists to debate all the
important factors, inviting readers to draw their own conclusions from
the interplay between speeches and event. This authorial strategy is entirely
Thucydidean.:" Again, hardly a word is wasted in the close correspondence
between the two speeches. They examine in turn the same factors and even
debate the significance of previous battles, only from opposite points of
view. This gives us a global perspective on the whole event, "for the issue
of battles is usually decided in the minds of the opposing commanders, not
in the bodies of their men. "51
Furthermore, it would make little sense to imagine this rhetorical de-
bate as historical. The Moors must have known what Solomon had said in
order to reply to his arguments, but how could they have? Should we imag-
ine them nearby, listening and replying? But given that they do in fact reply
to Solomon, they must be addressing the same audience. That (implied)
audience is of course Procopius' readers, not either (or both) of the armies.
The two speakers, qua speakers, are not historical persons. They are literary
vehicles of military analysis, antithetical and therefore dynamic. No such
speeches were delivered before the battle of Mammes. They are only texts,
and they are intended for our benefit. To dismiss them as nothing more
than "lengthy set speeches" that merely "expand" the encounter is unfair
and misses the point. 52 Such dismissals take for granted the effect produced
on the reader by the subtle interplay of speech and action and therefore
never make it into an object of conscious reflection.
There is a close correspondence in the Wars between speech and ac-
tion. As in so many passages of Th ucydides, military instructions are exe-
cuted in exactly the same language in which they are issued. The more
foresighted the plan, the closer the verbal resemblance between conception
and execution. 53 This tight correspondence, manufactured at the level of
the text by the historian, reveals the natural connection between plan and
action. It contains implicit verdicts about prescience and efficiency, which
may well be negative: events may not go according to plan. To grasp these
verdicts, however, we must read the text carefully, comparing speeches with
deeds, and not only on the level of individual passages. Themes may recur
32 Chapter 1

and develop across whole books of the Wars. Like Thucydides, Procopius
says relatively little in his own voice.
The Gothic king Vittigis delivers two long and striking speeches at the
beginning of his reign, after the capture of Naples by Belisarius in late 536.
In the first speech (5.11.12-25), he claims that victory depends on planning
and not on rash action. He emphasizes patience and preparation and even
urges the Goths to accept the shameful label of cowards should a prudent
retreat secure victory in the long run. "For the virtue of a man is not re-
vealed by his actions at their beginning, but rather at their very end." The
Goths accordingly marched from Rome to Ravenna, where they began pre-
paring for war (5.11.26-28). In his second speech (5.13.17-25), Vittigis gives
more advice that is "necessary," if not "pleasant." The Goths must make
peace with the Franks in order to free up the troops stationed on their
northern frontier. To do so, they must surrender southern Gaul and pay
the Franks for an alliance. Vittigis calculates that this small sacrifice will
preserve the Gothic realm in the long run; without it, the whole might be
lost forever.
Just as Vittigis invites us to compare the beginning of his reign to its
end, Procopius invites us to compare the king's speeches to his actions. The
two grow increasingly divergent, as this seemingly cautious and far-sighted
Periclean strategist gradually loses his control over the war. 54 He begins to
waver and change his mind in anger (5.16.19-21). He fails to take adequate
precautions, causing severe losses to his side (5.27). By the end of his reign,
he has become indecisive and very ineffective at making the necessary prep-
arations. Patience has turned into inaction. Unable to deal with the situa-
tion' he barricades himself in Ravenna, callously abandoning his followers
in other cities to starve in false expectation of imminent assistance. 55 Pro-
copius does not directly comment on the king's failure. His authorial stance
is ostensibly neutral. But Vittigis' speeches present a program of action and
an implicit standard by which we must judge him. The speeches are in-
vented by Procopius and are designed to capture the king's intention. It is
up to us to follow through on the expectations they create and come to a
better understanding of his reign. We may therefore not dismiss the
speeches in the Wars as "pure rhetoric," as so many of Procopius' critics
have done.
The influence of Thucydidean techniques on the narrative goes well
beyond the use of speeches. Consider choices regarding the distribution
of information. In general, the narrative proceeds chronologically, but the
historian is not constrained to relate events at precisely the moment they
 Classicism and Its Discontents 33

occur. That would prove quite unworkable and would defeat the guiding
logic, resulting in incoherence or triviality. Each part of the text is struc-
tured around a certain theater of operations and is told from a certain
point of view. External developments that affect the main story or necessary
background information are introduced at the point of highest relevance,
not in chronological order. Chronology is subordinated to the internal logic
of the text, sometimes even to the author's dramatic goals. This makes it
easier for us to follow the narrative without having to remember odd bits
of information that do not become operative until much later. It also re-
lieves the author from having to repeat himself and enables him to clarify
causal relationships as directly as possible.
For example, Procopius does not tell us that Belisarius had fortified
the Milvian bridge outside Rome until the Gothic army reached it (5.17.14).
Belisarius fortified the bridge precisely because he expected the Goths to
attempt to cross it. Procopius reports this not when the strategy was con-
ceived and implemented but when it became operative in the conflict. Had
the Goths taken a different route, we might never have heard about this
garrison. Procopius then explains that the general did not hope to prevent
the Goths from reaching Rome but rather wanted to buy time for the rein-
forcements that had been sent by the emperor. This is the first that we hear
of these troops. Belisarius apparently already knew about them, but we do
not until it impinges on the narrative. We hear about the garrison only
because the Goths reached the bridge, and we hear about the reinforce-
ments only because Procopius must explain the garrison.
The fact that the Byzantines controlled the seas during the first siege
of Rome is mentioned only toward the end, when Procopius must explain
why the Gothic garrison at Portus had exhausted its provisions and was
forced to abandon it along with other coastal cities (6.7.16-20). The infor-
mation is mentioned only when it acquires explanatory value, otherwise it
would not have contributed to the story and would have been, strictly
speaking, irrelevant. Conversely, we do not learn that the Goths had a navy
(or had built one) until it blockaded Rome and caused a famine while Totila
was besieging the city in 546 (7.13.5-7).
This strategy of delayed information is also used by Thucydides, usu-
ally to create contrasts or cause readers to reconsider the significance of
earlier events. 56 These same literary devices are used extensively in the Wars,
as we will have occasion to note in the subsequent thematic analysis. The
point to observe here is that the entire structure of the text may be classiciz-
ing in ways that have so far remained invisible and that go beyond the
34 Chapter 1

imitation of classical vocabulary. Procopius picked up from Thucydides

narrative strategies that engage the reader's active participation in the un-
folding of events. He was not a shallow classicizer but a classical writer of
the first order. This requires emphasis. Whereas we are now only discovering
the literary techniques of classical historians, Procopius actually reproduced
them, and, we might add, with considerable success. Far from the affecta-
tion dismissed by so many, we find here an element of genuine style, some-
thing that is "intuitively appreciated, a performance that, if done well, need
not be talked about. "57 But we must talk about it if we are ever to get
beyond the surface, for any account of the heart of things must account for
their appearance on the surface, the starting point of every inquiry.
So far we have considered the formal imitation of classical texts, focus-
ing on literary devices that Procopius may indeed have learned from Thu-
cydides but whose efficacy is ultimately not based on classical provenance
and that do not require the reader to directly compare the two texts. Recent
scholarship, however, has begun to consider the possibility that the rela-
tionship between them runs deeper, that it is perhaps impossible to grasp
the central political and historical theses of a classicizing work of history
unless one is equally well versed in its classical models. What is being pro-
posed here is an artful strategy of indirect reference that relates contempo-
rary individuals and events to classical paradigms through the use of subtle
allusions. Verbal imitations may serve a deeper purpose after all: they alert
careful readers to specific passages in classical texts that contain missing
premises, suggest unflattering parallels, or supply an entire framework of
analysis for the events being described.
This contrived interplay between narrative and classical model can
provide anything from a benign or heuristic comparison to an allusion that
actually subverts the claims made on the surface. Examples can be offered
from all points on this spectrum. For instance, extensive verbal and struc-
tural correspondences link Procopius' account of the first siege of Rome to
Thucydides' account of the siege of Syracuse. Again, this case of imitation
does not invalidate the factual basis of the narrative. More interesting, how-
ever, is the implied invitation to the reader to contrast the two accounts
and draw conclusions about the importance of various aspects of the siege
and the role of specific individuals. Belisarius, for instance, is compared
favorably, though indirectly, to Nicias: his proud letter to the emperor is a
"conscious reversal" of Nicias' pathetic letter to the Athenians." Likewise,
the recall of Belisarius from Italy in 540 and the disastrous policies of his
replacements are linked to Thucydides' eulogy of Pericles and condemna-
 Classicism and Its Discontents 35

tion of his successors, who brought defeat and ruin to Athens. This passage
is not without serious, albeit implicit, criticism of Justinian." The same is
true of the beginning of the Vandal War, where the emperor's decision to
attack the Vandals is carefully modeled in structure and language on Xerxes'
decision to attack Greece in Herodotus. This is a damning comparison,
though visible only to readers who know the source." As we will see, the
comparison of Justinian to various barbarian despots is a central aspect of
Procopius' political thought. Later in the same text, as Belisarius marches
across Libya preaching liberation to the inhabitants and justice to his sol-
diers, Procopius contrives a parallel to Brasidas' campaigns in northern
Greece, which reveals the cynicism and opportunism of imperial policy and
the plight of the locals, who were forcibly involved in a struggle that
strained their loyalties. Procopius intended that the motives and actions of
his own characters be evaluated against the Thucydidean backdrop, to
which he alludes through carefully chosen quotations."
Individual cases of allusive intertextuality in Procopius have been de-
tected and analyzed with clarity and insight, especially by Italian scholars,
whose works have been somewhat excluded from the discussion, though,
to be fair, they are not the most accessible. More important, such individual
discussions have not become part of a systematized discourse about classi-
cism. There is no doubt that the Byzantines enjoyed crafting and detecting
allusions to classical authors, and "as a rule the author was not designated
by name, for this was at best inferred from the allusion."62 Yet Byzantine
authors rarely commented on each other's books, which makes it very dif-
ficult for us to know how they read each other and hence how they could
expect to be read themselves." A recent book has demonstrated the great
extent to which they shaped their own works around classical allusions, a
practice insufficiently appreciated by modern textual editors. This work
demolishes the naive notion that Byzantine texts can somehow be read "on
their own terms" without constant reference to their classical models."
Other fields in classical studies, for example Latin poetry, have focused on
the problem of intertextuality, for which they have developed sophisticated
analytical tools." But the study of Byzantine literature, which is still trapped
within nineteenth-century paradigms, has barely recognized the nature of
the problem. Few are willing to engage in the dialogue that allusions estab-
lish between classicizing authors and their models, possibly because such
sustained comparisons can potentially challenge entrenched notions about
the limitations of intellectual life in Byzantium. Though the same practices
are freely ascribed to ecclesiastical authors using biblical texts, they are
36 Chapter 1

rarely subversive in those cases, tending in fact to reinforce the conservative

assumptions of scholarly interpretation. Yet recent work has demonstrated
that authors such as Procopius made esoteric allusions to works of classical
literature and even used them to disguise, dissemble, or add nuance to their
own positions.
Classical allusions could be used to completely subvert the surface of
a text whenever authors wanted to express opinions that for various reasons
could not be stated openly. Procopius' successor Agathias, a lawyer, was
particularly adept at manipulating classical quotations in order to refute
Christian doctrines about the soul and bolster his praise for the Platonists
persecuted by Iustinian." Such devices could endow a narrative with two
overlapping levels of meaning, as was suggested by Lucian's anecdote about
the lighthouse of Alexandria. Only a few readers would see past the outer
layer to the inner message that was carefully hidden from the gaze of kings.
It is possible that virtually all ancient literature worth reading was written
in this way. Witness how Isocrates, a master of oratory and one of the
founders of the rhetorical tradition that stood at the heart of Byzantine
education, describes one of his own compositions:

those who read it casually will find it to be simple and easy to understand, but those
who go through it carefully, attempting to discover what the others failed to see,
will find it difficult and hard to understand, full of history and philosophy, and
filled with every kind of device and falsehood, though not such as is customarily
used to harm one's fellow citizens, but rather such as may playfully benefit or de-
light an audience."

In the course of our analysis, we will find that Procopius practiced this
form of esoteric rhetoric. A striking example that has already been exposed
by J.A. S. Evans should suffice for now. In 532 the Nika riots in the capital
nearly toppled Justinian's regime. The emperor, barricaded in the palace,
was about to flee when the empress Theodora delivered a rousing oration,
boldly encouraging him to fight back. According to Procopius, at the end
of her speech she quoted "an old saying, that kingship (basileia) is a good
burial shroud." Curiously, Procopius has made Theodora slightly misquote
the original saying, which is reported by Isocrates, Diodorus, and Plutarch.
It runs as follows: "tyranny is a good burial shroud." It was said by one of
the companions of Dionysius, the notorious tyrant of Syracuse, when he
was barricaded in his palace by a popular rebellion. Dionysius was about to
flee, but in the end, like Justinian, he used mercenaries to massacre the
rebels. The parallels are too close to be coincidental. Procopius has given
 Classicism and Its Discontents 37

Theodora's speech two levels of meaning. On a superficial level, it seems as

though her bold speech saved the regime. Readers who know their classical
history, however, in particular the narrative of Diodorus, are treated to an
implicit comparison of Justinian to one of the most brutal tyrants in his-
tory. Even though Procopius painted Justinian as a murderous tyrant in his
Secret History, he could not make that comparison in a public work such as
the Wars. But he could still mine the latter with ambiguous allusions. The
fact that the esoteric message of Theodora's speech tallies perfectly with the
way in which Procopius presents the empress in the Secret History supports
the validity of Evans' interpretation." It is inconceivable that he was trying
to present a positive picture of Theodora, whom he despised more than
any other person.
There is considerable resistance among some scholars to the idea of
double-edged remarks, for what is at stake is the presumed transparency of
ancient sources and their susceptibility to traditional philological tech-
niques' which prefer the safety of the surface to risky esoteric readings."
It is important to understand exactly what Procopius has done here, by
reconstructing his strategy. In recounting the Nika riots, he was stuck by
their similarity to the mass revolt of the Syracusans against the tyrant Dio-
nysius. The opportunity to make a comparison was too good to pass up
and there were a number of ways to do it. But quoting verbatim from
Diodorus' account would probably not do the trick. Though in the sixth
century Diodorus' preface was well known and copied by many, including
Procopius and Agathias, it is unlikely that even readers with a solid classical
education would easily recognize an allusion to Book 14 of his history. But
Procopius was blessed in that the event had generated a famous saying that
had been reported by a number of ancient authors and could easily be
linked to its original context. All he had to do was work that saying into
his account of the riots, but the problem was that it included a reference to
tyranny and could not be used in its original form. This, however, was
more of an opportunity than a drawback, because changing a well-known
saying could quietly draw attention to the sleight of hand. That is why he
makes Theodora very pointedly declare that the last line of her speech was
"an old saying."
Literary classicism involves far more than just style and narrative
structure and goes to the heart of Procopius' historical and political
thought. As stated earlier, the problem of Procopius is the problem of clas-
sicism. Our aim, however, should not be to compile lists of verbal borrow-
ings. We must try to understand the complex and playful relationship that
38 Chapter 1

exists between the historian and his models, to "consider what use the
thinker in question had actually made of his sources. "70 Sensitivity to those
classical models will enable us to perceive the humor and nuances that hide
behind even some of the smallest details of his text. 71 Through the system
of indirect reference that this relationship establishes, Procopius may be
saying more-or less-than is explicitly stated on the surface of his text.
In general, an allusion may be deemed to be significant when the pas-
sage to which it refers has an obvious bearing on the subject matter being
discussed. Skeptics may deny that such allusions were ever intended by
Procopius, arguing that he used a common stock of phrases and sayings
lifted from anthologies. In this case, resonance would have to be attributed
to coincidence. Though I have trouble believing that this can happen more
than once in a single text, my argument is in the end accumulative. Coinci-
dence can be invoked only so many times. It is one thing if the original
context of an allusion implies an esoteric interpretation of Procopius' text
once or twice; it is another thing if this happens virtually all the time. This
indicates that the quotations were not chosen at random; say, on the basis
of stylistic qualities. A large number of Procopius' allusions are significant
in this sense, if not almost all of them. We must decode them and translate
them into modern forms of discourse, because we have lost the ability to
read those texts in the direct way intended by their author. As it happens,
when these allusions are brought together and studied as a group, they fall
into meaningful and coherent patterns that cannot but reflect deliberate
strategies. This study will focus on those strategies. One of its surprising
conclusions will be that a considerable number of Procopius' allusions refer
us to the dialogues of Plato, and the Republic in particular. The historian of
Justinian's wars turns out to be a student of philosophy, and one of the
inner stories of his narrative revolves around the fate of philosophy under
that most Christian of imperial tyrants.

A Distorting Mirror?

One of the paradoxes of Byzantine studies is that first-rate historians and

philologists spend their lives studying a body of literature they detest. This
is particularly true of scholars in the British tradition, who have always
valued clarity of expression and denounced obfuscation and "rhetoric."
Rhetoric has always been regarded as a central aspect of Byzantine litera-
ture' which, as so many books and articles imply or directly state, was
 Classicism and Its Discontents 39

devoid of literary merit. Edward Gibbon initiated this tirade, which has by
no means been put to rest.

Not a single composition of history, philosophy, or literature, has been saved from
oblivion by the intrinsic beauties of style or sentiment, of original fancy, or even of
successful imitation .... In every page our taste and reason are wounded by the
choice of gigantic and obsolete words, a stiff and intricate phraseology ... and the
painful attempt to elevate themselves, to astonish the reader, and to involve a trivial
meaning in the smoke of obscurity and exaggeration. Their prose is soaring to the
vicious affectation of poetry: their poetry is sinking below the flatness and insipidity
of prose."

Though Gibbon's attack was directed against the literature produced after
the mid-ninth century, his modern successors, for example R. Jenkins, have
extended the charge to cover the entire Byzantine period and all forms of
its literary expression.

Byzantine civilization must be characterized, from first to last, as wanting in that

great gift which nature reserves for her favorites, poetic feeling and expression.
. . . Byzantine letters are deficient in every single thing which, ordinarily speaking,
characterizes a letter. ... The direct influence of Herodotus and Thucydides, though
avowed in all ages was superficiaL ... The paralyzing grip of Hellenistic rhetoric
was a straight-jacket which held its prisoners in a state of mental retardation."

These views contain implied comparisons to classical antiquity. R. Brow-

ning proposed that whereas "the classical scholar's texts are usually worth
reading from some point of view, what the Byzantinist finds is so often
empty rhetorical verbiage. "74
It would be easy to dismiss such opinions by setting them down to
arbitrary differences in taste. Yet the problem is more serious, for aesthetic
judgments can be legitimate only after the attempt has been made to under-
stand the works in question. The opinions quoted above are based on false
beliefs; that is, they are factually wrong in ways that should not apply to
informed aesthetic views. In fact, they only posture as literary criticism,
because they are not based on close readings of the texts. They are really
little more than impatient and superficial dismissals, based on prejudice
and a distorting lack of perspective. Byzantine rhetoric was deliberately al-
lusive, indirect, playful, and obscure, and hyperbole was often intentionally
ironic. Most Byzantine authors would probably have considered it too vul-
gar-or too dangerous-to state the truth simply and directly. The more
redundant and obscure their words, the more they were probably trying to
40 Chapter 1

say indirectly. At some point, differences of taste may naturally prove to be

irreconcilable. But until then our goal should be to understand what our
sources are trying to tell us, with sympathy and a mind open to ways of
writing other than our own. D. Afinogenov's harsh rule might also be ap-
propriate: "nobody should devote himself to serious literary analysis of
Byzantine texts unless he enjoys them as pieces of art."75 Moreover, this
analysis should preferably be done without the help of modern literary
theory, which actually does exemplify, if any body of writings ever did, the
qualities decried by Gibbon and jenkins." When all is said and done, we
may find that Byzantine authors were more intelligent and profound than
their modern detractors and had better taste to boot.
Scorn for what is perceived to be "affectation" has marred the discus-
sion of Procopius in recent decades. C. Mango has formulated two theses
regarding classicizing authors that have shaped all subsequent discussion.
Let us note that he has also endorsed Jenkins' harsh verdict on Byzantine
literature and admitted to deriving no pleasure from reading it: in his view,
Byzantine historians are read solely for the sake of the "information" they
may contain. Using Procopius and Agathias as examples of "highbrow"
literature, Mango compares their works to "distorting mirrors" and "an-
tique masks" that fail to give a "true reflection" of their own age. They lack
"flavor" and omit "the business of everyday life." Their circumlocutions
for Christian terms are again touted as a central component, if not the
essence, of their classicism." In addition, their classical mask was only a
disguise, a "mock facade" for a reality that was merely" dressed in theatrical
costume." If we remove the disguise, we find typical Byzantine mentalities,
what Mango calls "the average Byzantine's intellectual horizons." And these
"can most fully be appreciated only on the basis of lowbrow literature. "78
In other words, highbrow literature is lowbrow literature in disguise. Both
reflect the outlook of the "average" Byzantine, leaving no room for any-
thing above average. So the Byzantines were either average or illiterate. The
unstated assumption behind this view of their literature is that for about a
millennium, learned men read and studied Homer, Demosthenes, Herodo-
tus, and other classical authors, and were even educated on the basis of
those texts, but managed not to absorb any of their ideas or values. The
influence of ancient texts was confined to rhetorical forms and matters of
phraseology. They smoked but never inhaled.
So classicism both distorts contemporary reality and is superficial in
having nothing to do with an author's fundamental beliefs about the world.
As we will see when we turn to Procopius, a tension exists between these
 Classicism and Its Discontents 41

two positions, because one can only know that an author was an "average"
Byzantine if the realities of his time are somehow reflected in his work, but
if they are reflected clearly one cannot make the case for distorting classi-
cism. The stronger the former argument, the weaker the latter, and vice
versa. A delicate balance must be maintained for this approach to work,
but such caution is far from the realities of Byzantine scholarship. Mango
provides no proof whatsoever for either of his theses regarding Procopius.
His position rests on an arbitrary view of the "flavor" of the sixth century,
and he makes no attempt to demonstrate the degree to which it is reflected
in Procopius' works. Yet scholars have accepted his position uncritically."
Both horns of the dilemma have been directed against Procopius.
Again they lack mutual coherence and, in the case of the alleged distortion,
supporting evidence. Averil Cameron, as we saw, has argued that beneath
the classical "superstructure" of Procopius' work lay a typical Christian
mind of the sixth century. At the same time, she has asserted that his entire
conception of history, based as it was on classical models, prevented him
from making sense of the world around him. Specifically, his "self-imposed
limitations" led him

to omit altogether many of the major religious and social issues that actually deter-
mined governmental action, and to disregard, most of the time, the day-to-day
impact of Christianity on the lives of the majority .... These limitations were not
conducive to a high level of political and historical analysis.... Secular historiogra-
phy in the classical manner could no longer be adequate for a world in which the
very issues had changed."

Such sweeping accusations should be supported by numerous specific ex-

amples. We expect to be told exactly what Procopius neglected to discuss
and exactly how it calls his interpretation of events into question. But this
never happens. The charge is merely asserted over and over again, usually
on the most general level, as though it had somewhere else been proven in
detail. As in the passage quoted above, we hear of Procopius' failure to
"handle the Christianization of the state" and his exclusion of "ecclesiasti-
cal history." But these are very vague categories. What specific aspects of
the Christianization of the state did he neglect that were relevant to his
subject matter? Of course, the assertion that Procopius excludes religion
from his narrative is simply false, which undermines the" distortion" argu-
ment. Anyone can see that the Wars is full of bishops, churches, reported
miracles, and holy men. This undeniable fact leads critics such as Cameron
to make concessions, for instance that Procopius excludes religion "unless
42 Chapter 1

it impinges on the military narrative.'?" Yet if Procopius was primarily a

military historian and discussed religious issues to the degree required by
his subject matter, then we must conclude that the charge of ignoring cru-
cial evidence is unfair. Other scholars who have scrutinized specific por-
tions of his narrative have concluded that Procopius did full justice to the
importance of religious issues, for instance the role of Arianism in the wars
and revolts in Libya.82
Procopius' critics want to have it both ways. On the one hand, they
claim that his adherence to the classical tradition led him to neglect impor-
tant aspects of his age, and so he failed as a historian; on the other hand,
those aspects are supposedly so pervasive in his works that he can be classi-
fied as a typical (Christian) product of his own age. Thus, when it suits the
first argument, the cult of the Virgin is called a "noticeable gap" in Procop-
ius' works: it is merely "implied" in the Buildings and receives "no empha-
sis" in the other works. To support the second argument, the opinion is
cited with approval in the same book that the cult of the Virgin is "a notable
feature" of the Buildings." Either way, a lack of emphasis on the cult of the
Virgin is no more a "gap" in Procopius' works than the absence of cavalry
tactics is a gap in the works of Augustine. Yet the tangle of contradictions
is compounded further: the same scholar had argued previously that the
cult of the Virgin did not become prominent until the late sixth century
and had traced its popularity to developments that postdated the reign of
Justinian." All bases are therefore covered: the Virgin was prominent in the
works of Procopius; she was not prominent; and she could not have been
prominent.
Despite the frequent repetition of the accusation in general terms, only
one other specific "gap" is cited, but its relevance to Procopius' work is
never established and even its general significance is questionable. Cameron
accuses Procopius of failing to discuss Justinian's condemnation of the
Three Chapters, which she confidently places among "the real issues of the
day ... the issues that were predominant.":" The importance of the issue is
doubtful, and the claim is akin to Mango's vague reference to the "flavor"
of the age. The dispute over the Three Chapters was a very marginal matter,
relevant and comprehensible only to Justinian and a small group of conten-
tious bishops, mostly Libyans. Malalas, supposed by Cameron and others
to have been more in touch with "what mattered" in the sixth century, says
nothing about it. The major ecclesiastical historian of the century, Evagrius,
whose work reflects an Antiochene point of view, devoted a mere two pages
to it (in 4.38). By contrast, Evagrius' summary of Procopian material
 Classicism and Its Discontents 43

(mostly military) runs to almost twenty chapters (4.12-29). This yields a

very different view of what the "real issues" were, at least for contemporar-
ies, who did not view wars and plagues as mere "discourse."
Cameron fails to justify her assertion about the supreme importance
of the Three Chapters, nor does she prove its relevance to Procopius' narra-
tive. She does not mention that the Vandal War effectively ends with the
events of 546, whereas the dispute over the Three Chapters really picked up
in the late 540S (and feelings ran high in the early 550s). Curiously, in a
previously published article, she herself had asked: "In all the reaction to
the Three Chapters controversy it is the voices of the bishops that we hear;
but what about their flocks? What were their reactions?" The answer, as
she admits, is that we do not know, and at least according to one religious
historian, whom she cites, the majority of the Libyan population felt alien-
ated from the leadership of their Church." Yet two pages earlier she had
made the claim against Procopius that the wars in Libya "were as nothing
to the majority of Roman Africans compared with the threat which Justini-
an's policy was presenting to the integrity of their faith." Again, the reader
is left uncertain about which side of this baffling logic to accept.
So, we wonder, did Procopius distort the realities of the sixth century
or did he faithfully reflect them? Was he a classical historian who missed
the importance of Christianity or was he only superficially classical and in
all important respects a typical product of his age? Recent critics such as
Cameron have argued in favor of both alternatives, which is a safe proce-
dure, because the contradictions that result can then be laid at Procopius'
doorstep. However, that leaves us in the dark. The present study will argue
that neither alternative is correct, for they both misrepresent what it meant
to be a historian writing in the classical tradition. To accuse Procopius
of "disregarding the day-to-day impact of Christianity on the lives of the
majority" is to miss the point entirely. Daily life was never the primary
concern of classical historiography, far less that of the majority. If Procop-
ius fails to satisfy the modern fascination with trivial information about the
common man, or woman, then the same charge should be leveled against
all classical historians." Even so, it remains a fact that no other author gives
us a better sense of the flavor of life in the sixth century. If only we look
past the gripping accounts of battles and sieges, we will find that he de-
scribed human life in all its variety and, unlike the theologians, did not do
so in order to condemn or reform it. 88 Ecclesiastical authors, whom his
critics claim were more "in touch" with the realities of the period, were
rarely interested in this life at all, and the notion that abstract theological
44 Chapter 1

disputes "mattered more" to contemporaries than war, plague, and famine

is a modern conceit. In fact, one of the most authoritative scholars of By-
zantium argued in a little-read book that the average Byzantine neither
knew nor cared about the teachings of the Church Fathers, who in turn
cared very little for the actual existential situation of their flocks." As far as
the sixth century is concerned, no text offers us the variety of information
that we find in the Wars and Secret History, though it must be repeated that
it was not Procopius' primary aim as a historian to offer us that kind of
information.
This defense too is insufficient, because it takes a very narrow view of
Procopius' aims and does a terrific injustice to the profundity of classical
history, which was never just "military history." As students of cultural
diversity, few modern philosophers surpass Herodotus; as analysts of power
and ambition, only one or two rival Thucydides. As we will see, in his
mentality, Procopius was a thoroughly classical historian, and the prolifera-
tion of Christian themes in his work is part of an attempt to make sense of
the way in which politics and religion intersected in the sixth century. The
subject matter of a classical historian may be far broader and his techniques
more subtle than Procopius' critics have imagined. John Matthews' fair and
sympathetic assessment of Ammianus Marcellinus is equally applicable to
the great historian of the sixth century:

Here was a writer prepared to make sense of this age in the relatively familiar
terms of the classical historian, with the repertoire one was used to-high politics,
conspiracies and civil war, battles and sieges, social satire and moral judgments,
learned digressions, vivid portrayals of character, a multiplicity of names and
places-together with much that one was not-eunuchs in politics, Germans in the
high command, bishops in the cities, frank despotism and religious bigotry. Criti-
cize as one may Ammianus' opinions and choice of emphasis, it is hard to imagine
a writer more responsive to the issues and personalities of his time, and hard to
think of a topic on which, however peripheral to his own preoccupations, he does
not make some contribution to our understanding."

The view of classicism offered here reverses the polarity of "super-

structure" and "underlying mentality." As this study will argue, it was clas-
sical culture that gave shape to Procopius' fundamental objectives, outlook,
and modes of expression, whereas his occasional conformity to Christian
beliefs was little more than window-dressing for authorities that he could
not resist otherwise, though this is not to say that religion was not an im-
portant category of his historical thought. Through careful allusions, which
 Classicism and Its Discontents 45

begin as early as the first sentence of his work, Procopius points to the
tradition against which he wants to be read. But Herodotus and Thucyd-
ides, to say nothing of Plato, are entirely absent from Cameron's analysis.
Instead of engaging with the classical tradition, she and many other Byzan-
tinists anxiously downplay the importance of the classics for understanding
Byzantine texts and regularly assert, against all the evidence, that the Byzan-
tines had only a superficial knowledge of them." Ignoring his fairly explicit
cultural allegiances, Procopius' critics have deliberately tried to make him
"less classical" by reading him against his contemporaries, regardless of
whether they shared his interests and intellectual values. In other words,
they integrate him into his historical context by detaching him from his
transhistorical intellectual context. Not only does this prevent us from
seeing him on his own terms, we run the risk of greatly misunderstanding
his work.

Introducing the SecretHistory and the Buildings

At first glance, the most peculiar feature of Procopius' corpus is its division
into three parts that reflect different outlooks on the reign of Justinian.
Perhaps no other ancient author wrote a history, an invective, and a pane-
gyric, all for the same ruler. How are we to understand the relationship
between them? This must be done before any attempt is made to decipher
Procopius' larger meanings, for example his political thought. Has he given
any hints that might help us clarify the relationship between his works?
Unfortunately, discussions of this question have paid too little attention to
his own directions and have placed too much faith in modern tools of
analysis such as dating, biography, and genre.
In truth there is only one Procopius, but few scholars have been will-
ing to trust him on this. His authorial testimony, particularly regarding the
Secret History, has too often been circumvented. This testimony is both
explicit and implicit. The former consists of his direct statements on the
content and purpose of each work. The latter involves a tight network of
classical allusions deployed and skillfully varied to deepen the relationship
among the three texts that is implied in the direct statements. The remain-
der of this chapter will therefore examine the following related problems:
how the Secret History complements the Wars through secret "passages"
that lead from one text to the other; how the Buildings reverses the language
of the Secret History in such a way as to leave little doubt about their au-
46 Chapter 1

thor's true views; and, finally, whether the Buildings is a sincere work at all.
The focus here will be on the use of classical allusions and paradigms, as it
has been throughout this chapter. But first it is necessary to deal with at-
tempts to circumvent the testimony of Procopius.
Efforts to date the texts with greater precision, for instance, have led
to no insight regarding how they should be read. The Secret History and the
first edition of the Wars seem to have been completed around 551, shortly
after the last events they describe; the supplementary Book 8 of the Wars
was finished a few years afterward, probably in 554; and the Buildings was
composed probably in the middle years of that decade. So far, attempts to
date the texts with greater precision have yielded no facts of any relevance
to their interpretation, so it does not matter for our purposes whether any
of these dates are shifted by a few years. The works of Procopius, with the
possible exception of the Buildings, do not reflect the influence of events
that they themselves do not discuss. No changes in his views can be linked
to specific events, though scholars have looked there for the "key" to solv-
ing this problem."
Biography is equally futile. We know nothing about Procopius' life
beyond what he tell us, and he tells us nothing directly about his family,
upbringing, education, or close friends." He does not even give us a com-
plete account of his travels around the Mediterranean with Belisarius. As if
by chance, he appears in the narrative here and there. Clearly he traveled
more and knew more people than he tells US. 94 In short, what we know
about his life explains nothing crucial about his political and historical
thought. Attempts to trace his views to his social class are problematic,
because we know little about that either. Granted, his social views were
generally conservative, and he tended to side with the land -owning classes
against the encroachments of the imperial bureaucracy. But the same was
true of almost all ancient authors, especially of the imperial age, and it
tells us nothing interesting about Procopius in particular. His social rank is
unclear. It is unlikely that he was a senator, and the little that we know
about his career does not require him to have come from an especially
wealthy background. What can be inferred about his career does not really
answer the questions posed by his works, for any attempt to explain a
unique particular by referring it to a general circumstance is bound to fail.
To quote Hegel, "a great deal is often said about the mild Ionic sky which
supposedly produced Homer, and it did undoubtedly contribute much to
the charm of the Homeric poems. But the coast of Asia Minor has always
 Classicismand Its Discontents 47

been the same, and is still the same today; nevertheless, only one Homer
has arisen among the Ionic people."95
Many have regarded the Secret History as a manifesto for senatorial
circles hostile to Justinian's fiscal policies." Yet, although Procopius did
condemn measures that hurt the landowning classes, there is no proof that
he was acting as the spokesman for any particular group or social class. As
we will see, the work is too closely connected to the Wars to be considered
in isolation, it is too idiosyncratic to be a manifesto, and it targets far more
than just economic policies. Procopius complains on behalf of almost every
group in the empire, including bureaucrats, soldiers, peasant farmers, mer-
chants, skilled craftsmen, and prostitutes. It is impossible to link him to
any opposition group, and besides, the very existence of such groups, apart
from the pagan intellectuals, has never been proven." It is usually inferred
on the basis of the Secret History, making the argument perfectly circular.
Therefore, the social determinism that has been applied to Procopius'
works by one of his critics with the aim of laying bare his alleged "class
prejudices" should be rejected." To the degree that he can be assigned to
any group, the present study will argue that Procopius was linked to the
Platonists, whose hostility to Justinian was fundamentally intellectual. An-
cient philosophers did of course prefer conservative social orders, though
not for reasons that had to do with economic privilege. Procopius' alle-
giances in this case were philosophical, not social."
Genre is another modern chimera. The same scholars who offer a
class-based interpretation of Procopius' criticism of Justinian also argue
that the SecretHistory was constrained to operate within a particular genre
of anti-imperial invective, or Kaiserkritik, of which it happens to be the best
extant example, one actually followed by later dissidents. lOG However, it
does not appear that there ever was such genre. A moment's reflection
reveals that Roman authors attacked emperors in a wide variety of literary
formats, including poems, plays, orations, histories, satires, and epigrams,
that targeted an equally wide variety of failings, abuses, and vices. Those
texts are certainly worthy of parallel study, but "emperor criticism" was
not a formal genre. The contents and structure of the Secret History are
what they are because Procopius decided that they best suited the ideas
he wanted to convey, not because he was constrained to write within a
predetermined literary format. It is those decisions that we must try to
understand.
So let us turn to what Procopius says himself. The first sentence of the
Wars declares his intention to narrate "the wars which Justinian, the em-
48 Chapter 1

peror of the Romans, waged against the barbarians of the east and of the
west." We noted above in our discussion of the preface that in comparison
to the balanced introductions of his classical predecessors, Herodotus and
Thucydides, who declared that they would recount the wars of the Greeks
and the barbarians or of the Peloponnesians and the Athenians, Procopius
treats Justinian as the equivalent of whole nations and assigns him a more
active role in the wars of the sixth century than he does his barbaric oppo-
nents. This imbalance in the introductory sentence, however, points
toward, or rather aggravates, an even greater imbalance in the text as a
whole. For despite the prominence accorded to Justinian in the first sen-
tence' the remainder of the Wars discusses the barbarians far more than it
does Justinian, to say the least. One could even say that Justinian is rela-
tively absent from the work, despite being its alleged protagonist. He never
speaks in direct discourse, even in critical situations. This gap is highly
unusual for a work of classical history, in which important men and women
were supposed to speak in order to reveal their personalities and minds.'?'
Theodora, for instance, is granted a speech in the most critical of circum-
stances, wherein she reveals herself more fully than in any of her actions
(1.2 4.33- 37) .102
The Secret History, by contrast, is primarily about "the lives of Justin-
ian and Theodora" (1.4); that is, it redresses the imbalance between the
introductory sentence of the Wars and its content by discussing events that
happened everywhere within the Roman empire (1.1).And Procopius goes
on to make this link between the two texts explicit. The deeds of Justinian
and Theodora could not be revealed in the Wars due to the fear inspired
by the cruelty of the regime and the ubiquity of its spies (1.2-3). The Wars,
then, focuses on the barbarians beyond the frontiers; the Secret History on
the tyrants within (cf. 14.2). The degree to which Justinian and his oppo-
nents, or tyranny and barbarism, differ can be determined only through a
careful comparison of the two texts. And yet we must note that Justinian
does not speak in the Secret History either. There is something peculiar
about Procopius' depiction of Justinian, to say the least. The emperor seems
to be other than fully human.
In short, the Secret History is an esoteric supplement to the Wars. Had
Justinian's life been shorter, its contents may have been incorporated into
the Wars. 103 Contrary to what Cameron has claimed, the Wars is the "basis"
against which the unpublished work should be read, as Procopius specifies
when he says in the preface of the Secret History that he will tell there what
he could not include in the Wars out of fear. 104 This does not mean, how-
 Classicism and Its Discontents 49

ever, that it is nothing more than a series of isolated corrections and subver-
sive revelations, lacking structure and internal aims of its own. Fear may
have compelled Procopius to express his dissidence in secret; genius led
him to express it in an artful, purposeful, and intelligent way. The Secret
History is by no means a straightforward confession of its author's beliefs,
political or religious. It is a literary work like the Wars and fully classicizing
in all the senses discussed earlier in this chapter. The Secret History has its
own secrets.
The composition and fortuitous survival of a dissident treatise such as
the Secret History should cause us to read works such as the Wars written by
other authors with greater caution that we would otherwise. Many ancient
historians may have lacked the courage to set their true thoughts down and
limited themselves to carefully guarded statements in their published
works. Even so, some of the accusations of the Secret History are reflected
in the Wars, a work that manages to present the reign as unfavorably as
possible under the circumstances. Notably, Procopius establishes an inter-
play between his two texts through the use of classical allusions. We will
uncover a number of these correspondences in the course of our discussion;
one example should suffice here. At the beginning of the Vandal War, Pro-
copius calls Justinian, who was contemplating the invasion of Libya, "sharp
at formulating plans and resolute in implementing his decisions (~v yaQ
EJtLvoiloUL'tE o~v~ xni aoxvo~ 'ta ~E~01JAE1J~EVU EJtL'tEAEOUL)"
(3.9.25).
This alludes to a phrase in an important speech in Thucydides, which, when
read in context, discloses an implicit criticism of the emperor, one more-
over that Procopius himself makes openly in the Secret History. At the as-
sembly in Sparta, at the beginning of the Peloponnesian War, the
Corinthians condemned the Athenians as "innovators, sharp at formulating
plans and implementing in deed whatever they decide (VEOJ'tEQOJtOLOi xui
EJtLvoiloULo~El~ xni EJtL'tEAEOUL a
EQYcp flv yVWOLV)"(1.70.2). Procopius
has carefully omitted the damning word "innovation," knowing that classi-
cally educated readers would catch the allusion to the Corinthians' famous
speech and supply it for themselves. As it happens, "innovation," or the
disruption of the established order, is the main charge against Justinian in
the Secret History. In precisely one of the passages where the emperor is
accused of being an innovator (VEOJ'tEQOJtOL6~), Procopius deploys a vari-
ant of the Thucydidean phrase, calling him in the same sentence "sharp at
formulating and implementing base designs (EJtLvoiloUL ~EV 'ta cpUiJAU
xui EJtL'tEAEOUL o~v~)" (8.26).105 The correspondence is not due to coinci-
dence and reveals how carefully Procopius chose the context from which
50 Chapter 1

he culled his allusions. The esoteric reading of the Wars tallies with what is
said openly in the Secret History. Another way by which he managed to
accuse Justinian of innovation in the Wars was by placing the charge in the
mouth of a Gothic envoy to Persia (2.2.6).
The relationship between these texts is complex and yet internally
structured and self-contained; it has nothing to do with dates, biography,
or genres. A single author stands behind them, and he speaks consistently
in the same language. The problem of Procopius is the problem of classi-
cism, and the Secret History is an esoteric commentary on the Wars, not an
independent work in its own right. Let us note in this connection that the
author plays the same games in the Buildings as well. The Thucydidean
phrase used in the Wars and Secret History to refer to Justinian (6.5.4) is
applied there to the emperor's barbarian opponents! Again classicism turns
out to be not an affected imitation of "vocabulary" but a careful choice of
textual parallel, varied with omissions required by context but tending
toward the same purpose. Procopius reveals in the Secret History what he
could not in the Wars, but he also gives those fortunate enough to possess
the secret work many hints about how to read the public work. As we will
see again and again, the allusions in the Wars and the Buildings point to
what Procopius says in the Secret History, which is exactly what we would
predict if we took at face value his claim that it is the latter work that reveals
his true view of the regime.
Still, precisely because it is an esoteric work, the Secret History differs
in crucial respects from the Wars. These differences are best indicated by,
although by no means limited to, the fact that in the Wars, "tyrant" refers
almost exclusively to "illegitimate" usurpers-that is, the word accords
with the usage of imperial propaganda-whereas in the Secret History tyr-
anny is used in the classical sense of oppressive despotism and is only mar-
ginally concerned with a regime's legitimacy.!" Still, even on this matter,
there are "passages" leading from the Wars to the Secret History; for exam-
ple, the famous speech by Theodora which, unbeknownst to the empress
herself, compares the "kingship" of her husband to the "tyranny" of Dio-
nysius of Syracuse. In addition, some sections of the Wars are designed to
undermine the imperial usage of "tyranny" and "kingship" by praising the
beneficial rule of men branded as tyrants in imperial propaganda. Procop-
ius does not even require us to do much work here: he says that they were
officially labeled tyrants and, in the same breath, praises their just and be-
nevolent rule.'?' I can think of few historians of the imperial age who dared
 Classicism and Its Discontents 51

to express themselves with such frankness, and certainly none who did so
under a ruler such as Justinian.
The Buildings, on the other hand, is not a work of history, although
one of its many deceptions is that it begins by pretending to be one. In the
first sentence of its preface, Procopius calls it a "history" and lifts some
arguments from the preface of Diodorus of Sicily for the moral utility of
history (1.1.1-5).108As opposed to the preface of the Wars, which adduces
the blame of close associates as a sign of its own impartiality (1.1.5), the
preface to the Buildings emphasizes that the praise of virtuous deeds will
benefit emulous future generations. This too sets the Buildings apart from
the Wars and the Secret History, whose emphasis is also on blame. Yet de-
spite its claim to be a history, the work's true nature is revealed when it
begins to praise Justinian, mentioning his glorious wars, purification of
religion, and mercy toward conspirators. The author announces that his
theme will be the emperor's buildings (1.1.12,17). This is a panegyric, not
an impartial history, and the language used in the preface and throughout
reveals the influence of rhetorical conventions ("I lack confidence in the
power of my speech to do justice to the magnitude of these accomplish-
ments," "my lisping and thin-voiced speech," etc.).'?'
Therefore, considerations of genre apply to the Buildings in a way that
they do not to the Secret History. We are entitled, indeed required, to inter-
pret this work within the context of the panegyrical literature of the later
Roman empire. The theme of this particular work may be more narrow
than others of its kind, but there was always room for variation, and the
glorification of a ruler's buildings certainly accorded with the conventions
of the genre.'!" Considerations of biography also apply. Many have won-
dered what induced a man who risked so much by writing the Secret History
to compose a work that extols Justinian as a virtuous Christian monarch
and directly reverses the accusations of the unpublished work. The majority
of scholars who have examined this question have assumed-rightly, in my
view-that the Buildings was an insincere work of flattery prompted by
interest or danger. 11 1 The hope for personal advantage is suggested openly
by Procopius in the preface, where he states that subjects are most grateful
to rulers who benefit them and bestow praises upon them that far outlast
the benefits they themselves have received (1.1.4). It is also easy to see how
the author of the Wars and the Secret History could in some way or another
have incurred Justinian's anger and was compelled to prove his loyalty by
publicly endorsing the regime's ideology of beneficent Christian rule. It has
even been proposed that Procopius was involved in an attempt to assassi-
52 Chapter 1

nate the emperor that failed or was exposed, for twice in the preface he
pointedly praises Justinian for showing mercy toward conspirators (1.1.10,
16).112 It is unknown whether the work was actually presented before the
court. In some respects it appears to be unfinished, although that view has
been contested. 113
Some of the differences between the Buildings and the Secret History
concern the moral or theological interpretation of the reign. Whereas in
the Buildings he praises the enforcement of religious uniformity (1.1.9), in
the Secret History he states-using the same words-that the emperor's
zealous belief in Christ led him to commit untold crimes against his sub-
jects, giving priests free rein to oppress minorities and himself killing here-
tics in order to obtain religious uniformity, "for he did not consider it to
be murder if his victims were of a different faith" (13.4-7). Other times,
ambiguous statements in the Buildings seem to be clarified ironically by
what Procopius had written in the SecretHistory. For example, in the Build-
ings, he castigates "the insolence and boundless luxury" of certain unnamed
persons who built villas in the suburbs outside the capital (4.9.3-5);114 in
the SecretHistory, he reveals that it was Justinian who had filled the suburbs
with pointless buildings, "as if the palaces in which all the previous emper-
ors had preferred to live were not enough for him and his household"
(26.23). Finally, there are factual discrepancies between the two texts. These
are so strikingly antithetical that they are certainly deliberate. For example,
in the Buildings, he praises the emperor for restoring the defenses of Ther-
mopylae and stationing soldiers there in place of the farmers who defended
the pass against enemies (4.2.1-15); in the Secret History, he reveals that it
was the venal logothetes Alexander, who, with the emperor's approval, re-
placed the farmers with soldiers as a pretext for appropriating local funds to
the imperial treasury (26.31-34). Recent attempts to date the archaeological
remains suggest that Procopius exaggerated the scale of Justinian's repairs
to the walls of Thermopylae. There are many more parallels of these kinds
between the two works. 115
There is no question which is the real Procopius. When reading him,
as well as many other Byzantine writers, we would do well to heed an
observation made in 1720 by John Toland, a disciple of John Locke:

Considering how dangerous it is made to tell the truth, tis difficult to know when
any man declares his real sentiments of things .... There is nevertheless one obser-
vation left us, whereby to make a probable judgment of the sincerity of others in
declaring their opinions. Tis this. When a man maintains what's commonly be-
 Classicismand Its Discontents 53

Iiev'd, or professes what's publicly injoin'd, it is not always a sure rule that he speaks
what he thinks: but when he seriously maintains the contrary of what's by law
established, and openly declares for what most others oppose, then there's a strong
presumption that he utters his mind.!"

Procopius certainly "utters his mind" more freely in the SecretHistory than
in the Buildings. Yet that does not necessarily mean that the former text is
an immaculate confession of his beliefs while the latter is a purely rhetorical
encomium that could have been written by anyone in the same circum-
stances. We will examine the Secret History in a later chapter. For now let
us look at the Buildings, which also reflects Procopius' hostility to the re-
gime, though for obvious reasons it is far more veiled than in the Wars.
Scholars have detected many instances of possible sarcasm. For example,
Procopius seems to mock Chalcedonian theology when he unnecessarily
digresses to ridicule the ancient "myths" about centaurs, which "childishly
say that there was a strange race of men in times past compounded of the
nature of two creatures" (4.3.12). Let us note in this connection that his
successor Agathias was also highly adept at intruding implicit criticisms of
the Church into denunciations of pagan rites and beliefs.'!" As an astute
study of techniques of dissimulation cautions, "a remark slipped in surrep-
titiously can be more important than the conventional development around
it."118Procopius also describes an equestrian statue depicting the emperor
in the guise of Achilles. He mentions the brilliant radiance that flashed
forth from its helmet and adds that "one could say poetically that here
is that Star of Autumn" (1.2.9-10). When classicizing authors say things
"poetically," they are usually alluding to Homer, and the allusion here has
been duly detected: in the Iliad, Achilles is compared to the Autumn Star,
"which is brightest among the stars, and yet is wrought as a sign of evil and
brings on the great fever for unfortunate mortals" (22.26-31). It would not
have been at all unreasonable for Procopius to expect some of his readers
to know the Iliad by heart and recognize the implications of the pointed
comparison of Justinian to both Achilles and the Autumn Star, the bringer
of evil. Procopius emphatically directs our attention to his source by refer-
ring to "that" Autumn Star. He introduces another curious Homeric allu-
sion in 1.1.15,where he calls Justinian "gentle as a father." The lines spoken
right after this in the Odyssey by Telemachus are: "and there is now this
greater evil still: my home and all I have are being ruined" (2.47-49). It was
a common literary device in antiquity to quote a line from Homer or an-
other famous poet and allow the audience to supply the following lines,
54 Chapter 1

which turn out to be surprisingly relevant. We even have amusing examples

of men able to recognize the context and sinister implications of a line of
poetry even when they were half asleep or drunk. 119
Again, in the preface of the Buildings, the emperor is compared to two
great leaders, Themistocles and the Persian king Cyrus. Both are ambigu-
ous, particularly Themistocles, who is rarely, if ever, invoked in panegyrics.
Procopius cites one of his boasts, that he knew how to make small states
large (1.1.7). Let us look at the original context of that statement. Plutarch
begins his Life of Themistocles by saying that his origins were obscure, his
father Neocles undistinguished, and his mother a barbarian from Thrace or
Caria. On the next page, he reports that later in life the Athenian statesman
would rudely boast that he could make small states great when others ridi-
culed his complete lack of cultural refinement and social skills. That is why
Procopius pointedly calls Themistocles "the son of Neocles," though there
was only one Themistocles known to the tradition.'>" In the Secret History,
he targets the lowly origins of Justinian's family: his uncle, the emperor
Justin, used to be a poor Illyrian farmer and remained illiterate throughout
his reign, a fact that is attested in other sources; while Justin's wife was a
barbarian slave who used to be his concubine.':" Later in the Buildings, he
mentions the Illyrian "village" from which Justinian hailed before discuss-
ing his foundation of Justiniana Prima nearby (4.1.17).122As with Theodo-
ra's speech in the Nika riots, Procopius has selected an exact parallel from
a classical text that suggests an unflattering truth. Themistocles' feelings
of social inferiority may provide psychological insight into the imperialist
ambitions of the Roman monarch.
As for Cyrus, Procopius compares him to Justinian because "he was
the most excellent king of whom we have ever heard and most responsible
for creating an empire for his people" (1.1.12).Be that as it may, he was also
a Persian king-that is, a barbarian-and, as we will see, one of Procopius'
objectives in his other works is to portray Justinian as a barbarian despot,
an alter ego to his nemesis, the Persian king Chosroes. The Roman emperor
in the Secret History and his Persian counterpart in the Persian War are
shown to possess the same wicked character and are denounced for the
same vices. Through a variety of literary devices, the historian postulates a
moral and political equivalence between thern.!" There were many other
virtuous rulers besides Cyrus to whom Justinian could have been com-
pared,':" but he was the only barbarian king who could be invoked in a
panegyrical work. That is why here the historian pointedly calls Cyrus "the
Persian," though there were only two men with that name in the tradition,
 Classicismand Its Discontents 55

and both were Persians. Naturally Justinian was superior to Cyrus. Com-
pared to his reign, the rule of Cyrus "may be regarded as a kind of child's
play (paidia)," a pun on the title of Xenophon's famous treatise, the Cyro-
paedia, or "Education of Cyrus" (1.1.15).But the phrase also recalls a strik-
ing passage in the Secret History that attacks Justinian's administration for
making "the state seem like the game of 'King' played by children (JtaL-
~ov'ta JtaL<)La)" (14.14). This correspondence is unlikely to be coincidental,
but what does the passage in the SecretHistory have to do with Cyrus? Well,
it just happens to be based on a passage in Herodotus that describes a game
played by the young Cyrus and his playmates in which they pretended
that Cyrus was their king (1.114: Jtal()E~ JtaL~ov'tE~, El~ ... 'twv JtaL()OJV
au ~JtaL~OJv).
Whoever denies that centaurs, that Autumn Star, a gentle father,
Themistocles "the son of Neocles," Cyrus "the Persian," and the games of
children are intended ironically must explain why they are present at all.
There is too much coincidence here and too great a correspondence be-
tween the original context of the allusions in the Buildings and the accusa-
tions in the SecretHistory. It is our task to understand Procopius' choices,
particularly when they seem odd, and to maintain the coherence of his
stance toward the regime without invoking subconscious motives. Like
many other panegyrics, the Buildings is an insincere and possibly coerced
work of flattery, full of subversive allusions and grievous factual distortions.
Some of its lies have been exposed by archaeological research and by the
comparison of the author's panegyrical boasts to the often contradictory
narrative in the Wars.125 As a panegyrist Procopius lacks enthusiasm for his
subject and, as has aptly been said, "often seems bored."!" He mentions
the bare minimum of imperial virtues required to give his work a passing
grade, and his descriptions are rhetorical in the worst sense. In fact, he
hints at this possibility in his comparison of Justinian to Cyrus. It is entirely
possible, he says in passing and quite unnecessarily, that Xenophon exag-
gerated Cyrus' deeds through the "power of his speech ()VVa~L~ rof
AOYOU )" (1.1.13-14). Such skepticism only suggests the possibility that Pro-
copius' own praise may be exaggerated, and, as it happens, in the very first
line of the Buildings he refers modestly to his own "power of speech (AOYOU
()VVa~L~) ," using exactly the words that he applies later to Xenophon
(1.1.1). The number of coincidences continues to mount. What Procopius
cannot say explicitly about his own mendacious rhetoric he attributes to a
panegyrist of the past, one moreover who could be shown by any compe-
56 Chapter 1

tent historian to have engaged in fiction. It is for that reason all the more
an interesting choice for comparison. 127
But is the Buildings thoroughly insincere? Procopius' most influential
recent interpreter has attempted to salvage certain aspects of the text as
truly indicative of his worldview. Averil Cameron has questioned whether
concepts such as "sincerity" are really applicable to the Buildings and has
suggested that regardless of what the panegyrist may have thought about
Justinian, he still accepted the basic premise that Christian emperors ruled
by the grace of God. The Buildings therefore confirms the thesis that Pro-
copius was a conventional Christian of his age. Though this view is sup-
ported by more assertion than proof, it merits discussion as it is
symptomatic of a general misunderstanding of Byzantine intellectual life
that has come to constitute a scholarly orthodoxy. Panegyrical texts stand
at the heart of this orthodoxy, for they most clearly expound the ideology
out of which scholars have constructed an imaginary metaphysical entity
called the Byzantine Mind, which they ascribe without much variation to
all individual Byzantine writers. Those texts furnish virtually all the general-
izations that underlie the modern belief in a uniform Byzantine worldview
and enable scholars to circumvent the thorny hermeneutical problems
posed by highly idiosyncratic authors such as Procopius.
Cameron fails to offer analytical arguments in support of her thesis
about the Buildings. Instead she merely places words such as "insincerity,"
"real," and "true" within quotation marks, thereby suggesting that they are
inappropriate or misguided and that scholars who use them are somehow
naive. Yet she fails to provide the rigorous conceptual proof required by
that stance. Placing words within quotation marks may achieve a certain
rhetorical effect, but it does not qualify as an argument. It is only a posture
and impossible to maintain consistently: she calls other scholars' views
about what Procopius believed the supposedly "true" or "real" beliefs of
Procopius, but her own conclusions about what was true or real do not
receive skeptical punctuation marks. 128
The question of sincerity lies at the heart of panegyrical discourse.
Contrary to what Cameron states at one point without explanation, there is
no difference between modern and ancient notions of sincerity.':" Witness
Augustine, who confessed "how unhappy I was ... on that day when I was
preparing to deliver a panegyric on the emperor! In the course of it I would
tell numerous lies and for my mendacity would win the good opinion of
people who knew it to be untrue."!" Augustine's testimony alone refutes
the assertion that "panegyric certainly did not evoke the problem of'sincer-
 Classicism and Its Discontents 57

ity' ascribed to it by modern scholars."!" Many ancient and Byzantine

sources attest explicitly that it did exactly that.!" It was a commonplace of
ancient political thought that tyrants could not endure equality and de-
manded abject flattery.'>' As a modern philosopher asked, "Is any speech
addressed to a tyrant by a man who is in the tyrant's power likely to be a
sincere speech?"134Any dictionary will define flattery as insincere praise,
and Cameron gives no reason why we should reject this perfectly good
word. We possess abundant evidence about flattery at Justinian's court
from Procopius and others. The deacon Agapetus composed a series of
edifying aphorisms for the emperor that repeatedly warned against "the
deceitful words of flatterers" who have no regard for truth.!" Procopius
realized that Justinian was highly susceptible to flattery (see below), and
another contemporary, John Lydus, who was asked by the emperor to write
a panegyric on the reign and then a history of the war against Persia, knew
that "it was not safe to refuse the requests of an emperor such as he."136
Cameron dismisses out of hand the notion that there may be irony in
the Buildings, claiming at one point that it would make its author's "knowl-
edge of Homer very sophisticated,"137 and we presumably know that the
Byzantines are not supposed to have had a sophisticated knowledge of the
classics. An essential aspect of allusions is thereby adduced as an argument
against their existence! Cameron is, however, fully aware that the text con-
tains many misrepresentations, distortions, and deliberate falsehoods, espe-
cially on the archaeological side, which even she ascribes to "panegyrical
considerations." Her warning that certain "panegyrical devices" in the
work cannot be trusted, "even when there is no direct evidence to the
contrary," strongly implies that even she views this kind of rhetoric as men-
dacious.!" So why should we accept that Procopius was "sincere" when he
praised the emperor as ruling by the grace of Christ? Cameron gives no
arguments for this view, saying only that the Buildings is not insincere in
this regard because it offers a "sustained Christian interpretation of the
reign."!" But Procopius could hardly have written any other kind of pane-
gyric for Justinian, especially if he were in dire need of his favor or pardon.
Cameron also knows that sixth-century authors were under severe political
constraints, and she even suggests that" conformism was essential" in those
parts of their works where they endorsed "the general theory of imperial
rule that was now standard." Yet on the next page, she simply asserts that
"there is no reason to think that they failed to subscribe to it," despite
the fact that "much" of what they say "can be attributed to panegyrical
convention.l't" But how much? Cameron wants to save the Buildings only
58 Chapter 1

insofar as it can help her make its author into a conventional Christian;
otherwise, she is prepared to jettison its factual claims as "panegyrical" and
even to deny that Procopius was sincere when he applied the theory of
Christian kingship to Justinian in particular.!" It seems as though Procop-
ius could lie about everything but his religion, a limitation that is fortunate
for modern scholars preoccupied with the religious beliefs of men in late
antiquity.
Procopius, as we will see, was no Christian and therefore did not sub-
scribe to any Christian theory of kingship. In any case, his views on this
important matter cannot be determined on the basis of a work as treacher-
ous and insincere as the Buildings. In the Secret History, he explains that
Justinian was highly susceptible to flattery, particularly when it elevated
him to the level of God. "His flatterers would persuade him with no diffi-
culty that he was raised up to the heavens and walked upon air (~E'tEOJQO~
aQ8ELf) xui aEQo~a'tOLf))" (13.11; cf. 14.16-17, 22.29). This allusion to the
portrayal of Socrates in Aristophanes' Clouds-hoisted up in a basket
searching the heavens for gods 142-makes a mockery of the emperor's piety,
but it also strengthens the point that Justinian was more likely to be influ-
enced by pious flattery. Well, in the Buildings, Procopius happens to use
the very same words to describe how the mind of anyone who enters Justin-
ian's great church of Hagia Sophia "is raised up to God and walks upon air
(JtQo~ rov 8EOVEJtaLQ6~EvO~ aEQo~a'tEl)" (1.1.61). Surely this is not an-
other coincidence! The entire purpose of the discussion in which the words
occur in the Secret History is to explain how they might be used to flatter
Justinian's religious accomplishments, exactly what Procopius does in the
Buildings and with exactly the same language. The one text again explains
the other.
The allusion to the Clouds leads us to a deeper, more sinister conclu-
sion. Socrates' comic claim to be walking on air occurs most famously at
the beginning of the play but is repeated sarcastically and ominously at the
very end by Strepsiades, who burns down the philosopher's house and ac-
cuses him of having insulted the gods and prying into the dwelling of the
Moon (15°3-15°9). Both passages refer to Socrates' "contemplation" or
"contempt" of the Sun (JtEQLCPQOVW is ambiguous), which Strepsiades cor-
rectly views as Socrates' contempt for the gods. What might this suggest
about Procopius' attitude toward the god of Hagia Sophia if his viewpoint
was Socratic? Be that as it may, in the Secret History, Procopius again alludes
to both phrases when he accuses Justinian of "prying into celestial things,
and developing an undue curiosity about the nature of God" instead of
 Classicism and Its Discontents 59

dealing with pressing matters of state. "The entire earth," he says, "was
drenched in blood" (18.29-30). The relationship between the Buildings, the
Secret History, and their classical sources are again complex and not merely
verbal. 143 But to understand how the allusions that bind them together
function in practice, the reader must know Homer, Plutarch, Xenophon,
Herodotus, and Aristophanes. Classical scholars are perhaps better pre-
pared to understand Procopius in this respect than social or art historians
of the sixth century.
Procopius even tells an anecdote about the emperor's inability to de-
tect false and ambiguous praise. Tribonian, the famous legal scholar, once
told him that "he was afraid lest the emperor be snatched up to heaven one
day because of his piety." Justinian was so confident of his own greatness
and, we might add, so devoid of humor, that he took this "joke" quite
seriously (13.12). Curiously enough, the tenth-century lexicon Souda links
this episode to Tribonian's presumed Hellenic atheism and opposition to
Christianity.':" Be that as it may, the ancient rhetorical tradition offered
much practical advice on tyranny and flattery. In an important article on
the art of safe criticism in ancient Greece and Rome, F. Ahl adduces Seneca:
"the more open flattery is, the more outrageous, the straighter it keeps its
own face ... the more quickly it takes its victim by storm."!" Those with
power want to believe that they are admired; they need little persuasion.
Procopius knew that with Justinian the most effective flattery was that
which prayed upon his religious vanity, for the discussion of flattery in the
Secret History focuses exclusively on its religious side. Therefore, if we go
by what Procopius himself tells us, the religious aspect of the Buildings is
the one we are least authorized to accept as sincere. That he offers in that
work a "sustained Christian interpretation of the reign" proves only that
he knew what he had to say given his circumstances. The work elevates
Justinian very close to God, suggesting at one point that he had earned
"honors equal to those of God" (1.10.19). This phrase has been ascribed to
irony when viewed from the historian's point of view and to uncommon
vanity when viewed from that of the emperor. 146
Procopius' mention of the emperor's divine honors merits further dis-
cussion, because it too has a curious parallel in the Secret History. The
historian mentions this honor in a description of a famous, albeit now lost,
mosaic in the palace. In the center were depicted Justinian and Theodora,
surrounded by scenes of conquest and war. And "around them stands the
Senate of the Romans, all in a festal mood. This is indicated by the cubes
of the mosaic ('4Jf)cpl()E~) which brighten their faces with merry colors. They
60 Chapter 1

exult and smile as they bestow on the emperor honors equal to those of
God on account of the magnitude of his achievements." Contrast the pas-
sage from the Secret History that laments the Senate's fate under Justinian:
"The Senate sat as though in a picture (waJtcQ EVcLXOVL),having no con-
trol over its vote ('4J~cpo~) and no ability to do good, given that it assembled
on account of an ancient law and an empty form (ax~~a)" (14.8).
The discussion of flattery in the Secret History clarifies both the aim
and the techniques of the Buildings. The emphasis in both texts on religion
indicates only that Procopius understood the ideological dimension of Jus-
tinian's tyranny, not that he accepted it. But the historian never ceased to
ponder the problem of coercion in societies such as his own in which power
was distributed very unequally. In Book 8 of the Wars, written perhaps at
the same time as the Buildings, Procopius placed some very interesting so-
cial observations in a letter sent in late 551by the Persian general Mermeroes
to Goubazes, the king of the Lazi, who was at the time an ally of Rome and
at war with Persia. 147 We will later have occasion to notice how the historian
exploited the speeches and letters of his characters to interject his own
thoughts into the narrative. For the moment let us observe the wise words
of this general, which have less to do with the immediate context of the
military narrative and more to do with the struggles of Procopius himself,
their true author. Note how toward the end of the letter he explicitly signals
to the reader the universal applicability of his thoughts to all human socie-
ties.

There are two things that regulate the lives of men, power and prudence. Some,
who are more powerful than their neighbors, live according to their own will and
always lead those who are inferior in whatever way they please, while others, who
are enslaved to their superiors on account of their weakness, compensate for their
impotence through discretion, approaching the powerful through flattery, and are
no less able to live amidst their own possessions, enjoying by their flattery all those
things of which they would have been deprived by their weakness. And these things
do not hold true among some nations, while it is differently among others; rather,
one can say that it holds true for all human beings everywhere in the inhabited
world, no differently from any other natural characteristic. (8.16.23-24; cf. 2.6.3 with
2.6.7)

To conclude: students of late antiquity have imbued the word classi-

cism with a negative connotation. It denotes lack of originality, sterile imi-
tation, derivation. The possibility has not been considered that it may
instead have been a source of strength, that writers such as Procopius actu-
 Classicism and Its Discontents 61

ally learned from their classical models and used them as a mirror on which
to reflect their own meanings through a closely knit network of allusions
and structural parallels. As Seneca put it, "he who writes last has the best
of the bargain, for he finds already at hand words which, when marshaled
in a different way, show a new face. And he is not pilfering them, as if
they belonged to someone else, when he uses them, for they are common
property."!" But Procopius was hardly the first to write in this way. Classi-
cism began immediately with the birth of the classical, in the eighth century
B.C .. The first known verse inscription, the famous Cup of Nestor, contains
an allusion to Homer. The joke on the cup cannot be fully understood
unless one knows the text of the Iliad to which it refers. It is "nearly the
oldest example of alphabetic writing and, at the same time, Europe's first
literary allusion, an extraordinary fact."!" The Greeks wrote like this
throughout all periods of antiquity, and that Procopius did so should in no
way be correlated with the fact that he happened to live in what is now
called the "later" Roman empire. Plato himself was "late" compared to
Homer and Hesiod, to whom he constantly alludes. Already by the fifth
century B.C. the epic poet Choerilus could pen verses complaining, with
allusions to Homer, that everything had already been apportioned, the arts
had reached their limits, there was nowhere to go and nothing left to say. 150
The classical tradition classicized from the very beginning, in the very ways
in which we observe in Procopius. We should not hesitate to enroll him
among the ranks of the classical historians, and among the best. There is
no category of analysis that has been brought to bear on his models that
cannot be applied with profit to his own text. The following chapters will
explore his anecdotes, Platonic mimesis, political thought, and belief in
tyche and will argue that the philosophy of Procopius was as indebted to
his classical models as was his way of writing.
 Chapter 2

Tales Not Unworthy of Trust: Anecdotes

and the Persian War

Ancient and Byzantine historical narratives represent a nexus of

scholarship and literature. To describe real events, they utilize techniques
of empirical verification in conjunction with a broad range of literary de-
vices. Also, they have moral or philosophical goals that seem inappropriate
to factual reporting today. This has long been known, though its implica-
tions have not been absorbed into the mainstream of scholarship, at least
not with regard to Byzantine writers. Narratives are still evaluated primarily
in terms of factual reliability, while anything that may distort that is set
down to "bias" or, at best, "worldview" (a more charitable, if nebulous
category). Still, there are passages that do not make even that cut and are
ascribed to incompetence or bad judgment. This is the fate of many anec-
dotes found in the works of all but a very few ancient historians such as
Thucydides. Along with omens, they are among those aspects of ancient
historiography that make modern readers most uncomfortable. They seem
to be little more than unsubstantiated rumor and are furthermore not sus-
ceptible to quantification, which frustrates social historians.
But this is to miss their purpose and function. A man's personality,
for instance, was not always simply described in so many words. Often a
story was told about him from which it could be inferred. So too the char-
acter and history of nations. Whereas modern studies of wars introduce the
two sides by analyzing their social and political structures, foreign interests,
and geography, many ancient historians conveyed the essential points
through anecdotes. Readers have to think hard about these stories to ap-
preciate their significance, for serious authors would never include them
merely to entertain. The function of anecdotes is intimately linked to the
main themes of the work in which they appear. That is why so many of
them lack historical context: it is easier that way to structure them around
key ideas. Detecting and appreciating those concepts, that is, reading,
 Tales Not Unworthy of Trust 63

should be an intellectual challenge and not a passive reception of informa-

tion. Readers are required to draw their own conclusions. Procopius' suc-
cessor Agathias, for instance, suggests in his preface that anecdotes were
central to the moral purpose of his history: they made the harsh teachings
of political philosophy more palatable. 1 Plutarch more or less admitted that
the material contained in his lives of Theseus and Romulus was legendary
but not for that reason devoid of merit.' "Legends can often cut to simple
truths that the fastidious accuracy of the historical record obscures."?
Discussion of the anecdotes in Procopius has not gone beyond the
question of factual validity. This approach is preferred, I suppose, because
it is safe: it precludes literary judgments, which may be faulted as subjective.
There is no danger in comparing different versions of the same story found
in separate sources, and analyses on the grounds of coherence and plausi-
bility almost always have skeptical conclusions-again, safe for scholarly
reputations. This approach, however, runs a greater risk than literary sub-
jectivity, for it may entirely misrepresent the purpose of specific passages.
Anecdotal "truth" functions on a different level than factual reliability.
Some authors even explicitly warn that some of their stories are not strictly
true. It is precisely here, in this paradox, where the historian is least con-
strained by and least interested in factual reliability, that we must seek the
key to his intentions and "truth."
I have chosen to focus on the series of anecdotes that constitute the
introduction to the Persian War, though my approach applies equally to
those in the introductions of the Vandal and Gothic War. Even if my specific
interpretation of these stories is wrong, I still believe that we must engage
them in a similar way. They should no longer be dismissed as stupid and
pointless.
Procopius' account of the war between Rome and Persia essentially
begins with the invasion of Roman territory by the Persian king Cavades
and the fall of Amida in 502-503 (1.7). Before launching into that narrative,
however, he outlines, as promised at the end of the preface (1.1.17), a brief
history of the relations between the two states in the century following the
death of Arcadius in 408. This section of the work, which I will call the
introduction of the Persian War (1.2-6), has been regarded as one of his
weakest passages. It consists of a series of unconnected episodes, some of
which are highly anecdotal, impressionistic, or outright fictitious while oth-
ers retain a measure of credibility but are so vague as to give no concrete
information about the relations between the two states. Among other sto-
ries, we are treated to what one scholar has called a "ludicrous anecdote
64 Chapter 2

about a 'swimming' oyster that was pursued by a shark.':" Scholars have

agonized over these tales, doubting their credibility and vainly searching
for their sources. Yet in the end they remain at a complete loss as to why a
historian of Procopius' caliber would include such fanciful material in his
work. One scholar interested here only in factual reliability passes over the
introduction with little discussion: "it does not amount to much real his-
tory-rather to a mixture of anecdote and notices taken from a variety of
sources, mixed in with a fair amount of literary dressing."? Another has
concluded that it must be a light hearted joke on Herodotus after all: Pro-
copius is "poking fun at his classical models" and "is not meant to be taken
too seriously.'?" Another proposed that "the purpose of the introductory
chapters was to entertain the reader, rather than to examine earlier events."?
But even in the modern world of short attention spans, digressions and
entertainment are reserved for later on, when the audience is fatigued. Why
would Procopius begin a serious narrative with entertainment?
I contend that we must read these stories with the utmost seriousness.
This is not to deny the presence of playfulness. Yet their primary purpose
is to establish the fundamental parameters of the remainder of the narra-
tive. They also point toward the heart of Procopius' political thought,
which, as we will see, was in many ways indebted to the teaching of Plato's
Republic. That Procopius expounds his political thought in a series of
largely unhistorical vignettes and not, as with scholars today, in a theoreti-
cal introduction rich in technical jargon and abstract theory indicates the
difference in the ways that ancient and modern historians grapple with the
problems of historical truth.
The following investigation of the introduction to the Persian War will
focus on four interrelated problems: (a) What function does each story
serve within the context of the Persian War as a whole? In other words, why
did Procopius choose to include a particular story in his introduction and
why does it take the particular form it does? (b) Is historical accuracy the
guiding principle of his exposition, or did he occasionally bend the truth to
convey a message of his own? (c) Are the stories in the introduction inde-
pendent of each other, as has been assumed so far, or do they form a greater
whole? In other words, does the introduction as a whole tell a story that
cannot be found in any of its constituent parts? and (d) How do the stories
of the introduction tie in with other passages where Procopius divulges his
political thought, notably in the Secret History? I will argue that there is a
close correspondence of expression between the two texts, which indicates
 Tales Not Unworthy of Trust 65

that Procopius' political thought was not only coherent but actually shaped
his view of recent history.

Arcadius and Isdigerdes (1.2.1-10)

We begin with the dilemma of the dying emperor Arcadius (395-408), who
realized that his seven-year-old son Theodosius could not rule indepen-
dently yet feared that an ambitious regent would overthrow him." To fore-
stall a Persian war and simultaneously prevent court factions from toppling
the dynasty, Arcadius ingeniously designated as regent the Persian king
Isdigerdes (Yazgird I, 399-420), entreating him to safeguard the succession.
Isdigerdes, distinguished by "nobility of mind and virtue," faithfully carried
out this charge. The peace was maintained because no Roman dared pro-
voke the Persian king by overthrowing the young Theodosius.
Scholars are divided about the historicity of this peculiar event." The
first to doubt it was Procopius' continuator Agathias, who admitted it was
widely known, though he had never seen a written version of it prior to
Procopius. Agathias did not reject it outright but thought it implausible,
primarily because a Christian emperor would not have entrusted a pagan
with something so important (4.26.3-8). There does not seem to be any
way to resolve this dispute today. It is clear, however, that Procopius pre-
sents the episode out of its historical context, for he fails to consider the
religious and economic relations between the two states at that time. We
know that serious discussions were under way in 408-409 regarding trade
and the status of Persia's Christians that resulted in substantive agree-
merits." Furthermore, the episode seems irrelevant to the course of the
wars of the sixth century. One scholar could explain its presence only by
claiming that it "appealed" to Procopius "as a colorful tale."!' But let us
take a closer look. What is the significance of this tale to the wars of the
sixth century?
We must first wonder why Procopius chose to begin his introduction
with the reign of Arcadius. Given the long peace of the fifth century, the
reign of Cavades, who resumed hostilities against Rome, presents a more
logical starting point. In this connection we must note that the "regency"
episode, unlike those that follow it in the introduction, is exceptional in
that it focuses more on the Roman ruler than on his Persian counterpart.
It is therefore to Arcadius that we must turn. He was the first of the later
emperors who did not campaign in person and preferred to reside perma-
66 Chapter 2

ncntly in the capital. This policy, which decisively shaped the Roman re-
sponse to Persian attacks for over two centuries, constitutes a major factor
in the narrative of the Wars.12 To give just one example, Belisarius is made
to say at one point that Justinian "is so far removed from events that he
cannot adjust his actions to the changing circumstances" (2.16.10). Interest-
ingly, Procopius also begins the Vandal War with the reign of Arcadius'
brother, Honorius, who followed the same policy in the west. Honorius is
presented as especially pusillanimous, and the two brothers are contrasted
to their father Theodosius I, who, Procopius notes, was "a very capable
military leader" (3.1.2). Despite being a dynastic founder, therefore, Theo-
dosius was really the last of a kind, for his sons inaugurated a new model
of Roman kingship, to which Justinian, mutatis mutandis, conformed. We
know too that the propaganda of Arcadius' court downplayed the value of
military glory, emphasizing the king's piety instead. One modern historian
has even referred to "the demilitarization of imperial ideology."13
Procopius initially presents this new model of demilitarized kingship
in a positive light. Arcadius himself was an imbecile, as the historian openly
admits," but he made a wise decision that secured internal stability and
peace on the frontier. In accordance with the actual ideology of Arcadius'
regime, Procopius attributes that decision either to divine inspiration or to
learned advisors, though he does not divulge their names." His account
lacks circumstantial detail, probably because it represents a schematic ideal
rather than an accurate historical narrative. The two factors that contrib-
uted to Arcadius' decision represent the two political ideals of antiquity:
rule by the wise, even if only indirect, and rule that is divinely inspired.
Only these factors could redeem a ruler such as Arcadius, who was distin-
guished by neither wisdom nor military skill. In this context, is it worth
noting that these same factors recur at the end of Book 1 of the Wars, only
in reverse form: Justinian's advisors were corrupt and evil and God opposed
his regime (1.25).
The Persian king Isdigerdes possessed precisely those virtues that his
Roman counterpart lacked. Like all Persian kings depicted after him in the
Persian War, he was a soldier, and his only action in the episode is to
"threaten war" upon those who would conspire against his charge." He
was noble and virtuous, qualities manifested not only in his fidelity to Ar-
cadius' will but also in the "strength and foresight" that ensured the suc-
cessful discharge of his promise." Whereas Arcadius had need of divine
inspiration or wise advisors to conceive his plan, Isdigerdes required neither
in order to carry it out. The success of Arcadius' plan depended upon Per-
 Tales Not Unworthy of Trust 67

sian virtue and a degree of mutual trust. Yet it was precisely the decline of
Persian virtue that led to wars between the two nations in the sixth century
and the absence of mutual trust that led to the unnecessary prolongation
of those wars. The regency episode represents an ideal situation on both
sides, from which all elements of discord and hostility have been removed.
The Roman and Persian kings here possess their respective virtues to the
highest degree. Agathias' criticism was astute but misplaced, because he did
not appreciate the overall dynamic of Procopius' introduction. The theme
of religious tension is introduced gradually in the narrative of the Persian
War, as are all the factors that made tyrants more common than virtuous
kings on both the Roman and the Persian side and made hostility between
them inevitable. The peace hinged upon fragile moral qualities.
Far from being a colorful, albeit irrelevant, anecdote of dubious histo-
ricity, the regency episode captures the essential parameters of the relation-
ship between Rome and Persia, setting them on an ideal plane that
foreshadows the downward course of the ensuing narrative. It sows the
seeds of Roman weakness and Persian aggression. What happens to Rome
when its rulers remain sedentary but lose their wise advisors and divine
assistance (as under Justinian), and what happens to Persia when its rulers
remain warlike but lose their nobility and virtue (as under Chosroes)? In a
sense, the Persian War is nothing other than the chronicle of that decline.
The first tale related in the introduction is as profound from a historical
point of view as it is effective from a literary one. From this point of view,
it has little to do with the facts about Arcadius.

Anatolius and Vararanes (1.2.11-15)

After Theodosius II attained maturity and Isdigerdes died, the Persian king
Vararanes (Bahram V, 420-438) invaded Roman territory. Procopius offers
no explanation for this hostile action. In response, Theodosius sent as his
sole envoy the commander of the eastern army, appropriately named Ana-
tolius, who approached the Persians without escort and dismounted before
the king, an action which by itself convinced Vararanes to return to his
own country and settle the dispute peacefully.
If we evaluate this story as a factual narrative we must find Procopius
guilty of gross error or, at best, naive credulity. The war with Vararanes
occurred in 420-422, but some believe that Anatolius was magister militum
per Orientem during the war of 440-441 against Yazgird II (438-457).18 If
68 Chapter 2

this is true, his account is hopelessly confused and useless. Even if an Ana-
tolius did hold that office during the earlier war of 420-422, which does
indeed seem to have been the case after all, we are still faced with an utterly
implausible account of the conflict, not to mention a conflation of the
events of the two wars." According to the detailed information found in
contemporary sources, in 420-422 there was heavy fighting on two fronts
and the negotiations were probably concluded by Anatolius' successor, a
man named Procopius." More important, can we really believe that a Per-
sian king called off an offensive merely because a Roman general dis-
mounted before him?
Procopius had first hand experience of too many wars to believe a
story like that. He almost certainly had more information about the war of
420-422 but chose to produce this stylized episode instead. Its "truth" re-
sides not in the facts that it relates but in what it tells us about the frame-
work of the military encounters between Rome and Persia. First of all, it
moves us from the Constantinopolitan court to the Roman border. This is
where most of the action of the Persian War will take place. The emperor
is now distant; he must act through delegates. This will remain the only
method of response to the Persians for the remainder of the narrative. The
Persian king, on the other hand, is present at the head of a substantial
army, as will be all of his successors. He commands its unquestioned obedi-
ence: when he turns his horse around, "the entire Persian host" follows
him without a word. Let us note here that Procopius never depicts Persian
kings holding court. Always on the move, they seem never to reside for any
length of time in cities. When the king speaks with advisors, Procopius
never specifies where; when envoys seek him out, they "overtake him" or
"happen upon him," never in a city or palace but at locations such as "in
Assyria, near the two towns Seleuceia and Ctesiphon" (2.28.4-6). Persia has
no fixed center.
The Roman general Anatolius, on the other hand, does not have an
army. No Roman army is mentioned in the entirety of the introduction to
the Persian War. This is disconcerting and probably foreshadows the dismal
state of Roman defenses when the Persians invade in earnest. When Chos-
roes decided to violate the Eternal Peace, he encountered minimal resis-
tance. The only thing the Romans could do was send their bishops to beg
him for mercy. At one point Chosroes even suggested to the Roman envoys
that the Persians would be happy to "guard" the empire for a small price
(2.10.21-23). Thus, the behavior of Anatolius foreshadows the Roman re-
sponse to the aggression of Chosroes. Anatolius' humility before Vararanes
 Tales Not Unworthy of Trust 69

is the first occurrence of a recurring pattern. In the Persian War, Romans

will repeatedly prostrate themselves before a foreign tyrant, unable to resist
him with arms.
Like his predecessor, Vararanes is warlike; he invades Roman territory
with neither cause nor pretext. His successors will repeatedly do the same.
Vararanes has lost something of the virtue of Isdigerdes, though he has
retained his warlike nature, and foreshadows the open aggression of Ca-
vades and Chosroes. Yet he still has a degree of honor: it is precisely "the
sheer magnitude of the honor" shown to him by Anatolius that persuades
him to turn back. Perhaps his invasion was simply inspired by a desire for
glory and honor. And he treats Anatolius "with great courtesy," a trait that
will also decline. The Persian kings will ultimately break free of these ethical
qualities, which for the moment restrain the tyrannical and arbitrary nature
of their position.
With superb economy of language, this episode prepares us for what
is to come by initiating the gradual decline of Persian virtue, illustrating the
parameters of the wars on the frontier and suggesting that the Roman
modes of defense were woefully inadequate.

Ephthalites, Persians, and Romans (1.3.1-1.4.13)

The next episode begins with yet another Persian king, Perozes (459-484),
attacking his neighbors with a large army. These were the so-called White
Huns, or Ephthalites, whose territory bordered on the Sasanid realm to the
northeast." Procopius describes two expeditions, both of which ended in
disaster. The Roman emperor (Zeno) is again represented by a delegate; an
ambassador named Eusebius accompanied the first expedition." Perozes
was led by the Ephthalites into a trap, but the Persian officers who realized
this were too timid to speak up. Instead they entreated Eusebius to inter-
vene. Kings, it seems, do not look kindly on the bearers of bad news, and
sometimes only foreigners may tell the truth safely. Even Eusebius could
not speak openly to Perozes: he devised a fable about a lion lured by a
bound goat into a trap set by hunters. Fables are a safe way of speaking the
truth before kings." We may consider the possibility that the fable of Euse-
bius is to the situation of the Persian army what the stories in Procopius'
introduction are to the wars of the sixth century, and soon Procopius too
will treat us to an animal fable.
Perozes understood the purport of the fable, but too late: his army
70 Chapter 2

was surrounded, and the king of the Ephthalites demanded that Perozes
prostrate himself (proskynein) as to his master (despotes) and swear an oath
that he would never again attack the Ephthalites. Perozes gave pledges of
peace, but, having consulted his magi, resorted to the following stratagem
to avoid the humiliation of prostration: he bowed before his victorious
enemy at dawn, when the Persians were accustomed to bowing before the
rising sun. So although technically he complied with the demands of his
enemy, his action carried a twofold significance, for it could be viewed as
either submission to a stranger or reverence for native customs. Whereas
Eusebius' fable had two related meanings, an outer one of no interest that
pointed toward an inner one of critical importance, the prostration of Per-
ozes had two completely different meanings. However that may be, "not
long after this Perozes disregarded his oath" and again attacked the Eph-
thalites, who again pretended to flee, leading him into a concealed trench,
where he perished along with his entire army and all of his sons."
Procopius prefaces his account of Perozes' two expeditions with an
interesting ethnographic digression on the Ephthalites (1.3.2-7). This pas-
sage repays close study as it reveals some interesting truths about the reia-
tions between Persians and Romans, the chief subject of the introduction
of the Persian War. We will return later to the place of Perozes in the se-
quence of Persian kings.
Procopius claims that the White Huns, or Ephthalites, are unlike their
relatives the other Huns in appearance because they are white and their
faces are not disfigured. "Nor are they nomads," for they possess a city,
Gorgo, and a settled land. "They do not live in a savage manner, as the
Huns do, for they are ruled by one king, possess a lawful political system
(politeia ennomos), and always deal with each other and their neighbors in
an upright and just way; in these respects they are not inferior to the Ro-
mans and the Persians." This is high praise indeed for the barbarian Eph-
thalites. Yet the effect is marred by their only custom (nomos) that
Procopius recounts: each of their prosperous citizens selects twenty or more
companions, with whom he shares his wealth and influence. When he dies,
they are buried alive with him." The Ephthalites may indeed have nomoi,
or customs, but they are utterly alien, even repelling. We wonder how jus-
tice and civility can coexist with such nomoi.
Procopius' excursus is disturbing, for it calmly equates the most atro-
cious customs with the civilized life of his Roman readers. How is it possible
for just and upright people to bury their citizens alive? The apposition
magnifies the foreignness of the Ephthalites by forcing the reader to conjoin
 Tales Not Unworthy of Trust 71

such discordant elements as lawful society and ritual mass murder. This
reminds us of passages in Herodotus that also describe quite abominable
customs "in an altogether neutral fashion, even using technical vocabulary,
as if they were the simplest and most common practices in the world.">
This has the effect of forcing his readers to compare their own customs to
those of the barbarians. Like Procopius, Herodotus often likens a foreign
nation to the Greeks but then subverts the comparison by ascribing bar-
baric customs to them. The Medes and the Lydians, for example, swear
oaths just like the Greeks, only they cut their arms and lick each other's
blood (1.74). The Lydians have the same nomoi as the Greeks, except that
they prostitute their daughters (1.94).
Why does Procopius, a Roman, speak so highly of the Ephthalites?
Who are the Ephthalites? He claims that they are not nomads, but his nar-
rative is inconclusive. They have but a single "city," on the border with
Persia (1.3.2, 1.4.10), but never try to defend it against attack, as Romans
would." When they hear of Perozes' second invasion, they are nowhere
near it; they and their king are somewhere in the interior, thinking only of
"their land, their weapons, and other possessions" (1.4.3-4). Perozes by-
passes Gorgo as though it were of no importance (1.4.10). The city's name
means "grim, fierce, terrible," whence the homonymous monster of classi-
cal mythology. In Procopius, as in Byzantine Greek, the word can also mean
"swift.'?" We now wonder what the Ephthalites do in peacetime. We know
that they are horsemen (1.4.7) and that they are always on the move, at least
when they are at war.
There are interesting parallels between this part of the Wars and the
account in Herodotus of Darius' disastrous expedition against the Scythians
(4.118-142). The Scythians were the archetypal nomads of the ancient world;
they also obeyed a single king and had terrible nomoi of their own (4.59,
4.76,4.80). In the accounts of both Procopius and Herodotus, Persian kings
lead large armies against elusive horsemen of the north; both campaigns
end ignominiously. Both enemies pretend to flee before the invading force
while remaining effectively invisible and in full control of events. The
Scythians and the Ephthalites both defeat the Persians without ever fighting
a battle by leading them astray and into traps." It is worth noting here a
curious similarity in their burial customs: according to Herodotus, when a
Scythian king died, more than fifty of his attendants, whom he had chosen
from among his own people, were strangled to adorn his tomb (4.71-72).
Thus, despite Procopius' explicit claim that the Ephthalites are not
nomads, that they have a city and laws and a just society, there is still
72 Chapter 2

something ineluctably Scythian about them. This quality remains in the

margins of the text, on the periphery of our vision. Whereas the digression
elevates the Ephthalites from the "beastly" level of the Huns, who were
often called Scythians by contemporaries;" their actual behavior indicates
that they have not entirely shed their nomadic qualities. Modern research,
drawing on eastern sources and archaeological reports, casts the Ephthalites
as nomadic in conscious defiance of Procopius' claim that they were not."
Yet these are the people whom he presents as equals in civilization to the
Romans and the Persians. The comparison is undeniably peculiar; the
Roman reader would probably find it utterly preposterous. I believe that it
is entirely an invention of Procopius. None of the information available to
him would have justified it.
But perhaps we are missing the point, just as the king of the Ephthal-
ites did not realize that Perozes' homage was directed not at him but at the
sun rising behind him. The primary goal of the excursus may after all be
not to praise the Ephthalites, who are incidental at most to the narrative of
the Persian War. Perhaps its purpose is accomplished in that unobtrusive
and unnoticed secondary clause that states that they were not inferior to
either Romans or Persians; that is, the clause that postulates an equality
between Rome and Persia with regard to the highest things. Recall that
"a remark slipped in surreptitiously" may be "more important than the
conventional development around it. "32 Let us consider what it might
mean.
On the strictly diplomatic level, in the official correspondence between
rulers and the speeches and treatment of ambassadors, the legal fiction of
the equality of the two empires was proclaimed and even scrupulously ob-
served by both sides." Procopius often has Roman envoys call Chosroes the
"brother" of Justinian, and we find analogous metaphors for the two rulers
in other sources, for example the two eyes of the human race, the two
shoulders or the two mountains of the world, and so forth." The empires
were, after all, roughly matched in military strength, a fact that naturally
generated respect. And continuous contact on the individual and mercan-
tile level no doubt led to a degree of mutual appreciation and understand-
ing. Yet chauvinistic attitudes were probably bound to prevail in the long
run." Outside the tactful world of diplomatic exchanges, Greek and Roman
writers inevitably looked down on the Persians, who were, after all, barbar-
ians, and therefore enemies of civilization. In this respect, they closely ad-
hered to the view of Persia that they had inherited from the classical Greeks,
who depicted its state as fundamentally tyrannical, its ruler as above the
 Tales Not Unworthy of Trust 73

law, its subjects as offensively servile. The Persian king was the archetype
of the oppressive despot. 36 Given the centrality of classical sources in the
education of literate Greeks during the empire, it was inevitable that they
should view first the Parthians and then the Sasanids through the lens of
Herodotus' Achaemenids." Some historians modeled their narratives di-
rectly upon Herodotean stories (which, as we saw, does not necessarily
falsify them)," while others erroneously depicted the Sasanids as self-con-
scious heirs of the Achaemenids who grandiosely demanded the return of
all lands conquered by Cyrus and Darius. Interestingly, the Achaemenid
connection was more obvious to the Greeks than to the Sasanids, who do
not seem to have known much about the empire of Darius." Agathias, for
instance, dealt with Persia extensively, and, though he seems not to have
relied heavily upon Herodotus, he followed classical sources in depicting
the Great King as a despot and his people as irredeemably barbaric." The
Strategikon of the emperor Maurice (ca. 600) calls them "wicked, dissem-
bling, and servile ... they obey their rulers out of fear" (11.1).Procopius
also instinctively calls the Persians barbarians and deftly employs classical
concepts and images to present their kings, especially Chosroes, as ambi-
tious despots who ruled above the law and their subjects as slaves who
obeyed out of fear."
And yet it is this same Procopius who claims that the Persians were
equal to the Romans in obeying "one king, possessing a lawful political
system (politeia ennomos), and always dealing with each other and their
neighbors in an upright and just way." What is the meaning of this equa-
tion? Roman diplomats did maintain the fiction that of all the nations in
the world only Rome and Persia had a legitimate political system, a po-
liteia;" but none of them went so far as to claim that the Persians were just
and upright. Not only does Procopius make this unconventional claim in
the context of two unjust Persian invasions of Ephthalite territory, he
stands alone in extending the privileged status of politeia to the Ephthalites.
It is important to realize that he is speaking here in his own voice and
not from an official diplomatic standpoint. And yet in the Persian War he
consistently depicts Persia as a despotic state that treated its neighbors and
subjects in an unjust and lawless manner. How are we to understand the
equation of Romans, Persians, and Ephthalites? Perhaps we are looking at
the wrong side of the equation. Instead of seeing it as a compliment to the
barbarians, we should see it as an indirect indictment of the Romans. For
the Ephthalites to attain parity with the Persians and the Romans, the Ro-
mans must be lowered to the level of the archetypically barbaric Persians
74 Chapter 2

and the vaguely Scythian Ephthalites." If it is ludicrous to say that the

Persian state behaved in a lawful and just manner to its neighbors, in the
midst, no less, of a narrative that highlights its aggression, it is then sarcastic
to equate Persia with "the upright and just" Roman empire. We may be
satisfied that this passage is intended ironically if Procopius elsewhere de-
picts the Roman empire of the sixth century as a lawless despotism in which
tyranny has displaced politeia. That is exactly the main argument of the
SecretHistory, and it is also reflected in many passages of the Wars.
The theme of the barbarization of the Roman empire follows multiple
paths of exposition in the Wars. Procopius naturally treats the barbarization
of the army, in terms of both recruitment and tactics, and traces its effects
on the empire's ability to wage war. This theme will be examined in a
separate discussion. His interest in barbarization also focuses on the two
kings, the two most powerful individuals in the world, who came to resem-
ble each other in strange ways. For instance, during the great invasion of
540, Chosroes briefly becomes a Roman emperor, whereas at the beginning
of the Vandal War, Justinian is cast as a new Xerxes, contemplating the
conquest of western lands." In the SecretHistory, Procopius calls Justinian
"a barbarian in his speech and dress and manner of thinking" (14.2), and
the main theme of the work is the total subversion of law and justice by
that avaricious tyrant and his murderous consort. Justinian "managed to
demolish the entire political structure (politeia) of the Romans" (13.32),45
"he unscrupulously abolished the laws" whenever there was money to be
made (27.33), and "the scales of justice were set up in the marketplace"
(14.10). In addition, like his Persian counterparts, he insisted on being called
"despot" and demanded that magistrates be called "slaves" and perform
proskynesis to him (30.21-26). So now we know what it means to say that
the Romans were equal to the Persians in "possessing a lawful political
system." It was tyranny that united Romans and Persians in a common
fate, for "tyranny is essentially rule without laws, or, more precisely, mo-
narchic rule without laws.":"
As it happens, a fifth-century source tell us of a Greek who believed
that life was actually worse in the Roman empire than among the Scythians,
which is what he and Priscus, the historian who met him at Attila's court,
called the Huns. Although he believed that the Roman laws (nomoi) and
polity (politeia) were good, he lamented their ruin by corrupt and incompe-
tent authorities. Priscus' reply does not really address the Greek's charges.
In fact, it seems that "the speech ... acts as a vehicle for Priscus to attack
current abuses.":" Complaints such as this were common in the later em-
 Tales Not Unworthy of Trust 75

pire, though few perhaps would have preferred life with Attila." Procopius
was probably unique among his contemporaries in depicting the empire as
barbarized on a multiplicity of levels, the throne being only the most prom-
inent and consequential. The excursus on the Ephthalites takes us as far
from Byzantium as the Persian War ever goes, but it is only there that we
learn something fundamentally important about the Roman empire of the
sixth century. Other ancient writers had also used this technique, going as
far as Sri Lanka to disguise political dissidence behind the seemingly neutral
language of ethnography."
Whereas the first two episodes of the introduction illuminate some of
the essential differences between the two empires, the third begins by point-
ing to their important similarities. When tyranny is factored into the equa-
tion of Rome and Persia, the irony of the discourse on lawfulness and
justice is made apparent. The naive confidence of the Roman reader in the
superiority of his own culture may begin to falter. As we will often have
occasion to see, the stories about the Persian kings in the introduction to
the Persian War tell us as much about Roman tyranny as they do about
Sasanid despotism. These stories may not be strictly true, but they prepare
us for the gradual unfolding of Procopius' political thought.

The Pearl of Perozes (1.4.14-31)

We may now turn to the story in the introduction that has most perplexed
commentators, who vainly search for sources and dismiss in frustration the
whole passage as "anecdotal.">' Where has Procopius' good sense gone?
Why does he relate fanciful tales at such length?
It is said, Procopius reports, that as Perozes was about to fall into the
ditch of the Ephthalites, he cast away an extraordinarily large and beautiful
pearl to prevent another from possessing it after him. Though Procopius
doubts that such a thought would occur to Perozes under those circum-
stances, he proceeds to relate at length the tale of the pearl, which he has
learned from the Persians. "Perhaps this story will not seem altogether un-
worthy of trust," he says, but in any case it is "worth telling." In other
words, like so much else in the introduction, its function is independent of
its historical validity. According to the tale, a monstrously large shark fell
deeply in love with a pearl oyster swimming in the Persian Gulf and could
not bear to leave it, even when forced by necessity to hunt for food. A
fisherman reported this fact to Perozes, who was seized with a great longing
76 Chapter 2

to possess the extraordinary item and induced the fisherman to obtain it

for him. In a long speech, the latter asked in return that the king provide
for his children should he be devoured by the shark in the attempt, which
is in fact what happened."
The story of Perozes' pearl was cherished by later Byzantine authors, 52
though for reasons that probably had little to do with its function in the
Wars. Procopius questions its validity and openly doubts that the king
would bother to discard the pearl in the face of imminent death. He empha-
sizes repeatedly that it is the Persians who tell the tale about the shark. And
yet he still deems it worthy of inclusion, hinting that its value is indepen-
dent of whether or not it is true. The rhetorician Aphthonius (ca. 400) had
defined fables as "false sayings that mirror the truth.">' What counts, as
with so many of Herodotus' equally quaint stories, is the purpose that it
serves in the narrative. 54 Procopius presents us with a blend of animal fable
and royal anecdote; the two are bridged by the fisherman, who is devoured
by the shark and callously sacrificed by the king. In fact, the king and the
shark are contenders for possession of the pearl. The shark is called a
"lover" of the pearl no less than three times and exhibits all the aggression
and indifference for basic needs that characterize human lovers." Perozes
is likewise seized by a powerful "longing" (pathos) to own the pearl, a
longing that consumes itself at his death, when he tries to destroy it so that
no one else may own it after him.
The fundamental contrast in the story is between king and subject. To
the fisherman, money is dear, life dearer, and children most valuable (1.4.22
ff.). He faces danger partly from greed but mostly from concern for his
offspring. His worries are humble, all too human compared to the immod-
erate longing of his master (despotes) for beautiful and rare items. The fish-
erman hopes that Perozes will seek a reputation for "virtue" and provide
for his children if he should be devoured by the shark. But the fisherman
is sorely mistaken; such virtue has passed from Persia since the days of
Isdigerdes, who cared for the son of the foreign Arcadius. Perozes neither
acknowledges his request (1.4.27; was he even listening?) nor, for all we
know, grants it once the pearl is in his hands. The magnitude of his pathos
deafens him to the words and needs of his subjects. The reader's expecta-
tions, built up by the pathetic speech of the homely fisherman, are shattered
by Procopius' silence about whether the king provided for his children once
he had acquired the pearl.
This fable, which takes the decline of Persia, and not only of Persia,
one step farther, reveals an important truth about the nature of royal power
 TalesNot Unworthy of Trust 77

and desire, just as Eusebius' fable of the lion and the hunters revealed Per-
ozes' rashness and imminent defeat. Pathos, or immoderate longing, was a
term used repeatedly by Arrian for Alexander the Great's passion "to see"
new lands and unique relics and associate himself, like Perozes, with ex-
traordinary objects and achievements." The connection extends beyond
this concept. Procopius' claim that the story of the pearl is worth telling and
may not seem altogether incredible directly echoes the preface of Arrian's
Anabasis. As it happens, Arrian was widely read in the sixth century, and
his prefaces would have been the most well-known parts of his works, so
an allusion seems probable. 57 With respect to their pathos and longing, Per-
ozes and Alexander were also similar to Xerxes, the archetypal barbarian
despot, who was repeatedly seized by "the desire to see" remarkable sights
while leading his army into Greece." Likewise, when he invaded the Roman
empire in 540, Chosroes was also seized by "a desire to see" famous cities
and attractions, or so Procopius claims (2.11.2). Note that Perozes valued
his pearl chiefly because no other king had ever possessed its equal, a fact
that is stated at the outset of the tale (1.4.14). There is something quite
immoderate about his pathos, which leads him to sacrifice a loyal subject in
order to obtain a valuable object. In a passage that, as we will see, shaped
Procopius' political thought, Plato argued in the Republic that pathos was
central to the emergence of the tyrant (573a). And Perozes stands exactly
midway between the virtue of Isdigerdes and the tyranny of Chosroes.
Yet for all his fierceness (1.3.12),dishonor (1.3.21),faithlessness (1.4.1),
and callous selfishness, Perozes is not a complete tyrant. He is neither en-
tirely savage nor erotically motivated; those qualities belong to the shark.
Perozes is instead characterized by an immoderate desire for valuable ob-
jects. His fundamental urge is to acquire. He wants the land of the Ephthal-
ites and longs for the pearl, which symbolizes his grasping nature, just as it
does that of Justinian and Theodora in the Secret History, interestingly
enough (11.41-12.4).
The shark, on the other hand, is "dreadfully savage" and a fervent
"lover." We must not overlook the political dimension of Procopius' insis-
tence in this passage on cognates of eros. In Greek thought, eros could
designate any" desire destructively excessive ... for something other than
sex."?" Nietzsche would later call it the Will to Power. According to Thu-
cydides, the greatest event in the Peloponnesian War, the Sicilian expedi-
tion, was undertaken by the Athenians in a frenzy of imperialistic passion,
which the historian attributes to eros. And the empire of the Athenians was
acknowledged by them and others to be a tyranny." It is interesting that in
78 Chapter 2

Herodotus, eros refers only to illicit sexual desire or desire for tyranny, a
deliberate combination." This association of ideas was actually common in
Greek thought. Not only was sexual lust often referred to as tyrannical'?
but, conversely, Plato argued in the Republic that the roots of political tyr-
anny lay in the untamed erotic drives of the tyrant. And eroticism in the
Republic is by no means restricted to sex."
As an erotic predator, the shark has few rivals in Procopius; all are
tyrants. We will examine Cavades and Chosroes in due course." For now
we should note the prominent, albeit careful, use of eros in the Secret His-
tory, a work devoted to the condemnation of the tyrannical regime of Jus-
tinian and Theodora. The latter's sordid background is too well known to
need discussion." Even after her elevation to the throne, it was rumored
that eros could captivate her heart, causing her to lash out with bitter sav-
agery against an unfortunate young man, who was made to "disappear.':"
She is also made to refer to paramours as "pearls" (3.16-17). Yet the greatest
concentration of cognates of eros in Procopius' work (no less than six in
about as many lines) is deployed precisely when Justinian falls in love with
Theodora. It is no coincidence that eros completely dominates the narrative
at this point, for it was erotic drives that formed the union that ultimately
ruined the Roman empire." Initially, the marriage was opposed by the old-
fashioned empress Euphemia, but after her death Justinian compelled Jus-
tin, a doddering old man, to abrogate the ancient law prohibiting marriages
between senators and courtesans (hetairai) and issue a more accommodat-
ing regulation, which Procopius amusingly calls nomos heteros. Thus does
eros overturn the natural order, inducing sharks to neglect their hunger,
husbands to forgive the adultery of their wives," and ambitious men to
abolish ancient laws.
It has not yet been noticed that Procopius' account of the marriage
between Justinian and Theodora, albeit unquestionably historical," is mod-
eled on the marriage of the mad Persian king Cambyses to his sister, as told
in Herodotus. Cambyses knew that ancestral custom opposed his desire to
marry her, so he cowed the royal jurists into circumventing the ancient law
and "discovering" a new one that better suited his interests: "he who was
King of Persia could do anything he wished" (3.31). Herodotus' tongue-in-
cheek comment that the shifty jurists had thereby saved the ancient law
from annulment does not quite hide the fact that the new law represented
the subversion of all law. And this is precisely what Procopius states, by
echoing the language of Herodotus: Justinian's marriage was made possible
by the annulment of the ancient law." Thucydides had also alluded to this
 TalesNot Unworthy of Trust 79

very passage in Herodotos to highlight the tyrannical nature of the Athen-

ian empire," and the Secret History, as we have seen, revolves around the
subversion of law by the tyrant Justinian.
The two marriages stand at critical junctures in the narratives of the
two historians. Herodotus flouts proper chronology by placing Cambyses'
realization that he could do whatever he pleased in the middle of his ac-
count of the mad king's attacks on the customs of the Egyptians and the
Persians, even though in reality the incestuous marriage must have oc-
curred much earlier. The new law enunciated by the Persian jurists reveals
the fundamental principle of despotism, and it is no accident that Herodo-
tus derives it from Cambyses' erotic passion for his sister and then uses it
to interpret his autocratic and brutal behavior in Egypt. Similarly, it is only
after recounting Justinian's illegal marriage to Theodora that Procopius
calls him a tyrant for the first time in the Secret History: "he straightaway
mounted the imperial dignity as a tyrant" (9.51; note the pun). Thus Pro-
copius follows Herodotus in deriving despotism from the ruler's eros, con-
solidated by the public ratification of a forbidden marriage (cf. 10.1-5). This
is exactly what Plato called "a tyranny established by 10ve."72The parallel
between the two despots extends to the religious sphere. Like Cambyses,
Justinian attacked the religions of his subjects. And the first complaint that
Procopius makes against his coronation is that it took place three days
before Easter, when such ceremonies were prohibited by religious custom
(9.53; the date is correct)." Soon afterward he condemns Justinian's attacks
on Christian heretics, Samaritans, and Hellenes (11.14ff.).
Themes from classical treatments of despotism and eros are tightly
woven into Procopius' narrative at this point. Readers familiar with the
Republic will recall that the erotic attachment to courtesans (hetairai) plays
an important role in the early formation of a tyrant's soul; for their sake
he will even squander the resources of his parents (573d-574c). Note that
immediately after mentioning Justinian's extravagant eros for Theodora,
Procopius accuses him of consuming the resources of the state to augment
her fortune and win her favor. And the phrase that he uses to make this
point contains a poignant quotation from Xenophon's Symposium, a dia-
logue on eros."
We must not lose sight of the fact that eros represents more than just
sexual desire, that it can designate traits that we do not normally associate
with sexuality. Though "erotic" in the sense we have discussed, Justinian
was by no means a sensual man. Procopius does not pillory his sex life as
he does that of Antonina or the young Theodora. There is even a discon-
80 Chapter 2

certingly asexual quality about him, compared, that is, to other ancient or
Byzantine tyrants. Justinian may have been an "ardent lover," but it was
only "of murder and money" (8.26, 22.29). We can hardly imagine what
went through Procopius' mind when the emperor issued an edict in 538
declaring that "we know, though we are lovers of chastity ... that nothing
is more vehement than the fury oflove."75 A comparable case from classical
literature is the grim protagonist of Xenophon's Cyropaedia, whose only
erotic impulse is for the hunt, though he falls short of outright tyranny. 76
Our analysis of what is arguably the most peculiar episode in the intro-
duction to the Persian War has yielded some partial answers to the ques-
tions posed at the beginning of this chapter. Like other stories in the
introduction, the tale of the shark is obviously not literally true. We must
evaluate it by a different standard, which is what Procopius himself advises
us to do. Like the fable told by the Roman ambassador Eusebius, it reveals
basic truths about the political world of the sixth century. It would be otiose
to name here the people prefigured by the savage and erotic shark." The
Persian tale introduces us to categories of historical analysis, for example
the concept of eros, that Procopius intends to use later in his work. It fore-
shadows, and is thereby linked to, some of the central themes of the Wars
and the Secret History.

The Tyranny of Cavades (1.5-7)

Do these old legends, blurry accounts of wars, and Persian fables have any
overall point? So far we have examined individual episodes of the introduc-
tion and uncovered part of a network of terms and images that unifies
Procopius' works. An undeniable consistency of thought underlies his idio-
syncratic treatment of seemingly unrelated topics. Yet we still lack a clear
idea of the introduction as a whole. Does it have an overall design that is
greater than the sum of its parts?
Before we tackle this question, we must examine the two final epi-
sodes, the first of which offers an account of the first ten years of the reign
of Cavades (488-531). The problem of Procopius' sources here becomes
acute but no less insoluble. His outline roughly corresponds to the Persian
sources, as do some of the anecdotes, but he makes mistakes and misrepre-
sents the significance of events. Some scholars are content merely to note a
few of the errors and move on to discuss Cavades' invasion of Roman
territory in 502, when the Persian War properly begins." In doing so they
 Tales Not Unworthy of Trust 81

overlook the aim of Procopius' account, which, however unhistorical, de-

scribes the rise to power of a strong-willed and effective tyrant. Unfortu-
nately, there is no way to know whether Procopius merely shaped the
material he had in order to produce this picture or whether he greatly
distorted it. Be that as it may, his portrait of Cavades completes the repre-
sentation of Persian kingship built up in the introduction, whose purpose
is to set the stage for Chosroes, a complex personality that dominates the
bulk of the Persian War. It has not yet been noticed that Chosroes is the
only ruler in Procopius' works who is frequently designated by his patro-
nymic, "Chosroes the son of Cavades," and, what is more, that this occurs
only when he invades Roman territory, behaves like a despot, or commits
an atrocity." This device subtly signifies the continuity between father and
son in despotism and aggression. It is worth noting that the strategic use of
patronymics to reveal the changing qualities of individuals is also a feature
of Homeric poetry."
The historical Cavades seems to have been a hostage of the Ephthalites
when the latter killed his father Perozes, and not, as Procopius says, safely
back in Persia (1.4.2).81 Perozes' brother Balash succeeded to the throne
(484-488) but was deposed in favor of his nephew Cavades, who had him
blinded. Cavades initially supported the radical religious movement of the
Mazdakites, who championed social and economic reform in favor of the
poor. It seems that the Mazdakites preached the sharing of women and
property; the sources, however, attribute only the former measure to Ca-
vades, and it has been argued that the movement did not acquire its eco-
nomic impetus or even its eponymous leader until the beginning of the
reign of Chosroes." In any case, the nobility deposed and imprisoned Ca-
vades for trying to pry open their harems and replaced him with his brother
Zamasp (496-498). Procopius is therefore wrong in saying that Cavades
was the only son of Perozes to survive the battle against the Ephthalites
(1.4.34). Also, he knows or says nothing about the Mazdakites (whom other
Byzantine sources called Manichaeans) and attributes the law on the shar-
ing of women solely to Cavades, transforming it into a measure resented
by "the multitude" (1.5.1). On the other hand, he generally agrees with
Persian accounts of Cavades' escape from prison," marriage to a daughter
of the king of the Ephthalites, and return to Persia at the head of a powerful
army. The fate of his brother Zamasp is unclear;" Procopius has, in any
case, confused Cavades' earlier struggle against his uncle Balash ("BIases")
with his later one against Zamasp, about whom Procopius knows or says
nothing. He is also wrong in saying that the Persians paid tribute to the
82 Chapter 2

Ephthalites for only two years after the death of Perozes (1.4.35). It seems
that they did so down to the reign of Chosroes."
Given that we are primarily interested in the way Procopius presents
these events, we need not contribute to the futile search for his sources. For
in spite of its factual errors, his account has an internal logic of its own,
based on the use of concepts and images that only the educated Greek
reader would have recognized. We discover once more the presence and
subtle exploitation of polysemic terms that recur in strategically placed pas-
sages.
In Procopius' version, Cavades, the youngest (veurruroc) son of Per-
ozes, bursts onto the stage of history by ruling "in a more violent manner"
and introducing innovations (veorreo«) into the political system (rto-
ALt'ELa).Let us note incidentally that when Chosroes later consolidates his
hold on the throne, Procopius introduces him as "Chosroes, the son of
Cavades . . . an immoderate lover of innovations" (1.23.1: VEOJt'EQOJV
EQaat'~~).86 It is interesting that Chosroes was also the youngest of the
three sons of Cavades who competed for the throne (1.11.3-5).And when
Procopius tells us in the Secret History that Justinian was "a lover of murder
and money," he immediately adds that the quarrelsome emperor was also
an "excessive innovator" (VEOJt'EQOJtOL6~ ~aALat'a). 87In dozens of pas-
sages in the Wars, as in the works of most ancient historians, "innovation"
is synonymous with sedition, rebellion, treason, and murderous plots. This
usage suggests a highly conservative mind-set and was typical among an-
cient writers: change is almost always for the worse.
Let us return to Cavades. Though he introduced many innovations,
Procopius mentions only one, which, we are not surprised to learn, deals
with sexual matters. His law aimed at establishing the sharing of women
among the Persians but was resented by the people, probably because they
realized that it would enable Cavades to enjoy their women rather than
the opposite. Innovations that overturn hallowed customs are intrinsically
unpopular, especially when they are introduced by violent men and con-
cern family life. As the cynical and vehement Thrasymachus says in Plato's
Republic, "tyranny, by stealth and violence, takes away what belongs to
others, both what is sacred and profane, private and public" (344a).88Thus
at the very outset of his reign, Cavades is associated with violence and
radical sexual politics. Nevertheless, it is still odd that Procopius attributes
to him the measure of holding women in common, which was famously
associated with Plato's ideal regime of the philosopher-kings in the Republic
(457Cff.). One could argue that despite the Platonic terminology, no such
 Tales Not Unworthy of Trust 83

allusion is intended; Procopius is simply reporting what his sources cor-

rectly told him about Cavades' reforms. Salutary though such caution may
be, we will see in the next chapter that Procopius' entire introduction is
structured around the teachings of the Republic. In such a context, any
mention of holding women in common can only refer to Plato's peculiar
idea, which was so notorious and firmly tied to his name that some called
it a "Platonic" practice even when it was ascribed to the Scythians by He-
rodotus."
We are very fortunate to possess the reaction of a clever and educated
contemporary to Procopius' portrayal of Cavades, which demonstrates that
in the sixth century one could still depend on readers to catch such allu-
sions. Though it may be true that "Agathias was not much of scholar,"?" he
knew his classics well. With Procopius' account before his eyes, he wrote of
Cavades:

In his dealings with his subjects he was harsh and cruel, showing no respect for
the social order, introducing revolutionary innovations into the body politic and
subverting their age-old customs. He is even reputed to have made a law that wives
should be held in common, not, I imagine, in accordance with the reasons of Socra-
tes and Plato and the hidden benefit discussed in the dialogue, but merely in order
to facilitate concubinage and allow any man who felt so inclined to sleep with any
woman of his choosing. (4.27.7)91

Agathias' comments strengthen the probability of a Platonic allusion, for

Cavades' measure immediately made him think of Socrates and the Repub-
lic, even though Procopius mentions neither. It is interesting that Agathias
believed that the sharing of women in the Republic had a hidden meaning
and that its straightforward and literal application by Cavades was con-
sistent with the actions of a tyrant, not a philosopher. There is then a
difference between the "benefit" sought by Plato and Cavades' desire for
concubines, but that difference is "hidden.":" Agathias also confirms our
view of Procopius' Cavades as a tyrant, as does the seventh-century histo-
rian Theophylact, who, also based entirely on the Wars, called the father of
Chosroes "a murderous man who exercised power violently and converted
monarchy into tyranny" (4.6.6-11). This is a fairly accurate reading of the
introduction of the Persian War.
Cavades' first attempt at tyranny failed. The Persians refused to share
their wives with him and imprisoned him in the famous Castle of Oblivion,
elevating his uncle BIases to the throne (1.5.1-9). To escape, Cavades or-
dered his beautiful wife to have sex with the jailer, who, as it happened,
84 Chapter 2

"conceived an exceedingly passionate love for her (~Qaa8f) al)'ti1~ EQOJ'ta

E~aLaLOV)" (1.6.1-2). This is an ironic sequel to his proposed legislation,
but it is consistent with the continued association of tyranny and eros. With
the outside help of the loyal Seoses, Cavades escaped disguised in his wife's
clothing. But now the little comedy comes to an end and Procopius con-
fronts us with the cruel implications of Cavades' escape. The deposed king
callously abandoned his wife to suffer punishments over which Procopius
draws a discreet silence, ostensibly because he had conflicting versions. Ca-
vades married a daughter of the king of the Ephthalites, raised a powerful
army, and marched back to Persia to reclaim his throne (1.6.1-11). He cru-
elly blinded his uncle (even though he knows two conflicting versions of
this event, Procopius records them both) and executed the general Gousa-
nastades," who had previously advocated Cavades' execution. Cavades is
the first Persian to kill other Persians in the introduction.
Cavades then had to replace Gousanastades. This event is the first in a
series of episodes that pointedly illustrate the king's ambiguous relationship
to the law during his second reign. To make the point, and draw our atten-
tion to its significance, Procopius again invents historical material and
probably distorts the reality of Sasanid institutions. The first of these epi-
sodes occurs right before Cavades reclaims the throne from his uncle BIases;
the last is not resolved until after his death. Thus one could say that the
second reign of Cavades is defined by events that emphasize the tension
between tyranny and law. By examining them in detail, we will come to a
better understanding of Cavades' position in the sequence of Persian kings
from Isdigerdes to Chosroes. The events we will look at here are the replace-
ment of Gousanastades, Chosroes' succession to the throne, and the trial of
Seoses.
(a) Gousanastades had commanded the province that adjoined the
land of the Ephthalites. Upon his return, Cavades declared that he would
give that position to the first Persian who swore allegiance to him (1.6.12).
But "having said that, Cavades immediately repented his words, for he
remembered that a law (nomos) did not allow certain offices to be bestowed
upon any Persians other than those to whom the honor was granted by
right of birth." And he feared that he would be compelled to break the law
should the applicant not qualify properly for the office (1.6.13-14). As it
turned out, however, the man who offered to serve him, Adergoudoun-
bades, was a relative of Gousanastades and thus the king was not forced to
decide between the law and his promise. But we must question Procopius'
narrative, which has rightly been greeted with skepticism by at least one
 Tales Not Unworthy of Trust 85

scholar familiar with Persian customs." Is it likely that Cavades would for-
get such a law? And how did Procopius know the king's mind? Even if the
account is accurate, we must still ask why Procopius chose to divulge Ca-
vades' thoughts in such a dramatic fashion at this point. Good historians
never pry into the minds of kings without reason. In this passage "law" is
mentioned three times in three consecutive sentences. Cavades understood
that it opposed his will, but he also knew that breaking it would not be in
his interest. Procopius reveals his thoughts in order to make explicit the
tension between the royal will and the law. Ultimately, the sole reason that
Cavades did not "disgrace the law" was "chance," or tyche (1.6.15). It was
pure chance that the law was upheld when it fell into the hands of Cavades.
Let us also note that when Adergoudounbades first approached Ca-
vades, he "bowed" before him (JtQOOEXVVllOE), called him "master" ()EO-
Jt6t'1l~), and begged him to "use him as a slave in whatever way he pleased"
(1.6.16). Perozes had earlier been called "master" by the humble fisherman
(1.4.22), and Adergoudounbades' conduct was probably typical for the Per-
sian court. Still, it is significant that Procopius depicts the tyrannical Ca-
vades as the first king in the Wars before whom noble Persians bow like
slaves. There is little question of law between masters and slaves. Recall that
the king of the Ephthalites punished the defeated Perozes by demanding
that he bow before him and call him "master," which the Persian naturally
deemed a great dishonor (1.3.17, 22). This, then, is an important develop-
ment in the gradual rise of Persian despotism in the introduction of the
Persian War.
(b) The eleventh chapter of Book 1 begins and ends with statements
on the relationship between Cavades and Persian law that involve his plans
for the succession of his son Chosroes and the trial and execution of his
loyal supporter Seoses. But in accordance with the linkage of Roman and
Persian affairs that governs so much of the Persian War, Procopius links
the first of these two events to the death of the emperor Anastasius and the
rise of Justin and the second to the deposition of Anastasius' nephew Hy-
patius from office and the torture of Hypatius' friends by Justin. Procopius
thus moves from the accession of a Roman emperor to the succession plans
of the Persian king and from the trial of a Persian official who frustrated
those plans to the trial of Hypatius, the most conspicuous remnant of the
previous regime." Also, the heart of the chapter depicts the reversal of the
trusting relationship between Arcadius and Isdigerdes, as Cavades' request
that Justin adopt and safeguard the succession of his son Chosroes is re-
86 Chapter 2

fused by the Roman court." The interweaving of these events exhibits con-
siderable literary skill. The themes of the introduction have come full circle.
Procopius tells us that Cavades had three sons: Caoses, who was enti-
tled to reign "by law" because of his age; Zames, who was barred from the
succession because he had lost an eye but loved by the Persians for his
courage, military skill, and undeniable "virtue"; and Chosroes, about
whom are told only that he was "exceedingly loved" by his father (1.11.3-5,
1.23.4). Naturally, it was he who prevailed in the end. In Procopius' account,
each son represents a different claim to political power: the whole passage
rather schematically depicts the triumph of royal will over law and virtue.
Procopius underlines this point by saying that Cavades' dislike for Caoses
"violated both nature and law." The arbitrariness of his actions is further
emphasized by the parallelism between his "completely unjustified" (E~
aL'tLa~ OU()E~L<l~) attack on Rome (1.7.3) and his "inexplicable" (OU()EVL
AOYQ!)preference for Chosroes over his other sons, both of whom had
stronger claims to rule (2.9.12). Procopius links this royal preference to a
digression on the power of tyche in human affairs (2.9.13).97 However that
may be, it is worth noting that the same phrases that designate the arbitrari-
ness of Cavades in the Persian War are used throughout the Secret History
to characterize Justinian. Procopius will often pair on a single page "com-
pletely unjustified" murders with "inexplicable" diplomacy." Thus, once
again the essential features of Persian despotism, as presented in the intro-
duction to the Persian War, resonate in the attack on Roman tyranny in the
Secret History. The fortunes of Rome and Persia are again subtly linked by
the economy of Procopius' prose.
When Cavades died, Caoses claimed the throne "by right of law," but
his father had specifically designated Chosroes as his heir. The Persian no-
bles, asserting that their vote alone could decide the issue, "recalled the
virtue of Cavades and straightaway declared Chosroes king" (1.21.17-22).
The reader might wonder at the nature of Cavades' "virtue," a term that
here seems to be used in an amoral sense. At the end of the introduction,
Procopius praises the shrewdness and energy with which he "strengthened
the kingdom and guarded it securely" (1.6.19), a claim that has been taken
to reflect his admiration for Cavades." Yet a Persian could say with justice
that it was precisely because of his virtue that Cavades subverted Persian
law, for it is mentioned by Procopius only when it overrides the "law" of
succession. 100 A Roman, on the other hand, would not be wrong in thinking
that the unprovoked attacks of Cavades reflected the opposite of the "vir-
tue" of Isdigerdes (cf. 1.2.8-10), just as his diplomatic dealings with Justin
 Tales Not Unworthy of Trust 87

reversed the trusting relationship that had once existed between Isdigerdes
and Arcadius. Cavades' virtue is independent of any ethical qualities'?' and
bodes ill for both Rome and Persia.
We may again suspect that this narrative, however historical in outline,
is not intended to reflect faithfully the realities of the Persian empire. Pro-
copius set out to describe and delineate for his audience the rise of a partic-
ular kind of tyranny, and to that end he drew upon the concepts used in
his classical sources. There was in fact no law of succession that favored
eldest sons in Sasanid Persia, though that was certainly what Herodotus
and Xenophon had implied about the Achaemenid empire. 102 And the sche-
matic conflict between law, virtue, and royal favor is ultimately derived
from the conceptual world of ancient political thought. 103 Procopius is writ-
ing more for classically educated Greeks than about Sasanid Persians.'?'
(c) The Persian noble Seoses had loyally helped Cavades escape from
prison and regain his throne (1.6). He then held the highest office in Persia
for over twenty years. In 522, he participated in and probably undermined
the abortive negotiations on the adoption of Chosroes by Justin, the details
of which need not concern us here. Suffice it to say that Cavades had hoped
the adoption would guarantee the smooth succession of his favorite son, as
Arcadius had once requested of Isdigcrdes.!" When Seoses returned from
the conference, he was tried and executed. Procopius is our only source for
this event, which is significant in many ways, although here we will discuss
only its implications for the administration of justice in Persia and Rome.
According to Procopius, Seoses was "slandered" by an enemy to Cavades
for having exceeded the commands of his "master." His trial was carried
out in a spirit of "envy rather than concern for the law" (1.11.31-32). Ca-
vades feigned grief at the downfall of his old friend "but had no desire to
save him." Concealing his anger behind words of gratitude, the king justi-
fied his inaction by saying that he did not wish to undermine the laws
(1.11.36-37)! Procopius exposes his dual deceit: while publicly proclaiming
friendship and gratitude, he secretly longed for Seoses' destruction; while
posturing as the champion of law, he presided over legal proceedings that
showed no "concern for the law." In addition, Seoses was on trial for frus-
trating the king's own attempt to "violate both nature and law" by securing
the illegal succession of Chosroes. Looking ahead, we note that this kind of
dissimulation was one of the chief characteristics of both Chosroes and
Justinian. 106
In accordance with the linkage of Persian and Roman affairs that gov-
erns the narrative, the trial of Seoses is followed by a parallel event in By-
88 Chapter 2

zantium. Hypatius was "slandered" to the emperor Justin, he was deposed

from his command, and his closest associates were "bitterly tortured"
(1.11.38-39). This conjunction of events prepares us for another parallelism
of Roman and Persian affairs in Book 1, namely the artful coincidence of
the rebellion against Chosroes and the Nika riots in Constantinople, to
which Procopius devotes two sequential, and obviously linked, chapters
(1.23-24). Let us note in this connection that, according to Procopius,
"slander" was one of the chief mechanisms of the Roman administrative
and judicial system and impels much of his narrative. The reason for this
is stated unambiguously in the Secret History: Justinian "was extremely re-
ceptive to slander, and severe in inflicting punishment. For he would never
judge a case by investigating it, but would make his decision just by listen-
ing to the opinion of the slanderer" (8.28). Once again important elements
of Procopius' analysis of Roman tyranny in the Secret History are mirrored
in his account of Persian despotism in the introduction to the Persian War.

The "History of the Armenians" (1.5.7-40)

Very little in the introduction to the Persian War, and possibly even noth-
ing, is ultimately superfluous or merely trivial. Procopius did not place any
information there simply because he had it. He certainly knew more about
the relations between Rome and Persia in the fifth century than he lets on.
The primary aim of our analysis should be to understand his criteria for
selection.
The introduction may be disappointing as a history of international
relations, yet all of its anecdotes and digressions prepare the reader for, and
thus partly reveal, the broader themes that structure the Persian War. Of
course, we cannot adequately grasp those themes until after we have read
the whole text carefully and repeatedly; that is, we are not aware of them
when we read the introduction for the first time. Nevertheless, with proper
sensitivity to patterns and points of emphasis, even a first reading of the
introduction can offer a view of what is to come. One may notice, for
instance, the schematic decline in the virtue of the Persian kings or the
ambiguous relationship between the will of Cavades and Persian law.
Before we tackle the question of the overall structure of the introduc-
tion, we must examine another one of its peculiar components, a long
digression (cf. 1.5.40) on the relations between the Persians and the Arme-
nians in the fourth century. It is interpolated very awkwardly between Ca-
 Tales Not Unworthy of Trust 89

vades' imprisonment and his escape from the Castle of Oblivion. It

interrupts the narrative of his career, splitting apart his two reigns with
seemingly irrelevant material from the fourth century. We will of course
resist the facile option of dismissing it as a clumsy attempt by Procopius to
flaunt his knowledge of foreign customs and histories.
The clue for understanding the function of this digression is given
twice by Procopius in two strategic locations, at its very beginning and
its very end. We must take our bearings from what he says, although the
significance of the digression may not be immediately clear. Procopius tells
us that its purpose is to prove that the Persian law of total silence regarding
occupants of the Castle of Oblivion was broken on at least one occasion,
which is related in what he first calls "the history of the Armenians" (1.5.9)
and later "the composition (a1JYYQacp~) of the Armenians" (1.5.40).107Pro-
copius is referring to a text written by Armenians about their own history
and not merely to the events of Armenian history as such, which could
have been recorded in a Greek or a Persian source. This is significant be-
cause Procopius rarely divulges his sources. The Armenian provenance of
the digression, to which he twice draws our attention, must be a central
aspect of our interpretation of its purpose. It is important that we learn
about the breaking of a Persian law from an Armenian source.
As it happens, we possess the source that Procopius used, in one form
or another. Previously considered a History of Armenia, written by a certain
Faustus of Byzantium, it has recently been shown to be the Epic Histories
written by an anonymous Armenian in the second half of the fifth century.
All the information in Procopius' digression can be found in the Armenian
text, and, except for the order of events, there are no major discrepancies.
Some minor differences are owed to Procopius' reworking of the material,
which, as we will see, produced some interesting results. 108
The Castle of Oblivion (literally "of Forgetfulness") derived its name
from a law that made it a capital crime ever to mention those who were
confined there.'?" The law was broken in the 360s, when the Persian king,
whom Procopius strangely calls Pacurius, possibly a corruption of Shapur
II (309-379),110offered to grant any favor to an Armenian who had led
Persian forces to victory. Such magnanimous offers made by absolute rulers
or gods in ancient literature rarely end happily.'!' True to form, the Arme-
nian requested that he spend a day with his former ruler Arsaces, who was
imprisoned in the Castle of Oblivion.I" "This of course greatly annoyed
the king, that he should be so forced to abrogate an ancient law, yet in
order to be perfectly true to his word, he allowed the request" (1.5.33).The
90 Chapter 2

similarity with the predicament of Cavades, who, upon his return to Persia,
also made an offer that could have violated an ancient law (1.6.12-17), is
unmistakable. The two events are in fact parallel: the Armenian digression
is inserted between the two reigns of Cavades, its explicit purpose is to
show how an ancient law was abrogated, and Pacurius' decision, which
demonstrates the superiority of royal will over law, literally introduces the
account of Cavades' second reign, which, as we have seen, revolves around
that very theme.
So, right before his account of Cavades' second reign, Procopius pres-
ents a fourth -century instance of the conflict between the law and the royal
will. Why the duplication? Why did Procopius interrupt his narrative so
awkwardly in order to give us Cavades before Cavades? There is, let us note,
a crucial difference between the two kings that has nothing to do with
their actions or character but rather involves their historical context. The
conspicuous intrusiveness of the fourth -century material highlights the fact
that, unlike Cavades, Pacurius does not belong to the sequence of Persian
rulers in the introduction. That sequence, as we will see in the following
chapter, presents a schematized and essentially unhistorical view of the de-
cline of Persia into tyranny. Yet Procopius did not literally believe that
during the course of the fifth century Persia lapsed from the virtue of Isdig-
erdes into the violence of Cavades. The aim of the introduction is theoreti-
cal. It treats the virtues and vices of kings, and Persian kings in particular,
from the viewpoint of political theory. Because they stand outside that sche-
matic sequence, the actions of Pacurius suggest that the tension between
law and will was an essential feature of Persian kingship. It was not a histor-
ical innovation of Cavades, who is more of a symbolic than a historical
figure. The Armenian digression prevents the reader from taking the politi-
cal message of the sequence of kings too literally from a historical point
of view. The actions of Pacurius remind us that actual Persian monarchs
resembled Cavades far more than they did Isdigerdes.
This interpretation, however, does not account for the Armenian
provenance of the digression, which Procopius so uncharacteristically em-
phasizes. We must, therefore, begin anew and follow a different line of
reasoning. The law that Pacurius broke forbade Persians to say anything
about prisoners in the Castle of Oblivion and, by extension, about any
instances when the law was broken. There are events in Persian history that
Persians cannot or will not talk about. To learn about them we must turn
to their neighbors, who are not necessarily bound by the laws and customs
of Persia and who are not intimidated by its power, so long as they stand
 Tales Not Unworthy of Trust 91

freely on their own soil. This qualification is suggested by the magical inter-
rogation of Arsaces by Pacurius, which is narrated within the Armenian
digression. So long as Arsaces stood upon Persian soil, he behaved as a
"slave" and "suppliant" before the Persian king, but when he walked upon
the Armenian soil strewn about the other half of the king's tent, he boldly
threatened the Persians and "concealed none of his secret intentions."!"
The truth can sometimes be spoken only by foreigners,'!' though they
too must be mindful of circumstances. As we saw earlier, the Persian offi-
cers in Perozes' army "held their tongue out of fear" and had to beg the
Roman Eusebius to intercede and reveal their plight to the king. Eusebius
cautiously spun a fable that indirectly alerted Perozes to the danger (1.3.12-
13). So too only an anonymous and hostile Armenian text can reveal how a
Persian king broke an ancient law of Persia regarding matters that could
never be mentioned by any Persian. 115 A truth that only foreigners can
reveal is of course a hostile one, for there is little danger in praising one's
own country or king. We are reminded of Procopius' suggestion in the
preface that his own impartiality will result primarily in a fair distribution
of blame. 116
The implications of this conclusion naturally extend to the Roman
empire and its historian. Ugly or secret truths about Rome can sometimes
be spoken only by its enemies. That is why Procopius often places them in
the mouth of foreign speakers, especially victims of the Roman emperor.
The use of this technique in the Wars has been noted and discussed, espe-
cially with regard to Justinian's foreign and military policy.'!" It was em-
ployed by many ancient historians!" and by some modern ones as well.
According to Machiavelli, whose admission is succinct and elegant, those
who would understand his depiction of Cosimo de' Medici in the Florentine
Histories should "note very well what I will make his adversaries say, be-
cause that which I will not want to say myself, as from me, I will make his
adversaries say."!" Machiavelli claimed to have learned this trick from Livy.
We will have occasion to discuss how Procopius used the mouths of
his characters to say things that he could not say in his own voice, whether
for political or literary reasons. Yet there is no reason to assume that he
exploited the speeches of foreigners to reveal the truth only about political
and military issues. It is possible that he presented many other aspects of
the Roman world through their eyes. Let us look at a minor example from
the Armenian digression, which is actually an inside joke, but which nicely
complements Procopius' quiet equation of Romans and barbarians. Ac-
cording to the Armenian text, the Armenians and the Persians established
92 Chapter 2

an alliance when the former attacked and slaughtered "the Greeks" (i.e.,
the Romans), with whom the Persians were at war.F'' Although his source
must have been perfectly clear on this matter, Procopius chose not to desig-
nate "the Greeks" by name in his version of the story but referred to them
cryptically as "certain other barbarians who lived not far from the Arme-
nians" (1.5.11).
Procopius could not have expected many of his readers to detect the
small substitution and appreciate the irony. The Armenian Epic Histories
was not, after all, an accessible text, and the fictive nature of the war it
relates would have prevented a meaningful comparison of Procopius' di-
gression to other histories of fourth-century Armenia. The joke was proba-
bly meant for himself and a few friends; we are very fortunate to be able to
detect it today. Though highly esoteric, it still indicates that Procopius' view
of his fellow Romans was not much more favorable than his view of Iustin-
ian, whom he also considered a "barbarian."!" We will see this thesis con-
firmed repeatedly in the Wars and with regard to many aspects of late
Roman civilization. Procopius was the conscience of his age, not the Roman
chauvinist who emerges from recent discussions.!" He may have despised
barbarians, yet his view of the Romans was far from rosy. To his stance we
may with only slight exaggeration compare that of Arthur Schopenhauer:
"every nation ridicules the rest and all are right."!"
The most skilled manipulator of the foreigner's perspective in antiq-
uity was undoubtedly Herodotus, a major influence behind Procopius' Per-
sian War. We have reviewed sufficient evidence to substantiate the claim of
a "spiritual affinity" between the two historians.'>' In the first book of his
Histories, Herodotus continually induces his readers, through the subtle
charm of his stories, to view foreign things through the eyes of foreigners
and to turn that outside perspective back onto Greece itself.':" We have
already noted a few of Procopius' stories that seem to have that goal. An-
other interesting example occurs in the trial of the Persian official Seoses,
which we discussed in the previous section with regard to Cavades' attitude
toward Persian law. One of the charges brought against Seoses was that "he
revered strange new divinities, and had buried his recently deceased wife,
though it was forbidden by the laws for Persians to place the bodies of the
dead within the earth" (1.11.35).Procopius does not tell us what divinities
Seoses worshipped, nor does he explain why he buried his wife. Yet in this
behavior, which was so abhorrent to the Persians that they condemned
Seoses to death, the Roman reader could easily see a reflection of his own
practices. As though to underscore the point, on the next page Procopius
 Tales Not Unworthy of Trust 93

relates how Cavades tried to force the Caucasian Iberians, tendentiously

presented here as zealous Christians, to adopt Persian customs. Procopius
specifies only one of Cavades' demands, namely that the Iberians cease
burying their dead (1.12.3-4). The language here is identical to that used in
the accusations against Seoses on the previous page. Seoses' capital offense
is revealed as an ordinary Christian practice.
The late sixth -century historian Menander the Protector reports that
the treaty of 561 specified that Christians in Persia would be allowed to bury
their dead, "as is our custom."!" Other contemporary writers, for example
Agathias, viewed the exposure of the dead as the most irreconcilable differ-
ence between Persians and Romans and condemned it as barbaric."? Yet
regardless of his own opinion, in his account of Seoses' trial, Procopius
refrains from editorializing, allowing the trial to proceed as though its
premises were self-evident and natural. He thereby allows the Roman
reader to see his culture from a foreign point of view, as potentially sacrile-
gious and punishable by death. Things that one takes for granted appear
questionable when seen through the eyes of foreigners. This mode of pre-
sentation owes much to Herodotean pedagogy.
Let us be fair to Agathias, however, whose patriotism was in some
respects affected. He knew that every society, including his own, functioned
and persevered on the basis of cherished myths that could not be openly
questioned. According to his Histories, only philosophers were exempt from
the power of this opinion, though politically they were subject to its domin-
ion in both Christian Rome and Zoroastrian Persia.!" For true philoso-
phers, the customs and beliefs of both states were equally false. Agathias
believed that the wisdom of the sixth -century Platonists represented "the
unrivaled peak" of his age."? The view from that peak flouts local patrio-
tism and cultural pride. And so we may wonder what standpoint Procopius
occupies when he calls the inhabitants of the eastern Roman empire "bar-
barians who live not far from the Armenians." Agathias barely disguised
his philosophical sympathies, but he wrote after the death of Justinian. It is
now time to expose the secret politics of Procopius of Caesarea.
 Chapter 3
The SecretHistory of Philosophy

The Sequence of Regimes Ends in Tyranny

We have examined the individual stories that constitute the introduction to

the Persian War and have shown how each story foreshadows some of the
main themes that Procopius intends to develop in the main body of the
narrative as well as in the Secret History. Those stories are not offered as
factual reporting, that is, history understood in modern sense; rather, they
establish the broad framework of the ensuing conflict. The introduction to
the Persian War thus reflects the fusion of literature and history that we
find in all classical historiography. The difference between these two
spheres, which modern historians try to keep rigidly separate, is best indi-
cated by the need to set aside questions of source and accuracy and inquire
instead about the literary function of each story, that is, to pose questions
now reserved for works of fiction. Procopius' pointed anecdotes and nu-
anced vocabulary, however implausible they may be from a historical point
of view, frequently reveal a deeper aspect of his thought. A common grid
of language binds together the Secret History and the Wars, reflecting their
conceptual unity.
But what about the introduction as a whole? Does it amount to more
than the sum of its parts? As we saw, it sketches the gradual decline of the
Persian kings, from the virtuous Isdigerdes and the honor-loving Vararanes
to the acquisitive Perozes and the violent Cavades. It consists of discreet
episodes that focus on the character of each king, which they illustrate
through legends, anecdotes, and, possibly, distortions of actual events. The
individuals that emerge are distinctive, if not always believable from a his-
torical point of view. But perhaps they are less important than the overall
picture into which they have been integrated. This thesis has been stated
well with respect to the Histories of Herodotus: "These stories begin to look
as if they form part of a reasoned whole, a whole that is only presented in
partial stories. They begin to reveal how Herodotus has marshaled particu-
 The Secret History of Philosophy 95

lars, and even a false particular, into a coherent whole that compels us to
reflect on a universal question."!
Procopius presents us with a series of consecutive regimes, each of
which is a step on the road from virtue to tyranny, although perhaps perfect
tyranny does not emerge until the reign of Chosroes, the main protagonist
of the Persian War. The schema to which Procopius has adapted his mate-
rial was not without precedent. For instance, Cassiodorus' panegyric of the
Gothic queen Amalasuntha lists her (legendary) ancestors, each of whom
corresponds to a specific virtue. Amalasuntha is praised for combining
them in herself. The technique is more crudely executed than in Procopius,
to be sure, but Cassiodorus may have used this device in his (lost) Gothic
History,' There were more serious antecedents in classical historiography.
It was by devising a theoretical model of the sequence of regimes that Po-
lybius had tried to explain the nature of the Roman state to his Greek
audience. He related the cycle of political transformations allegedly experi-
enced by Greek cities, from the origin of just kingship to the rise of violent
despotism, in order to explain the stability of Rome's mixed constitution.'
Although there are general similarities between the two sequences, and
Chosroes does in a sense represent the summation of all the virtues and
vices of his predecessors, the comparison with Polybius does not help us
understand the focus of Procopius' introduction, which is concerned with
the individual character of rulers and not the form of different regimes.
Polybius claimed that his sequence of regimes was only a summary of
what had been said "by Plato and certain other philosophers" (6.5.1-2). He
even suggested that a comparison between Rome and the Republic would
have been in order, had Plato's ideal state ever existed (6.47.7-10). Book 8
of the Republic happens to contain the first sequence of political regimes in
Greek political thought, and that sequence is, mutatis mutandis, strikingly
similar to the one in the introduction of the Persian War. In addition, a
Platonic template can help explain the peculiar form Procopius has given
to individual episodes in his introduction.
Socrates begins his sequence with the ideal regime of aristocracy or
kingship (543a, 544e), where virtuous guardians loyally protect the state
against both internal and external enemies. Their description as fierce guard
dogs who threaten strangers while behaving gently toward their charges
exactly matches the portrayal of the virtuous Isdigerdes in the first episode
of Procopius' introduction.' Like Socrates' guardians (414b), the first Per-
sian king in the introduction kept watch over outside enemies and inside
"friends." There is a double irony here. First, Arcadius, an idiot, could not
96 Chapter 3

be cast as a philosopher-king, although Procopius saves the comparison by

granting him wise sages and divine inspiration, ideals that he never attri-
butes to any other ruler. Second, the guardians who preserve the state in
Procopius' introduction are themselves outsiders and ultimately become its
prime enemies. Rome does not seem to have guardians of its own; indeed,
no Roman army is mentioned in the introduction. This silence foreshadows
the dismal performance of the Roman forces in the Persian War, in particu-
lar their complete absence during the great invasion of Chosroes in 540.
As we saw in our analysis of the episode, the regency of Isdigerdes
gives rise to the very question asked by Socrates: what happens when the
guardians, "given that they are stronger than the citizens, become like sav-
age masters ()EOJtO'tULaYQLoL)instead of well-meaning allies?" (416b).
Procopius' introduction offers an account of exactly such a transformation,
and the remainder of the Persian War describes its consequences. It is pre-
cisely at the nadir of Roman fortunes, after the destruction of Antioch by
the Persians, that he relates a fascinating discussion between Justinian's
envoys and Chosroes (2.10.21-23). Chosroes demanded money so that the
Persians could "guard" (cp1JAaOoov'tE~) the Caspian Gates; when the en-
voys asked whether this meant that they would forever pay tribute to the
Persians, Chosroes responded by saying that they would instead be paying
in order to use the Persians as soldiers, who would "guard" (cp1JAa~OJoLv)
Roman land in perpetuity. As in the introduction, no mention is made here
of a Roman army.
Procopius was not the first to cast the military relationship between
Rome and her barbarian enemies in a Platonic mold. In 398, Synesius of
Cyrene, drawing an explicit comparison between the Roman empire and
Plato's Republic, argued before a faction of courtiers that the empire should
rely on native "guardians" and "guard -dogs" and eschew barbarian
"wolves," for "the moment that the latter notice any weakness or slackness
in the dogs, they will attack these and the flock and the shepherds like-
wise."?
Socrates' sequence of regimes runs through timocracy, oligarchy, de-
mocracy, and tyranny, "each successive regime representing a further de-
cline in the rulers' concern for virtue."6 Socrates is less interested in the
regime as such than in the dominant characteristics of the men who most
exemplify it. This enables Procopius to apply the philosopher's descriptions
to a series of kings; that is, to consecutive rulers within a single political
system (a politeia, as he calls it, in the case of both Rome and Persia).
Socrates' timocratic man, like Procopius' Vararanes, is warlike and loves
 The Secret History of Philosophy 97

honor (S4Sb, S49a). The oligarchic man, like Perozes, quickly loses the
honor of his predecessor (cf. SSlawith 1.3.22)and is fundamentally acquisi-
tive in nature. During his rule, a sharp distinction emerges between poor
and rich (SSld), and the ugliness of his character is revealed whenever "the
guardianship of orphans is entrusted to him," which reminds us of the
fisherman's request in Procopius' introduction (cf. SS4Cwith 1.4.2S).Let us
note that Justinian also "faced widespread and frequent censure" regarding
the implementation of wills and guardianship of orphans." Democracy is a
special case in Socrates' schema, as it offers opportunities not found in
other regimes. Plato seems to have viewed it as the best of all possible states
in his time, so it partly stands outside the schema of decline. 8 But the nature
of a democratic man is an unlikely type for a Persian king because it lacks
specific character (SS7b-e: it "contains all species of regimes"). Procopius
skips past him, moving straight to Socrates' tyrant, who, like Cavades, is
violent and "if he's exiled and comes back in spite of his enemies, plainly
comes back a complete tyrant" (s6se-s66a). Ruling despotically, he virtu-
ally enslaves the city (cf. S77Cwith 1.6.16).This exactly matches the account
of Cavades' reign in the Persian War.
There are too many parallels here for this to be a coincidence. The
chance that four types of personality will be arranged in one particular
sequence by accident is only one in twenty-four. But once the full extent of
Procopius' indebtedness to Plato is revealed below, there should be no rea-
son to doubt that he constructed the introduction to the Persian War on a
Platonic framework. Persian history in the fifth century did not just happen
to follow the sequence outlined in Book 8 of the Republic. On the other
hand, it is unlikely that Procopius invented everything; we have seen that
his account agrees in some respects with the testimony of independent
sources. It seems that he shaped his material subtly to yield a Platonic
schema of decline or, perhaps, not so subtly: Cavades, we are told by histo-
rians of Persia, "was a mild man who tried to deal leniently with his subjects
and enemies alike."? The overall message of the introduction in any case
seems to be independent of the factual truth of the discrete stories that
constitute it; sometimes the deeper issues so dominate the text that the
surface narrative seems almost absurd.
Furthermore, the schema of decline does not apply to Persia alone. If
we pull together Procopius' scattered statements, we see that the Roman
emperors also deteriorated in virtue, albeit in a different manner, owing to
the fact that, unlike their Persian counterparts, they were not soldiers. Not
surprisingly, this process is documented primarily in the Secret History. The
98 Chapter 3

emperor Anastasius was neither a hero nor a philosopher nor a saint, but
still he "was the most provident and prudent administrator of all the em-
perors." He left the treasury full of money, remitted the taxes on cities that
had been attacked by barbarians, and never did anything without careful
planning." Yet his reign was not altogether perfect. In Book 7, Procopius
has the Gothic king Totila praise both Anastasius and Theoderic for creat-
ing peace and prosperity (7.21.23:ELQ~Vf)~ DExni aya8wv JtQay~a'tOJv ...
EVEJtA~aav'to), yet in Book 1 the historian notes in his own voice that the
inhabitants of Amida were not prepared for the invasion of Cavades pre-
cisely because of the prevailing peace and prosperity (1.7.4:EV ELQ~V1J xui
aya801~ JtQay~aaLv). By carefully using the same words in different con-
texts, a technique that reveals not his "limited vocabulary" but the unity of
his thought and the Thucydidean economy of his prose," Procopius leads
us to reflect upon the equivocal nature of Anastasius' reign. He may have
been a good man and a conscientious administrator, but he was ultimately
responsible for the disastrous lack of organization exhibited by the Roman
army in its response to Cavades' invasion (cf. 1.8-9).12
Anastasius' successor, Justin, was old, weak, stupid, and illiterate, "a
thing that had indeed never before occurred among the Romans." Yet over-
all "he did his subjects neither harm nor good."!" As for Justinian, suffice
it to say that "he caused calamities for the Romans, so great and so numer-
ous as had never been heard of previously by anyone in the entire history
of the world."!" It was his disastrous reign that inspired the Secret History,
possibly the most compelling and damaging invective from antiquity.
The historical fact that decisively shaped the political thought of Pro-
copius was the nearly contemporary accession to the thrones of Persia and
Rome of two of the most despicable autocrats in all of history. On its sur-
face, the introduction to the Persian War takes us down the path that led
to one of them, though readers who compare it to the Secret History will
realize that Persian despotism is parallel to the Roman tyranny of Justinian.
Moreover, Procopius' account of that decline is modeled on a Platonic
template. The international relations of the fifth century are a stage on
which the teachings of Platonic political philosophy are played out. For
example, the relationship between Rome and Persia under Arcadius and
Isdigerdes in the early fifth century is presented as a variation on the reia-
tionship between the ordinary citizens and the guardians of Plato's Repub-
lic. Procopius was not the first to view the virtues and faults of the later
empire in Platonic terms. Priscus of Panium had done so in the previous
century, and Procopius almost certainly knew his work." Whereas they
 The Secret History of Philosophy 99

used Plato to interpret history, the converse was also possible; namely, the
use of history, even barbarian history, to illustrate philosophical ideas.
Whoever wrote the sixth-century dialogue On Politics adduced an anecdote
about the Persian king Perozes to explain the ideal relationship between
the ordinary citizens and the "guardians" of a state (4.60 ff.). The entire
conception is naturally taken directly from the Republic. 16
We are therefore faced with a kind of Platonic mimesis. The question
is, what is its purpose in the Wars? By itself, the comparison of Persian
kings to Platonic regimes is intriguing, but it can only be significant if it is
part of a broader network of Platonic allusions that forms patterns visible
to readers familiar with Plato's works. As it happens, that is exactly what
we find in the Wars. The last great work of classical historiography is shaped
at its most basic level by philosophical concerns.

Tyranny and the Politics of Philosophy

Tyranny, the culmination of Socrates' sequence of regimes, is a prominent

feature of Procopius' works. One can even say that it is his chief historical
and political concern. It is possible, however, that this places too much
stress on the most apparent aspects of his work. Tyrants, after all, cut un-
mistakable figures. According to Socrates, the sequence that leads to them
begins with the ideal regime of the philosophers. Are there any philosophers
in the Wars? As it happens, there are, but they are not always easy to spot.
The first to appear is so disguised that he is virtually unrecognizable, except,
that is, to readers who have met his kind before. This fact, in turn, raises
interesting questions about the intended audience of the Wars; not the one
most likely to read the book but the one most likely to understand it. Like
the introduction to the Persian War as a whole, the passages we are about
to examine have received no attention in the scholarly literature. We can
speculate on the reasons for this, but for now let us note only that their
subtext is invisible to readers unfamiliar with the works of Plato and the
other students of Socrates. Once identified, however, the allusions are obvi-
ous, indeed so glaring that one begins to wonder just how many Platonic
echoes reverberate within Procopius' text.
Let us return once more to the trial of Seoses, which we looked at
previously in connection with Cavades' subversion of Persian law and Pro-
copius' attempt to present Roman customs, for example burial, from a
100 Chapter 3

foreign point of view. This trial actually forms a densely interwoven nexus
for a number of the broader themes of the Wars. Procopius' account of it,
the only one we have, is plausible on the surface, but its details are rather
strange and the grounds for the accusation against Seoses are overdeter-
mined. One enemy "slandered" him for sabotaging the negotiations with
Justin. Others made additional accusations and brought him to trial. His
enemies were motivated by "envy" rather than concern for law. Theyob-
jected to the high office he held and did not like his "arrogance," though
Procopius tells us that he was incorruptible and extremely just. This was
not all. His "accusers" (xa't~yoQoL) added that he "was entirely unwilling
to live according to the established manner (EV 'to xa8EO'tw'tL 'tQoJtQJ)or
uphold the laws of the Persians." Students of Plato should begin to find all
this vaguely familiar. The explanation given for Seoses' peculiar behavior
gives the game away: "for he revered strange new divinities (xorv« Daqlo-
vur)." The "judges"-or should DLxao'taL be jurors?-in the end "con-
demned the man to death (8ava'tov rof av8QwJtolJ xa'tEyvOJoav)."
This trial narrative is little more than a cento of terms and phrases
taken from accounts of the trial of Socrates, to which have been added a
few circumstantial details from the (presumably) historical trial of Seoses.
Socrates himself claimed that the charges against him were only" slander"
motivated by "envy."!' His friends praised his unrivaled devotion to justice
but also hinted that arrogance may have gotten him into trouble to begin
with." In accordance with Athenian legal usage, Socrates' accusers were
xa't~yoQoL and the "jurors" who "condemned him to death" (8ava'tov
au'tou xa'tEyvOJoav) were DLxao'taL. Two of the main charges brought
against him were that he did not believe in the gods of the city and the
infamous accusation that he introduced "strange new divinities" (xorv«
DaqlovLa).I9 Some of his accusers added that he taught others to have con-
tempt for the "established laws ('twv xa8Eo'tw'tOJV vO~OJV). "20 All these
words and phrases recur in the trial of Seoses.
What is going on here? One conclusion, at least, is certain. This pas-
sage does not contain a straightforward account of a Persian trial. It simply
cannot be used as a source of information on, for instance, judicial proce-
dures in Sasanid Persia or the "heresy" to which Seoses supposedly be-
longed." By dressing Seoses to look like Socrates, Procopius transposes legal
terms and institutions from democratic Athens to sixth -century Iran." But
his purpose is not to suggest indirectly that the historical Seoses was really
a philosopher. If that were true, he would simply have said so, as he does
elsewhere of real philosophers who were slandered and executed. Rather, it
 The Secret History of Philosophy 101

seems that history did not give him exactly what he wanted so he tampered
with it, though in a subtle way that would be obvious to only a few of his
readers. The fact of his tampering, however, offers us a valuable clue about
his intention, for the allusions convey a message that transcends its particu-
lar historical situation.
The problems posed by the trial of Seoses to the interpreter of Procop-
ius cannot but be related to one of the most striking omissions of important
information in the Wars, namely the total silence that he maintains regard-
ing the seven Platonic philosophers attacked by Justinian. According to
Agathias, after the emperor closed their schools, the philosophers "would
not conform to the establishment (to xa8Ea'tw~;) ," that is, Christianity,
and traveled to Persia hoping that its new ruler Chosroes lived up to his
reputation as a Platonic philosopher-king. But they soon realized that Per-
sia was as barbarous as its king's devotion to philosophy was superficial.
Yet they still managed to gain Chosroes' favor, thanks to which "a clause
was inserted in the treaty, which at that time was being concluded between
the Romans and the Persians, to the effect that the philosophers should be
allowed to return to their homes and to live out their lives in peace without
being compelled to alter their traditional religious beliefs.... Chosroes
insisted on the inclusion of the point and made the ratification and contin-
ued observance of the truce conditional on its implementation." Agathias
emphasizes that "the beliefs about God that held sway in the Roman empire
were not to their liking."> His source for these events may have been one
of those very same philosophers, probably Damascius or Simplicius. There
is no good reason to reject the story, which has been scrutinized often but
never seriously doubted and which also conforms well to what we know of
Chosroes' character and the diplomatic relations between Rome and Persia
in the sixth century." What requires explanation is the complete silence
that Procopius maintains about those events.
The negotiations leading up to the treaty mentioned by Agathias, the
so-called Eternal Peace of 532, are covered extensively in the Persian War
(1.16, 1.21-22). Procopius narrates in detail the protracted debate over the
various terms but mentions neither the philosophers nor the clause protect-
ing them upon which Chosroes insisted. Procopius has omitted all refer-
ence to what must have been an essential point in the negotiations. His
influence in this matter, and the degree to which modern accounts para-
phrase the Wars rather than synthesize all available sources, is revealed by
the persistent exclusion of Agathias' information from discussions of the
treaty, even though he provides what may be a verbatim quotation from it.
102 Chapter 3

Scholars do not doubt the authenticity of his account, but they relegate it
to discussions of culture and religion." It is precisely because Procopius has
been followed uncritically by all modern historians that his omission of
the information provided by Agathias does not seem suspicious. Nor did
Procopius include it in the Secret History, where the philosophers could
have been cast as Justinian's victims." We thus face the following paradox:
Procopius has suppressed the politically significant actions of real philoso-
phers, yet he has interpolated into his account of the trial of Seoses the
shadowy, albeit unmistakable, outline of a philosopher who never existed.
The contours of this problem are brought into focus by other passages
of the Wars whose protagonists are philosophers, specifically by two epi-
sodes from the introduction to the Gothic War, which takes us as far to the
west of Byzantium as the introduction to the Persian War takes us to the
east. These two passages illustrate the permanent tension between philoso-
phy and kingship by depicting it first from the point of view of philosophy's
private nature and then from the point of view of its potential for political
rule.
The first passage concerns the Roman senators Symmachus and Boe-
thius, who were executed by the Gothic king Theoderic (5.1.32-34). Procop-
ius openly calls them philosophers, no doubt because they really were."
And even though they are ominously linked to Seoses by definite verbal
and narrative parallels (see below), a number of factors lead us to believe
that they should not have suffered his fate. First, the prince under whom
they lived was Theoderic, "an extremely vigilant guardian of justice, who
preserved the laws on a sure basis ... attaining the highest degree of sagacity
and courage. And he committed virtually no acts of injustice against his
subjects, nor allowed anyone else to commit them who was inclined to do
so" (5.1.27-28). Through a number of carefully chosen allusions, Procopius
compares the Gothic king to Thucydides' portrait of Pericles, a vigilant
guardian and true statesman." This is high praise indeed.
Second, unlike Seoses, Symmachus and Boethius were not known to
despise the established customs of their society and did not revere" strange
new divinities," although they were, like Seoses, "second to none in their
concern for justice." And just as he had excelled in arrogance, a quality that
Procopius says was inbred in all Persian officials," Symmachus and Boe-
thius had no rivals in the virtues appropriate to cultivated Roman aristo-
crats, using their great wealth to help those in need." But to no avail. Their
magnanimity and practice of philosophy caused "envy" to rise up against
them, just as it had against Seoses; they too were "slandered" to Theoderic,
 The SecretHistory of Philosophy 103

accused of plotting revolution, and put to death without a proper trial. 31

The Gothic king repented, even died of grief. Yet despite his undeniable
virtues, he too sinned against philosophy, no less than his contemporary in
the east, the tyrant Cavades. At this point the comparisons to Pericles cease;
amid the horrid images and fatal visions of Theoderic's death, Procopius
inserts an allusion to the death of the mad Persian king Cambyses, who
repented of killing his brother before he accidentally and fatally wounded
himself." Procopius even manages to preserve Herodotus' dramatic sym-
bolism of retribution: just as Cambyses "was wounded at just that point of
his body at which he had struck the Egyptian god Apis," so too Theoderic
died, after imagining the face of the recently butchered Symmachus upon
the head of a fish served to him for dinner. This comparison is unfavorable
to Theoderic and suggests that even the most benign monarchy may lapse
into murderous despotism, especially against philosophers. Nevertheless,
the text is not without sympathy for the Gothic ruler, for it draws our
attention to the most pathetic moment of Cambyses' reign, highlighting his
sincere remorse. Thus it differs greatly from the comparison of Justinian to
Cambyses in the Secret History, the purpose of which is to emphasize the
Roman ruler's despotic character and contempt for law."
Thus, in the introductions to two books of the Wars, Procopius pres-
ents us with the virtually simultaneous executions of philosophers in king-
doms bordering on either side of the Roman empire. These passages do not
by themselves constitute a political philosophy. Yet they are consistent with
an implied politics of philosophy, for they reveal the precarious state of
intellectual life in a dawning age of tyranny. "Seoses" was executed in 522
because his behavior was vaguely Socratic and his rank offensive to the
envious. Symmachus and Boethius were executed ca. 52534 because they
practiced philosophy and were envied for their virtue and preeminence.
And, though Procopius is silent about them, the Platonists of Athens were
targeted by Justinian at the end of that decade precisely because they
formed an "overtly anti-Christian" center." Yet unlike some of their coreli-
gionists later in the reign, they were not executed and continued to practice
philosophy within the empire while Procopius was writing his histories."
Their political stance at that time is worth discussing, for it sheds light on
both the omissions and the allusions in the Wars.
Before leading his students to refuge in Persia, Damascius had docu-
mented in his PhilosophicalHistory the bold and courageous efforts of phi-
losophers in the late fifth and early sixth centuries to influence civic and
imperial authorities in a direction favorable to polytheism. It seems that
104 Chapter 3

they did not "leave unexploited any channel through which power might
trickle. "37Damascius himself argued strongly in favor of political activism
and dismissed "those who sit in a corner and philosophize at length about
justice."38 The ambitious interference with the treaty of 532 marked the high
point, but also the end, of the Platonists' political struggles. The accession
of Justinian inaugurated an era of unparalleled repression, which pagan
intellectuals did not dare oppose openly and from which they never recov-
ered." Procopius commented on the brutality of the persecutions in the
Secret History (11.31,13.4-7). Given the climate of repression, philosophers
understandably decided to lie low. In a commentary on Epictetus written
after 532, Damascius' successor Simplicius discussed the public stance ap-
propriate to a philosopher living in what he called "an age of tyranny.":"
In chapter 14 of that treatise, he composed a litany on the misfortunes that
had afflicted mankind in his own lifetime, including

the common misfortunes, such as earthquakes and floods and conflagrations,"

plagues and famines and the death of every kind of animal and produce, or those
things that are done in an unholy manner by human beings to one another, such
as the capture of cities and imprisonments and unjust murders and robberies and
plunder and licentiousness and tyrannical violence that forces one to commit even
impieties, not to mention the destruction of education and philosophy, of all virtue
and friendship and trust in one another; and of all the arts and sciences, discovered
and established over the course of many years, some have gone completely extinct,
so that only their names are known, whereas of the majority of them, given by god
for the improvement of our lives, such as medicine and architecture and carpentry
and others of that kind, only shadows and images remain. (14.20-32)

Before discussing the significance of "the destruction of education and

philosophy," we should note that there is an uncanny similarity between
this woeful paragraph and Procopius' SecretHistory. Nearly all the misfor-
tunes listed abstractly by the philosopher are documented in circumstantial
detail by the historian. Like Simplicius, Procopius lists the natural disasters
of the reign-earthquakes, plagues, floods, and famine-and twice mirrors
Simplicius' schema of nature conspiring with human depravity to destroy
mankind." The conjunction of natural and manmade disasters was, of
course, a common rhetorical theme, but there are verbal parallels between
the two texts." A close correspondence of language can also be observed in
the accusations of murder and robbery." The "licentiousness" mentioned
by Simplicius is invoked four times in a single chapter of the SecretHistory,
regarding the past life of Theodora, of course." One wonders what Simplic-
 The SecretHistory of Philosophy 105

ius meant by it. The philosopher also refers to the "unholy" manner in
which people treated each other; Procopius constantly refers to the "unholy
deeds" encouraged by the regime." More interesting is Simplicius' account
of the destruction of education and the arts and sciences, including medi-
cine and architecture (OLXO()O~LX~). Procopius levels an identical accusa-
tion, and it is ironic that an author who would write a panegyric on
Justinian's Buildings, who complains even in the SecretHistory of the cease-
less construction of useless buildings, should also lament the neglect of
public construction (OLXO()O~La) along with the decline of medicine."
It is certainly possible that we are dealing with two independent ob-
servers, in which case the main thesis of the SecretHistory gains unexpected
and independent confirmation. Yet the undeniable parallelism of content
and language suggests the possibility that one text influenced the composi-
tion of the other. Either Procopius elaborated the philosopher's lament or,
what seems more likely, Simplicius summarized Procopius' text when he
turned to list the woes of his age. The conclusion is in either case inescap-
able that Procopius' outlook on the sixth century was identical to that of the
most important Platonic philosopher of the age, an anti-Christian enemy of
Justinian's regime.
There are even more parallels between the two. Near the middle of
his commentary, Simplicius turns to the behavior that is appropriate to
philosophers "in corrupt states (EV'tal~ ~ox8f)Qal~ JtoAL'tELaL~)." His dis-
cussion takes its place in a long tradition of philosophical treatments of
that issue. The passage from which all thinkers drew inspiration, including
Simplicius and later even Thomas More in his Utopia, was in Plato's Repub-
lic. According to Socrates, "a human being who has fallen in with wild
beasts ... keeps quiet and minds his own business" (496d-e; cf. ezoc-d).
Comparing the Christian authorities to "sleeping beasts" liable to burst
into murderous rampages, Simplicius advised his readers to shun public
life and avoid controversy, or-and this is surely an autobiographical refer-
ence-"move to a better state.":" Simplicius understood that under Justin-
ian the survival of philosophy depended upon inconspicuousness and
dissimulation, and, like Procopius, he knew that one of the dangers facing
philosophers was "envy.":" The historian's references to envy in this con-
nection are important. In his works, envy appears in a variety of contexts,
but the idea that others would envy philosophers is perhaps one that only
philosophers can entertain.
Simplicius was not alone among contemporaries in stressing the pre-
carious state of philosophy. In his lectures, the Alexandrian Platonist
106 Chapter 3

Olympiodorus drew upon the same passage of the Republic to argue that a
philosopher ought to flee a city if his fellow citizens were unworthy. 50 His
own circumspection in dealing with thorny religious questions has been
noted." As for Procopius, in the preface of the Secret History (1.10), he de-
clares that his purpose is to expose the regime' s ~ox811Qa. Equally curious is
the fact that he uses the same term in the preface to the Wars, where he states
that his history will not conceal the ~ox811Qa of his own close acquaintances
(1.1.5).52It is unlikely that this word was chosen at random, for it resonated
with the audience for which Procopius composed this "inner" history. And
even though he was not specifically discussing philosophers, in the Secret
History he advocated prudent dissimulation as the correct response to the
violent tendencies of Justinian's official faith. The only people who escaped
persecution, he notes, were those who falsely pretended to be Christian. He
advises his readers to do the same, calling it "stupid" to suffer for what he
actually labels "some idiotic doctrine" (e.g., 11.24-32, 27.7). So much for the
ideal of martyrdom. It is reasonable to assume that he followed his own
advice, thus lulling the "sleeping beasts" that terrified Simplicius."
It is curious that we do not know where the Platonists settled after
Persia. 54 Procopius, of course, says nothing. In his voluminous writings,
Simplicius says nothing explicit, practicing what he preached in his com-
mentary on Epictetus. More curiously, forty years after 532, Agathias still
refused to specify where the philosophers had gone, even though his cryptic
(and slightly envious) remark that "they lived out the remainder of their
days in pleasant contentment" indicates that he knew more than he was
willing to tell." Agathias was writing in the late 570S,56while the narrative
of his Histories covers the years 552-559. His digression on the Platonists
takes him back to 532, to a generation before the period covered by his
work. He tells us what Procopius should have told us but did not, and yet
he still tells us less than we would like to know. It is perhaps here that he
reveals himself as the most perceptive interpreter of Procopius' intentions.
Let us note in this connection that Agathias, referring to the account of the
two reigns of Cavades in the Wars, enrolls Procopius among "the wise men
of the past," which his modern interpreters have rightly called "a curious
phrase."? It is also curious that the only individuals whom he designates
as unequivocally wise are Plato, Procopius, and the Neoplatonists. 58

Plato's Nightmare

Like the introduction to the Persian War, the first chapters of the Gothic
War are a blend of fact and philosophical interpretation, the latter again
 The Secret History of Philosophy 107

including Platonic mimesis. Procopius here audaciously introduces a philo-

sophical dialogue into his narrative that delivers a verdict on the Platonic
teaching about justice, philosophy, and political rule. Procopius' choice of
the dialogue form to satirize the exoteric tenets of Platonism is not without
irony. Yet that invented dialogue, with its grim mixture of seriousness and
play, indicates that he was one of the most insightful students of Plato's
political philosophy, certainly in his own century. We will see that he had
thoroughly mastered at least two dialogues, the Gorgias and the Republic,
and fully understood the dramatic elements of the Platonic art of writing.
The sequence of Gothic kings presented in the introduction to the
Gothic War is just as schematic as the sequence of Persian kings in the
introduction to the Persian War. Procopius again distorts history to pro-
duce a contrast between Theoderic and his nephew Theodahad. In brief,
we observe the following chiastic transformation. Whereas Theoderic (d.
526) was an excellent statesman who was illiterate, Theodahad (r. 534-536)
was a learned philosopher who was utterly incompetent as a ruler. The
young Athalaric (r. 526-534), Theoderic's grandson, is caught between the
two not only chronologically but also in terms of his education, which was
half Roman and half Gothic. We will first examine the schematic sequence
that contrasts learning to statesmanship and then the Platonic themes that
emerge in the dialogue between Theodahad and the Roman ambassador
Peter.
As we saw previously, Procopius' view of Theoderic as a statesman is
very positive and has never been doubted by modern scholars. It is impor-
tant to note that his praise is not based solely on the Gothic king's success,
for it emphasizes his justice and the love he engendered in his subjects
(5.1.26-31). Procopius' allegations of illiteracy, however, have not gained
credit with modern historians, and rightly so. As a youth, Theoderic spent
a decade in Constantinople, where he no doubt received a literary educa-
tion, and examinations of his reign have invalidated the additional claim
that he forbade Gothic children from attending school. 59 Yet that claim, as
well as the assertion that the king himself "had never even heard of letters,"
are not made directly by Procopius. He attributes them to Gothic nobles
who opposed the efforts of his daughter Amalasuntha to educate her son
Athalaric in the Roman manner (5.2.11-17). Still, Procopius neither refutes
those allegations nor allows Amalasuntha to do so, thereby leaving the
reader with the definite impression that Theoderic was illiterate and hostile
to learning. Procopius has it both ways. He avoids speaking a great untruth
in his own voice while insinuating the impressions required to create the
108 Chapter 3

contrast with the would-be philosopher-king." Theodahad is introduced as

very learned but inexperienced in warfare and the active life (5.3.1).
Athalaric is caught between those two extremes but fails to reconcile
them. His mother placed him under a grammarian to make a proper
Roman of him (5.2.6), but hostile Gothic nobles forcibly removed him from
her care, insisting that he be raised "according to the customs of the barbar-
ians," that is, as a warrior (5.2.8-17). The young man ultimately became
neither and wasted away in debauchery. According to the underlying prem-
ises of the introduction, he was a living contradiction, a logical impossibil-
ity, as even his mother realized (5.3.11: EL~ roirto a'toJtLa~). Finally he just
"withered away" and died (5.3.10, 5.4.4-5).
In order to produce this stylized episode, Procopius has somewhat
distorted events. First, he has made the reign of Athalaric, a period of eight
years (526-534), seem like a few months, though he does give the correct
dates." This compression serves to dramatize the conflict over his educa-
tion and bring the deeper issues of the introduction into sharper focus.
Second, Procopius centers the narrative on that very conflict, even though
he knows that it was only part of a broader struggle between two factions
in Gothic Italy. However, it is not difficult for careful readers of the Wars
to reconstruct the correct chronology as well as the political context from
the information that Procopius provides, and historians have done SO.62
The young king may have suffered from diabetes, but Athalaric's life
and death are used by Procopius to signify the impossibility, or atopia, of
uniting barbarian manliness and Roman learning in a Gothic ruler. 63 The
same tension was found, in conjunction with other factors, in the regency
of his mother, Amalasuntha. Procopius introduces her as sagacious, just,
and respectful of Roman culture and notes in her obituary that she ruled
with great virtue.?' Yet her admiration for classical education incurred the
enmity of the military nobility, and it is not entirely coincidental that both
she and Theodahad, who also respected higher learning, were keen to sur-
render Italy to Justinian in exchange for estates and honor in the empire."
The introduction to the Gothic War posits a seemingly irreconcilable ten-
sion between the "manly" virtues of Theoderic, by which Gothic Italy was
made strong, and the concern for literary culture, which is associated with
a sickly child, a failed queen, and a perfidious coward." Theodahad was
learned to the degree that he was incompetent as a leader.
The failure of Amalasuntha was ultimately due to her main difference
from her father, which Procopius appropriately reveals by exploiting the
language of gender. The fundamental paradox of her position consisted
 The SecretHistory of Philosophy 109

simply in the fact that she was a woman, though her nature was "nearer to
the masculine" and not soft like that of most women." On one occasion
(5.2.20) Procopius highlights the incongruity by conjoining a feminine arti-
cle with the masculine word for "human being (~ av8QOJJto~)," a rare
usage." Yet the Gothic warriors would never accept a female ruler, however
masculine or virtuous. Accordingly, Procopius' high praise of Amalasuntha
differs from his praise of her father in one subtle but decisive respect.
Whereas Theoderic was "sagacious, just, and manly (aV()QLa)," she was
"sagacious, just, and nearer to the masculine (aQQEVOJJtOV). "69 Genuine

"manliness" was what her regime could never attain. Her very position as
regent depended upon the life and youth of her son (cf. 5.3.11),she was
constrained to act through loyal and energetic men (5.2.25), her enemies
feared that she would marry and elevate another man to the throne (5.2.10),
and when her son died, she was compelled to share dominion with a man,
Theodahad, who swiftly destroyed her (5.4.4-13). The idea that an able and
even masculine woman can aspire to rule a state founded upon military
virtue is revealed as unrealistic, if not downright utopian. Procopius thus
seems to opt for the more qualified alternative in the question posed by
Socrates in the Republic (453a), "whether female human nature can share
in common with the nature of the male class in all deeds or in none at all,
or in some things yes and in others no, particularly with respectto war?"70
The failure of Amalasuntha is therefore linked to the failure of Theo-
dahad, the only philosopher-king depicted in the Wars and a man whom
Procopius calls "by nature unmanly (avav()Qo~: 5.9.1)." Women and phi-
losophers may have much in common when examined as potential rulers,
though both may prove to be failures, as Socrates and his interlocutors
suspect in Book 5 of the Republic. Theodahad was also "well versed in Latin
literature and the teachings of Plato" (5.3.1). His learning was noted by
other contemporaries, and official spokesmen cast him as a philosopher-
king." But the figure that emerges from the Wars is in all other respects an
antithesis of the philosopher-king depicted in the Republic; indeed, he is a
direct caricature of that famous ideal. Once again the Wars mirrors the text
of the Republic. For instance, Theodahad's chief vice was "love of money
(cpLAoXQf)~a'tLa)," in direct contrast to Plato's philosopher-kings, who
have no private property and are "in no way lovers of money (ou()a~i1
cpLAoXQ~~a'to~)."72 Whereas Theodahad "had no experience of warfare"
and "did not partake of the active life," Plato's kings, springing from the
class of the guardians, must be "champions in war when they are young"
and be "proven best both in philosophy and with respect to war."?" Theo-
110 Chapter 3

dahad was a coward, easily seized by terror in the face of war. His character,
wavering between dread and elation, was distrustful and unsteady (~E~aLov
't~v ()ulvoLav ou()a~i1 ELXEV).The philosophers of the Republic, however,
cannot be cowardly and must have a steady disposition ('ta~ ()LaVOLa~ ...
~E'ta ~E~aL6'tf)'to~), especially when facing "the fears of war. "74These par-
allels constitute another mimesis of Platonic concepts and themes. Procop-
ius wanted his philosophical readers to view Theodahad as the reversal of a
philosopher-king. To add a final insult, he even had a wife (5.6.12).
The character and reign of Theodahad in the Gothic War are directly
modeled on the doctrines of Plato's Republic. It is therefore not surprising
that this caricature of a philosopher-king should participate in a dialogue
that revolves around Socrates' teachings on justice and the role of philoso-
phers in the state. Procopius' perspective in this dialogue corresponds with
what we have seen of the fate of philosophers elsewhere in the Wars. In
order to understand it we must first, as with any Platonic dialogue, know
something about the character of the interlocutors and the historical cir-
cumstances of their discussion. Procopius fails us in neither respect, charac-
terizing Peter with Thucydidean terseness: "he was one of the orators in
Byzantium, sagacious, gentle, and well fitted by nature to persuade oth-
ers."75 This information, as we will see, suffices to explain his philosophical
role in the dialogue with Theodahad. The revelations in the Secret History,
which we will examine later, only deepen and elaborate the Platonic mold
in which his character and speeches have been cast.
Terrified by Roman military offenses, Theodahad met secretly with
Peter, offering to surrender Sicily and accept the emperor as his overlord
(5.6.1-5) .76

But shortly afterward, terror seized hold of the man's soul, giving him over to
boundless fears, twisting his mind this way and that, and causing him to tremble at
the very name of war, since, if the emperor was not pleased with the agreement he
had made with Peter, war would swiftly be upon him. Immediately, therefore, he
recalled Peter, who had already reached Albani, and took counsel with him in se-
cret, asking him whether he thought that the agreement would be pleasing (JtQo~
~()ovti~) to the emperor. And Peter said that he suspected that it would.
"But what if it pleases him in no way," he said, "what will happen then?"
And Peter replied, "Then you will have to wage war, most noble sir."
"But what are you saying? Are these things just, dear ambassador?" he said.
And Peter answered him immediately, taking up the argument, "And how
can it not be just, my good man," he said, "for the pursuits (EJtL'tll()EU~a'ta) appro-
priate to the soul of each to be guarded (qYUAaOOEo8aL)?"
"What does that mean?" asked Theodahad.
 The SecretHistory of Philosophy 111

"It means that your greatest pursuit is to philosophize," he said, "but for
Justinian it is to be an excellent emperor of the Romans. And here is the difference,
that for one practicing philosophy it would never be decent to cause the deaths of
men, especially in such great numbers, and this is in accordance with the teaching
of Plato, which you have manifestly embraced, making it unholy for you not to be
free from all murder. But it is not at all unreasonable for him to lay claim to lands
that once belonged to the realm which is properly his own."
Persuaded by this warning, Theodahad pledged to abdicate his throne in favor
of the emperor Justinian. (5.6.6-11)

The speakers are a would-be philosopher-king and an orator in the

employ of a tyrant. 77 Their dialogue is directly modeled on the conversa-
tions in the Republic and the Gorgiasbetween Socrates, a political philoso-
pher who abstained from actual politics, and various orators who wished
to become or to serve tyrants. War is at the forefront of the discussion in
the Republic." "War" is also the first word of the Gorgias, and forms an
"unspoken theme" underlying the entire dialogue." Likewise, the dialogue
between Theodahad and Peter occurs in the tense context of impending
war, which Procopius manages to mention twice in the first sentence of the
passage quoted above and once in the dialogue itself. The grim possibility
of violence looms over the conversation between the two men.
Theodahad speaks as a philosopher by asking whether it is just for
Justinian to declare war. Peter does not answer the question directly but
finesses it as befits an orator. It is interesting that he deflects the accusation
of injustice by appropriating and mocking the famous definition of justice
expounded in the Republic. According to Socrates, whose language Peter
mimics, justice consists of the performance by each soul of the task most
suited to its nature." Peter claims that the proper role of a philosopher is
to philosophize and not to shed blood, whereas Justinian, who is presum-
ably an utterly unphilosophical ruler, may wage war with justice. The
Roman orator is throwing Socrates' definition back in the face of the Gothic
philosopher-king. Is it not proper for men with murderous souls to behave
as murderers? This struggle between justice and power in the context of
impending war also reminds us of the horrific dialogue in Thucydides be-
tween the pious Melians and the Athenians, for whom might makes right
(5.84-111). Like the Melians, Theodahad invokes justice precisely because
he is powerless. Peter's threats are likewise a thinly veiled version of the
harsh ultimatum delivered to the Melians by the Athenian generals."
Peter's rhetorical tricks are not without interest, for through them
Procopius manages to introduce some of his own dissident political views
112 Chapter 3

into the Wars. The ambassador's description of the proper tasks of the two
men is not entirely straightforward, for he has cleverly shifted some of the
essential attributes of Justinian over to the description of Theodahad, only
in the form of negatives. Thus, instead of saying openly that it would be
appropriate for Justinian's soul to kill multitudes of men and stain itself
with murder, Peter says instead that those actions are not appropriate to a
Platonic philosopher. The reader can easily read between these lines, as
Justinian is about to embark on those very actions." We are left with no
doubts about the nature of the Roman emperor's soul, even though Peter
employs various euphemisms in his direct description of its proper tasks to
avoid stating the obvious. This tactic, of course, is consistent with Peter's
soul, which is that of an orator. We wonder then about the soul of Procop-
ius, who has managed in the Wars to make a spokesman of Justinian utter
in a veiled manner the criticisms that he himself levels against that emperor
in the SecretHistory (e.g., 6.20; 8.30).
Compared to Theoderic, Theodahad is a petty criminal and a worth-
less ruler. But compared to Justinian he is a Platonic holy man. Justinian
emerges from this passage as a bloodthirsty warmonger, embodying the
antithesis of philosophy. His agent Peter attacks the political claims of phi-
losophy and subsequently compels Theodahad to acknowledge in a letter
to Justinian the private nature of philosophy and its incompatibility with
kingship (S.6.1S-21). Peter twists Socrates' definition of justice to reaffirm
the truth stated by his colleague, the orator Thrasymachus, in Book 1 of the
Republic; namely, that justice is the advantage of the stronger." Like Seoses,
Symmachus, Boethius, and the sixth-century Platonists, Theodahad gave
way to the power of tyranny.
The view of philosophy as a private pursuit that cannot defend itself
against political power is famously expounded by Callicles in Plato's Gor-
gias. According to Callicles, philosophers-such as Theodahad-are inex-
perienced in all aspects of public life (484c-e), and when they are accused
by wicked enemies they are unable to resist the charges and are put to death
(486a-b). Callicles refers to such men as "unmanly (dvovoooc)" on many
occasions (48sc-d; 492b). As we have seen, this is precisely what Procopius
calls Theodahad (S.9.1). Interestingly, Socrates does not openly challenge
Callicles' position in the Gorgias.In fact, he later admits that philosophers'
fates may be exactly as his interlocutor claims (s08c-e), and, indeed, that is
how he met his own end. Socrates even suggests that philosophers should
mind their own business and not become busybodies (S26c), which also
tends to rule out political activity, just as do Peter's arguments in the dia-
 The Secret History of Philosophy 113

logue with Theodahad and Theodahad's subsequent letter to Justinian."

This takes us back to his statement in the Republic, which was quoted by
Simplicius and Olympiodorus, that "a human being who has fallen in with
wild beasts ... keeps quiet and minds his own business" (496d-e).
Peter's rhetorical abilities have a more sinister aspect. In the Secret
History, Procopius says that it was Peter, instigated by Theodora, who per-
suaded Theodahad to kill Amalasuntha (16.1-5). The king perhaps required
little encouragement, but independent evidence suggests that the accusation
is plausible." In fact, Procopius hints at Peter's complicity even in the Wars
by closely conjoining, in one terse sentence, his arrival in Italy with the
death of Amalasuntha." This was probably as far as he could go in a public
work, but it still constitutes a testament to his courage as a historian; schol-
ars who have not lived in fear of murderous rulers can perhaps appreciate
this only with difficulty." In the Secret History (16.5), Procopius draws our
attention to Peter's rhetorical skill by claiming not to know by what exhor-
tations the ambassador persuaded the king to murder Amalasuntha. The
same verb is used there for Peter's power of persuasion (avEJtELoE)as is
used in the Wars for Theodahad's decision to abdicate his throne after his
conversation with the Roman ambassador (avaJtELo8EL~;). Peter can appar-
ently persuade kings to commit murder as well as to abdicate. The belief in
the omnipotence of rhetoric is propounded powerfully by Gorgias' vicious
student Polus in Plato's dialogue: orators, through their skill, "just like
tyrants, kill whomever they wish, confiscate possessions, and expel from the
cities whomever it seems good to them. "88 Procopius lived to see Plato's
worst nightmare: an alliance of rhetoric and tyranny against philosophy.
The Wars contains a story within a story. Procopius modeled numer-
ous episodes recounted in his history on the teachings of Plato, sometimes
even distorting the facts in order to do so. The dialogue between Peter and
Theodahad is an invention, and what has been said about the source of that
invention can be said about the historian himself: he "offers a fictional
dialogue to explain the war. . . . [This] suggests the necessity to diverge
from what we would today call the facts of history to that truth which lies
more fully in the fictions of Platonic dialogues. "89
The introduction to the Persian War, which stands at the beginning of
the Wars as a whole, situates the events of the sixth century within the
context of the tyranny described in Book 8 of the Republic. Lifted from
Plato are not only the sequence of regimes itself but also the contours of
the tyranny to which it ultimately led. The Persian War presents the Sasanid
side of this equation, the Secret History the Roman side. The executions of
114 Chapter 3

Seoses, Symmachus, and Boethius stress the anti-philosophical nature of

the political context. Philosophers, whether private citizens or highly placed
officials, are revealed as unable to withstand the violence of tyranny and
rhetoric. Using the language of Callicles, Procopius caricatures a philoso-
pher- king for the hollowness of his political ambitions. Despite his great
debt to Plato, the historian depicts a world that utterly failed to live up to
the ideals expounded in Book 5 of the Republic; indeed, he seems to depict
it in explicit opposition to those ideals. A violent tyrant institutes the shar-
ing of women; an able, virtuous, and "masculine" woman fails to lead a
warlike people; and a philosopher-king is shown as ludicrously passive and
incompetent as a ruler.
And yet this pessimism is offered not as hostile criticism of the ideals
of the Republic but rather as a frustrated realization of their inherently
unrealistic nature. Such a view may be closer to Socrates' own position than
that of those who believe that the Republic contains a blueprint for an ideal
state that can be realized in the world, even if only under rare circumstances
or incompletely. Socrates himself grants that the law on women seems un-
likely to work in practice and never offers arguments in favor of its possibil-
ity (457c-e, 472d); as for the ideal city, at the end of the discussion he
reveals that it simply does not matter whether it can exist, given that it can
only come about through "some divine chance" and does not exist "any-
where on earth" (592a-b). Only philosophers who have already been raised
in just cities are in a position to benefit them (519c-520d; cf. 5.6.15-21 for
Theodahad). According to Cicero, Plato "has created a state of a kind that
is to be desired rather than hoped for ... not such as to be possible, but in
which it might be possible to see the workings of his theory of the state."?"
Examining the two radical doctrines of the dialogue, the equality of women
and the rule of philosophers, some scholars have also" doubted the serious-
ness of these proposals .... The absurdity of a naked old woman practicing
gymnastics is matched by the absurdity of a philosopher ruling over a
city."?' These ideas are "intended to suggest the impossibility of political
justice and the absurd extremes to which politics must go in its search for
an impossible perfection."92
Nevertheless, many of Procopius' contemporaries interpreted at least
one of Plato's ideals as attainable, making the sixth century an age of philos-
opher-kings. In 533,Theoderic was called a "a purple-clad philosopher" by
his successor. 93 Boethius prided himself on implementing, while in office,
Plato's directive to join philosophy and secular power." Theodahad natu-
rally portrayed himself as a philosopher-king." The deacon Agapetus
 The Secret History of Philosophy 115

claimed that the reign of Justinian finally brought to pass the prediction of
Plato that happiness would be impossible if philosophers did not assume
power or rulers did not philosophize, albeit in a Christian manner, of
course." A political theorist who wrote a dialogue On Politics, whose out-
look was fundamentally Platonic, also endorsed the union of philosophy
and kingship (5.123, 5.210).97Even Chosroes cultivated an aura of philoso-
phy, propaganda that found expression in contemporary Syriac literature
and was well known within the Roman empire, where the king was duly
cast as a Platonist by his admirers." It is against this backdrop of effusive
pseudo-philosophical rhetoric that we must view Procopius' stance. The
dialogue between Theodahad and Peter caricatures the pretensions of phi-
losopher- kings and reveals the truth about Justinian, casting him as the
antithesis of philosophy. Procopius' Wars marks the abandonment by seri-
ous students of Plato of the impossible ideal of philosophical rule. It would
not be revived again until the eleventh century.

Platonic Texts, Platonic Readers

The Wars became an instant classic. When he came to write the preface to
the supplementary Book 8 two years later, Procopius noted with pride that
his work was already known throughout the Roman empire. By century's
end, the Wars had inspired a host of imitators who referred to Procopius
by name and deferred to his authority. Nor was his influence confined to
other classicizing historians. The ecclesiastical historian Evagrius copied
long passages of the Wars into his own book, as did later Byzantine chroni-
clers, for example Theophanes the Confessor. Procopius was consulted by
the Renaissance humanists, who were interested in the early medieval his-
tory of Italy, and he has provided the basis for all modern reconstructions
of the reign of Justinian. There is no question that he has found a reader-
ship, among both his own contemporaries and posterity.
Yet Procopius surely did not expect that all those readers would detect
the Platonic allusions with which he laced his text. He knew that most
would be fascinated by the political, military, and ethnographic parts and
would not realize that more is going on beneath the surface. And that is
exactly what has happened. To whom then was the Platonic mimesis ad-
dressed? Perhaps we can work back from the knowledge required to detect
and make sense of the allusions to the more select group of readers that
Procopius had in mind. This is a general and necessary feature of classiciz-
116 Chapter 3

ing writing: readers will reach the deeper levels of a text to the degree that
they are themselves classically educated." Some may not grasp any of the
allusions, while others will note only, say, poetic vocabulary. Those with a
rhetorical training will appreciate aspects of the speeches and surely identify
some of the Thucydidean allusions, though only those who have carefully
studied the entirety of Thucydides and Herodotus will be able to under-
stand the structural parallels that link their works to Procopius. At every
level the readership becomes increasingly more select. Finally we reach
those who knew the Republic more or less by heart and were concerned
about the fate of philosophy under tyrants such as Justinian. We have come
far from the classicism censured in recent studies, the affected and tasteless
imitation of outdated language. As has been said of Thomas More and the
humanists to whom he addressed the Platonic fable of the Utopia: "For
such men the profound relation to the Republic was obvious and the explicit
references almost too loud. On the other hand, as he was writing for a
much wider audience who would not know the Republic as did the first
group, or even at all, he had to take care not to make his message dependent
on an understanding which they neither had nor could easily get."IOOThe
first group belonged to "those few" about whom the Platonic Seventh Letter
(341e) says that "through a small indication they are capable of grasping
the truth on their own." This must have been a small group. Who were
they?
One of them, I propose, can be identified. John Lydus, the bureaucrat
and antiquarian, seems to have been a close friend of Procopius. He too
hated Justinian and had close connections to the Platonists and other pa-
gans of the sixth century.'?' Another candidate is Simplicius, whose com-
mentary on Epictetus may reflect a reading of the SecretHistory but whose
outlook on the reign of Justinian was in any case identical to that of Pro-
copius. Beyond them, we can only speculate on the kind of reader Procop-
ius had in mind, because we are not so fortunate as to know everyone who
read Plato carefully in the sixth century. For example, there is the jurist
Tribonian, suspected by some of being a Hellenic "atheist," who structured
the edicts that he wrote on behalf of his master Justinian around Plato's
concepts and even included "crypto-quotations" to his dialogues, which
Justinian most likely did not detect and would certainly not have con-
doned.':" Platonic allusions embedded in Justinian's legislation probably
constitute the greatest irony of the reign, matched only by the use of Aristo-
phanic verses in Procopius' description of Hagia Sophia. Then there is the
poet, lawyer, and future historian Agathias, a man of about twenty when
 The Secret History of Philosophy 117

the Wars was published, who revered the Platonists, praised Procopius' wis-
dom, and grasped at least some of the Platonic allusions in the Wars. By
using the noble lie of providence in his Histories, he revealed his own Pla-
tonic outlook.l'" To this group we should add the anonymous author of
the dialogue On Politics, whose ideas, as noted above, were fundamentally
indebted to Plato's Republic. Unfortunately, our information is too limited
to establish personal relationships among these men. But the textual and
philosophical links that bind them together are undeniable and raise ques-
tions about the company Procopius kept when he was not on campaign
with Belisarius. We must remember that we know little about his life and
nothing that he does not tell us himself.
So much for Procopius' contemporaries. When we turn to modern
readers, we find not only that his Platonic experiments have gone unno-
ticed, they have been positively denied: "There is little to suggest serious
study of philosophy," he was "not a philosophical historian," and he had
"no particular interest in Platonic doctrine.?'?' Yet these prematurely de-
finitive statements have been issued by scholars who have not detected any
of the Platonic allusions in the Secret History and the Wars. Again we wit-
ness the distorting effects of academic specialization. Procopius has been
studied mainly by social, military, and art historians, whose professional
training does not recreate the paideia of any ancient author. This inevitably
leads to divergent interests and misunderstandings. For example, only
someone who knows ancient philosophy from handbooks can think that it
consisted chiefly of "doctrine"; that is, metaphysics. The formal separation
of texts into historiography and philosophy, along with the fact that these
are studied as separate disciplines, has obscured the fact that most ancient
historians were fully developed political theorists, or, as was true of many
historians in late antiquity and Byzantium, that they drew their inspiration
from philosophy and chiefly from Plato. IDS Whether we like it or not, phi-
losophy stands at the heart of classical historiography and unless we are
able to distinguish between factual reporting and Platonic mimesis we risk
speaking at cross-purposes with our sources. Procopius' Wars, our main
source for the history of the sixth century, turns out to be in many respects
Platonic philosophy in disguise.
 Chapter 4
The Representation of Tyranny

The first sentence of the Wars declares the work to be about the
wars waged by Justinian against the barbarians. The narrative takes place
mostly on the frontiers and in lands being conquered, paradoxically relegat-
ing the capital to the margins. Yet though he never left the capital, Justinian
determined the course of those events more than any other person. The
first sentence of the SecretHistory declares the work to be about what hap-
pened within the Roman empire, or about "the lives of Justinian and Theo-
dora" (1.4). Justinian was at the heart of Procopius' concerns.
The Secret History is the most virulent invective from antiquity, and
nothing can explain it except sheer loathing for Justinian and his regime. It
is impossible to believe that this hostility did not also shape the Wars, which
was written at the same time. Naturally, criticism of the regime in a public
work had to be veiled or indirect, and we have found many instances of
this. In a separate reading of the Wars, I intend to demonstrate that Procop-
ius opposed Justinian's wars-not just the means by which they were
waged, but entirely.
The focus of this chapter is not on the wars but on the way in which
Procopius conceptualized and represented the tyranny of Justinian, first in
the Wars, where it emerges indirectly, albeit with curious nuances that
merit discussion, and second, in the SecretHistory, where its manifold elab-
oration calls for a comprehensive study. These are problems in literary rep-
resentation, not historical analysis, though we are dealing here with the
most important source on the most consequential reign of the later Roman
period. In particular, I intend to discuss the parallels that Procopius estab-
lishes between Justinian and various Persian kings, especially Chosroes, and
the way in which Roman and Persian rulers are made to converge. This will
lead to a discussion of Justinian's demand for proskynesis and the title des-
potes. I will then examine Procopius' attempt in the SecretHistory to come
to grips with the ideology of the regime and the possible limitations of his
effort. The shrillness of the work reflects his frustration with the inadequacy
 The Representation of Tyranny 119

of classical paradigms to represent a regime that was in some ways closer

to modern than to ancient forms of tyranny. The last section will discuss
the alternatives Procopius upheld in attacking Justinian. These were entirely
secular and uninfluenced by the notions of divine kingship that are now
routinely ascribed to all Byzantines. The chapter will conclude with Procop-
ius' fascination with assassination, which he viewed as the only likely solu-
tion to the problem of tyranny.

Chosroes and Justinian, "Emperors of East and West"

Though the Roman emperors sometimes postured as the rulers of the entire
world, especially when addressing their own subjects, their correspondence
with their Persian counterparts reveals that the two monarchs had agreed
to treat each other as equals, at least officially. As from Rome, a hierarchy
radiated out from Persia to all peoples who acknowledged the Great King
as their titular overlord. There was always tension between the two empires,
especially concerning the fealty of those unfortunate enough to live between
them, though nominally their equality was not in doubt, at least before the
early seventh century. Ambassadors for both sides devised colorful meta-
phors to express this relationship. The kings were called the two eyes illumi-
nating the world or the two shoulders or mountains of the world. 1 In the
Persian Wars, Roman ambassadors address the Persian king as the emper-
or's "brother," which seems to have been conventional practice.' We should
not forget that when the Persian king Cavades asked the Roman emperor
Justin to adopt his son Chosroes, Chosroes and Justinian came close to
becoming brothers in more than just a diplomatic sense. Notably, it is pre-
cisely when he recounts this episode that Procopius formally introduces the
two future despots to his readers (1.11.5-10). In other words, they are first
mentioned just when their relationship was the closest it would ever be.
Despite the many destructive wars the two autocrats would wage
against each other in the decades to come, Procopius' hostile portrayal of
Chosroes in the Persian Wars bears striking similarities to his invective
against Justinian in the Secret History. The "eyes of the world" may have
been bitter enemies, but they were still two of a kind. Common vices in-
cluded a love for innovation, unsteady intentions, lies and dissimulation,
broken oaths, feigned piety, and avarice." These parallels have been noted
by the historian's modern detractors, who typically ascribe them to a lack
of insight and imagination: "he was applying a standardized vocabulary of
120 Chapter 4

abuse to both rulers.':" As usual, the lack of insight belongs to those who
make these charges. The counterpoint between Chosroes and Justinian goes
much farther than a stock set of moralizing accusations: it extends to the
historian's conceptualization of imperial rule in both Rome and Persia.
Further, the parallelism between the two rulers is not limited to their char-
acters but operates on a structural level as well: whole chapters of the Wars
are designed to highlight the gradual assimilation of Roman and Persian
sovereignty. At one point, Chosroes assumes the persona of a Roman em-
peror, while Justinian is constantly compared, through carefully chosen
classical allusions, to a number of Persian despots. Naturally, Procopius is
less interested in the Persian side of this equation; to this degree, Chosroes
is a surrogate for his Roman "brother." The assimilation of the two auto-
crats is designed to expose the degree to which the Roman empire under
Justinian had become indistinguishable from an oriental and barbaric des-
potism. This is a theme that we have already encountered in our analysis
of the Wars. Moreover, we will see in this chapter that it emerges largely
from the Wars itself. There is no need to invoke the Secret History, though
accusations made in that work deepen the comparison.
Much as Xerxes dominates Herodotus' account of the Persian Wars of
the classical period," Chosroes gradually emerges as the dominant personal-
ity of the Persian Wars, a position he attains by the beginning of Book 2.
Besides determining the shape of the war during most of its years, he is the
only military leader whose personality merits an entire section of analysis
(2.9) and whose actions elicit digressions on the workings of fortune." Com-
pared to Chosroes, Justinian is absent, speaking only through ambassadors
and letters. Belisarius is even made to say at one point that the emperor "is
so far removed from events that he cannot adjust his actions to the chang-
ing circumstances" (2.16.10). Exactly the same charge is made in Procopius'
own voice in the Secret History (18.29), another instance of the artful coun-
terpoint between the two texts. Consequently, the narrative ostensibly de-
voted to the wars of Justinian against the barbarians is in reality dominated
by the personality and deeds of his Persian counterpart.
Before we examine the Persian attributes of Justinian, we should look
first at the Roman attributes of Chosroes, for, as was noted above, the
parallels between them go both ways. Whereas the most exciting narrative
in the Persian Wars must be the account of the Nika riots in 532 and the
most moving the description of the plague ten years later, the highlight of
the military narrative is surely the invasion of Roman territory by Chosroes
in 540, an act that broke the Eternal Peace eight years after it had been
 The Representation of Tyranny 121

signed. It also led to the destruction of Antioch, a catastrophe from which

the city never recovered. Without encountering any resistance worth the
name, Chosroes marched up the Euphrates, extorting money from cities on
the way or sacking them if they refused. Procopius describes this invasion
and the plight of the helpless provincials in some detail (2.5-13).
Once Chosroes destroyed Antioch, he realized that there would be no
serious Roman response to his movements. This gave him leisure to indulge
his fancies. First, he went down to Seleuceia on the coast, for no other
reason than to swim in the ocean, "sacrifice to the sun and whatever other
divinities he wanted, and call upon the gods many times" (2.11.1). We will
never know whether he was imitating past Near Eastern conquerors, for
example Iahdun-Lim of Mari in the nineteenth century B.C. and the Assyr-
ian Ashurnasirpal in the ninth, both of whom also waded into the waters
of the Mediterranean and performed sacrifices on the coast to symbolize
the ultimate success of their conquests." Be that as it may, it is at this point
of symbolic victory that the persona projected by the king in Procopius'
narrative gradually loses the qualities of a foreign conqueror and assumes
first those of the tourist and, finally, those of a Roman emperor.
Chosroes began to visit various sites that piqued his interest. He ex-
pressed "a desire to see" the city of Apamea (2.11.2), an urge that surely
harks back to Xerxes' "desire to see" various sites in Greece during his
expedition and possibly to Alexander the Great's famous "longing" to make
new discoveries." It is unlikely that the Sasanid king intended the allusion,
though he knew his Greek literature." It has probably been crafted by his
historian, who also notes that everyone knew that the king merely wanted
to plunder the city. On the way to Apamea he stopped to admire Daphne,
the sylvan suburb of Antioch, where he sacrificed to the nymphs and
burned a church of St. Michael (2.11.4-6).10 He then put Apamea under
military occupation. It is at this point that the king's behavior, which had
so far been bizarre, became surreal. Chosroes was seized with the desire to
attend the games at the hippodrome and commanded the populace to at-
tend. Hearing that Justinian favored the Blues, he arranged for the Greens
to win the chariot races, "desiring to go against him in this matter too"
(2.11.31-32). Afterward, when a man came up to him and complained that
a Persian soldier had raped his daughter, Chosroes ordered that the soldier
be impaled. The populace cried out loudly that he should be spared. The
king promised to release him to them but then impaled him secretly
(2.11.36-3 8).
In a story told about that day of races in Apamea, the ecclesiastical
122 Chapter 4

historian Evagrius, a younger contemporary of Procopius, emphasized the

fact that Chosroes was a foreign invader who had no business in the hippo-
drome or the city (4.25). But the narrative of the Wars moves in a different
direction. At the apogee of the invasion, after the capture and destruction
of Antioch, Chosroes is transformed by degrees into a kind of Roman em-
peror, albeit an anti-emperor. He presides over the games, in however farci-
cal a manner, which was an imperial prerogative, and even dispenses justice
before the crowd. In favoring the Greens, he competes directly with Justin-
ian, thus placing himself on the same level. Procopius explicitly presents
his actions as attempts to rival Justinian at his own game. Even his rigging
of the races might have been perceived by contemporary readers as a paral-
lel to Justinian, who was, as a study of the circus factions reminds us, "the
only Byzantine emperor on record as showing unfair favors to his own
color."!' Procopius' narrative reveals that the Persian king understood the
mechanisms of public opinion in the empire and the symbolic forms that
governed the interaction between subject and ruler. For instance, Procop-
ius' account of the Nika riots reveals that emperors were literally made and
unmade in the hippodrome (cf. 1.24.42). And in a digression a few pages
after the events at Apamea, Procopius projects the hippodrome's impor-
tance back to the days of Augustus (2.12.12; cf. also 5.6.4). We also know of
incidents from the fifth and sixth centuries when rebels "staged chariot
races to emphasize their claim to sovereignty."12
For the space of a few pages we are almost allowed to forget that
Chosroes was a barbaric conqueror and witness his profoundly disturbing
transformation into a rival Roman emperor. Even the people of Apamea
forgot the difference after a day of games. They treated him as a legitimate
political authority, not only attending his games but fearlessly addressing
their grievances to him. Chosroes responded by ordering the execution of
his own soldier and then acceding to the popular demand for mercy
(though he secretly carried out the punishment). A similar conclusion can
probably be drawn about the king's conspicuous sacrifices to pagan gods.
This too can be interpreted as an attempt to become the reverse image of
his "brother," pagan instead of Christian, just as he was Green instead of
Blue. At the end of his tour of the Roman cities, Chosroes was approached
by a delegation from Carrhae (Harran), who were bearing ransom for their
city. Yet he let them go "because most of them were not Christians, but still
happened to belong to the ancient faith" (2.13.7).13 And, noting that the
empire lacked defenses-how else could he have reached Antioch?-he
suggested to Justinian's representatives that his own army could henceforth
 The Representation of Tyranny 123

protect the Romans-for a fee, of course (2.10.23).14 So during the course

of his invasion, Chosroes managed to present himself as the patron of the
Greens in the hippodrome, a source of justice against military abuses, the
champion of neglected Roman gods, and the restorer of the empire's de-
fenses. Naturally, it is impossible to take all this seriously. Procopius takes
pains to demolish the king's sincerity and credibility. But it remains highly
disturbing that the forms of Roman imperial rule could be mimicked so
comprehensively by a barbarian invader. We begin to suspect that despite
their differences, the two brothers were far closer than propaganda on both
sides claimed, perhaps even that they were more or less interchangeable.
Chosroes' behavior at Apamea inevitably calls for comparison to Jus-
tinian's treatment of the crowd in the hippodrome of Constantinople, espe-
cially during the Nika riots of 532. That was the moment when his regime
was in greatest danger of being overthrown. As it happens, Procopius has
linked those riots to a rebellion instigated around the same time by the
Persian nobility against Chosroes (1.23.1).15It is here that the parallelism
between events in Rome and Persia is most explicit in the Wars.
The Nika riots have been exhaustively analyzed in modern scholarship,
but primarily from the historical point of view. I do not want to add to
that discussion here. Instead, I will examine two aspects of Procopius' ac-
count that have gone unnoticed or whose significance has not been grasped.
These are, first, the subtle depiction of Justinian as a Persian despot, one of
the main esoteric themes of the Wars, and, second, the idea that political
assassination, or tyrannicide, is the only way to rid the world of such men.
As it happens, tyrannicide is a topic that Procopius discusses extensively in
the Vandal and Gothic Wars in passages we will discuss later.
The themes of oriental despotism and tyrannicide in the account of
the Nika riots emerge from the speeches that Procopius records, or more
likely invents, which contain allusions to relevant classical precedents. Also,
specific events that are alleged to have occurred during the Nika riots are
linked to other highly suggestive passages elsewhere in the Persian Wars
itself. Procopius' hostility to the regime in its hour of crisis continues to be
total and uncompromising.
In the middle of his account of the Nika riots, Procopius recounts a
meeting of the Senate that occurred right after the proclamation by the
people of Hypatius, the nephew of the emperor Anastasius (1.24.25-31). The
account of this meeting consists almost entirely of a speech by a certain
Origenes who is otherwise unknown. Modern accounts of the riots either
omit the alleged meeting altogether or devote much less space to it than
124 Chapter 4

does Procopius." The speech of Origenes is rarely if ever quoted, unlike the
famous speech of Theodora with which it is paired. Geoffrey Greatrex put
his finger exactly on the problem when he said to me that "it smacks more
of historiography than of history." Yet it is precisely for that reason that we
must look carefully at both speeches if we are to understand Procopius'
representation of the event. The riots themselves need not be reassessed,
only our view of their historian.
Procopius introduces the session of the Senate with an ambiguous
comment. "Many expressed the opinion that they should go to the palace
and join the fight" (1.24.25). But on which side? To defend Justinian or
destroy him? The Senate seems to have been of one mind on this issue,
only we do not know which it was. It is only at the end of his speech that
Origenes reveals that the common goal was to remove Justinian from
power; up to that point he refers only vaguely to "the enemy." This, I
believe, is another of Procopius' attempts to subtly manipulate our reac-
tions. Our justifiable uncertainty about the loyalties of the Senate runs up
against the revelation that its members took each other's implacable hostil-
ity to Justinian for granted. Our initial uncertainty turns out to have been
naive, for opposition to the regime seems to be natural. We may assume it,
unless we are told otherwise. Only at the end of the account do we learn
that Hypatius was also present, at which point he encourages the Senate to
follow him to the hippodrome (1.23.31).This piece of information is crucial
for understanding the climate of the meeting, but Procopius postpones it
to the end. This is another way in which he dramatically manipulates our
response to his narrative.
The meeting of the Senate during the Nika riots mirrors an event
described earlier in the Persian Wars, the assembly of the Persian nobles
after the deposition and imprisonment of Cavades and the elevation of his
uncle BIases (1.5.1-8).17 There are many striking parallels between the two
assemblies, not least of which is that both were probably invented by Pro-
copius, or transformed by him into literary dramas bearing little relation to
what actually happened. Both depict assemblies of the nobility in the pres-
ence of a ruler elected to replace a hated tyrant. Yet neither BIases nor
Hypatius take part in the deliberations. Each meeting consists almost en-
tirely of the advice of one man, Gousanastades among the Persians and
Origenes among the Romans, though the nobility follows their advice in
neither case, to its ruin. Cavades' "confinement" in prison as his nobles
assembled is mirrored by the voluntary "confinement" of Justinian and his
court inside the palace as the senators made plans (xa8ELQ~avt'E~ acpa~
 The Representation of Tyranny 125

alr[ov~: 1.24.10). I argued in an earlier chapter that the episodes with which
Procopius begins each of the Wars almost always prefigure events or themes
that occur later in the text, in the reign of Justinian. This establishes an
ongoing dialogue and counterpoint between different parts of the text.
Careful readers will notice the many similarities that link the account of the
Nika riots to the deposition of Cavades and the debate that occurred after-
ward about his fate. What will especially come to mind is the Machiavellian
advice of Gousanastades: kill the tyrant now while you have the chance.
But the Persians decided against killing a man of royal blood." The harsh
truth of this advice was revealed when Cavades escaped from prison and
killed his enemies with the help of a hired foreign army.
The paired speeches of Origenes and Theodora also raise intriguing
parallels from Herodotus. J. A. S. Evans noted that Origenes lifts a phrase
from a speech delivered by Dionysius of Phocaea at an Ionian assembly
during the revolt against Persia." The context of the allusion is appropriate
and not chosen at random: Dionysius poses a stark choice between freedom
and slavery (6.11). That the enemy here is a Persian king (Darius) makes
his speech all the more appropriate as a source for an allusion set in a
speech against Justinian. Evans also suggests that the "literary ancestor" of
Theodora's speech-a woman boldly giving advice to a council of war-is
the famous speech of Artemisia to Xerxes' council before the battle of Sala-
mis. Though lacking verbal parallels, the allusion would again cast Justinian
in the guise of a Persian monarch. We have already discussed Theodora's
quotation of a proverb that links her husband to the infamous Dionysius,
tyrant of Syracuse, with many parallels to the Nika riots and damning im-
plications for his regime." Whether we admit the allusion to Artemisia or
not, it should be clear that Procopius sets up an unrelenting linkage be-
tween Justinian and many Persian kings: to Chosroes in the Secret History
and Wars; to Cavades, Darius, and possibly Xerxes in the account of the
Nika riots; to Cambyses in the Secret History; to Xerxes' decision to march
against Greece at the beginning of the Vandal Wars; and to Cyrus in the
Buildings. In the Gothic Wars, Justinian's letter to Theodahad is based on
the letter of Xerxes to Pausanias in Thucydides, an appropriate choice for
both correspondents considering their relationship at that moment. 21
Procopius viewed the Nika riots as a terrible and unmitigated misfor-
tune for both the people of Constantinople and the Senate, and this is what
he declares in the very first sentence of his account (1.24.1). He then pro-
ceeds to give a hostile account of the factions who instigated the riots and
seems to lay most of the blame on them (1.24.2-6). But he then goes on to
126 Chapter 4

present an equally negative picture of two of Justinian's chief officials, the

prefect John the Cappadocian and the jurist Tribonian, whose abuses led
to the popular unrest (1.24.11-18).22 This is an instance of a device employed
repeatedly in the Wars, whereby the ruler is criticized indirectly through his
officials-what the Chinese call killing the horse to get to the horseman."
But then one of the main grounds of hostility toward this particular horse-
man was that he rode so many wild horses. Naturally, no criticism of Justin-
ian's reaction to the riots could be made openly in the Wars. Procopius'
account is studiously neutral; everything is said between the lines or
through obscure allusions. It has been said that he "leaves out no point
essential for the comprehension of the general course of the revolt and its
political significance. "24 To see how far his stance was from that of the
regime, we can turn to other writers such as Marcellinus Comes and Mala-
las, who made themselves its spokesmen by endorsing Justinian's distorted
version of events, quite possibly by copying the official proclamation in
which he announced his victory over his own people."
Having seen Chosroes' Roman pretensions and Justinian's Persian
guises, let us turn back to the events of 540, where many passages testify to
the equivalence of the two in the eyes of their victims. After leaving Apa-
mea, Chosroes moved on the city of Chalcis, demanding ransom and the
surrender of the garrison. Procopius now makes an amazing statement:
"the people of Chalcis were terrified of both kings" (2.12.2). To protect
themselves from Justinian, they hid the garrison and denied its existence;
to placate Chosroes, they collected with difficulty a sum of gold to satisfy
his greed. This episode implies a comprehensive interpretation of the east-
ern wars. We are invited to consider the possibility that the wars were not
between Rome and Persia, but between the two kings on the one hand and
the inhabitants of the eastern cities on the other. The real victims of the
wars were those who were caught between the two tyrants. In a separate
study of the wars of Justinian, I intend to argue that Procopius insinuates
in the Persian Wars what he says openly in the Secret History; namely, that
the responsibility for the invasion of 540 lay as much with Justinian as with
Chosroes. Both men contributed to the devastation." Procopius sympa-
thizes with all those who suffered at the hands of the kings, regardless of
whether they lived in Africa, Italy, the Balkans, or the east, or whether they
were subject to Rome or to its official enemies. Procopius does not value
the suffering of Romans more than that of others. Modern interpreters have
unfortunately never made much of the fact that each of the Wars has an
 The Representation of Tyranny 12 7

unhappy ending. Procopius' guiding principle would then be something

akin to what we call humanity.
Be that as it may, the equivalence of the two kings is also suggested by
two omens that occurred before the fall of Antioch. Contrary to what is
usually assumed, omens in classical historiography often have nothing to do
with superstition." Like anecdotes, they are vehicles of literary and political
analysis. For example, Procopius tells us that shortly before the fall of Anti-
och, the standards of the units stationed there turned suddenly to face east
and then again returned to face west. He views this as a sign "that the
dominion over the place would pass from the western emperor to the one
of the east" (2.10.1-3). Any Roman with a knowledge of history would take
this as a reference to the rulers of the western and eastern portions of the
Roman empire in the fifth century, after its division by Theodosius 1. That
is what they were called in other historical texts of the period and that is
how Procopius refers to them in the introduction to the Vandal War. But
here Justinian is the emperor of the west and Chosroes is the emperor of the
east. The world is no longer divided between two Roman emperors, but
rather between two imperial "brothers" of east and west. We could translate
the word basileus as "king," but the ambiguity remains in the original:
Chosroes has taken Justinian's place as emperor of the east. And, as we
have seen, he does this in a very literal sense during the invasion of 540.
In his account of the warfare of the early 550S, which was published in
the supplementary Book 8 of the Wars, Procopius interrupts his account of
a siege of Edessa to relate another omen that occurred there before the end
of the Eternal Peace in 540. "A woman gave birth to an infant which in all
other respects was a normally fashioned human being, but had two heads.
The significance of this was made clear by what happened later. For both
Edessa and virtually the entire east and even most of the Roman empire to
the north was contested by two sovereigns" (8.14.39-40). I have used the
neutral word "sovereign," but basileus can mean both emperor and king.
This ambiguous word suited Procopius' purposes beautifully, for it oc-
cluded any titular differences that may have existed between Chosroes and
Justinian. In postulating an equivalence between the two, this omen signi-
fies the same as the turning of the standards.
When Chosroes finally returned to Ctesiphon, he built a city nearby
where he settled all the captives he had brought from Antioch. He called it
"the Antioch of Chosroes" and provided it with all the amenities of a
Roman city (2.14.1-4). The circle was now complete. Having become a
Roman emperor in Roman lands, the king literally transported one of the
128 Chapter 4

greatest Roman cities into the heart of his own realm, thus symbolically
extending his claim to be an emperor into his own sphere of authority. "He
called the inhabitants of this city royal subjects, so that they were subordi-
nate to no royal official, but only to the basileus." Both empires now pos-
sessed a city called Antioch that was settled by Romans, one for Justinian
and another for his eastern brother Chosroes. Historians have claimed that
this new city was one of the many ways in which Persian kings imitated
their Roman brothers; for his foundation of Antioch, Chosroes has been
called a "Byzantinizcr.":" As far as Procopius was concerned, New Antioch
was the culmination of a series of events that thoroughly undermined the
uniqueness of the Roman imperial title, along with any cardinal differences
that may have existed between civilized Roman government and its sup-
posed opposite.

"Vanity of Vanities": Despotism and Imperial Ceremony

Oriental despotism, as conceptualized by classical writers, exalted monarchs

to a near-divine level and reduced subjects to the symbolic-or real-status
of slaves. No form of equality could exist between the two: the Persian king,
whether Achaemenid or Sasanid, was the absolute master of a nation of
slaves. This aspect of Persian despotism emerges forcefully in the Persian
Wars with the return from exile of the tyrant Cavades. He was greeted by
the young nobleman Adergoudounbades, who "called him master ()EO-
Jt6'tll~) and was the first to bow before him (JtQOOEXVVllOE) as a king, and
beseeched him to make use of him as a slave ()OVAO~) for whatever pur-
pose he desired" (1.6.16). In these few lines Procopius sums up the nature
of the relationship.
In Persian society, proskynesis was no mere token of respect. Herodo-
tus had explained it as a sign of profound inferiority (1.134), and that was
how Procopius viewed it. When Cavades' father Perozes was defeated by
the king of the Ephthalites, the latter demanded proskynesis "because he
had become Perozes' master ()EOJt6'tll~)" (1.3.17-22). Perozes considered
this a great" dishonor" and contrived to perform it at dawn, when Persians
"performed proskynesis before the rising sun" (1.3.21). He hoped in this way
to salvage his pride. This episode brings out nicely the religious overtones
of the practice: kings received proskynesis from their subjects as gods re-
ceived it from kings. The Byzantine chronicle of Theophanes the Confessor
reports that when the emperor Heraclius made overtures for peace to Chos-
 The Representation of Tyranny 12 9

roes II in 615, he was told that he had to renounce Christ and perform
proskynesis to the sun."
Chosroes made no changes to this system. He considered his highest-
ranking general to be his "slave" (1.23.14). Even foreign kings who sought
his friendship had to prostrate themselves to him. In 541, Goubazes, the
king of the Lazi, renounced his Roman alliance by "performing proskynesis
to Chosroes as to a master ()EaJt6t'1l~)" (2.17.2). Ten years later, after he
had again switched sides, Goubazes was instructed by a Persian general to
seek forgiveness by "prostrating yourself before Chosroes your master, as
your king and victor and lord" (8.16.27).30
To these practices we may compare the following account of Justinian
and Theodora from the very end of the SecretHistory.

The innovations made by Justinian and Theodora in the governance of the state
included the following. In the past the Senate, when it came before the emperor,
was accustomed to perform proskynesisin the following way. Men of patrician rank
would salute him (JtQOOEXUVEL) on the right breast." The emperor would then kiss
them upon the head and send them out. All the rest bent their right knee to the
emperor and then departed. There was no custom of any kind regarding proskynesis
to the empress. But under Justinian and Theodora, all who entered upon their
presence, both those who held patrician rank and all the others, would fall upon
the ground, with their chin pressed down, and, stretching their hands and legs as
far away from themselves as possible, would touch with their lips one foot of each,
and then rise again.... In the past those who attended upon the emperor called
him "emperor" and his wife "queen," and each of the other magistrates by what-
ever office he happened to hold at the time; but if anyone should converse with
either of these two and refer to them as "emperor" or "empress," and not as "mas-
ter" or "mistress" (()EOJtC)'tll~, ()EOJtOLVU), or if he should attempt to avoid calling
any of the magistrates "slaves," he would be regarded as both stupid and profane
and sent away as though he had sinned most terribly and insulted those who least
deserved it.... So these two were always taking everything into their own hands to
the ultimate ruin of their subjects, and compelled everyone to dance attendance
upon them in the most servile (()OUAOJtQEJtEO'tU'tU) manner. (30.21-30)

Earlier in the same work, Procopius says that Justinian was easygoing
and accessible; anyone could approach "that tyrant" and discuss confiden-
tial matters with him (15.11-12; also 13.1-2). But this statement does not
necessarily contradict the passage quoted above because it says nothing
about courtly ceremony, while the former refers to senators and involves
the presence of Theodora. Procopius is unrelenting in his attack against her
in the Secret History. She made magistrates wait on her like "slaves" and
insisted on the most humiliating form of proskynesis. "To such a state of
130 Chapter 4

servility (oou AOJtQEJtELa) had the state been reduced, with her as its in-
structor in slavery ()Ol)AO()L()aOXaAO~)" (15.13-16; cf. 15.27-35). Only
against this background can her famous speech during the Nika riots be
fully appreciated: "May I never be separated from this purple, and may I
never live to see the day when I am not addressed by anyone I meet as
mistress ()EOJtOLva)" (1.24.36). This speech is a masterpiece of character-
ization, one of Procopius' best. It is completely devoid of sound advice,
strategy, or argument; indeed, the empress says nothing that is even re-
motely rational. Her speech consists entirely of a massive assertion of will.
She cares only about what she will be called by others and whether she will
still wear the trappings of power. Her speech in no way empowers women,
as previously believed. It is instead a brilliant reflection of the character
portrait of the empress contained in the SecretHistory: irrational, vindictive,
and vain. The speech expresses the raw ambition of a woman who had no
conception of the dignity of political life. To have lived under her power
must have been unbearably degrading.
Incidentally, Procopius' portrait of Theodora is still the most psycho-
logically compelling, and one of the most vivid, to survive from antiquity.
Attempts to refute it invariably rely on psychological speculation, for the
accusations in the SecretHistory have not been convicted of error and have
been confirmed by other sources dealing with the same events: the "facts
underlying Procopius' account are confirmed by incontrovertible evidence
elsewhere."32 It is easy to dismiss his "rhetoric," and many have done so,
but it has also been shown beyond a doubt that other sources are far less
reliable on Theodora than is the Secret History. Accusations of misogyny,
furthermore, are circular and founder on Procopius' admiration for Amala-
suntha. A dispassionate analysis of the evidence points to the conclusion
that Theodora was in fact petty, arrogant, wrathful, unforgiving, ruthless,
and willing to sacrifice everything to her personal feuds and avarice. Such
people do exist, and we should not dismiss the testimony of historians who
try to tell us about them at great personal risk." Her patronage of a few
holy men and her token charities were nothing to Procopius compared to
the damage that she caused to a frayed political system. He was not the
only contemporary who feared her, but he was more concerned about her
role in the rise of despotism than about her theological views.
Classical authors regarded the despotic treatment of free men to be a
basic feature of Persian kingship, and the evidence of the Persian Wars
demonstrates that Procopius knew and accepted that association. Justini-
an's innovations with respect to courtly protocol can therefore be seen as
 The Representation of Tyranny 131

yet another link to Persian despotism and certainly contributed to the his-
torian's belief that the emperor was "a barbarian in his speech and dress
and manner of thinking" (14.2; cf. 23.8). That is certainly how classically
educated readers of the Secret History would have reacted to Justinian's
demand for proskynesis and insistence on being called despotes. For a master
is by definition someone who owns slaves: dominus est, cui est servus, wrote
Isidore of Seville in the early seventh century," and Greek usage in late
antiquity was well defined in a dictionary of Attic words attributed to Man-
uel Moschopoulos (ca. 13°°): DEaJt6'tf)~ AEyE'tULJtQ6~ DouAOV,XVQLO~ DE
JtQ6~ EAEv8EQov.Despotes, however, entailed radical subservience and
could not be used as a polite form of address, unlike Latin dominus," Did
Justinian, like a Persian king, conceptualize his position to be one of do-
minion over slaves? The evidence from the Secret History is unequivocal.
The same conclusion can be drawn from the Wars, though the evidence
there is presented discreetly, often through the speeches of the emperor's
foreign victims.
The nations conquered by, or even allied to, Justinian certainly
thought of him as an oppressive slave-owner. Far from suppressing their
grievances and resentment, Procopius allows them to vent freely. The Lazi
complained to the Persians about their alliance with the Romans, saying
that "in theory we are their friends, but in reality we have become their
dutiful slaves, having suffered unholy treatment at the hands of those who
tyrannize over us" (2.15.19). The Armenians likewise complained to the Per-
sians that Justinian had enslaved their neighbors the Tzani (2.3.39). The
Abasgi also revolted from Roman rule because they had good reasons to
"fear that they would become slaves of the Romans" (8.9.10-12). Likewise,
the Goths feared that Justinian had sent his armies to Italy to enslave them
(2.2.9, 5.29.8, 6.29.17, 6.30.11). Procopius indeed says that when groups of
them surrendered to Roman generals they became "slaves of the emperor"
(e.g., 6.11.19, 6.29.33).
Some Goths even reproached Belisarius for preferring to be Justinian's
slave rather than a king in his own right (6.30.25), and if Belisarius was a
slave then surely so were all the empire's subjects. Chosroes was advised by
his secretary Abandanes not to give battle to Belisarius because if he pre-
vailed it would be over only "the slave of Caesar," yet if he were defeated
he would be disgraced (2.21.14). Procopius has correctly made the secretary
call Justinian "Caesar," which was in accordance with official Persian
usage." But is the characterization of Belisarius as a slave of Caesar also a
projection of Persian values? Other evidence in the Wars, which we will
132 Chapter 4

examine below, indicates that Abandanes' words accurately reflected sixth-

century Roman usage. Let us note here that his advice is based directly on
the advice given to Xerxes by his vassal Artemisia regarding Mardonius'
request to remain in Greece and continue the war after Salamis: if he wins,
Xerxes, his "master," can take credit for the achievements of his "slave,"
but if he loses, he is, after all, only an expendable slave." Procopius has
inverted this advice to make it apply to a Roman "slave" fighting against
the Persian king.
The theme of slavery to the emperor is most developed in the Vandal
Wars. It is invoked with reference to Moors allied to Rome as well as to the
defeated Vandals (e.g., 3.25.3, 4.5.12-13, 4.6.14, 4.22.7). Mirroring develop-
ments in the east, some Moors complained that they had been promised
that they would be "subjects of the emperor" (4.11.9) but were now fighting
to avoid "enslavement" to him (4.11.40). The most interesting exchange
occurred between Pharas, himself a barbarian in the emperor's service, and
the defeated Vandal king Gelimer, who was under siege in the fort of Papua
during the winter of 533-534. Pharas reproached Gelimer for seeking to
preserve a worthless "liberty" and encouraged him to become, like himself,
the emperor's slave. "Would it not be entirely better to be poor and a slave
among the Romans, than to lord it over the Moors at Papua? But to you it
seems that being a fellow-slave of Belisarius is the peak of disgrace" (4.6.18-
21). The argument disturbingly anticipates John Locke's Second Treatise of
Government: "And a king of a large and fruitful Territory there [namely,
America] feeds, lodges and is clad worse than a day Labourer in England"
(5.41). Locke was trying to make his readers forget that there are reasons
for being a king beyond how one "feeds, lodges and is clad." Pharas-that
is, Procopius-is more candid."
That Belisarius was a slave of the emperor no less than Gelimer (who
eventually did surrender) was demonstrated later that year in the capital at
the celebrations of victory that culminated in the hippodrome. "When Gel-
imer came before the imperial seat, they removed his purple cloak and
forced him down to the ground to perform proskynesis to Justinian. This
Belisarius also performed, becoming a suppliant of the emperor along with
Gelimer" (4.9.12). It has been noted that this ceremony effectively "re-
moved the distinction between the subjects of the emperor and his ene-
mies. "39 Belisarius' proskynesis, along with the many references to him in
the Wars as a slave, should be taken in conjunction with the attack in the
Secret History on Justinian's "despotic" court protocol. No less than any
 The Representation of Tyranny 133

Persian king, he imposed on his magistrates and generals the status of

slaves.
A careful recent analysis of Justinian's own views of imperial rule,
conquest, and subjugation, as expressed in his laws and official pronounce-
ments, concludes that he tended to blur the difference between Romans
who had been "liberated" from barbarian dominion and barbarians who
had been "enslaved" and reduced to the status of "subjects" by imperial
armies. It seems that "Justinian was the first emperor to refer to Roman
citizens consistently in legislation as his subjects. "40 The difference between
subjects and slaves referred ultimately only to the manner in which they
had been brought under his authority. This was precisely the ideological
background of Procopius' protest. While the emperor boasted that he had
liberated the Roman world from barbarian slavery, his historian was allow-
ing all the nations to express their hatred of the slavery he had imposed
upon them. And Procopius made similar complaints in his own voice. In
the Secret History, he says that the emperor imposed severe financial de-
mands on populations ravaged by constant war, showing himself "more
oppressive than all the barbarians" (23.8). In the Wars, the blame is placed
discreetly on the emperor's subordinates. In Italy, for instance, the Roman
armies were at one point so lawless and oppressive "that they made the
local population long for the barbarians" (7.9.1-6). So much for the ideol-
ogy of liberation.
Just like every other age, the sixth century had its share of intellectuals
who for ideological or opportunistic reasons endorsed the imposition of
totalitarian systems of control, particularly regarding religious belief and
social order." The extremes to which Justinian carried this program was
perhaps only an aspect of a more widespread development in social atti-
tudes. Naturally, it sparked opposition. Procopius was not the only contem-
porary to protest against the emperor's illiberal conception of political life.
Drawing on Plato's Republic and Cicero, the anonymous author of a dia-
logue On Politics called for a sharing of power between the emperor and
other classes, in effect a limited constitutional monarchy." And what are
we to make of the quaestor Tribonian, who, in the constitutions that he
wrote for Justinian, frequently refers to Marcus Aurelius, the paragon of
republican rule, as "the most philosophical of cmperors'Y" An intriguing
recent study has demonstrated that the jurist was profoundly influenced by
Platonic philosophy and cleverly laced the legal texts that he wrote on be-
half of his Christian master with Platonic concepts and allusions." But the
most startling and untimely criticism was produced by the civil official John
134 Chapter 4

Lydus, who had studied under the philosopher Agapius, a disciple of the
great Proclus. I intend to argue elsewhere that Lydus' politics were republi-
can; in other words, he recognized no essential difference between Roman
imperial rule and tyranny. But for now we need quote only one passage of
his antiquarian work On the Magistraciesof the Roman State. Writing at the
same time as Procopius, Lydus states that Justinian "tolerates" being called
a "master" (despotes), though "not only does he not delight in it, he is
embarrassed.":" This is a relatively transparent attempt to sugarcoat a seri-
ous criticism: Lydus has just spent the last two chapters arguing that it is
"tyrants who like to be called 'lords' and 'masters' rather than 'kings'," an
exact parallel to what Procopius tells us about Justinian. Lydus was proba-
bly a close friend of Procopius and one of the intended readers of the Secret
History.46
The claims made by Procopius and Lydus require explanation, for the
former accuses Justinian of breaking from tradition in demanding abject
proskynesis, while both testify to the new prominence given to the title des-
potes. In the passage of the Secret History quoted above, the account of
court protocol "in the past" presumably refers to any time before Justinian.
It is true that during the early empire, what is today called the Principate,
emperors did not demand to be called despotai (or domini), though some
of their subjects did address them that way. Domitian was a notorious
exception, and he swiftly came to a bad end. His successors were warned
against making that mistake again." Curiously, the only other emperor to
whom Procopius compares Justinian in the Secret History is Domitian, in
what must be one of the most macabre passages in ancient literature. Pro-
copius compares the physical appearance of Justinian to a statue of the
reassembled bits of Domitian after he had been dismembered (8.12-21).48
The comparison is introduced by the statement that the Romans so hated
Domitian that "not even when they had butchered his entire body into
little bits did they feel that their rage against him had been exhausted."
Certainly there is an element of wishful thinking here. In any case, Procop-
ius chose Domitian as a model not because he too had insisted on being
called dominus but probably because his reputation as a tyrant approxi-
mated that which he wanted to confer upon Justinian. Insane youths such
as Caligula or Nero would simply not do. Interestingly, Procopius' friend
John Lydus twice refers to Domitian as a tyrant in connection with admin-
istrative innovations, which Lydos also viewed as a sign of despotism."
But are Procopius' charges about proskynesis and forms of address
correct? At some point in the fourth century it became conventional wis-
 The Representation of Tyranny 135

dom that the emperor who had first required adoratio and allowed himself
to be addressed as dominus was Diocletian and that this reform, including
more resplendent imperial regalia, was knowingly modeled on Persian cus-
toms. These changes inaugurated the period of imperial rule known today
as the Dominate. There has been considerable debate on the question of
Persian influence. Some scholars prefer to see the reforms as a development
internal to Roman forms of subject-ruler interaction, while others do not
preclude a Persian model. Be that as it may, it is still important that con-
temporaries viewed these new protocols as inspired by Persia and hence
believed that their own government was moving in a direction that had
always been identified with Persian despotism, in which displays of power
replaced civility and equality. 50
At first glance we might conclude that Procopius and Lydus have sim-
ply revived, or independently reproduced, the schema propounded by the
fourth -century authors, only they have ascribed the innovations to Justin-
ian rather than Diocletian. If that is true, and if Justinian was following
centuries-old customs after all, then the argument of his two critics fails
because he was not an innovator." Possibly they were opposed to the ideo-
logical tenor of the Dominate in general and wanted to blame Justinian for
its most offensive elements by projecting the practices of the more moder-
ate Principate onto the recent reign of Anastasius. But even if we grant a
measure of exaggeration, this solution will not do. It requires us to accept
that two authors lied about something that would have been patently false
to most of their readers. We cannot just dismiss the circumstantial descrip-
tion of the different ceremonies given at the end of the SecretHistory.
If we read that passage closely, we see that Procopius is not accusing
Justinian of introducing the title of despotes,but of requiring it to the exclu-
sion of basileus. Also, Justinian did not introduce proskynesis but rather
changed it drastically: instead of kissing the emperor's right breast and re-
ceiving a kiss on the head, senators now had to fall on the ground and kiss
one of his feet. A further innovation was that they now had to treat the
empress likewise. Procopius is explicit about the fact that the older cere-
mony was also a form of proskynesis, only it was far less degrading than
what Justinian and Theodora required. Studies of adoratio have shown that
the practice supposedly instituted by Diocletian was similar to that ascribed
by Procopius to times prior to Justinian. An illuminating parallel is found
in Eusebius' account of the funeral of the emperor Constantine: magistrates
performed proskynesis to the late emperor by dropping to one knee and
embracing him." For Justinian's time we are fortunate to possess the tran-
136 Chapter 4

scripts and guidelines for imperial ceremonies prepared by Peter the Patrician,
the emperor's long-serving magister officiorum. These were subsequently
incorporated into the Book of Ceremonies edited by the emperor Constant-
ine VII in the tenth century. We find in Peter's descriptions many high
officials and foreign ambassadors "throwing themselves upon the ground"
and "kissing the emperor's feet" on many occasions. 53 Similar acts of obei-
sance to Justinian are described in the Latin epic of Corippus on the Libyan
campaigns of John Troglita as well as in the same poet's panegyric on the
accession of Justin 11.54 These texts clarify as well as vindicate the testimony
of the SecretHistory.
No word in English exactly translates proskynesis. In addition, as we
have seen, the term signified different practices from time to time, though
ancient authors were generally not aware of this fact. Procopius is an excep-
tion because he happened to witness a moment of transition. A similar
uncertainty about the exact meaning of the term affects the study of
Achaemenid Persia and, consequently, of its adoption by Alexander the
Great. It will be recalled that after defeating Darius, Alexander began to
adopt the customs of the Persian court, perhaps in an effort to conciliate
the Persian nobility. But this put him in the awkward position of receiving
homage from his Persian courtiers and not the Macedonians. The latter
resented their king's transformation into a Persian despot, and their refusal
to perform proskynesis left a powerful mark on all accounts of his final
years. Proskynesis took many forms in Achaemenid society. Most com-
monly it probably involved no more than a bow, but before the Great King,
full prostration was often in order. 55 It is not clear which form Alexander
demanded. One Latin source implies that his courtiers touched their heads
to the ground. 56 I mention this episode because it represents the most sus-
tained protest in ancient literature against the "servility" of proskynesis,
especially when imposed on free men. In addition, it was directed against a
king who was supposed to be fighting Persia on behalf of Greece but was
instead gradually becoming a Persian himself. Classically educated readers
of the SecretHistory may have made this connection. Procopius was the last
voice of protest in that tradition, and he wrote at the moment when the
most abasing form of the practice was being imposed on the Greek world.
We will return to Alexander below, when we consider the religious
overtones of proskynesis. For now let us turn to Procopius' second accusa-
tion, that concerning the title despotes. Under the Principate, it was used
on a voluntary basis by those who wished to honor or flatter the emperor.
Emperors of the third century, notably Aurelian, seem to have used it offi-
 The Representation of Tyranny 137

cially, but Aurelius Victor claims that Diocletian was the first to "have him-
self called dominus in public," which probably means no more than that he
sanctioned its use on formal occasions. The term appears in the panegyrics
that honored members of his Tetrarchy? and was used widely by emperors
of the fourth and fifth centuries. 58 But before we suspect Procopius of mis-
informing us on this matter as well, let us note that he does not say that
Justinian was the first emperor to be called despotes, he says only that he
was the first to prefer to be called that instead of basileus. At least that is
what he demanded of his courtiers and magistrates. Besides, it is precisely
regarding the new importance of the title despotesthat Procopius' testimony
is corroborated by Lydus. The evidence of inscriptions and papyri also gives
depth to the accusations of the SecretHistory. The title despotes is included
in virtually all official documents from the reign. 59
Procopius says that Justinian also decided that magistrates should
henceforth be referred to as his slaves, and it seems that they accepted this
redefinition of their status, as texts from that and later reigns demonstrate."
Traces of an opposition can be detected, though it is difficult to gauge its
extent and significance. The early seventh -century historian Theophylact
evidently approved of the emperor Tiberius II's "hatred for the oppression
of tyranny" and "desire to be addressed by his subjects as a father rather
than a master ()EaJt6'tf)~)" (3.16.5). After Justinian these were not idle
words. Yet Tiberius does not seem to have taken any measures to change
the direction of imperial ideology." The result, as Procopius and Lydus
feared, was the destruction of all vestiges of the free state.
Procopius conceptualized the regime of Justinian as an imperial form
of oriental despotism. Even some modern scholars regard the demotion
of imperial magistrates to the status of imperial slaves as fundamentally
"Persian"-in nature if not in origin-though others are probably more
correct in seeing it as Christian." In viewing themselves as the slaves of
God, Christians had long since transposed the concept of servitude from
the social and political sphere to that of religion. Procopius attests this
usage in the Buildings when he refers to saints as men "enslaved to God"
(1.7.14), and countless other examples can be cited from Christian texts.
Once the empire adopted Christianity, it was only a matter of time before
this new master-slave relationship was transposed back from the religious
sphere into that of political ideology. Just as Justinian regarded his subjects
as his slaves, he regarded himself as a slave of God. These ideas are very
prominent in the hortatory chapters addressed to him by the deacon
Agapetus. Justinian is advised there to treat his own "servants" as he would
138 Chapter 4

be treated by his own divine "master" ()EaJt6t'1l~), because all men are
"fellow slaves" in the eyes of God. 63
Whatever all this may have meant to Christians, it was deeply offensive
to Procopius. As we will see, he was not blind to the religious dimension of
Justinian's reforms. Yet his was not the standpoint of a Christian, who
might view the emperor as some kind of representative of God, but that of
a classically educated Greek, who condemned the association of monarchy
with God as incompatible with political liberty. Many Greeks had early on
confused the proskynesis offered to the Persian kings with the reverence that
they themselves offered to the statues of their gods. As a result, they came
to the mistaken conclusion that the Persian kings were regarded as gods by
their servile subjects. Hence, many refused to perform the act because, in
addition to offending their sense of dignity, it implied to them that the
recipient was divine. And gods could not be citizens. Many classical texts
declared political freedom to be incompatible with proskynesis to men or to
any self-proclaimed "masters.">' The fierce opposition of the Macedonians
to Alexander's demand for proskynesis makes sense in this context because
it was linked to justifiable apprehensions about his intention to be deified
and worshipped." As late as the fourth century, the orator and staunch
Hellenist Libanius objected to the Cappadocians' habit of greeting each
other by saying "I bow before you," because in his eyes it smacked of the
Persian custom of granting rulers "a reverence worthy of gods."66
That this was exactly the attitude of Procopius is revealed by a fascinat-
ing passage in the SecretHistory where he condemns it as "a disgrace upon
the state" that the senators accepted Theodora as their empress and then
adds, "even though they were made to perform proskynesis to her as though
she were a god" (10.6). In other words, the senators should have found the
courage to oppose her in any case, but certainly when they were made to
bow before her. Like any classical Greek, Procopius equates proskynesis it-
self, regardless of whether it was offered to Justinian or Theodora, with
divine honors, and that, he implies, ought to have offended any self-
respecting senator. He makes no allowances for the view that the emperor
might be honored in that way as a representative of God. This indicates
how far he stood from the view of the emperor as God's deputy that most
Christians seem to have held. But the passage gets better.

N either did any priest make it known that he was outraged, and that too, when
they all were henceforth to call her "mistress" (()EoJtoLva). And the populace, who
had previously been her spectators upon the stage, straightaway consented, with
 The Representation of Tyranny 139

upturned hands and a total lack of decency, both to be and to be called her slaves.
N either did any soldier become furious at the notion that he was about to experi-
ence all the dangers of warfare on behalf of the interests of Theodora, nor did any
other person oppose her, but instead I think that all gave way because they thought
that matters had been thus ordained (6c6oo8Ut). (10.7-9)

This passage is cleverly infused with religious nuances. The stage is set by
the claim that by performing proskynesis to Theodora, the Senate honored
her as a god. This establishes her divine pretensions and, a fortiori, those
of her husband. It is worth recalling here Procopius' description in the
Buildings of the mosaic in the palace that depicted Justinian's triumphs and
the Senate standing around him, "granting him honors equal to those of
God" (1.10.19). This was the historian's interpretation of what they were
doing, for he was describing a picture, not quoting a document. The words
are his own, and modern art historians have been unable to identify pre-
cisely which features of the mosaic indicated the alleged "divine honors. "67
Irony is thus again created by the interplay between the Buildings and the
SecretHistory.
Procopius says that in addition to the senators, the priests also were
not outraged by Theodora's accession, though they would now have to call
her "mistress." Why should the priests care more about this than others?
From Procopius' point of view, all free citizens should be offended at hav-
ing to call anyone "mistress," especially someone such as Theodora. But I
believe that there is a special reason why he singles out priests: in the Divine
Liturgy and in other devotional contexts, they routinely called God their
"master" (despotes). So by addressing Theodora in that same way, they
would be indirectly granting the empress divine honors and defaming their
God. A number of early Christian authors had in fact argued, with an eye
on imperial protocol, that the title "master" was appropriate only to God,
while others, who could invoke the explicit testimony of Revelation, had
claimed that proskynesis was a divine prerogative. This problem posed great
difficulties to the Fathers of the fourth century." Procopius may have had
these strains of early Christian thought in mind, though he must have
known that they were virtually obsolete by the time Justinian gained the
throne.
There are more religious overtones in this passage. Procopius says that
the people begged to be Theodora's slaves "with upturned hands," a tradi-
tional gesture of prayer and supplication. Finally, he implies that there was
no resistance to her accession because everyone simply assumed that it had
140 Chapter 4

been "ordained," presumably by providence. That a metaphysical agent of

some sort is being implied is indicated by the fact that Procopius immedi-
ately digresses on the workings of amoral fortune, or tyche, a quasi -divine
entity that acts without any concern for what is right (10.9-10). Naturally,
those who did not oppose Theodora believed that her accession had been
"ordained" not by fortune but probably by God. This implies further that
their belief in providence instilled attitudes of passive acceptance, or fatal-
ism. Procopius himself, however, could not have regarded Theodora's ac-
cession as the work of a benevolent God, and indeed, the fact that he
proceeds to discourse on the power of fortune proves that he did not. This
leads to the question of his own beliefs. These will be examined in the final
chapter of this book, where it will be argued that the concept of fortune
lies at the heart of his historical thought. For now let us note only that
Procopius seems to ascribe to fortune what others ascribed to God, a prac-
tice that we will encounter often in our analysis of tyche in the Wars.
In another passage of the Secret History, Procopius again represents
the new protocol as a mockery of religious ritual. An old patrician whom
he discreetly leaves anonymous begged the empress to make one of her
servants return a loan to him so that he could payoff his own creditors
(15.24-35). Knowing his intentions in advance, the empress instructed her
eunuchs to stand around in a circle and reply to anything she said "antiph-
onally" (av'tLcp8EyyEo8uL),a technical word referring to the way the liturgy
was chanted in church. "And when the patrician arrived at the women's
quarters, he performed proskynesis in the way in which it was customary to
perform it before her." He addressed her as "mistress" ()EOJtOLVU)and
pleaded for the return of his money in language that again recalls the lit-
urgy: av'tL~oAW xui LXE'tEVOJ xni ()EO~UL. But as soon as she addressed
him by name, her "chorus" (xoQ6~;) "antiphonally" chanted, "What a big
hump you have." This occurred repeatedly, until the man gave up and
left, though not without again performing proskynesis "in the customary
manner. "
The language used in this passage leaves no doubt that the empress
intended her little game as a parody of the liturgy." At least that is how
Procopius intended his readers to understand it. This runs against the
conventional view that classicizing authors scrupulously avoided Christian
allusions in their pursuit of purist diction. It was supposedly not until
Theophylact in the seventh century that they felt comfortable enough to,
say, include a sermon in their narratives." This view has merit but is based
on a failure to recognize that many passages of the Wars and SecretHistory
 The Representation of Tyranny 141

are heavily infused with religious language that is not only Christian but
specifically liturgical in nature. This, by the way, has nothing to do with so-
called unconscious influences intruding through artificial classical barriers.
The Christian allusions in Procopius form deliberate rhetorical strategies,
deployed precisely for specific effect. The passage describing Theodora's
acceptance by the various classes and the scene in the women's quarters
that we just examined are deliberately infused with religious and Christian
language, though this has nothing to do with the author's religious beliefs,
whatever they may have been. His aim in both passages was to comment
on the motives of historical agents by revealing the irony of their actions
and positing subtle connections between political behavior and religious
belief.
Nor did Procopius hesitate to quote Scripture to the same effect. At
the peak of Justinian's triumph in the Vandal Wars, at the scene in the
hippodrome that was mentioned above, right before Procopius recounts
the proskynesis performed to the emperor by Gelimer and Belisarius he puts
into the mouth of the dazed Vandal king the verse "from the Scripture of
the Hebrews, 'Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.'" Gelimer was not thinking
here of his own failure to resist the emperor's armies. Procopius tells us
that the king began to speak this line over and over again "when he reached
the hippodrome and saw the emperor sitting upon his lofty seat (~~~a
l)'tVllAOV) and the people standing on either side of him" (4.9.11). Nothing
could more ironically deflate a Christian ruler's lofty pretensions at the
height of his power and glory than this line from Ecclesiastes 1.2. Procopius
is possibly looking back to the triumphal processions held in ancient Rome,
when a slave rode behind the victorious general and reminded him over
and over again that he was only a mortal. Gelimer would then function as
the Christian equivalent of this reminder. Be that as it may, we must also
wonder about his choice of the word "lofty" to describe Justinian's seat.
"Lofty" (l)'tVllAO~;) was a common way of referring to God. Also, the emper-
or's seat in the hippodrome was commonly called the kathisma, not the
bema, and we happen to know from a contemporary chronicle that in 528
Justinian had it rebuilt, "making it more elevated and brighter than it had
been."?' The bema was the area of the church that housed the altar and was
regarded by Christians as the "Holy of Holies." So Gelimer's "Vanity of
vanities"-itself a line from a sacred text-may refer to more than the
emperor's worldly ambitions.
To conclude: again we see that the representation of Justinian in the
Secret History resonates with the fundamental modes of Persian kingship as
142 Chapter 4

portrayed in the Persian War. That portrayal was in turn based on the
classical image of the oppressive oriental monarchy as despotic on one end
and servile on the other and contemptuous of the dignity of political life.
Procopius' hostility to the metaphor of slavery as applied to free men was
at heart ethical and political, though he did not hesitate to exploit religious
language and imagery in order to give his representation of Justinian's tyr-
anny cultural depth and irony. Yet his main concerns were not merely the
conceit of courtly protocol or the hollowness of imperial propaganda. Far
more was at stake. The demotion of free and potentially heroic men to the
status of slaves undermined the entire conception of manly freedom and
nobility that was central to the classical tradition. In this respect, the rejec-
tion of despotism was fundamentally Hellenic. In his discussion of tyranny
in the Republic, Socrates imagines men "who won't stand for any man's
claiming to be another's master" (S79a)-and there are no slaves in the
Republic. No wonder Procopius admired barbarian rebels such as Totila
and Teia!

"The Rule of Women" and the Plan of SecretHistory 1-5

Surprisingly little attention has been paid to the plan of the Secret History,
probably because of the astonishing nature of its contents. The work seems
to consist of a series of amazing and violent denunciations that are loosely
organized around three or four targeted personalities. The unrelenting in-
tensity of it all affords the reader little opportunity to pause, reflect, and
find the logic that may underlie its bewildering flow. This brings to mind
the symptoms that Nietzsche diagnosed for literary decadence: "life no
longer dwells in the whole. The word becomes sovereign and leaps out of
the sentence, the sentence reaches out and obscures the meaning of the
page, the page gains life at the expense of the whole."72
Decadent or not, the Secret History remains badly misunderstood. Re-
search remains fixated on the juicy details and hysterical denunciations.
Various opinions have been expressed on whether the work is complete,
but these are often based on subjective criteria or, at most, a loose decon-
struction of the work into genres." One intriguing hypothesis has it that
Procopius intended to add its contents to the Wars after Justinian's death,
but as the latter showed no signs of dying after thirty years on the throne,
the work remained a loose collection of criticisms out of context.?" It has
been divided plausibly into two or three sections, but the principles under-
 The Representation of Tyranny 143

lying the selection and arrangement of material remain opaque. According

to a different proposal, the sections of the work were never meant to form
a whole and were only assembled later. They were originally separate works
following the rules of different genres and so analysis should concentrate
on them individually. Other scholars have postulated a combination of
genres, some in modified form." There seems to be a consensus that the
work lacks structure. 76
It will be argued here that the Secret History possesses a tighter organi-
zation than has been suspected so far. But any attempt to deal with this
problem must abandon the obsession with genre. Intelligent people write
books because they have ideas, not because they are constrained to write in
particular genres. Contrary to what is implied in recent scholarship, genres
do not write books. Authors do. And each author chooses to adhere to a
certain genre only because he believes that its formal characteristics facili-
tate the exposition of the themes that he has already decided to write about.
The search for genres can easily become a surrogate for actually reading the
work, as some scholars seem to think that once they identify the genre they
automatically know what the author is trying to say. In this way, authors
and texts are turned into passive vehicles of general cultural values. The
literary sophistication of a discipline is inversely proportional to the fre-
quency with which it invokes "genre." The direct and, in my view, only
viable approach is to read the work carefully, identify its main themes and
the methods by which they are developed, and then try to interpret the
author's stance toward his subject. When the genre is known, it can be
helpful in providing a literary context, but when it is not, especially when
it is in dispute, it is at best a distraction. The Secret History adheres to no
genre in particular and so adheres to no genre at all.
In this section, I will focus on the first five chapters of the Secret His-
tory. There is no dispute that they form a unit of some sort. In fact, at first
sight the Secret History seems to consist of two parts, for at the end of the
introduction Procopius says that he will discuss first the wretched deeds of
Belisarius and then the wretched deeds of Justinian and Theodora (1.10).
The first five chapters seem to focus on the marital history of Belisarius and
Antonina. Belisarius is hardly ever mentioned in the text after those chap-
ters; Antonina never.
The trouble begins when we try to understand how those five chapters
are organized and what exactly they represent. The material seems jumbled
together in no particular order. And despite the programmatic statement
that the emphasis will be on Belisarius, the deeds of his wife receive as
144 Chapter 4

much if not more attention. To make matters worse, the narrative quickly
focuses on the machinations of Theodora to such a degree that she eclipses
the miserable couple. How then is this part about Belisarius? And what are
we to make of the seemingly irrelevant digressions on the disaffection of
Chosroes' troops or the misconduct of Sergius, the governor of Libya? Is
there any internal logic behind all this, or is Procopius merely tagging one
scurrilous story onto the next through tenuous links? For example, the
misconduct of Antonina distracts Belisarius, who, in order to keep an eye
on her, fails to invade Mesopotamia, allowing Chosroes to escape, which
leads to a discussion of the king's strategy and the disaffection of his army,
which is in turn cut short because Antonina has now arrived in the east
and our attention must return to the sordid family life of Belisarius, and so
on .... Is it better to assume that if Procopius had his way all this would
have been carved up and the stories distributed to their rightful places in
the Wars?
This may well have happened had Procopius felt free to publish the
material. But just because the opportunity never presented itself does not
necessarily mean that he left the Secret History in a state of chaos or even
that he did not devote as much attention to its literary coherence as he did
to that of the Wars. What we must do is find the key that unlocks the
secrets of its composition by explaining the selection of material, its order,
and its peculiarities. I believe that I have found that key.
Simply put, the first five chapters of the Secret History develop the
theme of "the rule of women"; that is, the subversion of masculine virtues
that occurs when feminine vices seize power in the state. The virtues that
sustain the welfare of states, for example courage and nobility, were deemed
masculine even when they were possessed by women, and allowances were
usually made for that possibility. Procopius certainly did, as we saw when
we examined his favorable portrayal of Amalasuntha, who was "sagacious,
just, and nearer to the masculine" in the way that she ruled the Gothic
kingdom."
It is not such women, however, who seize power in the first five chap-
ters of the Secret History. What we witness here is the complete subversion
of masculinity, exemplified by Belisarius, and the triumph of feminine
qualities, particularly vices. Belisarius is presented as a man who could have
been a hero and who had many opportunities to perform noble deeds but
always failed because his masculinity was sapped by women. This was no
excuse: Procopius condemns him utterly for this weakness. This interpreta-
tion explains why Belisarius is relatively absent from a narrative that is after
 The Representation of Tyranny 145

all supposed to be about him. His place has been usurped by women, who
dominate the narrative because they dominate him. Everything said about
them is correspondingly designed to reveal the modes of feminine rule.
Procopius did believe in feminine virtues, but he believed that they had
little to do with political rule (cf. 10.2). The paradox about Antonina and
Theodora is that they ruled over men but lacked both masculine and femi-
nine virtues. They ruled by manipulating sex in all its manifestations, and
this is the essence of feminine vice. It is no coincidence that in a later
passage Theodora is said to have hated Amalasuntha precisely "because of
her magnificence and extraordinary masculinity" (16.1). Theodora aims to
destroy all masculine virtues, even when they appear in women. Another
passage tells how she destroyed feminine virtues as well by protecting adul-
teresses from their husbands (17.24-26).
This theme is central to Procopius' representation of the tyranny of
Justinian, for the attack on masculinity is closely tied to the "servility"
inculcated by the regime in its subjects. An episode in the first section of
the Secret History establishes a suggestive link between the two themes. After
looking at that passage, I will show how the first five chapters of the work
are structured around the theme of feminine rule.
When Justinian fell ill with the plague in 542, Belisarius and other
officers were suspected of having agreed not to recognize the court's choice
in the matter of the succession (4.13-31). Theodora took this a slight against
herself and arranged to have them imprisoned, tortured, fined, or dis-
graced. Belisarius was relieved of command and made to live in the capital
in constant fear of assassination. In this the empress was assisted by Anton-
ina, who lost no opportunity to humiliate her husband. The two women
conspired to give Belisarius the impression that he would soon be executed
or tortured.

In this state of terror he went up to his room and sat down alone on his bed, having
no intention of doing anything noble nor even remembering that he had once been
a man; he was sweating constantly and feeling dizzy, utterly at a loss and trembling
violently, worried to death by servile fears and apprehensions both cowardly and
entirely unmanly. (4.22)

The empress then sent a messenger with a note announcing that she had
forgiven him for the sake of his wife and informing him that his future
behavior toward Antonina would be closely monitored.

Belisarius, wishing to show his gratitude right then and there, stood up and fell on
his face before the feet of his wife. And clasping her around her calves with each of
146 Chapter 4

his hands he kept moving his tongue from the sale of one foot to that of the other,
calling her the cause of his life and salvation, and declared that he would henceforth
be her faithful slave and not her husband. (4.29-30; cf. 15.15)

Belisarius' words and strange behavior may allude to contemporary forms

of sexual domination. This, unfortunately, we cannot know. But the paral-
lels with the imperial ceremonies described at the end of the work are ob-
VIOUS.
Rather than suffer such indignities, any real man would have de-
stroyed those two monsters or died trying. And this is exactly what Procop-
ius says on the next page, when Belisarius was again given an army and sent
off to Italy: "all suspected ... that as soon as he set foot outside the walls
of the city, he would take up arms and resolve to do something brave and
befitting a man, against both his wife and those who had violated him
(~Laaa~EvoL)." The word can also mean "those who had raped him," one
of many double entendres in Procopius' works. But Belisarius did nothing
and "meekly followed that woman" (4.40-41).78
The humiliation of Belisarius exemplifies the failure of manhood and
rise of servility that Procopius associated with Justinian's regime. We may
now examine the logic behind the first five chapters of the Secret History
and show how they develop that theme. The first section, the one ostensibly
devoted to Belisarius, begins with the words "Belisarius had a wife ... "
(1.11).She immediately becomes the focal point of the narrative. After men-
tioning her lewd past, Procopius focuses on her affair with Belisarius' god-
son Theodosius. She is the protagonist here, not her husband, and the
language repeatedly draws our attention to the feminine vices that under-
mine masculine order: prostitution, adultery, insatiable erotic infatuation,
seduction, passion, slander, magic. Next to his wife, Belisarius is a shadow
of a man, simple-minded (1.35) and miserable (1.39). Though at first he was
blind to her promiscuity, he later became obsessed with it: news of her
arrival in the east contributed to his decision to cut short the campaign of
541. As a result, Procopius says, "he was accused by all the Romans of
treating the most pressing matters of state as less important than his own
domestic affairs" (2.21). This is the first direct statement of what becomes
a prominent theme in this section: male enervation and feminine license
led to the subordination of public interests to private ones. As one scholar
put it, "private comedy has turned into political tragedy."?"
Procopius elaborates on the consequences of this event by explaining
how the inaction of Belisarius allowed Chosroes to depart from Colchis
 The Representation of Tyranny 147

unharmed (2.26-37). This sets the stage for a digression on Persian affairs
whose purpose is revealed at the end, when Chosroes reads to his nobles a
letter sent by Theodora to a Persian ambassador. 80 To prepare us for this
letter, Procopius must first describe the difficulties encountered by the Per-
sian army that year and the disaffection of its officers. It was in response to
this that Chosroes read aloud Theodora's letter, in which she declared that
her husband did nothing without her consent. The king then reproached
the Persian nobility for thinking that "any real state could exist that was
governed by a woman." This interpretation of the letter was directed spe-
cifically against his nobles' complaint that he had led them to war against
"a state that was ancient and most worthy" (2.31). But in the eyes of the
Persians, a state ruled by a woman was obviously contemptible. In this way,
Procopius says, the king "succeeded in checking the impulse of the men"
(2.36). From a historical point of view, this conclusion may sound incredi-
ble. But whether Chosroes actually pacified his nobles in this way, or
whether he did so at all, is only tangential to the main theme of the work.
The real purpose of the digression, located exactly at the middle of the first
part of the Secret History, is to postulate Theodora as the ruler of the Roman
state. From this point onward, she dominates the narrative.
Procopius is not claiming that Theodora actually ruled the empire;
after all, that view is ascribed to Chosroes. He is instead unfolding the
nuances of a literary theme-the rule of women-by relying on exaggera-
tion and dark humor. Procopius will repeat Chosroes' dictum in his own
voice later in the work, when it seems appropriate (cf. 15.9-10; 17.27). We
should not mistake the Secret History for political science. It is rather a
mixture of tragedy and comedy.
There can be little doubt that the sentiment expressed in Theodora's
letter is authentic, even if the actual document itself is not. In 535, the
Gothic king Theodahad wrote to the empress saying that "you exhort me
to bring first to your attention anything I decide to ask from the triumphal
prince, your husband." And in the same year the emperor himself declared
that before issuing a decree he had discussed it first "with our most august
consort whom God has given US."81 Procopius reveals the effectual truth of
Theodora's letter on the next page of the Secret History, where he says that
she now "recalled Belisarius to the capital" (3.4). This is presented as a
decision made by her alone. No mention is made of Iustinian, even though
her action affected imperial policy. Modern assessments of her power, al-
though judicious in other respects, tend to underestimate or even ignore
her influence on the selection and appointment of magistrates and gener-
148 Chapter 4

als." Her motives, moreover, had nothing to do with strategy; in this case,
she was "frightened on behalf of Antonina," whom Belisarius had put
under guard but was "too weakened" by "white-hot erotic passion" to kill
(3.1). Antonina is henceforth subordinated to Theodora in the narrative, at
one point even calling the empress her "savior and benefactor and mistress
(oOrtELQu 'tE xni EUEQYE'tL~ xui ()EOJtOLVU)" (3.18).
Chosroes' reading of the letter is a turning point in the narrative. The
vicious crimes of Theodora now take the rule of women to a new level. So
far the story has been merely comical and sordid, a "satirical novel" of
sorts." The entry of Theodora transforms it into a nightmare, involving the
vindictive imprisonment and murder of magistrates and the ruin of impe-
rial policy.
The focus moves to Italy, specifically to Belisarius' ignominious cam-
paigns of S44-S49. Procopius' denigrating remarks about those campaigns,
along with his comments on the power of God and Fortune (4.42-S.6),
must be read together with what is said about them in the Gothic War. 84
The remainder of the first part of the Secret History (S.7-33) revolves around
the marriages that Theodora arranged or prevented." Her actions in this
field, replete with petty vindictiveness and sordid procurements, is the final
aspect of the rule of women considered in this part of the text. Though
these stories are only tenuously linked to Belisarius, their purpose is again
to show the negative consequences of the supremacy of the private over the
public (cf. 17.27-37). So Procopius abruptly digresses on the crimes com-
mitted by Sergius, the governor of Libya, even though the vilification of
Belisarius has explicitly ended at S.27 and the section on Justinian does not
begin until 6.1. It is not until the end of the digression that Procopius
explains its inclusion: Theodora kept Sergius in power in spite of his crimes
because he was a suitor for one of Antonina's daughters (S.33).86 He also
includes a story that shows the damage done by Theodora's marital in-
trigues to the Roman cause in Italy (S.7-1S). In conjunction with the digres-
sions on Chosroes and the crimes of Sergius in Libya, the theme of the rule
of women is thereby extended to all three arenas of the Wars. This is a
subtle reminder of the way in which the Secret History is a supplement to
the Wars and of how the two texts must be read in tandem.
The final assessment of Belisarius' character in the Secret History be-
gins by citing extenuating circumstances: many "suspected that the cause
of the man's faithlessness was not the fact that he was ruled by a woman
(yVVULXOXQU'tLU),but his terror of the empress." Terror of the empress is
widely attested outside the Secret History; there would have been much
 The Representation of Tyranny 149

sympathy with Belisarius on this point." But when his behavior did not
change after her death, he was reviled by everyone "when it became appar-
ent that his wife actually dominated him ()EOJtOLva)" (5.26-27). Gynecoc-
racy was the problem after all. Once again the "rule of women" is linked
to the master-slave relationship fostered by the regime of Justinian and the
ideology reflected in its ceremonies and protocol. The true chain of com-
mand ran up from Belisarius, though Antonina, to Theodora (cf. 5.13).
The word for "rule of women" is rare in Greek, appearing mostly in
comedy or ethnography (e.g., for Amazons). Its most important appearance
in a theoretical context is in Aristotle's Politics, and it is likely that Procop-
ius had that text in mind when he used the word. It is significant that it
appears in Aristotle's discussion of tyranny. Such regimes are characterized
by "the rule of women in the household, so that they may report on their
husbands, and laxness toward slaves for the same reason. Slaves and women
do not conspire against tyrants." Elsewhere in the same work he uses the
word in a way that reminds us of Chosroes' reaction to the letter of Theo-
dora: "what difference is there between women ruling and rulers who are
ruled by women?"88
Therefore, if genre must be involved, I propose that the first part of
the SecretHistory be called the Gynecocracy. When the editor of the tenth-
century Byzantine dictionary Souda listed the works of Procopius, he called
the SecretHistory a combination of invective and comedy, possibly the best
concise description of the work. One way to achieve this combination is to
place vicious accusations in the context of comical or grotesquely exagger-
ated contexts, and this is what the Gynecocracy does. As it happens, the
only works of ancient literature specifically devoted to the rule of women
were comic plays, though only those of Aristophanes survive. Curiously,
the SecretHistory is full of Aristophanic language, albeit not from the plays
on women. Procopius has instead culled lines and terms that refer to the
detested Athenian politician Cleon. There are more allusions to Aristopha-
nes in the Secret History than to any other author, and some are repeated.
One can even speak of a grid of comic language holding the text together."?
The choice of source was not accidental. Uncompromising seriousness
creates gravity, which lends a measure of dignity even to the accused. Aris-
tophanic language deprives even crimes of their gravity, though not of their
seriousness. In a sense, the Secret History is itself a kind of stage on which
Procopius caricatures Justinian and Theodora and exposes their crimes
while portraying them as grotesque creatures. Theodora appears literally on
the stage in the work: Procopius graphically recreates the performances of
150 Chapter 4

her youth, effectively transforming us into her audience (9.11-26). Comic

language is here very dense." Even later, when she was empress, he says
that her behavior lacked seriousness "as though she were on the stage in
the theater" (15.24). This statement follows his account of the way she paro-
died the liturgy in order to mock an old patrician. Under Justinian, "the
state seemed like the game of 'King' played by children" (14.14).91

Laws, Demons, and the Limits of Classicism in the SecretHistory

Oppression has impoverished them to such an extent that they have been reduced
to poverty, taxes cannot be collected, and the lawful and customary tribute cannot
be obtained without the greatest difficulty; for, when the emperors try to obtain
money from magistrates by selling them their offices, the latter, in their turn, in-
demnify themselves by extortion .... If he does not make the payment out of his
own property, he must borrow, and in order to do so he will appropriate that of
the public, as he must obtain enough from his province to pay his debts .... Those
who administer the affairs of the provinces, thinking incessantly of what their of-
fices will cost them, discharge many criminals by selling them freedom from prose-
cution, and convict many who are innocent .... Not only do these things occur,
but also the sedition in cities, and public disturbances which take place everywhere,
go unpunished, in consideration of money paid .... The result of this condition
of affairs is homicide, adultery, violence, wounds, the rape of virgins, commercial
difficulties, contempt of the laws and judges. . . . We are unable to consider or
enumerate the evils resulting from thefts committed by the governors of the prov-
inces, and still no one is courageous enough to accuse them of having corruptly
purchased their offices.

Oddly enough, this passage is not from the Secret History. It is from the
preface of Justinian's Novel 8 of 535, in which the emperor condemns the
sale of offices and vows to terminate it. Yet a passage from the second half
of the Secret History mirrors this preface (21.9-25; cf. 22.7-9). Procopius
explains the cycle of debt and extortion in the same way, and, like Justinian,
stresses the misery it inflicted on provincials. The two texts end similarly
by stating rhetorically that the evil was too great to be measured.
Procopius and Justinian agreed about the extent and gravity of the
problem. In his edict, Justinian presented himself as the solution: "We pass
entire days and nights in reflecting upon what may be agreeable to God
and beneficial to our subjects." Procopius tells a different story. He specifi-
cally refers to Novel 8 and its provisions but says that Justinian adhered to
them for less than a year (21.16-19). He is as much concerned with the
emperor's hypocrisy as he is with the problem itself. The correspondence
 The Representation of Tyranny 151

between the two texts along with the fact that Procopius explicitly cites the
Novel, make it certain that he wrote this passage of the Secret History with
an eye on the edict itself."
What is the extent of this correspondence in the Secret History? Cer-
tainly many passages discuss the emperor's administration, but just how
much of the text constitutes a direct response to the rhetoric of his legisla-
tion? It is time to look at the second part of the SecretHistory, that devoted
to Justinian and Theodora (cf. 1.10), and propose a new explanation for its
content and structure.
The second part of the Secret History is divided into two sections,
which are so different that they have been taken for two originally indepen-
dent works. Yet there is no significant overlap between them, which sug-
gests a single conception. The sections are (a) chapters 6-18, including the
infamous pornography and demonology, and (b) 19-30, a relatively sober
if biased attack on Justinian's laws and administration. I will begin with the
legal section first, for that will better enable us to examine the chapters that
stand between it and Gynecocracy; that is, the heart of the SecretHistory.
After a short introduction (19), Procopius discusses the major magis-
tracies (20-22), taxation and farming (23), soldiers (24), merchants and
trade (25), beggars, the poor, and the professions that were abolished (26);
finally, he narrates various individual scandals relating to imperial corrup-
tion (27-30). The section ends with the account of imperial ceremonies that
we examined earlier.
To my knowledge, no other ancient writer approximates modern cate-
gories of historical analysis (administrative, economic, and social) more
closely than does Procopius here. It is no accident that modern reconstruc-
tions of Justinian's policies derive many of their facts, and even their frame-
work of analysis, from this part of the Secret History, even though their
interpretation may differ. The other major source is the emperor's own
legislation, which reflects the imperial point of view. Yet it has not been
noticed that the final section of the Secret History constitutes a direct and
systematic response to those laws. Some of Justinian's edicts have been lost,
and not all of his decisions were put into writing. But imperial decrees were
purposely made available to the public, and a writer with legal training and
access to the court would have had no difficulty obtaining them." It is
important to emphasize that Procopius is responding directly to the emper-
or's propaganda, not, as has been suggested, to a derivative formulation
such as we find in the chronicle of John Malalas. This is not to say, however,
152 Chapter 4

that we cannot find in Malalas reflections of edicts that are no longer extant
but that Procopius did have before his eyes."
In other words, the last section of the SecretHistory is largely a com-
mentary on the edicts of Justinian. Its principle of organization is thematic,
though it relies on anecdotes for liveliness and proof. It also discusses the
character of the emperor's quaestors and prefects, who were the instigators,
recipients, or executors of his laws. Whatever relation Procopius had to the
court, he had inside knowledge about the mechanisms of legal activity. In
the middle part of the Secret History, he says that the emperor insisted on
writing many of his own decisions, even though that was the proper task of
the quaestor, and that his style was "barbaric" (14.2-4). A modern study of
the texts written specifically by Justinian has vindicated this judgment,
finding the emperor's Latin "pretentious and vulgar. "95 But it makes no
difference to the present argument whether specific edicts were written by
Justinian himself or by his quaestors. None could have been promulgated
without the emperor's authority.
Most of the topics covered by Procopius in the final section of the
Secret History can be paired up directly with extant edicts, and, when this
cannot be done, it is usually clear that a specific edict is being discussed
that has since been lost. This correspondence often extends to rhetorical
details. For instance, Justinian complains in Novel 122 that merchants were
charging triple prices. Procopius uses the same word when he accuses the
urban prefects of colluding with merchants to fleece the public (20.1-4).
When instituting the offices of quaesitor and praetor of the people, Justin-
ian is anxious to prove that they were not entirely new and that those who
would hold them, along with their subordinates, would be honest (Novels
13, 80). Procopius begins his account by saying twice that the offices were
entirely invented and denounces those who held them, along with their
subordinates, for corruption (20.7-12). And so on. The Secret History is a
distorting mirror of the emperor's own propaganda.
I have laid out this correspondence, to the extent that it can be recov-
ered, in an appendix. Here I will make some general observations on Pro-
copius' project. His primary aim is to show that the law was subverted by
the avarice of Justinian and his subordinates. In some cases, the emperor is
said not to have implemented his own legislation even when it was good,
as, for instance, regarding the sale of offices. In other cases, we are told the
secret motive behind the enactment of a specific law. Chapter 28, for in-
stance, discusses the forger Priscus, who bribed Justinian to pass a law
allowing churches to enforce century-old claims. Priscus had forged these
 The Representation of Tyranny 153

claims against wealthy families in collusion with the Church of Emessa. The
law in question is Novel 9 of 535. Though addressed to the Bishop of Rome,
it specifically states, no less than three times, that its provisions are equally
binding in the east and to cases "presently pending in court." Procopius
says that Priscus was exposed as a fraud in Emessa after "the evil spread to
most of the notable citizens" (28.12-15). In 541, Justinian repealed the law
with Novel 111,claiming that "many actions had been brought" and citing
vague concerns about the authenticity of documents. Procopius does not
mention the repeal.
It is after all to be expected that an author with Procopius' legal back-
ground, literary skill, and polemical intent should attempt a systematic de-
construction of the emperor's legislation, which was such a central
component of imperial propaganda. Without the Secret History, modern
reconstructions of the reign would depend to a far greater degree than they
do now on those edicts, especially their prefaces. As matters stand now,
there is not even an adequate translation of them, and they are used only
marginally in modern surveys of the period. This testifies to Procopius'
success. Allusions to specific laws can be found in other parts of the Secret
History as well. We saw in an earlier chapter that Justinian is introduced as
a "tyrant" only after he annuls the law that barred him from marrying
Theodora. Procopius explains how a more accommodating law was passed,
which became part of the Codex:" The advent of tyranny is therefore linked
to a specific edict. Many other passages also have a legal slant of this kind.
To be sure, hypocrisy, avarice, and constant innovation are presented as
fundamental elements of Justinian's personality. But their primary signifi-
cance lies in the field of law: hypocrisy, because he did not adhere to the
principles stated in his edicts; avarice, because he both enacted and violated
his edicts for gain; constant innovation and unsteadiness, because he never
let the laws rest. The last point cannot be denied by anyone who actually
reads the Novels. Even Justinian had to admit, in the preface to Novel 22,
"On marriage," that "a great number of different laws have been promul-
gated by us with reference to every branch of legislation; but as many of
them appear to us to be imperfect, we desire to open a way to our subjects
for better things .... We should not blush to amend laws which we have
published." A recent study has concluded that it would have been impossi-
ble for his subjects to keep pace with the constantly changing provisions on
such matters as marriage and inheritance."
Procopius set out to destroy the image of a benevolent Christian em-
peror ceaselessly laboring on behalf of his subjects, an image powerfully
154 Chapter 4

and persuasively projected by the edicts. While the final section of the Secret
History attacks specific administrative and legal policies, the central section
(chapters 6-18) undermines their religious underpinning; namely, the em-
peror's Christian conception of monarchy and boast of universal benevo-
lence." This section, to which we now turn, includes the pornography and
the comparison of Justinian and Theodora to bloodthirsty demons. It is a
highly organized work with an almost symmetrical structure. I have set this
out in Appendix 2 in order to focus here on the text's polemical aspects.
The demonology (12.14-32) is located in the middle of this section. It
is prefigured in the introduction, where we are told that a monstrous being
appeared repeatedly in the dreams of a general who had imprisoned and
was about to execute Justinian's uncle Justin, ordering him to release the
prisoner (6.5-9). This ensured the dynasty's future. There is also no ques-
tion that chapter 18 forms a conclusion of sorts: Procopius invokes the
demonology again after a long silence and surveys the devastation of the
world by war and natural catastrophe. The tempo of the prose picks up and
reaches a crashing conclusion at the end of the chapter. The demonology
therefore both flanks this section and stands at its heart.
It is unfortunate that scholarly discussions of these passages have been
haunted by the demon of literalism, a serious failure of the imagination. At
the positivist extreme, the demonology is dismissed as an interpolation: "a
historian such as Procopius could not have written such nonsense."?" More
recently, a scholar on the historicist side has maintained instead that Pro-
copius "meant these sections to be taken seriously." Yet "seriously" here
really means "at face value," and this position has been accepted as insight-
ful and accurate in subsequent scholarship: Procopius literally believed that
the emperor was a demon. Yet this position is not supported by any argu-
ments other than vague references to the "modes of thought" that allegedly
prevailed in his "age."IOOIf this interpretation is true it would require a
complete rethinking of his works, but this is never undertaken, and the
same scholar who would have us take the demonology at face value never
uses it elsewhere when discussing Procopius' attitude toward Justinian. But
then her stated agenda is to make Procopius look as irrational and nonclas-
sical as possible.'?' There is no need to interpret his thought coherently,
given that the resulting incoherence can simply be ascribed to him. This is
an evasion of the problem that is linked to the suffocating imperative to
read Byzantine texts as literally as possible whenever religion is involved,
no matter what the results. The same scholar says about the pornographic
passages that "no one was expected to take them literally."102No reason is
 The Representation of Tyranny 155

given for this different approach. And no attempt is made to reconcile the
literal reading of the demonology with the same author's programmatic
warning earlier in her book that "neither here nor anywhere else must
Procopius be taken at face value."!"
Most of my students have no problem making the distinction between
reading something "seriously" and taking it "at face value." One could even
posit that as the first rule for reading ancient literature. Gregory of Nazian-
zus did not literally believe that Julian was the Devil, nor Lucifer of Calaris
that Constantius was the Antichrist, nor Jerome that the Vandal Gaiseric
was the Antichrist. 104 If they did, the study of patristic theology has been
off course for centuries. Nor did John Lydus believe that the prefect John
the Cappadocian and his minions were really "demons and fiends."!" Nor,
finally, did Procopius literally believe that the Cappadocian was "the most
wicked of all demons," yet he calls him just that, in the Wars no less
(1.25.35). Furthermore, the demonology in the Secret History is punctured
by disclaimers at a rate unmatched elsewhere in his works, which establishes
a critical distance between author and text: "they say that ... " (12.18, 12.24,
12.28, 12.30, 12.31); "I myself did not see these things, but heard the accounts
of those who did" (12.23); "but these things are so according to the opinion
of the majority" (13.1; note the change from 12.14); "some say ... others
say ... " (18.37); "whether Justinian is a man ... or the lord of the
demons ... " (30.34). The demonology is a function of authorial strategy,
not religious belief.
The question is not whether Procopius believed this rhetoric but why
he chose to use it. Why does he call Justinian the lord of the demons? More
broadly, why does a classicizing author develop a comparison that requires
the deployment of strikingly nonclassical images? The answer, I believe, is
that the aim of the demonology is to invert Justinian's Christian image. Its
function is polemical and not confessional. The conceptual background of
Procopius' words is Christian because their target was also overtly Chris-
tian.'?" After all, "the lord of the demons" is how the New Testament refers
to Satan; the allusion is unmistakablc.I'" Procopius is using Justinian's faith
to destroy his public image. Yet his seriousness is by no means diminished
by his irony.
Let us consider a few examples of this counterpoint. In the Novels,
Justinian refers to the "purity" of monastic life and the benefits it confers
on the empire: "Where these holy persons pray to God for the prosperity
of the government with pure hands and souls free from every blemish,
there is no doubt that our armies will be victorious and our cities well
156 Chapter 4

governed."!" Well, Procopius cites as witnesses of Justinian's demonic na-

ture "a certain monk, one extremely beloved by God" (12.24), along with
some other men who spent the night in Justinian's company, presumably
also monks or priests, whom he calls "pure of soul," again echoing the
emperor's legislation (12.20; cf. Wars 7.32.9). These episodes effect an ideo-
logical realignment by turning against the regime the very people on whom
it most depended for moral legitimacy. For the sake of his polemic, Procop-
ius accepts Justinian's valuation of monastic life, but only to use it as a
weapon against him.
Likewise with Justinian's personal habits. The Novels refer often to his
vigils and asceticism: "We shall undergo vigils, abstinence, and all the other
privations in order to promote the welfare of our subjects." Or, "We pass
entire days and nights in reflecting upon what may be agreeable to God
and beneficial to our subjects, and it is not in vain that we maintain these
vigils."109In the panegyrical Buildings, these habits are praised as a sign of
the emperor's piety (1.7.5-16), and other writers of the reign also com-
mented on them.'!" In the Secret History, however, they are presented as
proof of the emperor's demonic nature (12.27; cf. 13.28-33) and are de-
scribed in exactly the same language as in the Buildings.
This ideological deconstruction operates on more general levels as
well. The macabre stories told by those men with "pure souls" are repeated
often in modern studies, with copious citations to religious parallels,'!' but
the chief question is never asked: what is their purpose and significance in
the context of Procopius' argument? What does it mean that Justinian
walked around without his head or that his face transformed into a shape-
less mass of flesh? (12.20-23). This is dehumanizing, but in the most striking
way possible. The head and face are the most distinctive physical features
of humanity: these episodes symbolically validate the charge of inhumanity.
Though Procopius is careful to state that he did not witness them himself,
he reports them to undercut the emperor's propaganda, for under the in-
fluence of Tribonian, Justinian's legislation had given new importance to
the imperial quality of humanitas, or Greek philanthropia. This is invoked
in numerous edicts: "We believe that the benevolence of God, and His
exceeding clemency toward the human race, should be imitated by us" (CJ
5.4.23). The confirmation of the Digest refers to God's divina humanitas,"?
the inverse of Procopius' demonic inhumanity (12.14). More generally still,
where Justinian thanked Christ, his dominus deus, for the favor shown to
his reign (e.g., CJ 1.27.1), according to Procopius some believed that God so
 The Representation of Tyranny 157

hated his wicked deeds that he turned his back on the empire, allowing
demons to destroy it (18.37). These must be other demons.
Yet when all is said and done, after we have heard all the movements
of the SecretHistory's dark symphony-the Gynecocracy, the demonology,
the critique of Justinian's legislation- Procopius' basic question still stands:
"how can anyone possibly explain in words the character of Justinian?"
(8.27). The shrillness of the text betrays its author's frustration. His subject
proved elusive. Classical authors had developed a specialized discourse for
the condemnation of tyrants. But Justinian did not fit the mold. He was a
tyrant, but he was not a sensualist. He did not rule to gratify his body, as
tyrants were supposed to do. Quite the contrary; he was an ascetic. An early
eros for his future wife was all that could be found. As we saw above, Pro-
copius did develop this event according to the discussion of tyranny in
Plato's Republic, but charges of continued debauchery would have seriously
misrepresented the regime, and Procopius wanted to understand it and
expose it on its own terms. The root of his difficulty lay in its nonclassical
foundations, which made it more similar in certain interesting respects to
modern tyrannies than to anything ancient. The regime of Justinian was
founded on ideology, not opportunism, and nothing in classical literature
could have prepared Procopius for this. Though he was aware of its ideo-
logical dimension and was willing to go beyond classical paradigms in order
to attack it, the temptation to reduce it to opportunism simply to make it
intelligible was strong. It is this tension that explains the shrill tones, the
frustration, and the shortfalls of the SecretHistory.
Procopius and his contemporaries never fully understood the psycho-
logical mechanisms that operated beneath Justinian's cold and inscrutable
surface. Perhaps only Theodora ever did. A reflection of this is the fact
that Justinian never speaks in direct discourse anywhere in the works of
Procopius. The Secret History depicts a sterile technocrat addicted to se-
crecy, murder, and greed who has replaced his emotions with doctrines and
uses language to conceal rather than speak the truth. His tyranny was mod-
ern in that it was founded on ideology; Justinian was incapable of thinking
or acting without invoking theological principles. He was not exaggerating
when he said that "we are accustomed to consider God in everything that
we do" (Novel 18, preface). For instance, he invoked Scripture to regulate
the price of vegetables. He there revealed the extent of his totalitarian dispo-
sition, which he had in common with no other ancient monarch: "there is
no part of the administration of either great or small importance which
does not demand our attention; we perceive everything with our mind and
158 Chapter 4

our eyes, and we do not desire anything to remain neglected, confused, or

ambiguous" (Novel 64). In many of his constitutions, he stated his desire
to reduce the world to a single universal and rational order that was based
on infallible principles and marred by no inconsistencies or ambiguities.
His compilation of Roman law was motivated by this ambition.l" It was
precisely this aspect of his ideology that Procopius inverted when he ac-
cused him in so many passages of the SecretHistory of throwing the whole
world into chaos and confusion.
Perhaps the most insightful comment ever made about Justinian's per-
sonality is that "his mind was formed by a reading of a Christian and bu-
reaucratic sort." His own writings give "no evidence of classical culture."!"
There is something ineluctably modern about the combination of dogma-
tism and bureaucracy, and it is no wonder that the same scholar compared
Justinian at length to Stalin. lIS We can easily discern Justinian in definitions
of modern tyranny that aim to differentiate it from its ancient counterparts:
"the Final Tyrant presents himself as a philosopher . . . as the supreme
exegete of the only true philosophy, as the executor and hangman author-
ized by the only true philosophy. He claims therefore that he persecutes
not philosophy but false philosophies."!" He is "a tyrant in command of a
party animated by a revolutionary ideology, intent on using propaganda to
impose a particular worldview on the populace, and willing to employ ter-
ror to snuff out every hint of political and cultural dissent."!" Wars for
glory and plunder Procopius could understand, but a ruler who killed sub-
jects for their religious beliefs while regulating the price of vegetables with
his hand on the Bible was not something for which his education had pre-
pared him. Justinian, he realized, "did not consider it to be murder if his
victims were of a different faith." Like Stalin, "with a gentle face, lowered
brows, and soft voice, he would give orders leading thousands of innocent
men to their death."!"
The tyranny exposed and condemned in the SecretHistory has disturb-
ingly modern qualities, and it is this, perhaps, that explains its popularity
with students of Byzantine history. The pornographic sections are ulti-
mately trivial, but religiously motivated murder and the subversion of law
by greed speak loudly to our age. The nonclassical aspects of the text are
due, as I have argued, to Procopius' attempt to come to grips with the new
ideology by reversing its polarities and exposing its fraudulence. This effort
took him far from classical paradigms. Nothing indicates this to me more
powerfully than the complete absence of genuine humor from the work.
Most ancient historians who wrote about tyrannies used humor to expose
 The Representation of Tyranny 159

the absurdities of arbitrary power. 119 A tyrant was after all only a man. He
would die and be replaced, perhaps by someone better. His crimes-some
seductions and one or two dozen murders-were ultimately petty and
could be mocked in retrospect. The Secret History, however, may contain
sarcasm and tragic comedy but nothing that is even remotely funny. The
stakes were too high. The modes and orders of civic life that classical au-
thors had taken for granted were under attack, and there could be nothing
amusing about this. As Procopius put it in a chapter on the decline of
orators, doctors, teachers, and theaters, "there was no laughter in life for
anyone" (26.10). Likewise, his fellow traveler Simplicius had lamented in his
commentary on Epictetus "the destruction of education and philosophy, of
all virtue and friendship and trust in one another" (14.26-27).

Alternatives and Solutions

Does Procopius offer any alternatives or solutions to the problems posed

by the regime of Justinian? At first sight, there is little to go on. The Secret
History is too negative, the Buildings too insincere. The latter work, despite
occasional irony, reflects the propaganda of Justinian, while the former in-
verts it. As a result, both approach the regime through its own terms. The
emperor is either God's deputy on earth, an imitator of Christ and paragon
of virtue (a standard Byzantine view, dubbed "Eusebian" by scholars), or
an unholy demon. There is no mention of God in the Secret History that is
not complicit in the deconstruction of Justinian's ideology. Panegyric and
invective are both framed theologically. The question is, did Procopius ac-
cept this framework, even if he did not regard Justinian in particular as
God's representative? The latest view asserts that he did, though it offers
little by way of argument.'?" There are in fact strong reasons to reject this
concl usion.
We must work from the Wars, which, however, is a descriptive text
that does not discuss ideal regimes. Still, Procopius occasionally praises
certain rulers in general terms, disclosing the qualities that he deemed nec-
essary. These passages are crucial because they are not fatally compromised
by panegyrical or polemical intentions. And we should note at the outset
that they are entirely secular.
At the beginning of the Gothic War, Procopius strongly praises Theod-
eric for "possessing those qualities most appropriate to one who is by na-
ture an emperor" (5.1.26-27). In other words, the virtues of Theoderic
160 Chapter 4

belong to all good rulers. These are justice, the preservation of the laws,
the protection of the land from barbarian neighbors, wisdom, and manli-
ness. There is no hint of piety or God. Even those who view Procopius
as a Eusebian admit that this passage reveals his notions about the "ideal
monarch."!" Though I do not believe that there are any "ideal monarchs"
in Procopius-even Theoderic sinned against philosophy-it should be
noted that this ideal, at least, is entirely secular.
Still, it is curious that Theoderic, a Goth, should be praised for pro-
tecting his land from "barbarians." The Goths were supposed to be barbar-
ians themselves (e.g., 5.2.17). Containing barbarian aggression was the
proper task of the Roman emperor. By his own admission, Procopius has
ascribed to Theoderic the virtues appropriate to a Roman emperor. One
has to suspect therefore that the ascription of these virtues to Theoderic is
an indirect indictment of Justinian, who did not possess a single one of
them. It was Justinian who failed to protect his land from barbarians. There
is no praise of him in the Wars comparable to that of Theoderic, to say
nothing of the fact that the founder of the state that gave him so much grief
is presented by Procopius as a model emperor.
Be that as it may, it is also for entirely secular virtues that Procopius
praises the emperors Theodosius and Anastasius, namely for justice and
good generalship in the first case and prudent accounting and foresight in
the second. The same is true for his praise of the western emperor Majorian
and Justinian's potential successor Germanus. Scholars who try to sacralize
Procopius' view of these virtues inevitably draw upon the BuildingsP? The
perspective in the Wars is entirely secular, which cannot be ascribed to
classicizing bias because there was no stylistic restraint against praising a
ruler's piety or stating that he was favored by God. The omission reflects
the priorities of the author. Conversely, it is also important that Procopius
does not say anything about the religious beliefs of Anastasius, who was
condemned as a heretic by orthodox writers close to Iustinian.!" As we
will see in the next chapter, this was not because Procopius was possibly a
Monophysite but because he thought all religious doctrines were foolish.
There was little room for religion in his view of the imperial office.
Justice, foresight, wisdom, and courage were conventional virtues, to
be sure, and thoroughly classical. Conventionality should not be regarded
as a flaw-if only Justinian were so conventional! In any case, ancient au-
thors cannot win this debate: across from the Scylla of conventionality there
always lurks the Charybdis of utopian idealism, and modern scholars will
find fault with one if not the other. The Byzantines are commonly supposed
 The Representation of Tyranny 161

not to have been able to imagine alternatives to monarchy, though this is

an unfair view that reflects a monolithic view of monarchy. The debate in
Byzantium was between different kinds of monarchy, which, to those in-
volved, were as different from each another as "democratic" regimes are
today. Hardly any modern historians express misgivings about democracy
as such: are their horizons then as limited as those of the Byzantines? But
this debate is best avoided. For better or worse, Procopius chose to uphold
the values of an ancient tradition that was secular and tolerant for all its
conventionality. This moderation by itself may have been a radical stance,
given the extremes to which he was forced in the Buildings and the Secret
History by the nature of the regime itself.
Did Procopius propose remedies for the evil of]ustinian? There is only
one way to eliminate a tyrant. Yet assassination is a dangerous enterprise. If
it is carried out by one man, he will die even if he succeeds, yet if he seeks
associates he must form a conspiracy, which may be betrayed. And how do
you form a conspiracy? You must know in advance that one shares your
feelings so that he will not betray you. On the other hand, you may try
to persuade him of the necessity for change before inviting him to join a
conspiracy. But this too is a very dangerous strategy. The regime does not
tolerate criticism and may punish you for that alone. Your criticism will
have to be secret; even more so your conspiracy. But is it possible to incite
others to tyrannicide, give them moral legitimacy and even practical advice,
without revealing yourself in the act? Would you not then be the ultimate
conspirator, an architect of conspiracies?
One of the ways to plan future conspiracies against a tyrant is by dis-
cussing past conspiracies against him and noting where they failed. Another
way is to discuss conspiracies in general, whether against this tyrant or
another, and note why they failed or succeeded. Past conspiracies are a part
of history and may be discussed by a historian without arousing much
suspicion. A discussion of past conspiracies may be a disguised manual for
future ones. But they must be told from the point of view of the conspira-
tors. Such a historian may even suggest that his narrative, though primarily
military in nature, will be useful to those who are at war as well as to those
"who are engaged in any kind of contest" by demonstrating "what the
outcome was for those who planned their actions well" (Wars 1.1.2).
Accounts of conspiracies occupy disproportionate space in the Wars
relative to their military significance and are described in greater detail than
any other kind of event. They are also always told from the point of view
of the conspirators, even when Procopius was personally attached to their
162 Chapter 4

intended victims. In the Vandal War, these conspiracies are tangentially

linked to the narrative and could have been dealt with far more cursorily.
The great conspiracy against Justinian related in the Gothic War is com-
pletely irrelevant to the main narrative, but is nevertheless told at equally
great length. Let us see what we can learn about conspiracies from those
passages.
The conquest of Libya was followed by imperial maladministration
leading to widespread disaffection. The Vandal War, fresh from the celebra-
tions of victory at Constantinople, quickly lapses into mutinies and plots,
which lead in turn to civil wars and incursions by the Moors. The final part
of the text discusses many conspiracies in detail, while the battles raging
around them are gradually relegated to the sidelines. Procopius gives a cir-
cumstantial account of a plot to kill the general Solomon, but this is only a
prelude to the tour de force that is the conspiracy against the rebel Gonth-
aris. Both are instructive and are told from the point of view of the conspir-
ators.
I will focus here on the actual conspiracies, leaving their political back-
ground aside. Procopius recounts the plot against Solomon in 536 dispas-
sionately, even though he was with the general at the time. Disaffection
was so widespread that all but a few men were involved (4.14.22-28). The
mutineers planned to kill Solomon in church during Easter but twice failed
to do so, "either because they felt awe before the mysteries that were then
being performed, or because they blushed on account of the general's fame,
or even because they were hindered by something divine." Machiavelli
noted in his magisterial analysis of conspiracies that if you are prepared to
commit murder, you should not hesitate to do it in a church.'>' This is
especially true if your victim is known to spend much time in churches or
with priests and monks. It also helps if you are not opposed by any "divine
things."
Gontharis, who seized control of Carthage in 545, had no religious
qualms. He killed the governor Areobindus even though Areobindus had
taken refuge in a monastery, had received pledges from the city's bishop
sworn on the baptismal rite, had approached Gontharis with the Scriptures
in hand and accompanied by a newly baptized child, and had received
pledges from the tyrant himself "in the name of all holy things." This is all
quite overdone, but none of it mattered to Gontharis, who had the gover-
nor killed in his room after dinner (4.26.17-33).125 Gontharis did not fear
God.
The plot to kill Gontharis, with which the Vandal War culminates, is
 The Representation of Tyranny 163

recounted in great detail immediately after the murder of Areobindus. A

speech is addressed by Gregory to the chief conspirator, his uncle Arta-
banes, effusively praising his nobility and arguing that Belisarius' conquest
of Libya will appear less glorious than the murder of that one tyrant. This
speech "excited the mind of Artabanes to move with even greater resolve
against the tyrant" (4.27.11-19).126It seems that speeches can incite men to
kill tyrants, and we must remember that the speech of Gregory is indirectly
the speech of Procopius. As for the praise of nobility, we are reminded of
the passage in the Secret History that states that "all expected" Belisarius to
"do something brave and befitting a man" against those who had abused
him (4.40), by killing Theodora perhaps. An entire chapter of the Vandal
War is devoted to the execution of the plot in the tyrant's "palace" (4.28),
as a result of which Artabanes did in fact gain "great fame." And right
before the conspirators entered the room, Procopius makes one of them
say: "I am unsure whether God, hating the tyrant, will assist me in this
daring deed, or whether he will oppose me on account of some past sin of
my mine" (4.48.12). God is now a natural ally of tyrannicides.
Procopius' account in the Gothic War of the plot against Justinian in
548-549 is again told from the point of view of the conspirators. The narra-
tive moves from their grievances to their plans, mistakes, and capture. It is
introduced by the promise to "explain how they came to that resolve and,
their plans being foiled, the deed failed to materialize" (7.31.1). The chief
conspirator is again Artabanes, who has now graduated to greater things.
Once again he is incited by the speeches of another, who dares him to prove
his bravery, nobility, and manliness (7.32.5-7). This man, Arsaces, delivers
one of the most famous lines in the Wars: Justinian will be easy to kill, he
says, because "he always sits unguarded in some lobby until very late at
night, in the company of extremely old priests, intently unrolling the scrip-
tures of the Christians" (7.32.9). One scholar has seen this as a "statement
of Justinian's vulnerability and valuable information for any would-be as-
sassin," but given by Procopius through Arsaces to conspirators other than
/vrtabanes.i" Arsaces tells readers of the Wars exactly when, where, and in
whose company Justinian is most vulnerable. His speech is again also the
speech of Procopius and not just because the latter elsewhere says the same
thing about Justinian in his own voice.!" Procopius, the arbiter of all speech
in the Wars and author of an inflammatory tract against Justinian, sets
inflammatory speeches at the heart of both conspiracies led by Artabanes.
We may suspect that he had inside information about them; that is, that he
knew Artabanes. And the praise of Justinian's mercy and forgiveness in the
164 Chapter 4

Buildings has led some to the conclusion that Procopius may have been
involved in a plot himself. 129
Be that as it may, Procopius describes Artabanes as "tall and hand-
some, free-spirited (eleutherios), and reserved in his speech" (7.31.9).
Eleutherios, formed from the root of the word for "freedom," means the
opposite of "servile."!" The proximate cause of Artabanes' plot against Jus-
tinian was his oppression by two women, namely his own wife and Theo-
dora. Arsaces taunts him to do exactly what "all expected" that Belisarius
would do after his oppression by two women, namely his own wife and
Theodora. He taunts him to prove his manhood. The conspiracies of Arta-
banes and his praise by Procopius close the circle that opened with our
discussion of the three parts of the SecretHistory.
 Chapter 5
God and Tyche in the Wars

Christiani ty?

In 537, the city of Rome was besieged by the Goths and defended by a small
imperial army under Belisarius. Civic life was disrupted and the populace
unsure of its loyalties and prospects. Procopius was present throughout the
siege, of which he wrote a gripping narrative. Among the omens, intrigues,
and wonders that marked that exciting year, he records a peculiar incident.
Some Romans tried to open the doors of the temple of Janus, which, the
historian explains, their ancestors used to open in times of war until they
began "to honor the doctrine of the Christians." Yet during the siege "some
who had the old faith in mind" tried to open the doors again "in secret"
but managed only to dislodge them slightly from their threshold. The pas-
sage ends cryptically: "And those who had attempted this escaped notice.
No investigation of the deed was made because it occurred in the midst of
a great confusion; also, it did not become known to the commanders,
nor did it come to the attention of the multitude, except to very few"
(5.25.18- 25).
Procopius never says that the doors were shut after the incident, which
means that they may have remained slightly ajar indefinitely, for the fact
that they had been opened was a closely guarded secret. Is this an anecdotal,
that is, a literary way of saying that the war in Italy would simmer on
without end? Be that as it may, the passage also raises troubling questions
about Procopius himself. It clearly implies that he was one of the few who
knew about the incident, if he was not among those who tried to open the
doors in the first place. After all, he knows about the "old faith" at least as
well as they did. He describes the statue of Janus in detail and gives its
dimensions (5.25.21). Assuming, then, that he was not one of them, how
did he find out about this incident? Why did he not inform the command-
ers about it? He knows that they would have wanted to "investigate" it.
And why does he not tell us, the readers of the Wars, exactly who was
166 Chapter 5

involved? He seems to know more than he says, leaving us with the impres-
sion that he could not have known what he does tell us without also know-
ing more that he does not tell us. His story suggests that non-Christian rites
can be attempted in Christian Rome, even with only partial success, if they
are veiled in secrecy and the times are right. In a sense, his narrative is an
accomplice to that attempt, because it does not reveal enough to compro-
mise its veil of secrecy. Like the event it describes, Procopius' story goes
largely unnoticed in the din of the siege that surrounds it. To my knowl-
edge, only one scholar has asked the hard questions that it poses; others
dismiss it as a curiosity or impose on it preconceived notions about his
religious beliefs, notions that are not at all warranted by this extremely
cryptic passage. 1
Few men's religious beliefs have generated more divergent scholarly
opinions than those of Procopius. Seen by Gibbon as a "half pagan" whose
"religion betrays occasional conformity, with a secret attachment to pagan-
ism and philosophy,"? he has since been classified as a possible Iew," a
Samaritan,' a quasi-Manichaean," a deist-skeptic," a dualist who believed in
both God and irrational Fate," "a Christian of the independent and skepti-
cal sort,"? an Arian,? and a Monophysite sympathizer." One scholar com-
bined the possibilities and produced the world's first free-thinking Jewish
Christian (like Spinoza?). Even this position has been interpreted variously,
which is only to be expected because it merely reproduces the confusion in
the source." The only parallel known to me is the range of opinions that
scholars have expressed on the religious beliefs of the militant atheist Paolo
Sarpi." Yet a consensus has recently emerged regarding Procopius, namely,
that he was "a conventional Christian" whose religious language was only
superficially influenced by classical vocabulary. The issue, however, is far
from settled, and the fragile foundations of the consensus have never been
subjected to scrutiny."
Clearly, there is room for disagreement. The reasons for this quickly
become apparent to anyone who approaches the texts with the naive inten-
tion of identifying the relevant passages and, after judiciously evaluating
their evidence, deciding in favor of one theory or another. Which passages,
one asks, ought to be included in such an examination? Certainly Procop-
ius' own digressions on the workings of God and tyche and probably also
his accounts of omens and miracles, some of which are specifically linked
to Christian relics or beliefs. But what about opinions that are expressed in
the speeches of generals and ambassadors? And what about the historian's
criticism of Justinian's religious policies? How should we treat passages in
 God and Tyche in the Wars 167

which concepts such as tyche occur, though without strong metaphysical

connotations? Is his fatalism to be taken seriously or is it merely a literary
device that serves, say, to diffuse suspense or give the aura of inevitability
to certain events? Does his apparent superstition count?" Or do omens and
such serve literary purposes, as we saw earlier with the fall of Antioch?"
And how are we to deal with the fact that in his digressions, Procopius
expresses the most contradictory views, sometimes indicating his belief in
a provident and just deity, sometimes not only implying but directly stating
that the world is governed by a completely amoral entity called tyche who
acts utterly capriciously? Not a few scholars have noted "the variety and the
seeming confusion of the writer's remarks concerning the divine govern-
ment of the world,"!" and some have simply given up on him, concluding
that he had no clear conception of man's relation to God." It is amazing
that no one has seriously considered that Procopius was writing in an intol-
erant society that persecuted dissidents. Surely this would have affected his
choice of words if his beliefs were not conventional.
In this chapter, I will argue that none of the theories listed above is
correct, though some reflect more of the truth than others; for instance,
Gibbon's comment on Procopius' "secret attachment to philosophy," for
which we found conclusive evidence earlier. Setting aside the utterly specu-
lative suggestions that Procopius belonged to this or that specific sect, the
theory that most falls short of the mark is the consensus view that he was a
conventional Christian. This theory rests on two lines of argument: first,
that the non -Christian elements in his work can be dismissed as "mere
affectation" or, in the last resort, as "philosophical confusion"; and second,
that numerous passages in his works furnish positive proof that he was a
Christian of the ordinary sort. The first line of argument, especially the
dismissal of the concept of fortune as frivolous, will be dealt with below.
As for the second, the scant sections of the Wars on which it is based will
be examined more properly in a separate study of that work, where they
will be discussed in close connection to the main historical themes of the
narrative. It will be shown that those passages are too ambiguous to provide
any basis for a secure identification of Procopius' religion. But their use
to prove Procopius a conventional Christian faces prior methodological
problems that will be dealt with here. These must be resolved before any
passages can be used to establish his beliefs.
It is commonly assumed that if a Byzantine gives even the slightest
hint that he was a Christian then he was and that all indications that he
gives to the contrary can be dismissed. This is the pervasive bias of histori-
168 Chapter 5

cism, which wants to make everyone into a "man of his age"-as though
we can ever know the age better than the man! In fact the converse is true:
if an author living in an age of religious persecution gives even the slightest
hint that he is unorthodox then he probably was, despite any declarations
that he may make explicitly to the contrary. Conventionality can be as-
cribed to necessity; heterodoxy cannot. A dissident writer who fears perse-
cution must maintain a facade of orthodoxy. Thus, he will inevitably appear
to be confused and inconsistent when he then tries to introduce his own
views obliquely. And this is exactly what we find in Procopius and in nu-
merous other Byzantine authors who had a philosophical background.
Problems arise when scholars take the confusion at face value and dismiss
the anomalies. The exact opposite should be done, provided the author
warrants that approach.
Justinian persecuted dissidents with renewed zeal. Pagans, Jews, Sa-
maritans' philosophers, and heretics all experienced his deadly hatred and
found that he lent a ready ear to their enemies. The facts are too well known
to bear repeating." But the regime's intolerance cannot simply be ascribed
to "the times." Its virulence shocked even contemporaries, whether they
were Christian or Hellene, Roman or barbarian. Right before his kingdom
was invaded by imperial armies, the Gothic king Theodahad pleaded the
cause of tolerance to Justinian: "As the Deity allows various religions to
exist, I do not dare impose one alone. For I remember reading that we
should sacrifice to the Lord of our own will, not at the command of anyone
who compels us. He who tries to do otherwise clearly opposes the heavenly
decree."!" The bitterness of pope Agapetus, who faced Justinian personally,
reflected western resentment at his high-handed measures: "Sinner that I
am, I have long wanted to come to the most Christian emperor Justinian-
but now I have encountered Diocletian; yet I am not in the least afraid of
your threats.">' Others, however, were afraid and went into hiding or
muted their criticism." Dissidents left their works anonymous or pseudon-
ymous." Far from promoting literary culture, as did the Goth Theoderic
and the Persian Chosroes, Justinian burned books for religious reasons."
Procopius, on the other hand, the greatest thinker of his age, was perhaps
the most principled enemy of religious bigotry the Christian world had yet
seen. He decried the persecution of heretics, Samaritans, Hellenes, astrolo-
gers, and sexual deviants and claimed that many of the heterodox fled the
empire altogether. Among the latter were the Platonists of Athens, who
returned only after they had secured the backing of the Persian king and a
treaty stipulating their immunity from persecution."
 God and Tyche in the Wars 169

This is the proper context against which to view the problem of dis-
simulation, both political and religious. No human society is entirely con-
formist. The universally pious Byzantium of scholarship is a myth. Yet as
Polybius noted after arguing that kings should be blamed publicly for their
faults, "this is perhaps easy enough to say but extremely difficult to do, on
account of the many and varied circumstances and conditions in life that
make it impossible for men to speak or write their true opinions" (8.8.8).
Similar statements were made in all periods of antiquity, and not only in
antiquity. It was as true for the sixteenth century as it was for the sixth that
"the presence of irreligion remains elusive and difficult to prove because
persecution subjects their expression to the gravest danger. To try to detect
them is like trying to recognize the identity of a person wearing a disguise
or mask.'?" Yet there is also no doubt that such masks were worn by many
ancient writers and that they employed specific rhetorical techniques in
order to express guarded dissent." Yet these masks must mean something
to us; as scholars we are obligated to look behind them. Whereas many
studies of Procopius warn that sixth -century thinkers could not speak safely
about politics and religion, it is a paradox that none take those warnings
seriously. The drift of the argument is lost on those who make it. At one
extreme, Procopius has been depicted confidently as a supporter of repres-
sive state violence by a scholar who admits on the very same page that "at
any point he may not be writing what he really thinks.'?" The problems of
dissimulation have received only lip service. There has been no systematic
attempt to study how and about what sixth-century authors veiled their
beliefs. Perhaps scholars in modern liberal societies are insufficiently sensi-
tive to the constraints imposed by tyrannies and official churches. Hence,
we are presented with a row of interchangeable figures, all orthodox, all
conformist. Scratch the surface of any Byzantine political thinker and you
will find ... Eusebius. But Eusebius is the surface.
As Montaigne knew, "no quality is so easy to counterfeit as piety.":"
Our first references to insincere converts come from texts written even as
Constantine was establishing the groundwork of his official Church." Julian
converted to philosophy under the nose of his ecclesiastical tutor. The age
of Justinian does not lack examples of its own. The emperor himself re-
ferred in one of his edicts to those who pretended to be Christian in order
to hold offices." The Chronicon Paschale records under the year 530 that
certain Samaritans

in fear came to Christianity under compulsion, and were received and baptized,
and up to the present day waver between the two: under stringent officials they
170 Chapter 5

deceive by appearance and falsely and wickedly manifest themselves as Christians,

but under lax and greedy officials, they conduct themselves as Samaritans and hat-
ers of Christians.

Procopius also notes the problem of false conversion in the Secret History,
when he reviews Justinian's persecution of heterodoxy. Some Hellenes ac-
cepted "the name of Christians" only to be found later performing sacri-
fices (11.32). Samaritans, he says, "accepted the name of Christians because
of the necessity of the law" (26.27).31 They found it "prudent" to convert
in order to avoid harassment, thinking it "foolish" to suffer for the sake of
a "stupid doctrine" (11.25).Which doctrine was stupid? The one renounced
by the Samaritans? Or is Procopius implying generally that the notion of
fighting over doctrines is stupid, making both the one that is renounced
and the one that is embraced stupid? As we will see, for him all doctrines
are stupid that divide people into sects, and this includes all doctrines cur-
rent in the sixth century.
This is the conclusion that we must draw from a famous digression at
the beginning of the Gothic War, a passage that by itself refutes the notion
that Procopius was a conventional Christian, no matter what else he may
say in other parts of his work. Discussing relations between Byzantium and
Gothic Italy, Procopius mentions two priests who traveled to Rome

on account of an article of faith that the Christians dispute among themselves,

holding different opinions. I will by no means mention the points of contention,
though I know them well. For I think it is insanely stupid to investigate the nature
of God, and ask what sort it is. For I do not believe that human beings have a
sufficiently exact understanding of human things, far less of anything that bears on
the nature of God. Therefore, I will keep a safe (&xLv(h)v(jJ~) silence about these
things, with the sole intention of not allowing honored teachings to be disbelieved.
For I would say nothing else about God than that he is entirely good and holds
everything within his power. But let each say about these things whatever he thinks
he knows, both priest and layman. (5.3.5-9)

Under the guise of affirming traditional religious beliefs, Procopius

manages to insinuate some startling conclusions. First, all Christian theol-
ogy, and certainly all theology of the sixth century, is "insanely stupid"
because its end is to investigate the nature of God. Thus the "stupid" doc-
trines of the Samaritans who converted to Christianity were not only those
they renounced but also those they embraced, for any creed that affirms
more than God's benevolence and power is "insanely stupid." And we now
understand better why Procopius accuses Justinian in the Secret History of
 God and Tyche in the Wars 171

being "too curious about the nature of God" (18.29), using exactly the same
words he does at the beginning of the Gothic War, thus linking the two
passages. But the scope of his complaint goes well beyond one emperor. By
rejecting all doctrines that divide men into different sects, and even into
different religions, he undercuts any possible justification for religious per-
secution.
Second, seen as a positive religious credo, Procopius says nothing
about God that is specifically Christian. If he were a Christian, even one
who stood outside the disputes that divided the community, surely he could
have said more about God than that he is benevolent and omnipotent. The
ecclesiastical historian Evagrius provides a useful comparison. Taking a self-
consciously liberal stance between Chalcedonians and Monophysites, he
made the following declaration:

And no one of those who have devised heresies among the Christians originally
wanted to blaspheme, or stumbled through wishing to dishonor the divinity, but
rather by supposing to speak better than their predecessors if he were to advocate
this. And the essential and vital points are commonly agreed by all: for what we
worship is a trinity and what we glorify is a unity, and God the Word, though born
before the ages, was incarnated in a second birth out of pity for creation. (1.11)

It is of course the differences between Procopius and Evagrius that interest

us here. Evagrius is obviously talking about the Christian God; Procopius
is not. Evagrius is also not entirely consistent with his principles; he begins
his work by reviling some heretics as insane, filthy, wicked, agents of the
Devil (1.1-2). Procopius, on the other hand, is probably the only ancient
author who argued against religious persecution on behalf of groups to
which he did not belong and that, probably, he did not even like. Argu-
ments for toleration in antiquity had so far been produced only by those
directly under attack and only on behalf of their own group or by emperors
such as Constantine who persecuted heretical groups whenever they did
not play along." The author of the Secret History does not even mention
the group to which he belongs, though he alludes to it. Procopius' state-
ment that "human beings do not have a sufficiently exact understanding of
human things, far less of anything that bears on the nature of God" alludes
directly to what Plato often makes Socrates say, notably in the Apology (e.g.,
zed-e). The decision to quote a philosopher accused of impiety in a defini-
tive statement on the nature of God merits reflection: it links him again to
the Platonic philosophers persecuted for impiety in the sixth century and it
points the search for Procopius' beliefs in an entirely different direction
172 Chapter 5

than that taken by current scholarship. Perhaps he was willing to entertain

the more skeptical positions expounded by Socrates in Plato's early dia-
logues,
Those who believe that Procopius was a conventional Christian des-
perately try to dismiss this passage, stating, for instance, that he was not
"obligated to insert a personal credo at this point.?" But defining the limits
of such a credo is precisely what he was doing. Another lame argument is
that it reflects "the opinion of the believer, not the skeptic.">' These are of
course relative terms. It is the opinion of the believer only when compared
to that of the utter atheist (and not even then, necessarily, if we factor in
the need to maintain appearances). This argument is like saying that Marx
was a reactionary conservative because he rejected the radical anarchism of
Bakunin. It is ironic that those who most wish to integrate Procopius' reli-
gious beliefs into his historical context fail to consider here how different
were the views of the majority of his contemporaries on this issue. Com-
pared to them, the passage quoted above is the voice of radical skepticism.
Be that as it may, it is certainly not the voice of a Christian. Even those who
believe otherwise are forced to admit that his tolerance was "unusual" and
that he was "exceptional in believing that people should be allowed to be-
lieve what they liked. "35 This contradicts the view that he was a "conven-
tional" Christian and seems incompatible with his being one at all. Despite
occasional claims to the contrary, no Christian endorsed the view that
"people should be allowed to believe what they liked." Nor did any Chris-
tian explicitly link an emperor's piety and "firm belief in Christ" to the
"destruction of his subjects," as Procopius does in the Secret History (13.4
ff.). The very notion of tolerant Christianity seems to have been a myth
invented by pagans such as Symmachus, Libanius, and Themistius, plead-
ing to Christian emperors on behalf of pagan traditions. Tolerant Christian-
ity was largely a pagan rhetorical device.
On this point I can see no essential difference between the deism of
Procopius and that of the Enlightenment philosophers. Both promoted
vague, nonsectarian views of God that were restricted to benevolence and
power. Both attacked theological speculation as insanely stupid and the
cause of disputes and persecution. Hume wrote that "the nature of God,
from the infirmities of human understanding, is altogether incomprehensi-
ble and unknown to us.... Next to the impiety of denying his existence, is
the temerity and prying into his nature and essence."> And Voltaire's brief
entry on "Theism" in his Philosophical Dictionary reads like a loose transla-
tion of Procopius' credo, down to the fear that disputes may dishonor an-
 God and Tyche in the Wars 173

cient teachings about God. Most important, the deism of both Procopius
and the Enlightenment was born of disgust at the havoc that theological
enthusiasm wreaked in an otherwise civilized world. The sentiments were
the same and so too were the motives.
Another similarity is the suspicion that even this rarefied, skeptical
deism was itself a veil for even more skeptical views. As one reader of the
Wars astutely noted, "it must be admitted that we do not hear much about
this benevolent God in the rest of the work."37 It is well known that the
deism of the Enlightenment philosophers was a facade for irreligion. They
talked much about God but believed in physics. Does the Wars testify to
the existence of a benevolent deity, or are other forces at work in its world?

Coping with Tyche

The remainder of this chapter will reexamine the role of tyche, or fortune,
in the Wars. Despite its prominence and the many digressions that Procop-
ius devotes to it, tyche has rarely been regarded as an integral element of
his historical thought. Concerted efforts have been made to push it out of
the way to make room for Procopius the conventional Christian. Usually it
is dismissed as a "purely superficial" and "clumsy evocation" of classical
language. We are told that it was merely part of "the inherited language of
classicizing writers," and readers of the Wars are now encouraged to disre-
gard what once used to be considered a perplexing problem." It is also
assumed that Procopius failed to reconcile his notion of tyche with the
provident Christian God he allegedly worshipped, which resulted in a
philosophically incoherent text. 39
This theory faces a number of prima facie problems. First, its expo-
nents seem to have no difficulty themselves in seeing the incompatibility
between amoral tyche and a provident Deity. They treat it as an obvious
theological contradiction, which indeed it is. Yet the more obvious the con-
tradiction, the less plausible its ascription to Procopius. The conventional
view asks us to believe that he was either incredibly confused or indifferent
to philosophical coherence. Procopius, however, was by far the most com-
petent Byzantine historian and wrote with greater clarity than almost any
Greek historian of any period. He managed to compose and arrange hun-
dreds of pages of detailed information covering a very complex period of
history without ever losing narrative coherence or contradicting himself
seriously. He also tells us explicitly that he had expert knowledge regarding
174 Chapter 5

the theological controversies of his age (Wars 5.3.6). Even though that was
not a topic he chose to pursue in his works, there is no reason to doubt his
boast, which militates strongly against the notion that he did not or could
not distinguish between amoral tyche and the Christian God. And, as we
have seen, he was no ordinary reader of Plato. Nevertheless, the contradic-
tion is undeniable. There are passages where God is described as good,
passages where tyche is explicitly described as indifferent to good and evil,
and passages where God seems to be identified with tyche. The vocabulary
is identical, therefore deliberate. We seem to be facing an impossible con-
tradiction that exists nonetheless. We cannot just brush it away by ascribing
it to incoherence. That would require us to conclude that Procopius could
not see a glaring and almost explicit contradiction. As chance has it, we
possess the reaction of a frustrated Byzantine scribe, who addressed the
following comment to Procopius in the margins of a manuscript: "you
are not acting rightly by introducing the daimonion and tyche and fate into
the Christian faith.":" No analysis of the Wars can proceed on the assump-
tion that modern theological intuitions are sharper than those of a highly
educated Byzantine.
Second, the notion that tyche represents some kind of classical "left-
over," mere mental baggage that Procopius picked up from the works of
his predecessors, is a nonstarter. There is simply no ancient historian in
whose work tyche assumes as prominent a role, perhaps not even Polybius.
We naturally expect the importance of classical concepts to diminish as the
ideological framework of ancient historiography-whatever that was-gave
way to Christian modes of thought. But in the Wars, the concept of fortune
takes the forefront as never before. Procopius invokes it in connection with
many accidents and coincidences; he structures many of his speeches
around it; and, in the case of every momentous event, such as the sack of
Antioch in 540, the plague, or the capture of enemy kings, he digresses on
the workings of tyche in the world. There is nothing in the tradition like
this, although Polybius comes close." In particular, the concept of tyche is
nowhere near as prominent in the works of the two historians who influ-
enced Procopius most, Herodotus and Thucydides. Whereas tyche was part
of the classical repertoire, the importance that it attains in the Wars and the
Secret History must be viewed as a deliberate choice on the part of their
author. What we must do is try to explain that choice. Vaguely invoking
"the tradition" will do us no good.
Finally, we come to what is arguably the greatest flaw in all the discus-
sions of tyche in Procopius, regardless of whether they advocate a skeptical
 God and Tyche in the Wars 175

or conventional Christian. All discussions so far entirely ignore the narra-

tive in which the concept is at all times embedded. Scholars scan the text
for key words such as God and tyche and then extract the passages in which
they are located, sometimes without bothering to note whether the words
are spoken by Procopius himself or by one of his speakers. Passages taken
from completely different parts of the same text, or from different works
altogether, are then juxtaposed in the hope that they will yield logical
sense."
This cut -and -paste approach, which I have criticized in connection
with another Byzantine historian," will no longer suffice. This chapter will
seek to demonstrate that each individual occurrence of tyche or God cannot
be understood apart from its surrounding context, which includes the spe-
cific events to which it is linked as well as-and this requires particular
emphasis-the position of those events in the overall context of the war. In
other words, tyche and God are likely to function differently, or to have
different meanings, depending on their place in the logic of the narrative.
They must be carefully contextualized before being used to draw conclu-
sions about what Procopius believed. Conversely, it is impossible to under-
stand the narrative of the Wars without also examining the role of tyche
within it. Against those who would brush it aside, it will be argued here
that tyche, or "God," is a central component of the overall political aim of
the Wars. This phenomenological approach will enable us to understand
the historian's verdict on the events of his time and on the deeds of Belisa-
rius, whom fortune, in one form or another, follows throughout the Wars
and Secret History.
In short, narrative and tyche are interdependent. We cannot fully un-
derstand the story of the Wars unless we grasp the idea that lies at its core,
and, conversely, we cannot understand that idea unless we first examine
its dialectical relationship to the developing course of the narrative. The
procedure I intend to follow has been described ably in a discussion of
Greek tragedy: "We reflect on an incident ... by burrowing down into the
depths of the particular, finding images and connections that will permit
us to see it more truly, describe it more richly; by combining this burrowing
with a horizontal drawing of connections, so that every horizontal link
contributes to the depth of our view of the particular, and every new depth
creates new horizontal links,":"
The theological vocabulary of the Wars is minimalist. Procopius uses
only a small number of terms such as tyche, theos, and daimonion, thereby
enabling us to track their changing fortunes with ease. Tyche is the more
176 Chapter 5

complex one, for it frequently occurs as a verb, in compounds such as

eutychia (good fortune), or without having great interpretive weight; for
example, when minor events "chance" to happen or occur "by some
chance.":" And yet it is not chance that governs the distribution of these
terms in the text. Even though it will not be possible to examine every
particular case, sufficient evidence will be presented that Procopius deploys
them carefully. I hope the discussion will provide future students of the
Wars with the tools to appreciate those passages that could not be examined
here for reasons of space.
The next two sections will follow closely the narratives of the Vandal
War and the Gothic War, focusing on Procopius' development of key con-
cepts. Through an analysis of the rhetorical techniques by which they are
deployed in speeches and the historian's own digressions, we will explicate
the relationships among tyche, God, and the sixth-century wars. Technical
terms will be examined in their immediate narrative context as their cumu-
lative role in the construction of Procopius' metanarratives is gradually re-
vealed. The fifth section of the chapter will look at two important events in
the Persian War, the sack of Antioch in 540 and the plague of 542, which
elicited from Procopius extended meditations on tyche and God. A brief
section will be devoted to the role of tyche in the fall of Totila, told in Book
8 of the Wars. Finally, the seventh section will situate Procopius' use of
tyche within the broader spectrum of ancient thought, looking particularly
at other historians, secular and ecclesiastical, as well as at possible philo-
sophical and religious influences.

The Supremacy of Tyche in the Vandal War

Let me state at the outset my main theses regarding the role of tyche in the
Vandal War. First, Procopius believed that the fall of the Vandals was due
to chance and not the virtue of Belisarius. Gelimer's defeat was caused by a
series of accidents from which the Romans only happened to benefit. This
thesis is stated explicitly, if not helpfully, in the Secret History: "tyche deliv-
ered Gelimer and Vittigis over to Belisarius as captives of war" (4.32). It is
also alluded to in the Gothic War, where the verbal form of tyche is used in
connection with Belisarius' victory over the Vandals (5.5.1). This persistent
association of tyche with the victory in Libya is not accidental and explains
why Procopius never praises Belisarius for the reconquest. This, in turn,
refutes the pervasive belief that the historian set out to glorify the general
 God and Tyche in the Wars 177

in the Vandal War.46 Procopius does occasionally praise Belisarius, but only
for events that could be ascribed to his virtue, for example the orderly entry
of his troops into Carthage (3.21.8) and the early victories in Italy over the
Goths. The defeat of Gelimer was not such an event. Besides, Procopius
makes some rather unfavorable remarks about Belisarius in the early stages
of the narrative, which he would not have made had he been the general's
apologist (3.10.4, 3.14.1-2; cf. 4.4.1-8).
Second, the Vandal War establishes a basic opposition between things
that men can foresee and control and things that they cannot, and the latter
are ascribed alternately to God or to tyche. Procopius uses the two terms
more or less interchangeably. Naturally, he is aware that most men hold
God to be benevolent. Yet in his view, the events that people want to ascribe
to God should properly be ascribed to amoral chance, which does not mean
that tyche is an actual goddess. His ultimate goal is to displace God, not to
deify chance. Of course many speakers in the work have a different view of
the world, and Procopius allows them to express it. Yet even their choice of
words is always subordinated to the imperatives of his metanarrative. For
example, in the Vandal War, speakers refer to God or fortune frequently,
complementing the historian's own ascription of the events in Libya to
tyche, whereas in the early stages of the Gothic War, dominated as they are
by the military genius of Belisarius, speakers tend to emphasize instead the
power of virtue. Thus we see that the frequency and distribution of con-
cepts such as tyche and virtue are carefully controlled by Procopius to rein-
force and vary his specific verdict on each war. Analysis reveals that each
text is structured by recurring patterns, and patterns are a sure indication of
an author's intentions. It is Procopius' seamless fusion of factual reporting,
dramatic effect, and abstract conceptualization that places him in the fore-
front of ancient and Byzantine historians.
The rhetorical techniques that Procopius uses to postulate a polarity
between virtue and tyche, and to insinuate an equation between tyche and
God, are presaged in the introduction to the Vandal War. These examples
are vague and weak, but they build up as the narrative moves closer to
contemporary events. Gaizeric is arguably the most important person in
the introduction, and despite his well-earned reputation for cruelty and
aggression, Procopius often praises his ability and shrewdness, just as else-
where he acknowledges the "virtue" of the Persian tyrant Cavades."
Through his own "providence" (pronoia), Gaizeric secured his "good for-
tune" (eutychia). Yet he feared that in time the Vandals would lose both
their "strength" and their tyche, given that "human things can be over-
178 Chapter 5

turned by divine things and bodies tend to grow weak." According to the
chiasmus, "strength" is naturally undermined by the weakening of "bod-
ies," making bad tyche the equivalent to the opposition of" divine things. "48
The correspondence is loose at this point, but it becomes more explicit as
the narrative progresses. Procopius frequently attributes events to tyche that
characters in the work attribute to God, he uses tyche and God interchange-
ably in his own digressions, and he sometimes makes speakers use them
interchangeably too. In an anecdote that seems to be a joke on divine provi-
dence, Gaizeric sails against his enemies and, when asked by his helmsman
against whom he wishes to sail, says, "Clearly, against those with whom
God is angry." Procopius straightaway adds that Gaizeric sailed against
whomever "it chanced" (3.5.24-25).
Gaizeric's answer is witty on many levels. It hinges upon and hence
exposes the circularity of the notion that misfortunes happen only to people
with whom God is angry. If providence rules the world, then all suffering
must be the effect of God's wrath. The circle is broken when we realize that
some events occur by chance or that Gaizeric's victims were not more sinful
than others. Also, Gaizeric's cynical view of providence is troubling.
Whereas a Christian could believe that the heretical Vandal king was an
instrument of God's wrath-Eusebius, after all, had claimed as much for
the persecutors of the Churchv-s-to ascribe intention to God's instrument
ruins the desired effect and strains credibility. Any criminal may then claim
religious sanction, for the circular logic of providence automatically turns
his victims into the targets of God's wrath. That is exactly what Gaizeric's
joke does. Christians could endure persecution but not persecutors who
joked at the expense of their faith.
There is only one passage in the entire Vandal War where Procopius
implies in his own voice that God's actions are determined by moral fac-
tors, and it has been much touted by scholars interested in his religious
views, given the extreme paucity of such passages in the Wars.50 Yet it is
questionable whether this tongue-in-cheek comment seriously reflects the
historian's views. Its surrounding context, from which scholars carefully
excise it, is one of sarcasm and ridicule. It concerns the emperor Honorius,
whose reign has already been introduced as a complete disaster: "while he
ruled the west, barbarians took possession of his land" (3.2.1). Procopius
says that the emperor was such an "idiot" that he was relieved to discover
that the Rome that had been destroyed was the city and not his favorite
cock, which happened to have the same name (3.2.25-26): "But I just fed
him!" In contrast to his father Theodosius, "there was nothing in his mind
 God and Tyche in the Wars 179

of a military nature, but he was content, I believe, if he was allowed to rest

in his palace" (3.2.8; cf. 3.1.2). According to the very condensed version that
Procopius gives of the critical year 410, Honorius was surrounded by usurp-
ers and barbarians and was preparing to flee from Ravenna. "Tossed about
on the storms of tyche," he fell into "some marvelous pieces of good fortune
(El)'t1Jx~~a'ta). For God likes to help those who are neither clever nor
capable of looking after themselves, so long as they are not wicked .... And
this indeed chanced ('tE'tUXllXEV) to happen to this emperor" (3.2.34-35; cf.
8.14.21). We note the slippage of terms: three references to tyche surround
the single mention of God. But what is more important is the comical
context of Procopius' alleged belief in God's providence. Honorius, "a buf-
foon whose follies are effortlessly exploited by the barbarians,">' received
God's help in 410 precisely because he lacked those qualities through which
he could have preserved the empire on his own, qualities through which
Gaizeric triumphs later in the narrative. The only ruler with whom God is
associated in the Vandal War is the one who lost the western empire. This
mocks the belief in the divine grace enjoyed by the Christian emperors. "So
long as they are not wicked." Had Honorius been more wicked, he might
have preserved his realm.
Like the introduction to the Persian War, the introduction to the Van-
dal War prepares readers for what is to come. The background material on
the Vandals is presented by Procopius with an eye to later events and to the
attribution of those events to tyche. This fact explains not only the some-
times peculiar selection of the material but also the choice of factors that
the historian highlights. For example, he says that Gaizeric tore down the
walls of all the cities in Libya except Carthage so that no enemy could hold
them against him, a policy that seemed wise at the time but was proven
foolish later, when Belisarius seized those cities from the Vandals "easily
and without any toil" (3.5.8-9).52 Procopius thereby insinuates that the
Roman victory was destined to be easy and adds immediately that men
love to change their opinions about past decisions in accordance with later
changes in tyche (3.5.10). The ease of the reconquest is loosely connected to
fluctuations in tyche as early as the reign of Gaizeric.
The theme of the" ease" of the reconquest also appears in the account
of the expedition of Basiliscus under the emperor Leo in 468, which func-
tions in many ways as a parallel to the later expedition of Belisarius. Before
Basiliscus set sail, Leo's generals captured the Libyan Tripolis "easily" and
Sardinia "with no difficulty" (3.6.8-9). Likewise, before Belisarius set sail,
a local notable seized the Tripolis and wrote to Justinian that he could hold
180 Chapter 5

it "with no exertion" (3.10.22-24). At the same time, the Vandal governor

of Sardinia simply detached the island from his master's domain and estab-
lished his own rule (3.10.25-24). These are not the only parallels between
the two expeditions. Procopius tells us explicitly that Basiliscus could have
captured Carthage and subdued the Vandals "without any trouble or resis-
tance" had he not been venal or cowardly (3.6.10-11, 3.6.14-16). Such state-
ments create expectations and condition readers' responses to later events. 53
It is in this context that I believe we should view the account of the
"amazing" or "miraculous" discovery of water by Belisarius' army when it
first disembarked on the arid Libyan coast. Procopius, who was present,
relates how he informed the general that this was a sign of an "effortless
victory, foretold to them by God" and adds-with hindsight-"and indeed
it came to pass in that way" (3.15.34-36). The emphasis here should be
placed on the "effortlessness" of the victory, which is confirmed by the
historian's later judgment. 54 And, as we will discover when Procopius deliv-
ers his verdict on the defeat of the Vandals, "miraculous" or "amazing"
events are inherent aspects of "human tyche" (cf. 4.7.18-19).
The speeches leading up to the Vandal defeat also set events within
Procopius' interpretive schema. The first is delivered by John the Cappado-
cian, who tries to dissuade Justinian from invading Libya. This is probably
the most important speech in the Vandal War and merits serious consider-
ation. It has been noted that it is the only occasion on which John is pre-
sented somewhat favorably by Procopius, who otherwise detested him,"
and the prefect's caution is justified by later events. Also, his speech is
modeled in content and context on the speech that Herodotus gives to
Artabanus, who tried to dissuade Xerxes from invading Greece. John says
that if the emperor feels confident of victory he will have to "sacrifice the
bodies of men and spend a vast amount of money," though success may
compensate for these losses; if, on the other hand, "these things rest on the
knees of God," then it is better to stay at home and not run the risk
(3.10.12-13). Interestingly, John invokes God as a euphemism for defeat, not
to justify or predict victory as Justinian would have it. 56 A few lines later he
refers again to failure, only this time he attributes it to "the opposition of
tyche" (3.10.16). This quiet substitution is a persistent Procopian technique.
In the corresponding section of his speech in Herodotus, Artabanus claims
that even the best plans can be thwarted by tyche, which he then immedi-
ately equates with God, whose "envy" casts down those whose pride ex-
ceeds mortal bounds. Both he and John seem to use tyche and God
interchangeably and invoke them to explain failure. John could not of
 God and Tyche in the Wars 181

course refer to the envy of God, although Procopius does refer elsewhere
to the envy of tyche."
Belisarius delivers four speeches before defeating the Vandals at Deci-
mum, the second of which is paired with a speech by the prefect Archelaus.
Belisarius' first speech is addressed to the troops at Abydos, after the execu-
tion of two soldiers for murder (3.12.8-22). He argues that "the fortunes"
of war are not won by strength and bravery but through inflexible justice,
for God will grant victory to the army that is most just. He does not deny
the efficacy of preparation but claims to value it less than having justice
and God on his side. An event occurred in Sicily soon afterward that greatly
promoted the Roman cause but happened entirely by chance. Belisarius
sent Procopius to Syracuse on reconnaissance; in a passage that is elabo-
rated for literary effect, the historian relates how "he unexpectedly chanced
upon (JtuQu ()6~uv EJtL'tUXWV) an old friend of his" whose slave had infor-
mation about the disposition of the Vandal forces (3.14.7). This event, in
which the author becomes a protagonist, occupies a crucial position in the
narrative and highlights the role of tyche in enabling the Romans to land
safely in Libya (3.14.15-17).58Yet in his second speech, Belisarius claims that
it was God who granted the Romans a safe landing (3.15.20-21).
That second speech is delivered at a council of war, which is attended
only by officers. The tone here is different from the muster at Abydos.
Archelaus begins by praising the general's "virtue and experience" and
claims that "when things go well for men they ascribe events to good judg-
ment or tyche" (3.15.2-5)-not, we note, to God. Archelaus never mentions
God; when formulating plans for the future, he refers only to "human
experience" and "the nature of things" (3.15.11).In his response, Belisarius
mentions God briefly, but when formulating plans for the future he claims
that "military contests yield to the unexpected" and expects that the war
will depend on the relative strength and preparedness of the two armies
(3.15.25-26). He concludes by insisting that the Romans will secure provi-
sions through their "bravery" and that victory "lies in your own hands"
(3.15.3°). The speeches of both Archelaus and Belisarius consist mostly of
detailed arguments of a strategic or tactical nature. Yet in his third speech,
which is delivered to the troops after some of them had been punished for
plundering the locals, Belisarius reverts to his previous position and claims
that injustice will do the Roman cause great harm for it will offend God. If,
however, the Romans remain just, God will be on their side and the Vandals
will lose (3.16.6-8). His argument for justice now has a pragmatic compo-
nent: injustice will alienate the Libyans, making the struggle with the Van-
182 Chapter 5

dals more difficult. Belisarius' fourth speech is delivered to the troops

before battle is joined with the Vandals (3.19.2-10). He begins by repeating
the statement made earlier to the officers that victory "lies in our hands"
and ends by exhorting each soldier to recall "his own virtue." Only in the
middle of the speech does he refer to God (and only once), and he is natu-
rally on the most just side."
Belisarius develops a clear antithesis between God and virtue but var-
ies his emphasis by audience and circumstance, a tactic that can be viewed
cynically. Overall, his speeches in the Vandal War make a strong argument
for the importance of divine assistance, just as in the Gothic War they focus
almost exclusively on the power of human judgment and virtue. This pat-
tern is not accidental, for it mirrors the historian's own interpretation of
events in the two theaters of war. As we will see, Procopius ascribed great
importance to the military virtue of Belisarius in the opening stages of the
war in Italy but felt that the victory in Libya was due to the intervention of
a higher power, though perhaps not the one invoked in Belisarius' speeches.
As the two armies marched across Libya, a series of accidents began to
shape the course of events and ultimately determined the outcome. These
are at first attributed to both tyche and God, though God is quietly forgot-
ten afterward. Procopius' detailed account reveals how the decisive engage-
ments were fought in ways that were neither planned for nor foreseen by
the two commanders. Neither side knew exactly what was going on until it
was all over. The Roman success was due to events that Belisarius did not
control." It is not coincidental therefore that the density of terms such as
tyche and God becomes high at precisely this point.
Procopius prefaces his account of the battles of Decimum with a di-
gression on

human and divine things, how God, seeing from afar what the future holds, traces
out the way in which it seems to him that things should come out, while men,
whether they fall into error or plan well, do not know that they have made some
mistake, if that should chance ('tUXOL)to be the case, or that they have acted wisely,
so that in all of this a path is laid down for tyche, who brings to completion all that
has been ordained beforehand. (3.18.2)

Procopius then lists the accidents that caused the Romans to prevail at
Decimum, making it clear that victory was ultimately not due to Belisarius
because he knew neither the location nor the plans of the enemy and be-
cause certain crucial factors were beyond his control (3.18.3 ff.). The same is
true of Gelimer, whose strategy had an equal chance of proving victorious.
 God and Tyche in the Wars 183

It is arbitrary to see in the small digression quoted above a subordina-

tion of tyche to God; that is, to infer that she carries out his will from the
fact that he "lays down a path" for her." It could just as well be that she
makes all the major decisions-as Procopius states elsewhere'v-s-and that
God "lays down a path" for what he "sees" will happen. That God "sees
what the future holds" implies that he does not actually ordain it, a task
perhaps reserved for some entity such as Fate, which Procopius elsewhere
describes in a way that reminds us of tyche/" The image of a supreme God
constrained to obey the dictates of the Fates is not an unfamiliar one to
readers of archaic Greek literature. But beyond these textual ambiguities,
the subordination of fortune faces serious conceptual difficulties. As Au-
gustine realized, fortune cannot be a capricious and amoral entity if she
merely carries out God's will.64On the other hand, if her capriciousness is
already part of God's plan, the difference between her and God collapses.
Thus, if tyche is a personal agent who is as capricious and unstoppable as
Procopius depicts her in the Wars, she must prevail in any association with
God, because his agency can only be demonstrated through the inherent
goodness of events." The narrative of the Wars, however, gives little war-
rant for such a view, and the digression quoted above says nothing about
the goodness of "all that has been ordained beforehand" -a crucial omis-
sion. Be that as it may, the language of the digression is too vague for an
exact differentiation between God and tyche, which was probably exactly
what Procopius intended.
Procopius' digression does suggest that the battles of Decimum were
in some sense foreordained, and his narrative also possesses an undeniable
aura of fatalism. But this is not necessarily superstition. A modern philoso-
pher has argued that "not only does unpredictability not entail inexplicabil-
ity, but its presence is compatible with the truth of determinism in a strong
version."66 The effect of fatality can be produced by the combination of
determinism and unpredictability. Events may be determined by causes be-
yond our control or by the unpredictable interaction of factors that are
under separate human control, for example the movement of two armies.
In many ancient historians, fortune designates "an unexpected occurrence
produced by the conjuncture of two or more independent chains of histori-
cal events."67 Such events may well seem predetermined to those affected
by them, and that would not be an implausible way of describing unex-
pected events in a world that is nevertheless strictly deterministic. For the
Stoics, fate was precisely the inexorable chain of causation responsible for
all events." Tyche and God in the Wars may represent nothing more than
184 Chapter 5

uncontrollable or inscrutable causal factors. Let us see whether the narrative

bears this out.
Two battles occurred at Decimum in September 533,the first between
John the Armenian and Gelimer's brother Ammatas, the second between
Belisarius and Gelimer. In both cases, Procopius develops a series of count-
erfactual propositions designed to show that the Romans did not earn their
victory through their virtue-far less through their justice-but rather
owed it to a series of contingent accidents, which are specified in detail (cf.
3.18.3ff. with 3.19.25ff.). Gelimer, we are told, had victory "in his own
hands" but inexplicably threw it away (3.19.25).Procopius opines that one
could ascribe this to God, who clouds the minds of those destined for de-
feat. It is not surprising that Belisarius soon says the same thing about tyche
(4.1.18),as does Procopius later (7.13.17).Be that as it may, Procopius states
that when Belisarius entered the palace at Carthage and ate the meal that
had been prepared for Gelimer," one could then see "tyche giving herself
airs and making a display of the fact that she controls all things and that
nothing really belongs to man" (3.21.7). He uses the same language else-
where about the daimonion (2.3°.51) and, once again, tyche (8.32.29). Thus,
God, who was so prominent in the speeches of Belisarius before the Vandal
defeat, is displaced by fortune for the remainder of the Vandal War. Begin-
ning with Belisarius' entry into Carthage, fortune emerges as the true mis-
tress of events. This view is faithfully reflected in modern surveys, which,
as usual, follow Procopius' lead in vocabulary and interpretation. 70
The remainder of Book 3 is devoted to the implications for human
beings of a world that is dangerously unpredictable. This theme is naturally
presented in literary form, through stories that reveal human reactions. Just
as Belisarius and Procopius were struck by the power of tyche when they
entered Gelimer's palace, the Vandals realized that nothing is secure or
impossible (3.22.1). An oracle is cited, according to which G would drive
out B (Gaizeric and Boniface), after which B would drive out G (Belisarius
and Gelimer). What could better illustrate the arbitrariness of fortune than
mere alphabetical coincidence? (3.21.14-15) The messengers of Gelimer's
brother Tzazon, who reclaimed Sardinia, unsuspectingly entered Carthage
and were amazed "by the suddenness of the change" (3.24.6). In his letter
to Tzazon (3.25.11-18),Gelimer attributes the defeat to "some madness sent
from heaven" but then, in accordance with Procopian practice, alters his
vocabulary and writes that "it is now possible to know from the outcome
what tyche had decided beforehand." When he states next that "virtue
abandoned the Vandals, taking good fortune with it," we see the fulfillment
 God and Tyche in the Wars 185

of Gaizeric's prediction that the "strength" and tyche of the Vandals would
not last forever (cf. 3.4.12-13). Gelimer's letter ends by contrasting that prior
tyche to the current "difficulties brought on by the daimonion." In the
course of this brief letter, Gelimer manages to use heaven, tyche, and the
daimonion repeatedly and more or less interchangeably. Book 3 closes with
a pitiful scene, on which Procopius has lavished his literary skill: the two
Vandal brothers and their soldiers unite, embracing and weeping silently
over their misfortunes (3.25.22-26). There is considerable sympathy for the
Vandals here, and Procopius states that their "bad tyche" was such that one
could feel pity not merely for them but for the whole of "human tyche."
Book 4 begins with an account of the battle of Tricamarum, which
occurred in December of 533 and ruined the Vandal kingdom. Three
speeches are delivered before the battle by Belisarius, Gelimer, and Gelim-
er's brother Tzazon. They merit attention for both content and literary
function. The speeches reaffirm the polarity of virtue and fortune and actu-
ally manipulate it in order to enhance the drama of the narrative. They also
provide an indirect commentary on events up this point. The two main
speakers are the victorious Roman general Belisarius and the defeated Van-
dal king Gelimer, and we see in their words a reflection of what has hap-
pened along with a premonition of what is to come. To test and confirm
our hypotheses, Procopius provides us with a control case in the person of
the victorious Vandal general Tzazon, who has just returned from conquer-
ing Sardinia and does nothing less than formulate the principles of Procop-
ius' method for composing these speeches.
Belisarius' speech consists of two parts. In the first, he claims surpris-
ingly that the Romans prevailed over the Vandals at Decimum through
their virtue and that wars are decided by virtue. He then incites his troops
to show bravery and daring. In this part of his speech, he mentions virtue
and bravery at least four times (4.1.13-17). In the second part, he turns his
attention to factors beyond human control (4.1.18-25). He refers first to
tyche, and specifically to the bad tyche of the Vandals, which now oppresses
their spirits with the recollection of past misfortunes. Claiming that the
Romans "chanced" to win at Decimum with their cavalry alone, he hopes
that with the help of God they will be able to capture the enemy camp.
Referring once again to the tyche of war, which should not be put off,
he warns that the daimonion punishes those who do not seize opportune
moments. Whereas in the first half of his speech Belisarius praises virtue
without ever mentioning God or tyche, in the second half he refers repeat-
edly to tyche, once to God and the daimonion, but never to Roman virtue.
186 Chapter 5

We observe the same neat division in the speech of Gelimer, only in

reverse order. Gelimer refers to the bad tyche of the Vandals in the first part
of his speech (4.2.10) and explicitly attributes the defeat at Decimum to
"the opposition of tyche, whose stream never flows in the same direction"
(4.2.16; cf. 3.10.16). In the second part of his speech, he praises the virtue
and bravery of the Vandals. Gelimer never mentions God.
Tzazon then speaks briefly to the Vandals who conquered Sardinia
under his command (4.2.23-32). Procopius seems to have thought that
these troops deserved separate treatment owing to their past triumphs; he
even separates them physically from their compatriots (4.2.24). This con-
firms our suspicion that the speeches are not "pure rhetoric" unrelated to
the factual basis of the narrative." Different words are addressed to differ-
ent audiences depending on their experiences, and the historian followed
definite rules when composing them. In the first part of his speech, Tzazon
refers at least three times to his soldiers' virtue, encouraging them to prove
its worth in battle against the Romans. The parallel speech of Belisarius, we
recall, had proceeded likewise, as it too addressed troops who had been
victorious. Tzazon then reveals the principle that underlies the three
speeches, namely that "those who have failed in the past are dismayed by
their previous tyche, whereas those who have not been defeated at all join
battle in high spirits" (4.2.29). That is why his speech and that of Belisarius
begin with the praise of their soldiers' virtue, while that of Gelimer begins
with a meditation on the evils of tyche. Referring finally to the defeat of the
Vandals under Gelimer as bad tyche, Tzazon hopes that his soldiers will
earn a better tyche in the coming battle. In the end, like Belisarius but
unlike Gelimer, he calls upon God for assistance.
The only soldiers who are designated as having fought bravely in the
ensuing battle are the Vandals under Tzazon (4.3.14). After the battle,
Roman discipline collapsed as soldiers began to plunder without regard for
safety. Belisarius failed to control the chaos (4.4.1-8).72 Procopius again
devises a counterfactual argument to show that the Romans could have
been destroyed easily at this point had the Vandals rallied and attacked
them. Belisarius accordingly receives no praise for this victory, neither here
nor anywhere else in Procopius' works.
We need not dwell on the minor appearances of tyche in the remainder
of the Vandal War, however important they may be in their own contexts
(e.g., 4.4.32-41, 4.19.24), nor on passages where Procopius ascribes to tyche
what others attribute to God (e.g., 4.4.32-41, 4.20.5-11). These are by now
familiar devices. Yet we must not fail to consider Procopius' final verdict
 God and Tyche in the Wars 187

on the fall of the Vandal kingdom, which is located at the end of a series of
passages elaborated for literary effect. Once again, the purpose of these
passages is to highlight the supremacy of fortune in human affairs. That is
the only "meaning" that Procopius was willing to derive from the recon-
quest. The Roman victory was due to dumb luck. Divine providence was
merely the emperor's conceit, superior virtue the general's boast. Tyche un-
dermines all ideology. And Procopius does not allow mere success to cloud
his historical judgment. The expedition's chances for success seemed as slim
to him in retrospect as they had at its outset (cf. 3.10 with 4.7.18-21).
Procopius expounds on the power of tyche by focusing on Gelimer,
who best exemplifies the bewildering fate of man. In the Vandal War, the
historian is more attentive to the victims of fortune than to her beneficia-
ries. Unlike Gaizeric, Theoderic, or Totila, Gelimer was no great statesman
or hero, and Procopius readily reveals his negative qualities (3.9.6-9). Yet
after the battle of Decimum, he is presented with a considerable degree of
sympathy. At the end of Book 3, as we saw, Procopius claims that his sor-
rowful reunion with Tzazon was so moving that it could arouse pity for
human fortune as such. And after the battle of Tricamarum, the historian
emphasizes the misery experienced by the Vandal king in the mountain fort
of Papua, where he was besieged by the Roman commander Pharas. He
begins by contrasting the luxury the Vandals had once enjoyed to the pov-
erty of the Moors, which the king now had to endure at Papua (4.6.4-14).
Procopius then quotes, and probably invents, the letters exchanged between
Pharas and Gelimer, which revolve around the problem of tyche. Pharas
encourages Gelimer to surrender and become like Belisarius, the emperor's
"slave." He ascribes the king's misfortune directly to tyche but claims that
tyche is likewise responsible for the opportunity to now serve the emperor
honorably. In his response, Gelimer hopes that God will punish the em-
peror for reducing him to such a pitiful tyche. Fortune is mentioned five
times in these two brief letters (4.6.15-30). Procopius then adds that when
Pharas heard of the miserable state of the Vandal king, he "lamented for
the tyche of men" (4.6.34). This reminds us of the reunion scene at the end
of Book 3.
Procopius persists in his depiction of the evil plight of the once happy
Vandal king. Along with Gelimer himself, we are forced to watch two chil-
dren fight over partially chewed food. After this, Gelimer admits to Pharas
that he "can no longer resist tyche nor struggle with destiny" (4.7.8). Ac-
cordingly, the theme of the power of tyche over human affairs dominates
the account of the king's surrender to Belisarius in Carthage. Gelimer began
188 Chapter 5

to laugh so immoderately that some thought he had lost his mind. His
friends, however, contended that he was sane but that, having experienced
everything from royal dominion to abject despair, "i.e., everything that
comes from tyche, both good and evil," he laughed because he did not
believe that human affairs were worth more than laughter. Procopius adds
that the reader, "whether enemy or friend," must decide on his own why
Gelimer laughed (4.7.14-15). Regardless of which view Procopius himself
held, we have seen that he, along with the king's "friends," was amazed by
the extremes of Gelimer's fortune (cf. 4.6.4-14); indeed, that was the main
lesson he drew from the war.
Procopius concludes his account of Gelimer's surrender with thoughts
on how "many events that seemed beyond expectation in the past have
actually occurred, and will always continue to occur, so long as the tychai
of mankind remain the same" (4.7.18; cf. 8.33.25). This phrase is a slightly
modified version of what Thucydides says about the suffering caused by
revolutions, "which have happened in the past and will always happen in
the future so long as the nature (physis) of mankind remains the same"
(3.82.2; cf. 1.22.4).73 The substitution is crucial: tyche is in the Vandal War
what human nature is in Thucydides; that is, virtually supreme. Even so,
Procopius claims that he does not know whether any events that "chanced
to occur" in the past were as "miraculous" or "amazing" as the fall of the
Vandal kingdom to such a pitifully small army (4.7.19-20). That event, he
concludes, happened "because of tyche or some kind of virtue" (4.7.21). We
note that God has long since disappeared from the discussion, the polarity
of fortune and virtue is affirmed, and the reader can have no doubt as to
which of the two provides the correct explanation for the victory, the salvo
to Belisarius' pride notwithstanding. The Secret History says openly that it
was tyche that delivered Gelimer (4.32). And the poet Corippus, who wrote
an epic poem on the Libyan campaigns of John Troglita while Procopius
was writing the Wars, makes his hero refer to Belisarius' victory over the
Vandals and wonder at quae digna virum fortuna secuta estl" A figure of
speech, but perhaps one indicative of widespread contemporary percep-
tions.
Having established Procopius' interpretation of a single campaign, al-
beit one with far-reaching consequences for Byzantine history, we may now
take a few steps back from the domain of fortune. Despite her prominent
role in the Vandal War, we will see in the Gothic War that fortune's suprem-
acy is not unrivaled. There is room in the Wars for reason and virtue. Tyche,
after all, is less a goddess than a hermeneutical device that is deployed when
 God and Tyche in the Wars 189

the historian feels that events were beyond control. There are counterexam-
plcs to the power of tyche in the latter sections of the Vandal War. It is
worth considering one of them here, for they show Procopius in a more
Thucydidean light. Once again, the tight economy of his prose reflects his
masterful integration of fact and interpretation. The structure of his ac-
count and the speeches of the leading characters are again derived in a
strictly logical manner from his view of the overall significance of the event.
A rival paradigm to the supremacy of fortune emerges from the defeat
of the Moors by the Roman general Solomon at Mammes in 534. The rele-
vant passages include two speeches and a battle. In his speech, Solomon
reminds his troops of their virtue and compares the two armies in terms of
equipment, tactics, and "virtue of soul," finding the Romans superior in all
respects. He refers frequently to bravery, daring, and virtue but never to
God or tyche (4.11.22-36). The Moorish commanders also incite their troops
to bravery and virtue. Referring to wars in general, and to the defeat of the
Vandals in particular, they repeat Procopius' judgment that success was due
to either tyche or the general's virtue. They also explain why their tactics,
equipment, and numbers will ultimately prevail over the Romans (4.11.37-
46). As we saw in our analysis of this passage in a previous chapter," the
ensuing battle demonstrates that both sides had valid reasons to hope for
victory. As with many battles in Thucydides, this one unfolds according to
the predictions made by the speakers, demonstrating man's power to dis-
cover the truth through reason and implement his plans in the face of
adversity. Tyche plays no role in this episode, and it is ultimately Solomon's
leadership and cleverness that give victory to the Romans. Accordingly,
Solomon is the most highly praised person in the Vandal War and is even
compared, through a direct allusion, to Thucydides' Pericles."

The Struggle Between Virtue and Tyche in the Gothic War

The war in Italy raged for twenty years and involved numerous armies
operating on multiple fronts. It witnessed many, often dramatic, changes
of fortune as well as memorable acts of heroism and treachery. As a narra-
tive, the Gothic War is a brilliant synthesis of those events. It is lucid, de-
tailed, and exemplary in organization. Procopius omits nothing important,
praises and blames Romans and Goths in due proportion to their merits-
his heroes are first Belisarius and then Totila-and conveys a powerful
sense of how the war was experienced by its victims. His success rests on a
190 Chapter 5

combination of meticulous scholarship and literary skill, both of which, in

this part of his work, reveal the influence of Thucydides. It is no accident
that like Thucydides' account of the Peloponnesian War, Procopius' ac-
count of the war in Italy will remain unsurpassed, as even his contemporar-
ies realized."
The original installment of the Gothic War carried the narrative down
to 550, when Totila had regained near-total control of Italy. No one could
have foreseen that two years later he would be dead, the Gothic cause in
ruins, and a palace eunuch in control of Italy. Those events would not be
told by Procopius until a few years later, when he wrote Book 8 of the Wars.
The following analysis will focus on the first three books, though its method
applies equally to the supplementary account of the war's final years. The
fall of Totila in Book 8 develops the themes that shape the account of the
rise and fall of Roman fortunes in the first three books.
I will argue that the presentation of events in the Gothic War is struc-
tured around a second -order narrative about the fluctuating roles of tyche
and virtue. This is neither independent from, nor crudely imposed upon,
the narrative of events. Instead, it expresses the internal mechanisms of the
narrative on a higher level of abstraction. Its purpose is to guide us toward
an insightful interpretation of the war. It is so seamlessly integrated into
the narrative that it shapes the attentive reader's reactions at almost every
point. The broad outline of this metanarrative actually corresponds to a
neat rhetorical device, a chiasmus, even though it is characterized by com-
plexity on the level of individual episodes. The analysis below will examine
its mechanisms in detail for the initial phases of the war (until the major
turning point of 540) and will then discuss only the broad sweep of events.
I hope that readers will be enabled to interpret for themselves the details
passed over in the more general discussion of the later phases of the war.
The turning points of the metanarrative are signaled chiefly through the
opinions expressed in speeches, the distribution and local function of con-
cepts such as tyche, and finally Procopius' own digressions. These tech-
niques are simple enough, and the overall picture they produce will be
revealed relatively clearly. One must first, however, be prepared to take
seriously such things as speeches and digressions on tyche and not dismiss
them as superficial affectations of classical devices. This represents a depar-
ture from current assumptions.
Belisarius enters the Gothic War as the protege of fortune whom we
met in the Vandal War. In 535, Justinian ordered him to wrest Sicily from
Gothic control, if that could be done "with no trouble" (5.5.7). True
 God and Tyche in the Wars 191

enough, the general took Syracuse and other cities "with no trouble" (5.5.12;
cf. 4.14.1: the entire island taken "with no trouble")." Procopius adds that
"a piece of good fortune greater than words can describe" befell him then:
it "chanced" that he marched into Syracuse, applauded by all and granting
largesse, on the very last day of the year and hence of his consulship. This
did not happen intentionally, Procopius emphasizes, but rather through
some tyche (5.5.18-19).
Yet Belisarius refuses to acknowledge the gifts of his benefactress." In
536, he advises the citizens of Naples to deliberate carefully on their situa-
tion and act boldly against the Gothic garrison. He insists that regardless of
what fortune has in store, what is important is to fight. Belisarius' speech
begins with no less than three references to boule and is saturated with
verbs of choosing and doing (5.8.12-18). His enemies within, however, be-
lieve that he might fail because no one can influence the mind (gnome) of
fortune (5.8.33). Ironically, Belisarius was about to abandon the siege, hav-
ing lost many of his most "virtuous" soldiers (5.8.43), when, again, "a piece
of good fortune" befell him: an Isaurian discovered a secret entrance
through the city's aqueduct (5.9.10 ff.). About to enter by surprise, Belisa-
rius now urges the Neapolitans to surrender and spare themselves the evils
of conquest. Suppressing or forgetting the fact that his own imminent vic-
tory is due to tyche, he tells the Neapolitans that they will have only their
own decisions (boule and gnome) to blame, not tyche (5.9.23-28). And yet
when he later attempts to stop his troops from looting the city, he begins
by saying that it was God who granted victory to the Romans and that they
must be just to the vanquished (5.10.30). As we saw in the Vandal War,
Belisarius mentions God and justice when he needs to discipline his soldiers
and ascribes to God what Procopius had previously ascribed to tyche.
In the initial phases of the Gothic War, Belisarius is favored by fortune
but downplays her importance. The Goths, in keeping with the theme of
the Gothic War, initially underestimate her power as well. Their king Vit-
tigis delivers two speeches before the first siege of Rome that emphasize
prudent preparation over rash action and the need to bear initial losses
patiently (5.11.12-25, 5.13.17-25). His first speech begins by attributing suc-
cess directly to euboulia and does not mention tyche. His second speech
begins with another plea for deliberation but grants that "necessity or
tyche" must be taken into account." Vittigis leaves his men with the im-
pression that proper planning and strategy can guarantee victory.
The siege of Rome in 536-537 marks the apogee of Belisarius' career as
a general and his greatest moment in the Wars. Procopius devotes dispro-
192 Chapter 5

portionate space to it and through his gripping narrative, mimesis of Thu-

cydides, and strategic distribution of information manages to represent
Belisarius as a general of genius whose "daring" and "foresight" reduced
his warlike enemies to utter helplessness. To highlight this achievement,
Procopius greatly exaggerates the number of soldiers in the Gothic army,"
a form of distortion that he employs nowhere else. He presages the signifi-
cance of the siege by making the inhabitants of Rome praise in advance the
general's foresight, or pronoia, for repairing the walls, and by listing, from
their perspective, all the perils and difficulties that the enterprise would
entail (5.14.16-17). This naturally serves to magnify the later success.
Yet fortune is never far away. The first building inside the city that the
historian mentions is her temple (5.15.11). And it was only "by some tyche"
that Belisarius was not wounded in a major skirmish with the arriving
Gothic army at the Milvian bridge, though he fought in the thick of battle
and many Goths tried to kill him (5.18.15). It also "chanced" that he was
riding an experienced war horse (5.18.6). On the other hand, the Roman
force was saved because of its "virtue," which Procopius mentions many
times and emphasizes by recounting the exploits of Valentinus (5.18.12-18;
cf. 5.18.29: the valor of Belisarius and a Gothic warrior). When the Romans
were then pressed against the city walls, they were saved only by Belisarius'
"daring decision" to counterattack (5.18.26). Procopius then does some-
thing very interesting from a literary point of view. He states that Belisarius
claimed at that moment to know with certainty that he could defeat the
Goths but defers explaining the general's claim until it came to pass
(5.18.42). The silence created by this postponement makes the general's in-
telligence seem mysterious, almost superhuman. The people of Rome ridi-
culed him for making such bold claims after just barely escaping with his
life. Yet the tactical realizations that Belisarius made during the battle at the
Milvian bridge enabled him later to organize a series of brilliant cavalry
sallies that devastated the Gothic forces." It is only then that Procopius
reveals the details of what Belisarius had grasped (5.27.24-29). In other
words, Procopius discloses Belisarius' thoughts not when they occurred to
him, but when they became operative in the war. This arrangement is de-
signed to highlight the efficacy of human understanding. Victory trans-
forms the Romans' earlier incredulity into praise, and Belisarius'
intelligence appears to them as "miraculous" or "amazing.'?" Significantly,
this was the term used for tyche in the Vandal War, and to the uncompre-
hending or proud Goths it appears as the opposition of tyche (5.27.24-25).
In the brief negotiations that precede the first assault on the walls,
 God and Tyche in the Wars 193

both the Gothic envoys and Belisarius "forget" the role of tyche. The envoys
distinguish not between virtue and tyche but between virtue and rashness-
that is, between virtue and excessive virtue-and accuse Belisarius of the
latter (5.20.8-11). In his brief response, Belisarius reaffirms the power of
independent judgment by again stressing symboule and gnome (5.20.15-18).
And Procopius' account of the assault reveals the efficacy of Belisarian pro-
noia in a way that highlights the difference between the Vandal and the
Gothic War. As the Goths approached the walls, Belisarius began to laugh,
causing the city's inhabitants "to abuse him and call him shameless"
(5.22.2-3). Procopius again postpones explaining the general's behavior. Be-
lisarius seems rash to the Goths and irrational to the Romans, but only
because neither can comprehend his virtue. His confidence initially seems
misplaced or enigmatic, but Procopius soon reveals that it stemmed from
his exact understanding of the enemy's weakness. With a single shot he
"chanced" to kill the point man of the Gothic advance, which the Romans
took as "the best omen." But when he repeats the feat twice over, we realize
that chance had nothing to do with it and that what the Romans interpreted
as supernatural was really the general's skill. By commanding his soldiers to
kill the oxen pulling the siege engines, Belisarius halted the Gothic advance.
Procopius now looks back and attributes the general's laughter to his pro-
noia (5.22.4-9). It was superior understanding that made the Goths seem
laughable to him. This laughter, which Procopius mentions three times, is
to the Gothic War what the laughter of Gelimer was to the Vandal War. The
former reflects the virtue of a man who looks down on the world as a
playground; the latter expresses the resignation of a man who realizes that
fortune controls all.
But pride and confidence are emphatically not what we find in the
letter that Belisarius sends to the emperor after defeating the Goths. Belisa-
rius there reverses his stance and depreciates his own role in the victory,
attributing it to "some tyche" (5.24.4). To be sure, fortune is not entirely
absent from Procopius' account of the Gothic assault, but it never signifi-
cantly affects the fighting (e.g. 5.23.9-12, 5.23.24). It was Belisarius who won
the battle, and the soldiers praise him for it at the end of the day's fighting
(5.23.27). In his letter to the emperor, however, the general revives the
schema and dichotomies of the Vandal War: "achievements that transcend
the nature of things should not be referred to the virtue of men, but to a
higher power (ro XQELOOOV). Those things that have been done by us so
far, whether by tyche or virtue, are for the best" (5.24.5-6). We note the
quiet shift from tyche to "a higher power"-a trendy word for God 84-and
194 Chapter 5

then back again to tyche. A few lines later, Belisarius reverts once more to
God, saying that human affairs follow his will (5.24.7), and then returns
again to tyche, saying that one should not always trust in her, for she is not
accustomed to following the same course forever (5.24.9). This confusing
alternation blurs the difference between the various concepts, but it is only
an extreme example of a familiar technique. Nevertheless, it is no accident
that Belisarius emphasizes God when speaking to his troops, tyche when
writing to the emperor, and boule when addressing adversaries on the field.
One curious detail is that the original version of this letter may have
been written by Procopius himself, who was, after all, the general's secre-
tary. The historian would then be embellishing, and attributing to Belisa-
rius, a letter that he himself wrote over a decade earlier as the general's
secretary and advisor-"an extraordinary merging of life and art.'?" At the
same time, Procopius' account of the siege of Rome is directly modeled on
Thucydides' account of the siege of Syracuse. What is significant about this
mimesis is less the inevitable verbal parallels than the common points of
emphasis and the similarities in the structure, "conceptualization," and
"rhythm" of events." More important, Procopius imitates even when he
deviates from his models, for by doing so he draws attention to the differ-
ences between his subject and that of Thucydides. Belisarius' letter to the
emperor is modeled on that of Nicias to Athens, who also wrote under dire
conditions and pleaded for reinforcements. But Belisarius' determination is
in stark contrast to Nicias' pessimism and resignation. Procopius' hero de-
clares that he will stay and fight to the death (5.24.17); Nicias complains of
kidney problems and asks to be relieved of command (7.15). The letter in
the Wars is "a conscious reversal of the original model":" and reflects the
very different momentum of the Roman campaign.
That momentum peaked with the surrender ofVittigis in 540, a turn-
ing point, as we will see, in both the narrative and the metanarrative of the
Gothic War. At that point, tyche again becomes dominant, her importance
increasing gradually after the first siege of Rome. Belisarius, however, con-
tinues to recognize only human factors. The severe defeat suffered by the
Romans in the spring of 537, when they pressured him into fighting a
pitched battle outside the walls of Rome, justified in retrospect the warning
that he gave before the battle to the effect that "one should maintain poli-
cies that have proven successful, for it is inexpedient to change course when
things are going according to plan" (5.28.6-7). In that speech, Belisarius
mentioned neither tyche nor God and tried to encourage his men by declar-
ing that the most important factor in war is the gnome and zeal of the
 God and Tyche in the Wars 195

combatants (5.28.8). Later that year, the famished citizens again tried to
press him into fighting a decisive battle. Their speech contains numerous
references to their miserable tyche (6.3.13-22) and fulfills to the letter Belisa-
rius' prediction to the emperor that their loyalty would falter in adversity
(cf. 5.24.14-16). Rejecting their demand for another battle, Belisarius repeats
that wars are won through euboulia and preparation, not rashness (6.3.23-
32). Although there are many cognates of boule in his speech, which ends
with the emphatic words EYWJtQovo~aOJ, he never mentions tyche. He
begins with the same words that Pericles used to pacify the Athenians and
gain support for his cautious strategy when, tired of the Spartan siege, they
clamored for decisive action. The allusion is again chosen carefully with an
eye to its original context. 88
Fortune makes her first dramatic appearance as a personal agent dur-
ing the three-month truce of late 537 to early 538. Introducing the ill-
omened confrontation between Belisarius and his officer Constantine, Pro-
copius states that tyche, "her envy already swelling against the Romans,"
wanted to mix some evil in with success (6.8.1).89 Though this episode did
not greatly affect the course of the war, it reminds us of fortune's amoral
nature and prepares us for the seemingly senseless turns that the war is
about to take (cf. 6.12.34-35). Fortune will enable the Romans to capture
the Gothic king and conquer almost all of Italy but will then suddenly
reverse her favor and help Totila restore the Gothic kingdom. In other
words, fortune's behavior in the broad outline of events conforms exactly
to the amoral nature that Procopius ascribes to her in his digressions on
particular events. This correspondence between the local and the general
phenomenology of fortune indicates that the historian did not believe in
the intervention of a benevolent God. Whatever scholars have argued about
Procopius' religion, his narrative demonstrates only the power of tyche.
At a council in mid-sjx, Belisarius continues to insist that success up
to that point was due to "nothing but pronoia and boule" (6.18.14); that is,
his own. But fortune has begun to usurp the place of virtue. Later that
summer, as Belisarius was "deliberating" (bouleuomenos) on how to attack
Urbino, "a piece of good fortune" befell him again: the town's spring dried
up and the garrison surrendered (6.19.11-13; cf. 6.19.18). Chance and Roman
virtue contributed equally to the early stages of the siege of Auximum in
the spring of 539 (6.23.9-22). At this point, references to the virtue and
forethought of Belisarius disappear. Vittigis, whose speeches had stressed
euboulia and "preparation," is the first to yield and acknowledge the power
of fortune, even if only to divert attention away from his own negligence."
196 Chapter 5

Replying to the pleas of those in Auximum, he speciously protests that his

"preparations" for their relief were thwarted by the unexpected invasion of
the Franks: "for whatever is greater than the power of man exculpates even
those who have failed, because tyche always bears the blame for what hap-
pens in those circumstances" (6.26.11). This view of fortune is consistent
with Procopius' usage in the Vandal War. For the Gothic king, tyche signi-
fies the unexpected arrival of the Frankish host, over which he had no
control.
Vittigis was soon besieged in Ravenna by Belisarius, after the surrender
of Auximum in late 539. Describing the investment of the capital, Procopius
states in his own voice that a fortunate thing happened at that time to the
Romans, which "proved that tyche was directing the course of events for
both sides" (6.28.2). The general Vitalius happened to seize a shipment of
grain intended for Ravenna, which had run aground because the river Po
had become unnavigable, something that had never happened before
(6.28.3-4). This tyche, the most important factor in the surrender of the
capital, is no supernatural entity but an uncontrollable and unpredictable
natural event. When the city's granaries were subsequently destroyed by
fire, either by arson or lightning, the Goths decided that God was against
them (6.28.25-17). Even Belisarius, realizing that he could now win the war
"with no trouble" (6.29.4), began his speech to a council of war by referring
to the instability and capriciousness of tyche and then attributed to her the
present opportunity to terminate the Gothic kingdom (6.29.8-14). His be-
lief that victory is sometimes snatched from the jaws of defeat and defeat is
something suffered in the midst of almost certain victory nicely presages
what is about to happen in the war after his own departure and the rise of
Totila. Yet it is unclear whether Belisarius' insistence on tyche in this speech
stems from conviction or from the presence of the emperor's representa-
tives." Be that as it may, he continues to insist on making right choices and
deliberating for the best.
The narrative peaks with the dramatic entry of Belisarius into Ravenna
and the surrender of the Gothic king in May 540. At this climactic moment,
Procopius intrudes his own thoughts on the significance of the event, just
as he had done when Belisarius entered Gelimer's palace in Carthage:

As I watched the entry of the Roman army into Ravenna, it occurred to me that
events are by no means brought about by the wisdom of men or by some other
virtue, but that there is a certain daimonion, which is always twisting the minds of
men and leading them to the point where there can be no hindrance to what is
happening. (6.29.32; cf. 3.21.7 on fortune)
 God and Tyche in the Wars 197

Given the dichotomy that Procopius habitually draws between fortune and
virtue, and what he has already said about the role of fortune in the capture
of Ravenna, there can be little doubt that daimonion is here merely a syn-
onym for tyche. In the Secret History, he states directly that "tyche delivered
Vittigis over to Belisarius as a captive of war" (4.32). References to tyche
accordingly become very dense in this part of the narrative and are all
linked to the capture ofVittigis. The Goths blame him for bad luck and his
nephew Uraias attributes his defeat to tyche." His successor Ildibad likewise
attributes Vittigis' defeat to "the opposition of tyche," whose vicissitudes he
discusses in his speech in equal measure to the need for good judgment
and planning (6.3°.18-24). But the tide of the war is about to turn.
Belisarius' campaigns were favored by fortune from the moment he
landed in Sicily to his departure for Constantinople with Vittigis and the
royal treasure in tow. However, more important than his luck at Naples
and Urbino was his good fortune at Ravenna, which he took swiftly and
without a fight. The reader may recall the lengthy digression in the intro-
duction to the Gothic War on the city's impregnable defenses, which had
enabled Odoacer to hold the place for three years against Theoderic." In
this way, as in so many others, the first chapters of the text shape our
expectations and condition our reaction to later events. The surrender of
540 was a windfall.
At the same time, we must not overlook the crucial difference between
the Vandal War and the Gothic War. Whereas the defeat of the Vandals was
conditioned at almost every turn by fortune, Belisarius' spectacular victory
at Rome demonstrated the power of virtue. It is no accident that tyche is
relatively absent from Procopius' account of the siege. For a memorable
year it seemed as though the foresight, daring, and tireless energy of one
man could determine the outcome of a war. The encomium of Belisarius
that prefaces Book 7 is Procopius' tribute to that year. It should be noted
that the siege of Rome is the only specific historical event adduced there as
a sign of the general's "virtue" (7.1.21). Along with the rise of tyche in the
account of the fall of Ravenna, the encomium of Belisarius signals a major
turning point in the narrative of the Gothic War and, viewed from that
perspective, can be characterized as an obituary. Through allusions, Pro-
copius compares the general to Thucydides' Pericles." Belisarius will never
again attain those heights, and Procopius will castigate his later campaigns
in Italy as disgraceful (7.35.1). The encomium at the beginning of Book 7
marks the passing of Roman virtue, an event understood only in retrospect
(cf. 7.1.17). It also effects a transition to a different historical paradigm,
198 Chapter 5

signaled by the contrast between the greatness of Belisarius and the medioc-
rity of his successors (7.1.23 ff.). This passage is modeled on Thucydides'
obituary of Pericles, which contrasts the great general and leader of Athens
to his petty successors. Although there are numerous verbal parallels, the
main function of the mimesis is primarily structural: Procopius exploits a
crucial transitional passage in a classical source to formally inaugurate a
new phase of the Gothic war."
The encomium of Belisarius is placed at the beginning of Book 7 be-
cause it plays a pivotal role in the chiastic metanarrative of the Gothic War.
The hero of the second part of the work is the Gothic king Totila, and
Procopius gradually ascribes to him all the virtues listed in Belisarius' enco-
mium, particularly those that pertain to personal nobility." The Goths will
also inherit his tyche. Thus, the surrender ofVittigis and the recall of Belisa-
rius trigger a complete reversal in the paradigm of virtue and tyche. The
encomium looks forward to the rise of Totila as much as it celebrates the
previous aristeia of Belisarius." The narrative moves from Roman strength
under Belisarius and Gothic weakness under Vittigis to Gothic strength
under Totila and Roman weakness under Belisarius' successors. And at the
center of it all is fortune, favoring the winning side-who else?-and, in
fact, effecting the transition between Roman and Gothic supremacy.
The possibility that tyche could turn against the Romans was consid-
ered by Belisarius, as we saw, even before the surrender of Ravenna (cf.
6.29.8-9). In 542, before the battle of Faventia, the able warrior Artabazes
urged Roman commanders to take action against the Goths, "for when
tyche has led to despair and the destruction of all fair hopes, it turns around
and leads to an excess of daring" (7.4.4). His words fell on deaf ears. He
was killed in single combat "by some chance" (7.4.27), after which Totila
routed and slaughtered the Roman army (7.4.30-32).98 The officers who
escaped held "whatever cities they happened upon by chance" (7.4.32).
Shortly afterward, the armies clashed near Florence. The Roman generals
agreed to draw lots regarding their strategy "and thus await the decision
(gnome) of tyche in the matter" (7.5.7). Fortune, it seems, had quite literally
replaced the leadership of Belisarius on the Roman side. Later in the en-
gagement' "by some chance," a false rumor led to the disorderly retreat of
the Roman army and a Gothic victory (7.5.14). Again the fleeing troops
"entered such forts as they chanced upon" (7.5.17)-and also the following
year (7.6.8; cf. 8.32.21). Speaking to the Neapolitans in the spring of 543,
Totila ascribed previous Roman successes to tyche and confidently predicted
her imminent change of heart (7.7.15).
 God and Tyche in the Wars 199

Yet Totila does not fully understand the nature of tyche, even though,
unlike Belisarius, he does not ascribe success to skill. Totila propounds a
new interpretive paradigm, which, combined with his splendor as a leader
and warrior, enhances the nobility of his cause and cuts the feet from under
Justinian's imperialist theology and accusations of "tyranny."?" Yet Totila's
noble faith can only seem tragic to a disillusioned disciple of fortune such
as Procopius. The seeds of his ruin are sown even in the first edition of the
Wars, which ends with his seeming victory. Ultimately, there is no reward
for nobility in the world, only the twists and turns of tyche.
Before the battle of Faventia in 542, Totila encouraged his troops by
adverting to the injustice shown by the Romans toward both Goths and
Italians and by claiming enigmatically that the wicked are easier to defeat
(7.4.15-17). In 543, having captured Naples and nursed its famished inhabi-
tants back to health, he made his meaning clear by punishing one of his
warriors who had raped the daughter of a native Calabrian. In his speech
to the Gothic nobility, Totila propounds the view that it was God, offended
by the injustice of Theodahad, who previously led the Goths to defeat,
calling it "the tyche that you well know." But now, having punished them
sufficiently, God supports their cause, so much so that they have "chanced"
to defeat a stronger enemy. "It is not possible for an unjust man to pros-
per," he asserts (7.8.21-24), taking at face value the noble lie of the Athenian
Stranger in Plato's Laws (662b ff., 716a). And in his letter to the Roman
Senate, Totila claims that the current bad tyche of the Roman forces is due
to their wickedness and not to Gothic "virtue," because God is punishing
the Romans for their injustice (7.9.13-17). Conventional stuff, to be sure,
but redeemed by the impressive fact that Totila practiced what he preached.
Both the circumstances of his speech and its content remind us of Belisarius
in Libya, who also disciplined his soldiers with severity. And in the very
next chapter, Procopius confirms the truth of Totila's accusations by de-
nouncing the lawless behavior of the Roman forces in Italy (7.9.1-6; cf.
7.1.23-33). Yet Totila's speech to the Goths ends with a statement that di-
rectly contradicts Procopius' view of the war. He claims that "the tyche of
warfare is regulated in accordance with the conduct of each" (7.8.24). This
implies that tyche adheres to moral criteria and implements the will of a
just God. IOO Wars can therefore be won through justice. We cannot expect
that Procopius will allow this opinion to go unchecked. Totila has seriously
misunderstood the nature of tyche, even though it is this misunderstanding
that makes his tragic nobility possible.
Some years will pass before Totila is disabused, and Procopius must
200 Chapter 5

first deal with the return of Belisarius to Italy in 544. We note that the
general's views have not changed in the meantime: speaking to an assembly
at Ravenna, he insists that the previous Roman success had been due to
"virtue" -presumably his own-and he blames the wretchedness of his
successors for the subsequent defeats (7.11.2-3). Yet his speech at Ravenna
was a failure. The Roman army continued to disintegrate, and Belisarius
proved incapable of checking the expansion of Totila's power. Procopius
soon demolishes the general's pretensions:

Belisarius repented of having come to Ravenna in the first place.... It seemed to

me either that he had chosen the worse course, because it was fated at that time for
things to go badly for the Romans, or that the best course had indeed been chosen
(~E~0'UAEuo8aL) by him, but that God, having in mind to assist Totila and the
Goths, had stood in his way, so that even the best of Belisarius' plans (~O'UAEU­
~a'ta) produced thoroughly bad results. For those upon whom the wind of tyche
blows favorably'?' will suffer no harm even if they have planned (~0'UAE'U6~EVOL)
poorly, because the daimonion brings those things around to an entirely favorable
conclusion. But there can be no euboulia, I believe, for a man with bad tyche, be-
cause his evil fate deprives him of knowledge and accurate understanding.'?' Even
if he should plan (~O'UAEuoll'taL) something well, still tyche will immediately blow
against him who has so planned (~o'UAEuoa~), reversing his euboulia and leading
to the worst outcome. (7.13.14-18; cf. SecretHistory 4.42-45)

As with the battles at Decimum, it is pointless to attempt to differentiate

among the metaphysical concepts that are jumbled together in this convo-
luted passage.'?" Fate, God, tyche, and the daimonion are used interchange-
ably, as a substitution of all by anyone would quickly show. And most
scholars who hold the conventional view that Procopius was a conventional
Christian do just that: they suppress the references to tyche and count only
the single reference to God. 104 Yet the question remains whether by tyche
Procopius means God, or vice versa. Whereas it is easy to understand why
a sixth-century author who was not a conventional Christian would find it
necessary to obfuscate the supremacy of tyche by occasionally intruding
"God" into his text, it is not clear why a conventional Christian, and a self-
proclaimed expert in theology at that, would produce such a convoluted
passage. Be that as it may, it is interesting to note that Procopius endorses
the view that God was on Totila's side, a slap in the face to Justinianic
ideology. It is not clear, however, that Procopius' God is the same as Toti-
la's, Unlike the king, Procopius says nothing about justice. And Totila may
yet come around to a different view of God. It is also significant that boule
is persistently subordinated to factors beyond human control; in conjunc-
 God and Tyche in the Wars 201

tion with the actual course of the war, this fact signals the end of the Belis-
arian paradigm.
What exactly does Procopius mean by tyche or God? Is it necessary
to view them as supernatural causal agents, or would that be taking their
personification too literally? Let us look more closely at what the passage is
trying to say. The event in need of explanation is the waxing of the Gothic
cause in 544-545. Following the dichotomy postulated in the passage above,
its proximate cause is either the folly of Belisarius' decision to remain at
Ravenna or the unexpected failure of his otherwise well-conceived plan. Is
fortune in turn somehow responsible for those proximate causes or is it
instead merely a way of characterizing them from a particular point of
view? For example, Totila won either because Belisarius made an error or
because Belisarius' sound strategy inexplicably failed. The claim that Totila
was favored by fortune means precisely that he had little control over the
causes of his own success (cf. 7.13.16). That is why Procopius does not as-
cribe the resurgence of Gothic power entirely to his virtue or to Belisarius'
incompetence. Certainly both factors were involved, but ultimately events
were beyond the control of either leader. Hence the reference to fortune,
or fate, or "God." We saw in the Vandal War that fortune can denote
unpredictable or uncontrollable contingencies that in retrospect may seem
foreordained. In other words, fortune is a dramatic characterization of
mundane causal relationships, not an independent causal agent. It is how
events seem to those who are affected by them but who cannot control or
understand them. Procopius' rhetorical personifications certainly confuse
the issue, but they are intended for literary effect and not logical analysis.
Besides, it is only by depicting fortune as a supernatural agent equivalent
to God that Procopius can elevate her to his level and thereby subvert and
displace him.
In his account of the clashes at Rome in 546, Procopius clearly demon-
strates that fortune is not a metaphysical causal agent but only a literary way
of expressing unpredictable or uncontrollable contingencies. With Totila
besieging Rome, held by the Roman Bessas, Belisarius left Isaaces in charge
of Portus, under orders not to leave it for any reason, and fought his way
through the blockade, almost reaching the walls of the city. "However, be-
cause that was not the will of tyche, some envious daimon intervened and
contrived to ruin the Roman cause in the following way" (7.19.22): hearing
of Belisarius' success, Isaaces impetuously rushed to attack the Goths him-
self but was captured, leaving Portus, the only Roman stronghold in the
region, undefended. Stunned, Belisarius was forced to retreat to save Portus
202 Chapter 5

and his wife. "He was so grieved by the opposition of tyche that he fell sick"
(7. 19 .32 ) .
The defeat is ascribed twice to tyche, but there is no supernatural cau-
sation in this passage. The chain of events is perfectly clear, as is the fact
that tyche is only a characterization of the actual causes: they were unpre-
dictable and uncontrollable, at least from the point of view of Belisarius,
who suffered defeat in the midst of almost certain victory (cf. 6.29.9).
Isaaces, by contrast, would have no right to invoke tyche to explain what
happened to him. lOS It was not just fortune that deserted Belisarius. His
faith in his own virtue was also affected: "he was rendered speechless, which
indeed had never happened to him before" and was "deeply shaken"
(7.19.30-32). The reader may recall that according to the encomium at the
beginning of Book 7, these were the very weaknesses to which Belisarius
never succumbed (7.1.13-15). The alliance of fortune and virtue that shaped
the early years of the war has been completely undone, though it is not
replaced by a strictly analogous reformulation on the Gothic side.
After finally capturing Rome, Totila speaks to the Goths and reiterates
his belief that God enables the just to win, regardless of their virtue, prepa-
ration, and numbers. Justice alone guarantees victory, and Totila never
mentions tyche (7.21.1-11).106Yet fate had a temporary setback in store for
the king, which would force him to acknowledge the power of Procopius'
goddess. In the spring of 547, Belisarius conceived a plan of such "daring"
that at first it seemed "insane," though its outcome was "a sublime and
daimonic achievement of virtue" (7.24.1).107He reoccupied Rome and hast-
ily rebuilt the walls demolished by the Goths, repulsing their fierce attack
with great determination and courage (7.24.10-15). Having failed to storm
the walls, Totila was reproached by the Gothic nobility for aboulia, a highly
significant term in this context (7.24.27; cf. 8.32.6-8). Procopius now states
that man naturally changes his opinions to conform to the fluctuations of
tyche so that they always match the outcome of events (7.24.28). It is inter-
esting that this is an opinion that recurs throughout the Vandal War. 10 8
Though Totila would eventually retake the capital in 549 (7.36.1-15), the
temporary loss of Rome cost him dearly by damaging his reputation and
weakening his position in the eyes of both Goths and Franks, with whom
he was then seeking an alliance. 109
Totila now delivers the longest speech in the Gothic War, which is also
his last before Book 8. He begins by granting that the Goths are understand-
ably upset about the recent "opposition of tyche." He wants to prevent
them from showing ingratitude to God. "For it is in the nature of human
 God and Tyche in the Wars 203

things to falter," owing to "the necessity imposed by tyche" (7.25.4-5). Toti-

la's moral ordering of the world is showing signs of strain. He no longer
ascribes success to justice, speaking instead of "experience" and euboulia,
and revives the distinction between courage and rashness (7.25.10-15; cf.
5.20.8-11). He also revives the familiar distinction between virtue and tyche,
arguing that if the latter is responsible for success, the Goths ought to "re-
vere" her, lest she be forced to teach them gratitude through some reverse
(7.25.17). God is mentioned only in a platitude about human fallibility,
without reference to the situation at hand, after which the king attributes
at least one of his successes to "both tyche and boule" (7.25.19-21; cf. 7.12.20,
and, of course, 7.40.9). Let us add that in his final speech in Book 8 of the
Wars, before the fatal battle of Busta Gallorum in 552, Totila never mentions
God and attributes everything to tyche (8.30.12). And it is no coincidence
that Procopius concludes his account of that battle with a digression on the
amoral and unpredictable dominion of tyche without ever mentioning God
(8.32.28-34; see below).
In the course of our analysis, we have formulated some tentative con-
clusions about the philosophical import of tyche and its literary function in
the Wars. What bears special emphasis is the methodical consistency with
which it is deployed. Its distribution and fluctuating levels of prominence
carefully reflect the character of the participants and Procopius' outlook on
events. Tyche can no longer be dismissed as a confused attempt by him to
embellish his work with classical concepts but must be viewed as a funda-
mental component of his narrative strategy.
There are implications here about the speeches in the Wars. It is true
that, following Thucydides, Procopius does not explore the personalities of
his subjects in great depth. A few words outline their virtues and vices,
abilities and beliefs.'!" Their speeches likewise follow common rhetorical
rules and rely upon a narrow range of vocabulary and sententiae. Yet it is
wrong to conclude from this that they are "little more than formal exer-
cises" expressing only "conventional sentiments."!" Procopius is an adept
minimalist, choosing his words with economy and deploying them with
sober skill. Important differences are conveyed through subtle hints, and in
this way the Wars, unlike the Secret History, does not conform to Nietz-
sche's notion of decadent writing. Reading it requires patience and atten-
tion to detail. Distinct personalities emerge from the speeches that are
struggling to shape events in different ways. Their ambitions, plans, and
beliefs adopt to the twists of fortune. Belisarius and Totila represent differ-
ent responses to the war, which the reader must evaluate by scrutinizing
204 Chapter 5

their speeches, tracking their use of crucial words, and reading them against
the narrative in which they are at all times embedded. In this way, alterna-
tive paradigms, for example Belisarius' faith in human planning and Totila's
faith in a moral order, are set onto the stage of history and contrasted to
Procopius' belief in amoral tyche. They are not propositions to which we
simply grant or withhold belief. They are indissolubly linked to the charac-
ter and deeds of their proponents, the history that we are trying to under-
stand.!" As with Plato's dialogues, speech and action must always be
examined together.

Catastrophe in the Persian War

Tyche is prominent in the Persian War as well, though the different con-
tours and discontinuous history of the war on the eastern frontier did not
lend themselves to as smooth and progressive a conceptual development as
we find in the Vandal and Gothic War. To be sure, the basic issues and
methods underlying those texts are also present in the Persian War, though
Procopius has adjusted them to suit the eastern context. In particular, nu-
merous episodes, speeches, and digressions in the Persian War highlight the
uncertain fate of human beings in a world controlled by the chaotic will of
fortune. We will focus here on two passages, the destruction of Antioch by
the Persians in the summer of 540 and the great plague of 542, arguably the
two most important individual events in the text, and, along with the Nika
riots, the most sensational. By swiftly exacting a high death toll and causing
widespread destruction, these disasters impressed themselves forcefully
upon the minds of contemporaries. Procopius set out to ensure that future
generations would not miss their significance. He provides an accurate re-
port of the events, allows us to see how contemporaries experienced and
interpreted them, and in each case steps back to offer a perspective of his
own. Yet scholars have failed to notice the nuances of his own position,
preferring to see him as a conventional sixth-century believer, "a man of
his times" who had no choice, it seems, but to attribute those events piously
to God.
The sack of Antioch was one of the great disasters of Justinian's
reign.!" and it receives extensive treatment in the Persian War. As early
as 531, Procopius has al-Mundir, the Saracen Lakhmid king, propose an
expedition against the Syrian capital to his master Cavades in a speech that
presages later events (1.17.29-39). Though that expedition failed, Procopius
 God and Tyche in the Wars 205

devotes a substantial portion of Book 2 to the great invasion of Chosroes,

which succeeded in capturing Antioch and other Roman cities. The de-
struction of the great metropolis becomes a focal point for a number of the
broader themes developed in the Persian War, for example the decrepit
condition of the Roman defenses, the misguided foreign policy of the em-
peror, and the growing religious tension between the two empires. The
otherwise discontinuous narrative of the Persian War is unified by the grad-
ual development of these themes, which shape the presentation of events,
the content of speeches, and the author's digressions. These issues will be
dealt with in a separate study. What interests us here are Procopius' digres-
sions on the natures of tyche (2.9.13) and God (2.10.4-5), the first such in
the Wars. That an ancient historian should invoke fortune or God after
recounting the greatest military catastrophe of his age is not surprising. But
that he should endorse the supremacy of amoral fortune and the provi-
dence of a just God is perplexing, to say the least. It has been suggested that
Procopius never made "a real effort to reconcile" the two and that the role
of tyche "should not be over-interpreted." In practice, this seems to mean
that scholars can ignore tyche, attributing to Procopius only "a statement
of uncomprehending faith" or of "blind faith."!" No one wants to over-
interpret a text. But ignoring a contradiction will not make it go away, nor
will suppressing Procopius' unequivocal affirmation of an omnipotent and
amoral tyche in order to arbitrarily designate his ambiguous and "uncom-
prehending" remarks about God as the true content of his allegedly "blind
faith."
The contradiction between tyche and God in the account of the fall
of Antioch is undeniable. The question is whether Procopius produced it
unintentionally by clumsily alternating between a classical "decoration"
such as tyche and his otherwise conventional belief in the Christian God. 115
That would require him to have been either extremely confused, unable to
see a problem that every modern reader with no training in theology can
spot in a second-even an indignant Byzantine scribe pointed it out in the
margin of a manuscript'ts-s-or so indifferent to the philosophical coherence
of his text that he could jumble together concepts from different schools of
thought and even religions.v'" But I hope that this chapter has demonstrated
that Procopius deploys terms such as tyche and God carefully and that tyche
is grounded in the factual basis of his narrative in a philosophically coher-
ent way. It seems unlikely that he did not or could not see a contradiction
as obvious as this. We are entitled therefore at least to "interpret" his text,
if not to "over-interpret" it. Even so, the passages under discussion yield
206 Chapter 5

hidden truths on their own, without reliance on conclusions drawn else-

where.
Procopius invokes fortune in connection with both Chosroes' acces-
sion to the throne and his sack of Antioch in 540. Even before mentioning
fortune by name, Procopius' language indicates the prominent role that she
played in the king's rise. Although he was the third son of Cavades, Caoses,
the eldest son, was hated by his father "for no particular reason," while
Zames, the second, had been blinded in one eye by the daimonion. These
accidents placed Chosroes in line for the succession. He was subsequently
able to suppress a rebellion "with no difficulty" and execute his evil designs
against the Romans "with ease" (2.9.12; cf. 1.11.3-5).118We have seen this
language used elsewhere in the Wars in connection with events attributed
to fortune, especially in the Vandal War and in connection with Belisarius'
conquest of Sicily. It is therefore entirely in keeping with this presentation
of the king's rise that Procopius inserts in his account of the destruction of
Antioch a long digression on tyche, in which he states that she has no regard
for what is right or fitting, does not care in the least whether people "blas-
pheme" her for it,119and cannot be stopped once her mind is set (2.9.13).
Procopius ends this digression with an odd remark: "but let these matters
be in whatever way is pleasing to God."120Yet arguably nothing could be
more displeasing to God than amoral tyche, and Procopius could not have
been unaware of the incongruity. His tyche is the exact antithesis of God, if
by God we mean what most Byzantines did. However, Procopius may be
deliberately exploiting the word's inherent polysemy. Although he may have
believed that there is no God but tyche, he also knew that most of his
readers would interpret his closing statement as conventionally pious.':" By
seeming to subordinate his views to "God," Procopius softens their radical
heterodoxy. Readers not wishing to be discomfited will fasten upon his
reassuring disclaimer at the end of the digression and not think again of his
peculiar goddess. This hypothesis is not conjectural: many modern scholars
do just that. As J. B. Bury wrote of Herodotus, "he was doing what a Chris-
tian preacher sometimes does, when having delivered an extremely hetero-
dox sermon he winds up with a formal homage to orthodox dogma."!"
Procopius is not quite finished with God. At the beginning of the next
chapter God is made to send a sign to the Antiochenes foretelling their
imminent destruction, but they are not allowed to understand its meaning
lest any should escape the city's preordained fate (2.10.1-3). This leads Pro-
copius to express bewilderment at God's actions.
 God and Tyche in the Wars 207

But I become dizzy as I write about such great suffering and transmit it to the
memory of future times, and simply cannot understand why God would want to
exalt on high the affairs of a man or a place, and then cast them down and obliterate
them for no cause that we can see. For it is not lawful to say that he does not
always do everything with reason, though at that time he endured watching Antioch
dragged down to the ground by a most unholy man. (2.10.4-5)

In other words, Procopius cannot understand why God behaved so much

like tyche. Whereas God is supposed to "do everything with reason," on
this occasion he acted "for no cause that we can see," randomly exalting
and then overthrowing both people and places, exactly as fortune is said to
do elsewhere. 123
Does this uncomprehending attitude reveal Procopius' "blind faith"
or is it a rhetorical strategy for discreetly denying God's benevolence? The
former position is untenable. First, it requires the arbitrary suppression of
everything that Procopius says about tyche. His remarks about her power
and amorality are unequivocal. His remarks about God, however, are en-
tirely ambiguous. He never actually endorses the view that God "always
does everything with reason" but merely claims that it is not "lawful"
(8E~L~;) to deny it. 124 This statement probably contains another allusion to
Socrates' Apology (21b), where the philosopher claims that it is not "lawful"
for Apollo to speak falsehoods but responds to his oracle by immedietely
trying to refute it! In fact, the whole point of Procopius' digression is pre-
cisely that God had no apparent reason for destroying Antioch, a city that
ironically had once worshipped its Tyche above all other deities, but had
been renamed Theoupolis ("City of God") after an earthquake in 528 to
avert divine wrath.!" Though Procopius knew about the Antiochenes' infa-
mous love of luxury, license, and discord.':" he does not cite it here as a
possible ground for divine displeasure. He suggests no possible motives for
God's decision, not even the "sins of mankind," the conveniently general
target of many Christian moralists. As it happens, we are told elsewhere
that shortly before the Persian invasion, God in a vision had revealed to St.
Symeon the Stylite his intention to destroy Antioch for its "lawless behav-
ior" and pagan practices.':" Procopius' silence regarding God's motives sug-
gests that the established custom of attributing "reason" to God is
misguided, and, if that is the case, then God is no different from tyche.
Hence Procopius understandably makes no attempt to "reconcile" the two.
Those who attribute blind faith to Procopius ask us to believe that he
could discourse on the unrivaled power of amoral tyche, produce a narra-
tive that displays that power in action, and imply that even God on this
208 Chapter 5

occasion acted like tyche, all in order to express his "blind faith" in the
Christian God, which he does by claiming not to know why God acted so
arbitrarily! This stretches the credulity of the reader-and of Procopius-
too far. Let us be clear about just how blind this faith would have to be: it
entails nothing less than the unconditional surrender of reason to the blind
belief in the benevolence of an inscrutable divine will. This does not sound
like the author of the Wars, and few Christian thinkers went that far. Most
were quick to identify the cause of God's displeasure when disaster
struck.!" After all, man must have some idea of God's will, otherwise he
cannot conform to it. 129 Yet Procopius draws no moral lessons from the fall
of Antioch, which is exactly what we expect of a man who believed that the
world is governed by amoral fortune.
Procopius' incomprehension operates on two levels. If God is under-
stood as tyche, it is perfectly straightforward and sincere, because by defini-
tion no one may comprehend her mind. In Book 8 he marks the passing of
Totila by digressing again on how tyche randomly exalts people only to
destroy them later for no reason. This is exactly what "God" did to Antioch.
"But these things, I believe, have never been understood by man, nor will
they ever be in the future" (8.32.3°). On a different level, his incomprehen-
sion is part of a rhetorical strategy designed to draw the reader's attention
to the contradiction between the traditional belief in God's reason and the
apparent randomness and injustice of events in the world. This was not an
argument that Procopius could formulate openly, and it was only by a
disingenuous pretense of perplexity that he could reveal its premises. Chris-
tians were quite open about their intention to "smash to bits" anyone who
"makes war against the providence of God" and to "bring him into submis-
sion to Christ."!" So he leaves a pointed question deliberately unresolved,
allowing his readers to draw the necessary conclusions. This was a ploy
employed by many skeptics: "in these times when we cannot talk about the
world except with danger, or falsely," wrote Montaigne, "you must stoop
to the level of the people you are with, and sometimes affect ignorance."!"
The apparent conflict between events such as the destruction of Anti-
och and the presumed benevolence of an omnipotent God is still debated
today in the philosophy of religion as the "problem of evil." It was suc-
cinctly stated in antiquity by Epicurus, reformulated by the Skeptic philoso-
pher Sextus Empiricus as an argument against the existence of God, and
concisely summarized by David Hume: "Is he willing to prevent evil, but
not able? then is he impotent. Is he able, but not willing? then is he malevo-
lent. Is he both able and willing? whence then is evil?"132Procopius, of
 God and Tyche in the Wars 209

course, did not believe in a malevolent deity, merely an indifferent one.

The early Christian writer Lactantius, who attempted to refute Epicurus,
raised that possibility when he confessed that "many of the philosophers
who defend Providence are often troubled by this argument and are com-
pelled in spite of themselves to admit that God does not care about any-
thing."!" Ancient theologians produced no satisfactory solution to this
problem, which their modern counterparts have tackled with renewed
vigor. A careful study of the Greek Fathers has concluded that they failed
to "appreciate the contradictions involved" and that their rhetorical at-
tempts to explain the existence of evil in a world created by a benevolent
deity were bound to result in philosophical incoherence.'>'
Before examining Procopius' exposition of the problem of evil in con-
nection with the plague, it is worth looking at a speech given by Chosroes
to the emperor's representatives after the capture of Antioch (2.9.1-6). This
speech, which occurs right before the digression on tyche, is interesting
because it again illuminates Procopius' methods. The king's words must be
read cautiously, because Procopius accuses him immediately afterward of
being a skilled liar and adept at feigning piety (2.9.8). This accusation is
directed against his closing statement that he had tried to save the city's
populace, who had resisted him with suicidal fury, because "it is not holy
to trample upon those who have been captured" (2.9.6). The speech is
appropriately chauvinistic and self-righteous, but that does not mean that
it is entirely false. It so happens that the truth, or Procopius' version of it,
is expressed there, though naturally from the king's point of view. Chosroes
begins by quoting an "old saying" that God never grants any good without
mixing it with evil (2.9.1).135This, of course, is exactly what Procopius later
says about tyche (6.8.1). The king then boasts that Antioch fell "with no
difficulty at all, because God contrived at a moment's notice to grant us
victory" (2.9.3). This may seem tendentious on the theological side, but it
presages Procopius' argument that tyche made everything easy for Chosroes
(2.9.12-13). In other words, while the speech coats the king's aggression
with pious words, it simultaneously hints at the Procopian truth about the
deity that really secured his rise and victory. The speech is therefore artfully
contrived for ironic effect, because only the reader and Procopius know the
true nature of that deity. This speech, like so many others in the Wars,
preserves the speaker's character while offering a partial version of the
truth.

* * *
210 Chapter 5

The problem of evil is also central to Procopius' account of the sixth -cen-
tury plague, which, as is well known, is modeled on Thucydides' account
of the plague in Athens. Crucial differences between the two texts indicate
that here too Procopius' mimesis did not alter the facts of his own age.!"
Both authors describe the symptoms of the disease with medical precision
while refusing at the outset to speculate on its natural causes.':" Classifying
it among those things sent "by heaven," Procopius denies that anyone un-
derstood its scientific, "physiological" causes. Though such "sophistic" ex-
planations were set forth, he does not discuss them, preferring to "refer the
whole matter to God" (2.22.1-2; cf. 2.22.18). And that is also where many
scholars have left the issue of his beliefs, especially as there is no comparable
statement in his classical model.!" Surely the mention of God reflects the
difference between the Christian views of Procopius and those of Thucyd-
ides, who adamantly "refused to explain the march of historical events by
reference to divine intervention."!" Perhaps, however, it represents not a
different belief but a difference in strategy for dealing with a very different
intellectual climate. Unlike the Athenians, the Byzantines had definite views
about God and seemed to agree that he was responsible for the plague. In
his edicts, Justinian confidently identified the causes of "famine, earth-
quake, and pestilence" as blasphemy and sodomy, which "incur the just
anger of God."140 Others ascribed plague to the "wrath of God," which
sought to punish mankind for its sins.':" The rationale behind such beliefs
was stated clearly by the fifth -century theologian Theodoret of Cyrrhus: "I
believe that the God of all is caring for the common salvation when he
inflicts misfortunes upon some, in order to acquaint sinners with the medi-
cine that averts evil, to provide an opportunity for champions of virtue to
persevere, and to furnish a beneficial example to all observers. For we are
such that we fill up with fear when we behold others being punished."142
Both Thucydides and Procopius were interested in the irrational beliefs and
abnormal behavior elicited by plagues, so their discussions of the symptoms
are as much sociological as medical.':" Whereas the credulity that Thucyd-
ides witnessed took the form of oracles and ancient prophesies (2.54), Pro-
copius had to confront the implacable logic of punitive theology. Though
his account ultimately undermines the foundations of that belief, because
he lived in an intolerant theocracy, he could not be as openly critical of it
as Thucydides had been of his compatriots' interest in oracles. His account
therefore begins piously, by vaguely ascribing the plague to God. But "God"
is a notoriously polysemic word. It can make Procopius seem orthodox
while simultaneously acting as a surrogate for tyche, a device we have seen
 God and Tyche in the Wars 211

in the Wars. Once again, it is not clear which God Procopius has in mind
here. We must carefully follow the sequence of his exposition.
Having ascribed the plague to God, Procopius proceeds to describe
how it killed indiscriminately, not only without regard for its victims' loca-
tion' age, and nature, but also without regard for their character and life-
style (2.22.3-5). Adapting Thucydides' comments on the inefficacy of reli-
gious measures, Procopius adds that even those who invoked divine names
and sought refuge in churches were destroyed wholesale.':" Yet we know
that those were precisely the remedies prescribed by the Church and prac-
ticed by the populace of the Christian empire in times of distress, including
this plague. In the seventh century, for example, Bishop John of Thessalon-
iki claimed that during the plague of 586, almost all who sought refuge in
the church of St. Demetrius were saved, while those who stayed home
died.':" Other examples can be offered, though it should be noted that
Procopius' younger contemporary, the ecclesiastical historian Evagrius,
avoided making any connection between morality and mortality in his own
account of the plague (4.29).
Not only does Procopius reveal the inefficacy of religious responses to
the plague, but, following Thucydides, he also discusses its injurious moral
effects. He explains that terror caused wicked men to act piously, but only
temporarily, for they reverted to even more wicked lives after the danger
had passed (2.23.14-16). These men had not been transformed into genuine
"lovers of virtue," something impossible in so short a time "unless one is
inspired by some divine influence for good." So it seems that the "God"
who caused the plague provided no such influence. Procopius thereby tac-
itly refutes the notion that the plague was sent to correct the moral faults
of men. He then exacerbates the contradiction by adding that "the plague,
whether by some chance (tyche) or providence (pronoia), carefully chose
the most wicked men and allowed them to live" (2.23.16)-hardly the
Christian God! One interesting note is that he says on the next page that
Justinian contracted the disease but survived (2.23.20). We also note that,
having reached the end of his account, Procopius openly proposes tyche as
an alternative explanation to pronota.r" a predictable development to any-
one familiar with his bag of tricks.
If Procopius' account of the plague is read without religious precon-
ceptions-and without historicist preconceptions about his religion-its
logic and aims are not difficult to discern. The historian begins by paying
lip service to the prevailing belief among his contemporaries, but his subse-
quent account criticizes it thoroughly. He never mentions the "wrath of
212 Chapter 5

God" or attributes the plague to the sins of men, who were its victims, not
its cause (cf. 2.9.8). He makes it clear that the plague killed with no regard
for justice, even adding rhetorically that it tended to spare the wicked. This
amazing and clearly tendentious statement would have no point if Procop-
ius did not intend to reveal the absurdity of ascribing the plague to God,
who supposedly wants to make human beings more, not less, moral. And
it is no coincidence that he inserts into his text at this very point a rare
statement linking divinity to the "love of virtue," which amplifies the inco-
herence of popular perceptions. Procopius is encouraging his readers to
question the basis of punitive theology by providing them with the premises
necessary to draw a very different conclusion. The ambiguity of his account
is compounded at the end by the inclusion of tyche as an alternative expla-
nation to pronoia, and careful readers of the Wars may notice that in de-
scribing the plague's symptoms Procopius uses technical terms that
characterize the actions of tyche elsewhere.':" As the ecclesiastical historian
Socrates realized, misfortunes that occur because of tyche cannot by defini-
tion be understood as punishments for sins.':"
Though Procopius may have disagreed with his contemporaries, and
tried to correct them discreetly, he should not necessarily be seen as a lone
skeptic in an age of universal faith. Agnosticism was a prominent feature of
the Greek philosophical tradition and could infect all who were exposed to
it. Thucydides, for instance, "marks the beginning of a tradition of skeptical
positivism that limits itself to describing facts and refuses to draw conclu-
sions about causes."!" Procopius refused to speculate on the natural causes
of the plague not because he believed that there were none but because he
did not know what they were and did not accept the physiologists' theories.
This is a fully scientific stance. He knew and elsewhere stated that the causes
of some phenomena may elude even such thinkers as Aristotle (8.6.19-24).
It is here, regarding the idea of scientific progress, that Procopius makes his
only positive reference to innovation: too many people, he says, are content
with ancient accounts and no longer search for the truth through new argu-
merits."? Lest anyone assume, however, that by "truth" he means what
most of his contemporaries meant, he specifies that "I am not talking about
intelligible or intellectual matters or other such invisible things, but about
rivers and lands" (8.6.9-10). Metaphysics makes way for scientific progress
and skepticism, and this in an age when Anthemius, the architect of Hagia
Sophia, was performing experiments with steam power in his basement. lSI
This priority complements the nearly complete rejection of theology at the
beginning of the Gothic Wars. It is no surprise, then, that Procopius' ac-
 God and Tyche in the Wars 213

count of the plague contains "the most systematic report of the symp-
toms."152
Procopius was not posing as a classical historian. It was his pietism
that was affected. In his attitudes, intellectual aims, and beliefs, he was more
distant from the ecclesiastical writers of his own age than even the formal
classicism of his language suggests.'>' But the empire's educated classes were
probably permeated by attitudes such as his. It is the disproportionate sur-
vival of ecclesiastical literature-whether by tyche or pronoia-that lends
an aura of universal pietism to the age of Justinian.
Yet fragments of a dissident tradition survive, and future studies will
doubtless expand the circle of Procopius' fellow travelers. Another of Thu-
cydides' most astute sixth-century students was Agathias, who idolized Pro-
copius and called him the most learned man of the age.'>' Agathias desired
to imitate Thucydides, but as Procopius had already done so with regard to
the plague, he applied the familiar classical model for natural disasters to
the earthquakes of the 550S. In doing so, he carefully mixed Thucydidean
rationalism with Procopian dissimulation. He is agnostic with respect to
causes (2.15.9-13, 5.6-8), notes that those who sought refuge in churches
were not spared (2.16.3),155and describes the irrational behavior of the pop-
ulace, noting that conversions proved fleeting and insincere once the terror
subsided (5.3-5). Like Procopius, his ascription of events to God is exoteric.
He even suggests openly that such beliefs are false and subtly offers alterna-
tive, rational explanations based on his view of "nature." He openly invokes
the idea of the Noble Lie to explain why he endorses pietism, given that he
does not believe in it himself. Agathias is as explicit as can be expected
about his intentions.!" It is only the historicist imperative to view him as a
"conventional" Christian that has led scholars to pass over all these fasci-
nating passages in his work with scarcely a glance. This prejudice has
robbed us of the intellectual diversity of the sixth century and has reduced
Procopius, one of the great historians of antiquity and arguably the most
powerful mind of his century, to yet another bland "product of his age."!"

Tyche and God in Book 8 of the Wars

The equation of tyche and God is made in an amusing way in Book 8 of the
Wars, and it is worth looking briefly at this passage because it shows how
Procopius used tyche to undermine Justinian's propaganda. By speaking
out of both sides of his mouth, he managed to treat imperial propaganda
214 Chapter 5

ironically and criticize it while simultaneously feigning piety. Concluding

his account of the battle of Busta Gallorum of 552, he again digresses on
how tyche, "giving herself airs and tearing human affairs to shreds,"!"
caused Totila's fall in a manner unworthy of his deeds, after having granted
him prosperity for so many years "for no reason whatsoever." He refers to
her "irrationality" and "unpredictability," highlighting her capriciousness
and indifference to virtue (8.32.28-29). On the next page, he cites an alter-
native version of the king's death, according to which he was killed by an
arrow, "not by the archer's intention" but because "tyche directed the shaft
toward the man's body" (8.32.34).159Yet at the beginning of the next chap-
ter, he states that Narses was so elated by victory that "he would not cease
attributing everything to God," a view that Procopius now endorses as
"true" (8.33.1)!But the God of Narses cannot be the capricious tyche just
described on the previous page. The historian's agreement with Narses is
ironic, for the general does not know what we do, namely that the "God"
responsible for Roman victory was fortune. Far from indicating Procopius'
"warm allegiance to Christianity,"!" Narses' belief illuminates the cryptic
remark made by Procopius at the end of his previous digression on the
unpredictability of fortune:

But these things, I believe, have never been understood by man, nor will they ever
be in the future. Yet there is always talk about them and opinions are endlessly
passed around in whispers, in whatever way is pleasing to each, as he comforts his
ignorance with whatever explanation seems reasonable to him. (8.32.30)

Writing soon after the event, Procopius preemptively discredits all attempts
to make moral sense of the fate of Totila, dismissing them as comforting
"whispers" and ignorant rationalizations. In the flush of victory, Narses
was the first to venture such an opinion, though he was not to be the last.
As Procopius doubtlessly realized, sectarian polemic and imperial propa-
ganda would have their say. In a Pragmatic Sanction of 554, the year Pro-
copius completed Book 8, Justinian remarked that the restoration of Italy
and the destruction of the "tyrant" Totila were due to "God, propitious to
Our Empire."161Toward the end of the century, the ecclesiastical historian
Evagrius reported that Narses had triumphed over the Goths by honoring
God and receiving detailed military instructions from the Virgin Mary
(4.24). Later western writers were certain that it was God who defeated the
heretical tyrant. 162If Procopius did not have precisely such beliefs in mind
when he dismissed comforting rationalizations, then what did he have in
 God and Tyche in the Wars 215

mind? There is no other reaction in the record. His defense of ignorance

makes sense only if he believed that the world was governed by an utterly
inscrutable power such as fortune but knew that other views would be
expressed. Though the Christian God was considered by many of his wor-
shipers to be inscrutable, they were quite ready to read his mind with cer-
tainty whenever enemies such as Totila were destroyed or when plagues
carried off thousands. "Truly it has not happened by chance," wrote Alcuin
in the late eighth century about a Viking raid, "but is a sign that it was well
merited by someone."163 Apophatic theology was for the books. Procopius
knew what he was talking about.
As though to restore the balance, the chapter that begins with Narses'
"true belief" ends with yet another digression on the fickleness of fortune.
The general's recapture of Rome by the imperial troops leads Procopius to
reflect on

how tyche mocks human affairs, not always visiting people in the same manner nor
regarding them with uniform glance, but changing along with time and place; and
she plays some kind of game with them, changing the value of these miserable
wretches in accordance with the times or the place or the circumstance. (8.33.24)164

Thus the true belief of Narses is flanked by two forceful declarations on

tyche, which indicate that the higher power controlling events was of an
entirely different nature than Christ. Again, readers who wish to view Pro-
copius as a conventional Christian may disregard his discussions of fortune
and seize upon his agreement with Narses as proof. Such tactics merely
satisfy-and expose-a priori assumptions. In reality, Procopius viewed the
world as governed by no God but tyche. He felt so strongly about this that
at the close of the same chapter he dared to again revise the verdict of
Thucydides, namely that human nature is the chief force in history. Again
he uses the exact words of the Athenian historian with one minor, albeit
crucial, change: "But this is the way things have been from the beginning
and will always be, so long as the tyche of mankind remains the same"
(8.33. 2 5).165
The digression on the death of Totila in Book 8 exemplifies at least
two of the techniques by which Procopius insinuates the identity of God
and fortune. He often attributes events to fortune in his own voice on one
page and then to God on the next (usually through one of his characters);
alternately, he describes tyche in the same language that he uses elsewhere
for God. The latter has been observed by many scholars, though its implica-
216 Chapter 5

tions have never been fully appreciated.!" In two nearly identical passages,
placed in two different contexts, Procopius comes close to affirming the
equation openly and in his own voice.

Human affairs are governed not according to opinions of men, but by the inclina-
tion (QoJt~) of God, which people are accustomed to call tyche, because they do
not know the reason why events happen in the way in which they appear to them.
For the name of tyche tends to attach itself to that which seems to be beyond
calculation (JtaQaAoyo~). But let each believe about these things whatever seems
pleasing to him. (8.12.34-35; SecretHistory 4.44-45)167

This was the most that could be said safely. Procopius avoids stating the
equation directly, first by referring not to God as such but to his QoJt~ and
then by ascribing the whole notion vaguely to popular opinion, though, we
note, the latter happens to match exactly Procopius' practice throughout
the Wars. Fortune is then linked to that which people cannot understand.
All this is highly tendentious, for it collapses the difference between chance
and a God who is completely inscrutable, however benevolent he is pre-
sumed to be by others. The possibility is suggested that God, like tyche, is
nothing more than a name that is used for events that cannot be explained
rationally.':" Even the term that Procopius uses to designate God's inclina-
tion-QoJt~-connotes ambivalence and was used by other writers to refer
to tyche.r" We are reminded of Procopius' false amazement that God de-
stroyed Antioch "for no apparent reason" (2.10.4-5). His God is fortune-
not Christ-and she is the only higher power affecting the course of history.

Precedents and Conclusions

The prominence of fortune in Procopius' work poses complex hermeneuti-

cal challenges. The concept itself is at once ambiguous and profound, quali-
ties reflected in its long history in ancient literature and religion. I have
attempted to identify its primary ontological meaning in the Wars while
respecting the wide range of its uses. I also examined the rhetorical mecha-
nisms by which Procopius integrates tyche into his narrative. The argument
has established the historian's rejection of the dominant Christian modes
of thought of his time, which were endorsed by Justinian and a host of
ecclesiastical and monastic writers. Yet it has isolated him from the general
context of Greek thought. This is not necessarily a flaw in the argument,
for the Wars, as a carefully written work of literature, must be read and
 God and Tyche in the Wars 217

evaluated primarily on its own terms. Yet our understanding of Procopius

as an ancient historian would be deficient if we did not locate his usage
of tyche within the broad spectrum of ancient thought and practice. This
enterprise, however, is hampered by the lack of a proper history of fortune
in antiquity.'?" Such a work would have to engage a vast and diverse body
of evidence, including literary texts, official documents, cultic practices, in-
scriptions, and figures of speech, each of which has to be evaluated in its
historical context as well as with regard to its internal aims and conven-
tions. Up to the 1960s, the philological side of the problem was more popu-
lar than it is now, and many articles were published on Fortuna in various
authors. Since then, however, scholars have lost interest in such timeless
abstract concepts and seek to interpret literature in terms of its concrete
political and social background. Fortune is now downplayed or ignored,
even in texts like Procopius' where it is obviously important.
The current consensus maintains that in Procopius tyche is merely
rhetorical, a position required by the belief that he was a conventional
Christian. Indeed, many of his contemporaries held religious beliefs that
precluded any independent role for such an entity but still used tyche for
rhetorical effect. If we consider single passages taken out of context from
the orators of Gaza, the poet Corippus, or the historian Theophylact, their
references to tyche seem similar to those in Procopius.'?' Such comparisons,
however, occlude the fact that in their works fortune occurs rarely or has
little interpretive weight. Only in Procopius does she call for interpretation
on all levels: his abstract digressions are faithful to the details of his narra-
tive and highlight important events and transitions; his patterns of thought
and literary methods are constant throughout the Wars; and, most signifi-
cant, it can be argued that amoral fortune is fundamental to his view of
history. In the Christian classicism of the sixth century, tyche never comes
as close to usurping the place of God as she does in the Wars.
In this respect, Procopius is also different from the pagan historians
of late antiquity, for example Ammianus Marcellinus, Olympiodorus, and
Zosimus, who recognized tyche but did not make her supreme. In them she
is one divine being among others (though one scholar argued that Procop-
ius too believed in both tyche and God)."? Ammianus is especially interest-
ing because he refers to fortune often and with the same variety of
meanings. But he also refers to a wide range of other divine powers. His
religious beliefs have proven very difficult to identify and disentangle from
his "elaborate literary gestures."!" Again, "literary" does not mean super-
ficial.
218 Chapter 5

There is in fact only one Greek historian, Polybius, whose awe for the
power of fortune is comparable to that of Procopius. Fortune in the Histor-
ies has "a variety of meanings operating at different levels of intensity."!"
According to Polybius, historians may legitimately ascribe to "God and
tyche" only events whose causes are unknown, for example plagues and bad
weather, and he criticizes those who refer to tyche instead of searching for
the causes.'> It is not entirely clear, however, that he himself adhered to
those rules. He ascribes to fortune events such as the rise of Rome (1.4.4-5),
which he believed could be explained rationally (1.63.9). Another problem
is presented by his references to tyche as a conscious divine agent. It is one
thing to use the term as a label for inexplicable events and quite another to
believe that she was a goddess. Scholars have not yet agreed about whether
this language should be taken literally or whether it is a rhetorical conven-
tion.!" There is one more complication. Polybius scarcely veils his lack of
belief in other gods, treating God, tyche, and daimonion as equivalent terms,
the last, as in Procopius' Wars, designating the higher power in its punitive
capacity."? In the Histories, however, fortune sometimes promotes justice
but is more often capricious, which has been called "fundamentally contra-
dictory."!" Thus, there is a tension in Polybius between moral and amoral
instances of fortune, just as there is a prima facie tension in Procopius
between fortune and God. In the Wars fortune never acts in the interests of
justice.
In Procopius, at any rate, personification is not a problem. It was part
of what Schopenhauer called "the playful urge of the Greeks to personify
everything."!" The ecclesiastical historian Evagrius described kairos ("op-
portune moment"), a Christian surrogate for tyche, as swiftly evading pur-
suers in flight and laughing at them from above. This was a literary
device-"rhetorical self-indulgence," according to one commentator-that
was inspired by an artistic image, which Evagrius describes.!'" Statues of
Tyche could likewise be seen throughout the Roman world, including in
Procopius' own Caesarea."? It is highly unlikely that Christian vandals had
destroyed them all by the sixth century. The historian Theophylact men-
tions a Tychaeum still standing in Alexandria in the early seventh century
with its statues intact. 182 Such images reinforced the tendency to personify
tyche in literature. Cicero recognized this explicitly: "Very likely we Romans
imagine gods as you say, because from our childhood Jupiter, Juno [et al.],
have been known to us with the aspect with which painters and sculptors
have chosen to represent them."!" Procopius no more believed in a playful,
capricious tyche than Evagrius did in a flying, laughing kairos. The trend
 God and Tyche in the Wars 219

culminated in Machiavelli's infamous claim that fortune is a woman who

allows herself to be beaten and subdued by impetuous young men.!"
Yet the personification of tyche plays an important tactical role in the
Wars that goes beyond "playful urges" and figures of speech. By casting her
as a conscious divine agent, Procopius deliberately elevated her to the level
of God, who was, in the sixth century, the dominant contender for the
explanatory function that he wanted to ascribe to a different set of causal
factors. To displace God, tyche had to rival him in standing. That is why the
two are so jumbled together in those rambling digressions and described in
the same terms. Mystification was as far as Procopius dared to go.
On the other hand, Greek religious practice and thought does not
elucidate Procopius' idea of fortune. Granted, in the Hellenistic and Roman
periods, her cult was popular and Tyche had even been "the most venerated
deity" in his own city of Caesarea.!" But her worship was hopeful and
aimed to secure prosperity in a chaotic world. She was a savior from whom
good things were requested, even if, as with all gods, they were not always
received. Simplicius observed that "the many say that everything is tyche
and pray to the gods for good fortune," and other writers viewed fortune
as a force for good.!" In the Wars, however, tyche is neither good nor just:
she destroys hope and confidence, requires no worship, and cannot be
thanked or appeased. One has to turn to the Aztecs to find actual gods who
were "caprice embodied" and people who felt a "powerless dependence"
on forces entirely beyond their control. 187
When all is said and done, there is nothing supernatural about the
way tyche operates in the Wars. It is a way of characterizing events that
seem extraordinary or are not expected by those affected by them but whose
causes are otherwise mundane. It was easy to see this even in antiquity, and
Christians were eager to do so. Many cited approvingly the verses of the
comic poet Philemon: "There does not exist for us any such god as tyche;
it simply doesn't exist. But spontaneity, that which happens by chance to
each, is called tyche."188For the ontology of tyche in Procopius we must
look beyond Greek religion and the rhetorical conventions of late antiquity.
That ontology is found in Thucydides. The view that his use of tyche
reflects a religious outlook has long been abandoned for a more "descrip-
tive and analytical" approach.':" Thucydides, awed by reason, did not re-
gard tyche as the engine of history and felt no urge to personify her. But he
could not ignore the unexpected, that which creates a gap between planning
and history. That is all that fortune is for him.'?" Philosophers soon pro-
duced theoretical discussions. In his Physics, Aristotle gave a naturalistic
220 Chapter 5

ontology of chance and spontaneity: whereas tyche designates the uninten-

tional, "accidental" consequences of otherwise deliberate actions, the au-
tomaton refers to the unpredictable effects of causal chains beyond
deliberation, such as the actions of animals and natural events (2.4-6).191
Chance is therefore inscrutable by definition. Both Procopius and Aristotle
call it paralogos. Aristotle's definitions were discussed and excerpted fre-
quently in later times!" and were happily accepted by some Christians, who
liked their philosophy purged of paganism. Nemesius, Bishop of Emesa in
the fourth century, defined tyche as "the coincidence and concurrence of
two causes which have as their original intention something other than
what actually comes to be."193This definition, which can be accepted even
today, represents the ontological core of Procopius' conception of tyche, a
core preserved relatively intact, I have argued, despite its literary embellish-
ment and the cultural and religious polemic in which it is embedded.
By itself Procopius' notion of tyche is neither religious-though it af-
fects religion-nor philosophically profound. No overarching philosophy
of history can be based on it. The supremacy of fortune means that people
have limited control over the circumstances of their lives and that history
has no intrinsic moral significance. The first position in particular is not
one that we are inclined to accept today. Bury was right to contrast the
ancient fascination with tyche to modern notions of progress,'?' which,
since the days of Machiavelli and Bacon, explicitly call for the conquest of
both nature and chance.
Still, in Procopius' hands, fortune becomes a powerful weapon of cul-
tural polemic and an expression of political dissidence that is inseparable
from his overall performance of classicism. This book has argued that in its
most sophisticated forms, late antique and Byzantine classicism was not a
matter of mere words and phrases, the external veneer of an otherwise
typical Christian mentality. By the way in which he set about describing
and interpreting his changing world, Procopius declared his belief in the
continued relevance of classical modes of thought. This implied a rejection
of the cultural trends of his time, which were gradually creating a more
biblical and authoritarian culture. On one level, this stance was artistic, yet
it did have philosophical and political implications. Christians believed that
chance was only apparent, for divine providence, albeit inscrutable, really
governed all events in the world, even the cruel and the unjust. For Justin-
ian, this meant divine sanction for imperial aggression. The narrative of the
Wars, however, toys with these notions and ultimately rejects them.
Fortune also poses moral problems. To be sure, Procopius does not
 God and Tyche in the Wars 221

propose a new vision for human life. Yet he neither despairs nor exults in
the face of fortune. Virtue is not entirely powerless, as Belisarius demon-
strated in the initial phases of the Italian war. And some rulers, for example
Theoderic and Gaizeric, maintained their hold on power throughout their
long reigns. But Procopius' response to the problem of fortune should not
be sought in these exceptional and ambiguous figures. Belisarius' triumph
proved fleeting, and the reigns of the barbarian warlords were but preludes
to a series of destructive wars from which only fortune emerged victorious.
The Vandal War concentrates on the fate of the defeated mediocrity Gel-
imer, and the later books of the Gothic War revolve around the tragic career
of the noble Totila.
Unlike Machiavelli, Procopius proposes no scheme by which fortune
can be mastered. Instead, through his comments on the moral qualities of
individuals, which are numerous if laconic, firm and yet full of sympathy, he
gently educates his readers about how to behave in a world ruled by fortune.
In this way, in the Wars he upholds traditional Hellenic virtues: courage in
war, justice in politics, moderation in victory, honor and compassion in deal-
ing with others, and dignity in the face of misfortune. And let us not omit
Platonic wisdom, a hitherto neglected aspect of his thought. It is piety, to
which so much attention has been paid recently, that has little or no place in
his list. Chance may undermine ideology but does not change the ethical
requirements of political life. In the Secret History, Belisarius is ridiculed for
not doing what was expected of any honorable man. Justinian is castigated
for creating an unjust regime that robbed men of their dignity through both
complicity and victimization. As Eunapius had noted, "man is a creature
more likely to slip and fall in the face of honor than of misfortune" (fr. 57).
The historian exemplified the virtues he praised and demanded in oth-
ers. He treated Romans and barbarians impartially, condemning the former
as often as he praised the latter. He did not glorify mere success, showing
compassion for defeated kings and, especially, for the civilians who suffered
in the wars instigated by others. He condemned military aggression, though
he was not immune to the charms of military glory. He dared to argue,
writing under Justinian, that religion was not worth fighting over. He was
the only subject of the Roman empire to write an impartial and even critical
history of a reigning emperor; who publicly exposed the crimes, corruption,
and incompetence of imperial officials; who glorified the official enemies of
the state; and who risked his life to condemn the regime of Justinian and
his wife. If anything testifies to the ability of human beings to maintain
honor and dignity in a world ruled by chance and tyranny, it is the human-
ity and the histories of Procopius of Caesarea.
This page intentionally left blank
 Appendix 1. Secret History 19-30 and the
Edicts of Justinian

This appendix is not a historical commentary on the later chap-

ters of the SecretHistory, although it offers a blueprint for one, by showing
that those chapters were written in direct response to Justinian's legislation.
Not all can be paired up with extant edicts, but in most cases Procopius is
referring to specific laws that have been lost. In particular, few pragmatic
sanctions have survived, and many reforms were no doubt effected in that
way.
Not all edicts were written by Justinian himself, although of course
they were all promulgated under his name, with his approval and authority.
In some chapters Procopius discusses in detail the character of his quaestors
and prefects, but this too is directly relevant to the legal slant of the work,
because they were the magistrates who drafted Justinian's legislation, re-
ceived it, and enforced it (to the degree that it was enforced).
Unless otherwise noted, all edicts cited below were issued before the
SecretHistory was finished.

19.11, 20.9: pretexts for prosecution: heresy, pederasty, sexual relations

with nuns. For nuns, see CJ 1.3.53, 9. 13.1; Novels 123.43, 37. For sexual crimes,
Novels 77, 141 (date 559); cf. Malalas 18.18. For heretics, see esp. CJ 1.5.12 - 2 2 ;
Novels 3.1, 37, 42.3.2, 43, 45, 109, 131.14,132. Procopius also gives (once each)
polytheism, stasis, favoring the Greens, and insulting the emperor. For the
latter, see Malalas 18.22. For polytheism, see esp. CJ 1.5.18.4-5; Malalas 18.42,
18.136 (date 561).
20.1-4: the city prefect relaxed price controls and shared in the profits
(this was his initiative, not the emperor's). Novel 122 (addressed to the city
prefect) caps prices for services and goods, blaming merchants and artisans
for charging too much (perhaps a result of the plague). This may have been
Justinian's response to the actions of his prefect, but we do not know how
vigorously it was enforced. Justinian may have been concerned for the peo-
224 Appendix 1

pIe or may have wanted to placate widespread discontent (see chapter 4,

fourth section).
20.5: Justinian established and farmed out monopolies (cf. 26.19). Mo-
nopolies are the subject of CJ4.59, but no legislation by Justinian on this
topic has survived.
20.7-12: Justinian invented two new offices, the praetor of the people
and the quaesitor (cf. 11.37,16.19, 18.33). Cf. Novels 13, 14, and 80 (see chapter
4, fourth section).
20.13-15: Justinian allowed the city prefect, the prefect of the people,
and the quaesitor to prosecute all crimes regardless of jurisdiction. No edict
specifically mandating this has survived, but provision is made in edicts
dealing with the specific crimes Procopius has in mind (e.g., CJ9.13.1).
20.15-23: character and misdeeds of Justinian's quaestors.
21.1-4: aerikon tax. The edict has been lost. For the tax, see Haldon
(1994).
21.4-8: character and misdeeds of Justinian's praetorian prefects; also
22.1-35 (for the grain supply to the capital, cf. CJ10.27.2).
21.9-25: sale of offices. Cf. Novel 8 (see chapter 4, fourth section).
22.36-37: Peter Barsymes discontinues "consolation" gifts (parapsyche)
from the treasury. There would probably not have been an edict for this.
Many edicts refer to parapsyche as part of the salaries of governors: Novel
24 (end), 25 (end), 26 (preface and end). It is unclear whether it was a
specific part of the salary that could be discontinued, as Procopius implies.
Elsewhere it seems to refer to the whole salary (Novels 28.4.2 and 29.2). The
word is also used in the edicts in its usual sense, referring to consolation
for the death of a loved one.
22.38: Peter Barsymes debases the gold coinage. There would not have
been an edict for this. Bury (1923) v. 1, 427 n. 1, asserted that this was the
most dubious of the accusations, but an explanation has been found in
coins minted specifically for foreign trade: Adelson (1957) 20 ff., 127-128;
but cf. Bellinger (1966) v. 1, 72, 133.
23.1-8: no remission of arrears on taxes. Naturally, this omission was
not by edict; but cf. Novel 147, preface (date 553), where Justinian admits
that he has indeed never granted a general remission.
23.6, 23.16, 23.20: heavy taxes led farmers to desert their lands. This
problem is mentioned in identical language in the preface to Novel 80,
which also notes that they moved to the capital. John Lydus echoes Justin-
ian and the SecretHistory in On the Magistraciesof the Roman State 3.70.
23.8: Justinian's heavy taxation and refusal to grant remissions made
 Secret History 19-30 and the Edicts of Justinian 225

him more onerous to the provincials than the barbarians who attacked
them. This echoes the preface of Novel 32, which states that some of the
abuses of the officials did not cause less damage than the passage of barbar-
ians. John Lydus again echoes both Justinian and the Secret History in On
the Magistraciesof the Roman State 3.70.
23.9-10: supplementary fiscal impositions on taxpayers. Procopius
does not claim that Justinian invented them, only that he abused them.
They are discussed extensively in the edicts. Novel 8.10.2 admits that strict
enforcement of tax laws was made necessary by the wars. Procopius dis-
cusses the following taxes:

23.11-14: synone (requisitions delivered at the army's conve-

nience). These would have been burdensome due to constant warfare.
See CJ 10.27.2; Novel 130. Cf. Ravegnani (1988) 133-135.
23.15-17: epibole (taxes for abandoned lands imposed on inheri-
tors). See Novel 128.7-8 (edict on taxation), an inflexible prescription
that must have been onerous after the plague. In 535, Justinian was
using it as a punishment (Novel 17.14).
23.17-22: diagraphe (a surtax for special needs). See Novel 128.16,
128.22. Churches were made exempt with Novel 131.5.

23.22-24: billeting of troops. Procopius is here inverting Novel 130.9.

24.1-11: abuses of the military logothetai (also 18.15). Procopius implies
that Justinian instituted them, but edicts have not survived. He also spe-
cifically refers to the laws that they violated, thus maintaining the legal bias
of his argument. Those violated laws may have been issued by other emper-
ors. Nonmilitary logothetai are the subject of CJ 10.30.4. See also the similar
accusations in Agathias 5.14.2-4.
24.12-14: Justinian failed to pay the eastern limitanei and decommissi-
oned them. No edict survives, although CJ 4.65.35.1 implies that as early as
530, Justinian did not consider them to be true soldiers. Wars 2.7.37 con-
firms that they were not receiving pay. Treadgold (1995) 59-64, shows that
Agathias did not view them as active soldiers either.
24.15-23: reform and exploitation of the scholai. Procopius accuses Jus-
tinian of exploiting them during the reign of his uncle; this appears to be a
malevolent interpretation of CJ 1.31.5, issued jointly by Justin and Justinian.
Cf. also CJ 4.65.35. Later legislation on the scholai does not survive.
24.24-29: domestikoi and protiktores did not receive customary dona-
tives. This omission was certainly not by edict.
226 Appendix 1

24.30-33: pay cuts amounting to loss of pension for civil servants. John
Lydus refers to a pragmatic sanction that had the same results (On the
Magistracies of the Roman State 3.67). Cf. also CJ 12.19.13-15.
25.1-6: tolls on the Bosporus and Hellespont, and 25.7-10 at Byzan-
tium. The decrees that established these have been lost, except for a frag-
ment, which may, however, be Anastasius' (Amelotti and Zingale [1985]
115-118). They are perhaps reflected in a later chronicle independent of the
Secret History that states that Justinian established kommerkia exactly where
Procopius says he did: see Ahrweiler (1961) 241-242, 246-248; also Kulzer
(1991) 437 (I owe this last reference to Prof. A. Karpozelos).
25.11-12: reform of the currency exchange. See Adelson (1957) 107 ff.
25.13-26: imperial control over production and sale of silk. Procopius
refers to specific edicts, though these have not survived (note the lacuna at
25.19). For a reconstruction of those edicts, see Lopez (1945) 11-13, esp. 11 n.
3 and 13 n.i; for a different view, Oikonomides (1986) 33-34.
26.1-4: Justinian canceled public support for rhetors, doctors, and
teachers and confiscated civic funds (politika and theoretika) used for enter-
tainment and amenities (theaters, games, etc.; cf. 26.33). A series of edicts
reflects the gradual appropriation of the funds (Bury [1923] v. 2, 351-352).
Is Procopius giving a hostile interpretation of those measures or referring
to lost edicts? For the decline of the rhetors, see Zonaras 14.6.31-32, possibly
independent testimony. For the closure of the theater of Antioch, see Mala-
las 18.41. In Novel 105 of 537, Justinian provides for public support of the
theater. The reference to teachers may also allude to the prohibition of
pagan teachers (CJ 1.5.18.4, 1.11.10), especially at Athens (Malalas 18.47).
26.5: poverty of the physicians. Though the edicts are lost, Miller
(1997) xxiv has independently argued that Justinian legislated changes in
the way they were paid. My argument about the nature of the last section
of the Secret History and his history of the hospital in the sixth century are
mutually supportive.
26.12-15: abolition of the consulship. Cf. Novel 105, in which Justinian
claims that he tried to save the office and make it "immortal" (105.2.3);
Procopius says that no one has seen a consul for a long time, not even in
his dreams. Both are primarily concerned with the largesses associated with
the office. John Lydus also discusses the end of the consulship from a stand-
point similar to that of Procopius: On the Magistracies of the Roman State
2.8.
26.18: attacks on beggars, commoners, the poor, and the handicapped
(in the capital, presumably). For beggars, see Novel 80.4-5. For the ideologi-
 Secret History 19-30 and the Edicts of Justinian 227

cal importance of the poor in Justinian's legislation, see Patlangean (1974)

esp·7 0-75·
26.20-22: Justinian increased the price of bread. No edict survives
about this.
26.23-25: Justinian failed to repair the aqueduct of Constantinople.
This is probably a direct response to the imperial pronouncement reflected
in Malalas 18.17(cf. 18.33for Alexandria).

At this point, the focus of the text shifts gradually from the poor and the
cities to financial reforms initiated by Justinian's agents in the provinces,
which were then ratified by the emperor through edicts or pragmatic sanc-
tions. The text then lapses into a series of scandals and anecdotes centering
on Justinian. All of these stories are connected to the administration of the
empire, and in many cases they reflect directly on extant legislation.

26.26-34: reforms of the logothetes Alexander in Rome and Thermopy-

lae (in 540-541), which Justinian ratified. These activities are not mentioned
in extant edicts.
26.35-44: reforms in Alexandria by the prefect Hephaestus (in 545-
551),which Justinian ratified. These activities are not mentioned in extant
edicts. But cf. Edict 13: De urbe Alexandrinorum et aegyptiacis provinciis ( ==
Novellae, pp. 780-795), datable to the late 530S,which defined the position
that Hephaestus held.
27.3-25: scandals surrounding the appointment of the bishop of Alex-
andria. These make a mockery of Justinian's professed respect for ecclesias-
tical offices and violate specific laws, e.g., those prohibiting their sale: Novels
6.1.5, 6.1.9, 123.1-2 , 137.2 (date 565). They also show that Justinian did not
honor his own instructions to subordinates and confiscated their posses-
sions without warrant and in violation of his own laws (see below).
27.7-10 and 27.26-33: insincere conversions of Samaritans. The con-
version of the Samaritans is discussed at length in the Secret History (also
11.24-30) because Justinian legislated extensively about it, not because Pro-
copius was himself a crypto- Samaritan (pace Adshead 1996). These scandals
demonstrate that the emperor did not respect his own laws. Cf. CJ1.5.12,
1.5.17,1.5.18(esp. 1.5.18.5on Samaritans and others who dissimulate); Novels
45, 103.2, 129 (date 551).
28.1-15:Priscus the forger. Cf. Novel 9 (see chapter 4, fourth section).
28.16-18: Justinian forbade the celebration of Passover before Easter.
No edict for this survives, though it may be reflected in other sources. The
228 Appendix 1

events in Scott (1987) 217-221, are relevant but not necessarily identical to
those described by Procopius.
29.1-38,3°.17-20 (cf. 19.11,20.17): This series of scandals reveals Justini-
an's disregard for the law and his own word. The connecting thread of
these stories is his contempt for the laws of property and inheritance, which
were a major component of his legislative agenda. Procopius refers to spe-
cific laws, which have not all survived. Scott ([1985] 102-103) has shown
how these stories undermine imperial propaganda (cf. Malalas 18.23).
30.1-16: Justinian cut back on the public post and spies. John Lydus
tactfully ascribes the same reform of the post to an administrative enact-
ment of the prefect John the Cappadocian (On the Magistracies of the
Roman State 3.61). Procopius and Lydus are here not necessarily indepen-
dent of each other, as their accounts are too similar for coincidence. For
spies, see Lee (1989). No relevant edicts have survived.
 Appendix 2. The Plan of Secret
History 6-18

6 origin and crimes of Justinian (up to 527)

7 circus factions
8 character and appearance of Justinian

9.1-32 origin and character of Theodora

9.33-46 circus factions
9.47-10.23 Theodora's appearance, marriage with Justinian

11 Justinian's foreign policy, persecution of religious groups

12.1-13 Justinian and Theodora's attacks on property
12.14-32 Justinian and Theodora as demons

13-14 lifestyle and crimes of Justinian

15-17 lifestyle and crimes of Theodora
18 destruction of the world by war, natural disasters; demonology
This page intentionally left blank
 Abbreviations

BZ Byzantinische Zeitschrift
CAG Commentaria in Aristotelem Graeca. Berlin: G. Reimer.
CFHB Corpus Fontium Historiae Byzantinae
CHI Cambridge History of Iran. v. 3.1-2: The Seleucid, Parthian,
and Sasanian Periods. Ed. E. Yarshater. Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press. 1983.
C! Codex Iustinianus
DOP Dumbarton Oaks Papers
LCL Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, Mass., and London:
Harvard University Press
LS! H. G. Liddell and R. Scott, eds., A Greek-English Lexicon.
Rev. H. S. Jones. Oxford: Clarendon Press. 1968.
ODB The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium. ed. A. P. Kazhdan et
al. 3 vols. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press.
1991.
PLRE 2 and 3 J. R. Martindale, The Prosopography of the Later Roman
Empire. v. 2: 395-526. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press. 1980; v. 3: 527-64 1. 1992 .
TTH Translated Texts for Historians. Liverpool: Liverpool Uni-
versity Press
This page intentionally left blank
 Notes

Introduction

1. Honore (1978) 16.

2. Gibbon, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, c. 40, 561, and 565.
Seneca adulated Claudius in his letter To Polybiuson Consolationand then ridiculed
him in the Apocolocyntosisbut wrote no history. He seems to have thought that
historians are liars anyway (Natural Inquiries 4.3, 7.16).
3. Rudich (1993).
4. Wars 1.24.12, 7.31.9,for eleutherios;5.3.5-9 for theology, with SecretHistory
18.29;ibid. 26.1-11for decline of classical culture, and passim for persecutions.
5. Wars 6.15.8.
6. Wars 8.1.1;cf. Mi. Whitby (1992).
7. Gibbon, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, c. 43,731 n. 1.
8. Wars 1.1.4;for examples and an exception, see Kaldellis (1997).
9. Hornblower (1994) 131-134.
10. See Carroll (1990) and Lamarque and Olsen (1994) c. 8-9, and 301-310for
rigorous, lucid, and sane arguments.
11. These were discovered by Cornford (1907). A historicist, Cornford viewed
them as influences exerted on Thucydides' unconscious by pre-scientific elements
of Greek civilization rather than fully conscious adaptations by the historian him-
self.
12. Miles (1995) for Livy; Syme (1958)for Tacitus.
13. E.g., Hartog (1988); Arieti (1995); cf. Romm (1998) 6-8, an introductory
study. For Herodotus as fabricator, Fehling (1989), which elicited many responses,
esp. Pritchett (1993) c. 2. Pritchett's attack on Fehling is devastating, but that on
Hartog in c. 4 is unfair and largely irrelevant. Hartog's point is hardly that Herodo-
tus "produced a fancy narrative which has no relation to the facts" (207).
14. Wars 1.4.17;see chapter 2, fourth section.
15. Aristotle, Poetics 9 (1451a39-b8);for a parallel defense of Herodotus, see
Arieti (1995)3.
16. Lamarque and Olsen (1994) 134:"Interpretation is a process of redescrip-
tion, generalizing across elements in a work until the maximum number of ele-
ments have been subsumed under a higher-order description which articulates the
theme of the work." Cf. Nussbaum (1986) 69.
17. Griswold (1996) 9- 16, 225.
18. E.g., Saxonhouse (1983) 142-145; Nussbaum (1986) 228-233; Strauss
(1989) 99·
234 Notes to Pages 8-18

19. Lamarque and Olsen (1994) 123;from the perspective of history: 241,308-
310. Auerbach (1953) 50 ff. made famous a passage in Ammianus Marcellinus by
showing how he used language and style to create a view of his age in a manner
that did not differ from works of literature. For insights into the literary aspect of
ancient historiography, coupled, unfortunately, with postmodernist notions about
the equivalence of knowledge and belief-which are never applied to the author's
own views-see Veyne (1988).
20. Cf. Hobbes' note "To the Readers," 8, prefacing his translation of Thu-
cydides.
21. Benardete (1969) 19: "We must always keep in mind two things in reading
Herodotus: what does each story or episode mean in itself and in its context, and
how does its meaning fit in with what Herodotus himself does or says."
22. Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols, "What lOwe to the Ancients" 2; cf.
Strauss (1989) 75-76, and 89: "The first speech recorded in his work begins with the
word justice; the immediately following contradictory speech begins with the word
necessity."
23. See esp. Connor (1984).
24. Crossan (1995) 111-112.
25. Plass (1988) 88. Scholars dealing with texts that more obviously inhabit
the gray area between fact and fiction confront this problem acutely. See Hansen,
introduction to Phlegon's Book of Marvels, 10: "a moment that in fact may never
have happened ... ideally captures something characteristic about the protagonist."
26. Cf. Plato, Republic 346e (note the omission) with Hesiod, Works and Days
106 ff. See Craig (1994) 362-363; Palmer (1995) 148 n. 16. For Plato and democracy,
see also chapter 3, first section.
27. Ljubarskij (1993) and Ljubarskij et aL (1998), bravely tackling an incoher-
ent range of new approaches.
28. Frendo (2001).
29. Hobbes, "To the Readers," 7.
30. Hobbes, "Of the Life and History of Thucydides," 18.

Chapter 1. Classicism and Its Discontents

1. Lucian, How History Should Be Written 15 for Crepereius; 2, 18-19, 25-26

for other imitators; and 53-54 for advice. For Crepereius, see C. Jones (1986) 161-
166; for the history of formulaic introductions, see Marincola (1997) 271-275;for its
practical functions, see Earl (1972) 842-846, 855-856.
2. Croke (1990a) 17-25, and (2001). In general, see Croke (1990b) and Karpo-
zelos (1997) 528-533. For the possibility that Procopius knew the work of Malalas
and, in at least one instance, corrected it, see Goffart (1980) 66 n. 17.Malalas seems
to have reflected imperial propaganda: see Scott (1985),who also discusses his rela-
tionship to Procopius.
3. Eusebius, EcclesiasticalHistory, Book 5, preface; for his influence, see, e.g.,
Victor of Vita, History of the Vandal Persecution,prologue 1-2 (cf. 3.61,where Euse-
 Notes to Pages 18-20 235

bius is cited). For Procopius' possible knowledge of Eusebius, see Av. Cameron
(1985) 116,though one may perhaps assume it.
4. Socrates, Book 5, preface (a position that alludes to and corrects the pro-
grammatic statement of Eusebius); in general, see Croke and Emmett (1983) 6-7.
Note the authors cited by Sozomen (1.1),Zachariah (1.1,2.1), and Evagrius (preface,
and 5.24) as their predecessors.
5. There has been no study since Lieberich (1898, 1900). An update is sorely
needed.
6. The imbalance is increased decisively later on (Vandal War 3.1.1);cf. Agath-
ias 1.6.4.
7· Hornblower (1991) 5·
8. Herodotus 1.1;cf. Agathias, preface 1, 10.
9. See Agathias, preface 5, for a more moralizing view of euboulia.
10. E.g., Wars 1.17.2-25,3.11.4,5.15.4,5.19.4,7.8.16-17, 7.27.17-20, 8.1.10,8.2.13,
8.20.22; Buildings 1.8.3,3.5.5. These passages merit independent study. Cf. Thucyd-
ides 3.82-84.
11. Polybius 1.1.1-2,1.35,1.57.3,2.35.4-10, 5.75.2-6, 9.12.1ff., 11.8.1-2,and pas-
sim. For the utility of history in general, see Avenarius (1956) 22-26, who does not,
however, recognize Thucydides' intellectual objectives; for those, see Romilly
(1956a). The practical use of history was advertised in Diodorus' preface (1.1),which
Procopius relied on when writing the preface to the Buildings: Lieberich (1898-
1900) v. 2, 3-6. But Diodorus is less focused on war than either Procopius or Poly-
bius (for the possibility that he too used Polybius: see Sacks [1990] 10-11).Paschoud
(1974) 306, urges caution: Procopius never mentions Polybius by name. But he
never mentions Thucydides either, cites Herodotus only in Book 8, and rarely
names the authors he read and used.
12. For these qualifications, see Avenarius (1956) 35-40; Marincola (1997)
63-86.
13. Cf. SecretHistory 1.4. For this distinction, see the sources cited by Avena-
rius (1956) 13-22; for truth as the goal of history, 40-46. Procopius mercifully does
not expound upon these tired themes, although there was room for reasonable
dissent from the consensus: see Kaldellis (1997).
14. Polybius 1.14.4-8, where praise and blame are balanced, also 2.61,9.9.9-10,
10.21.4,23.14.12(in general, see Eckstein [1995]); and Agathias, preface 1-5, 16-20.
Lucian seems to have thought that objectivity consists primarily in blame but
grudgingly allowed the inclusion of true praise (How History Should Be Written 9,
38-39); for this theme in general, see Avenarius (1956)157-163and Marincola (1997)
158-174,who does not, unfortunately, distinguish between the different functions
of praise and blame.
15. Haury (1934) 12.
16. See Agathias, preface 18-20, for the difference between writing about the
dead and the living (cf. SecretHistory 1.2. In general, see Avenarius [1956] 46-49);
and Agathias 5.13.5-15.6for criticism of Justinian (discussed by Tinnefeld [1971]
37-4 2).
17. Marincola (1997) 34-43; for the querelle des anciens et des modernes in
Greek literature, including historiography, see Edelstein (1967) esp. 30-40.
236 Notes to Pages 20-27

18. Thucydides 1.1-23;Polybius 1.1-4 (discussed by Walbank [1972]67-68).

19. Reflected in the tripartite division of the Wars (8.1.1;cf. Buildings 6.1); cf.
Plutarch, Pompey 45.5; Theophylact 2.14.7; and Cosmas Indicopleustes, Christian
Topography2.28.
20. John Lydus, On the Magistraciesof the Roman State 3.28.
21. Buildings 1.1.6-8, 1.1.16,6.1.5,6.7.17.
22. SecretHistory 6.19, also 8.29, 13.2,18.1-45, listing calamities. Agathias used
those very disasters as proof of the importance of his Histories (preface 10, sensibly
without trying to rival Thucydides or other previous historians).
23. For official propaganda in edicts and other writers, as well as the silence
of Procopius' preface, see Cesa (1981)395-397. Cesa concludes rightly that Procop-
ius was opposed to the wars as such, not only to the means by which they were
carried out. Av. Cameron prefers the old means-ends distinction but nowhere con-
fronts Cesa's strong arguments. For Procopius' alleged "total support of Byzantine
imperialism," see Cameron (1985)7, 64, 140, 143,173n. 15,181n. 82, 186, 248; (1982)
32; and (1989) 174-175and notes. Her position restates that of B. Rubin (1960,1995)
v. 1, 218.
24. See Thornton (1997) 28, for Greek views of archery.
25. Buildings 1.2.5-12; see Downey (1940) for this statue. The Renaissance
sketch has been ascribed to a lost gold medallion of Theodosius I: see Lehmann
(1959) and the debate with Mango (351-358).
26. Iliad 11.369-400. For the difference between the opinions expressed by the
heroes and the views of the poet, see Edwards (1987) 96,318. Procopius knew that
the words of a character do not necessarily reflect an author's beliefs. For the Iliad
in Greek education, see Hock (2001).
27. For Paris, see Iliad 3.15-75, 6.321-324,11.369-400 (Procopius cites this pas-
sage twice), 11.540ff. (successful exploits that Procopius does not mention).
28. Warry (1995) 16-17. The relative inferiority of archers is admitted by Pan-
darus, a bowman (Iliad 5.166-216).
29. Apollo: Iliad 1.15,1.21,1.37,1.42-53; Artemis: 5.53,9.538;Philoctetes: 2.716-
720; Pandarus: 2.826-8 27, 4.99- 152, 5.95-113;Teucer: 8.266-334, 12.387-403, 15.440-
483 (also an able hand-to-hand warrior: 13.313-314,13.17°-187,14.514-515).Odysseus
could also use the bow (10.260), a theme that of course acquires significance in the
Odyssey.
30. Contingents and widespread use of bows: Iliad 2.848-849, 3.79-80, 13.713-
722; archers kill or maim enemies or turn battle: 8.266-334, 11.540-520, 580-584,
658-663, 825, 12.387-403, 13.650-655, 660-67 2, 713-722, 15.312-3 19, 440-483,
16.23-27;heroes saved from arrows or healed by the gods: 4.127ff., 5.95-113,12.400-
403, 15.458-465, 16.508-531; even the gods could be wounded by mortal arrows:
5.392-404; cf. Bulanda (1913) 67-70.
31. Scott (1981a)73; and H. Lieberich (1898, 1900) v. 2, 2. Even scholars who
take the comparison at face value criticize its inaccuracies: E. Gray (1973)24, 37.
32. Ahl (1984); Kaldellis (1999b) c. 20.
33. Lucian, How History Should Be Written 62; cf. Strabo 17.1.6.
34. Lucian, How History Should Be Written 15; see Braun (1886) 191-195
(plague), 207-211 (sieges of Amida, Edessa, and Rome, modeled on Plataea). Braun
 Notes to Pages 27-3 2 237

entertained the possibility of factual distortion; cf. Bruckner (1896) 7-16 (a very
prejudiced work).
35. Haury (1896) 3- 10;Moravcsik (1966) 375-376; Hunger (1969-1970) 27. The
account of the plague was accepted by Soyter (1951) 541-542; Durliat (1989) 116;
Evans (1996) 161;and Meier (1999). In general, Veh (1950-1953) v. 1, 16; Hunger
(1978) v. 1, 297; Av. Cameron (1985) 38-42. Other classicizing historians have also
found defenders: see, e.g., Blockley (1972)who notes a case of possible carelessness
in Procopius arising from imitation (26-27); Blockley (1981,1983) v. 1, 54-55 for
Priscus. Roques (2000b) repeats the accusation but does not advance beyond the
arguments of the nineteenth -century view.
36. Wars 1.7.22(a heavily ironic statement in context); Agathias 5.9.30.
37. AI. and Av. Cameron (1964), esp. 320; also Av. Cameron (1965), (1966)
470-471, and (1970) c. 8, entitled "Classicism and Affectation" (also Appendices J
and K: "Objective phrases" in Procopius and Theophylact). This view of circumlo-
cutions was first proposed by Krumbacher (1887) 234.
38. E.g., Scott (1981a) 62: the works quoted above "suffice for most of the
major questions."
39. Evans (1971) 84, (1972) 113;for classicism as "high" literature, Soyter (1939)

40. E.g., Millar (1964) 40-42; Evans (1972) 40; Howard-Johnston (2000) 24;
Blockley, introduction to his edition of Menander the Protector, 6-9.
41. Ma. and Mi. Whitby, introduction to their translation of Theophylact's
History, xxvii. This negative view will be discussed below.
42. Av. Cameron (1985) 34-37, also 43 "hardly possible to separate the form
from the content."
43. Av. Cameron (1985)3, also xi, and esp. c. 7.
44. Av. Cameron (1985)113.
45. Av. Cameron (1985)32 and 39.
46. Av. Cameron (1985) 37-39, quotations from 38 and 45. The problems
caused for Cameron's analysis by this contradiction will be discussed below.
47. Thucydides 2.86-90; cf. Romilly (1956b) 138-150;also c. 3 for general prin-
ciples of composition.
48. Cf. Thucydides 2.86.6 and 2.88.1 with Wars 4.11.22 and 4.11.37(Braun
[1886] 182); for Solomon's career, PIRE 3, 1167-1177.The battle is also similar to
that between the Persians and the Lydians in Herodotus 1.80.
49. Thucydides 2.89.9 (Braun [1886] 190).
50. Romilly (1956b) 139,144-145,149-150.
51. B. Liddell Hart, cited as "perhaps the greatest strategist of this century" in
Saul (1992) 189.
52. Av. Cameron (1985)177.B. Rubin (1954)147,perceived that they had value
apart from their rhetoric but avoided fundamental issues of interpretation.
53. E.g., Wars 5.27.4-11, and cf. 5.29.13-15with 5.29.50; see Romilly (1956b)
123-138; and Connor (1984) 233-235.
54. Cf. Thucydides 1.143.5,2.22.1, 2.62.3. For the reign, see Wolfram (1988)
342-349. His speeches in Procopius are neatly summarized by Agathias 1.6.4-6.
55. Wars 6.22.9- 13,6.24, 6.26.2-17, 6.28.27. The concept of military "prepara-
238 Notes to Pages32-40

tion" (paraskeue), which Procopius uses in the Wars, was Thucydidean: Allison
(1989).
56. Connor (1984) 110-112,158,219-22 1.
57. Plass (1988) 6.
58. Adshead (1990) 93- 104, quotation from 99; also Adshead (1983)and Cresci
(1986- 1987) 237-239.
59. Cf. Wars 7.1.1-24 with Thucydides 2.65; see Cresci (1986). See also chapter
5, fourth section.
60. Scott (1981a)73-74; Evans (1971) 85-86.
61. Pazdernik (2000) 150-171,and esp. 181-182on the calculated use of classi-
cal paradigms.
62. Hunger (1978) v. 2,7; and (1969-1970) esp. 29-30.
63. See Mango (1980) c. 13;Agapitos (2002) 200-214.
64. Christidis (1996), esp. 66-69; also Cresci (1986-1987). For examples from
Agathias and other late authors, see Kaldellis (1999a), (2003b); Bowie (1995); in
letters, Van Dam (2002) 81 ff.; Mullett (1981) esp. 92-93; in an oration, R. Jenkins
(1966); also Sevcenko (1954) esp. 51-52. Countless references can be provided.
65. See Finkelpearl (2001) and other essays in the volume of which this essay
is a part.
66. Kaldellis (1999a) 226-232, 240.
67. Isocrates, Panathenaicus 246; cf. 1-2. See Too (1995) 68-73, 125-127, and
132-138for one example of what Isocrates might have meant.
68. Wars 1.24.32-37; Evans (1984). The parallels were already noted by Bald-
win (1982). For Theodora, see chapter 4, sections 2-3.
69. Greatrex (2003), and pers. comm., suggests that "the double edge is far
from obvious" and cites Isocrates, who uses the original saying favorably (Archida-
mus 45). But double edges are not obvious-that's the point. Also, it is difficult to
accept that the citation in Procopius is neutral, given the bad conscience involved
in the deliberate substitution of "kingship" for "tyranny." The parallel of Isocrates
proves just this: given his context and audience, Isocrates felt he could use the
saying in the original, but Procopius did not. Why not? We must then wonder why
he used it at alL Diodorus' account (14.8.5) can help us answer these questions;
Isocrates' speech cannot.
70. Colish (1994) 191-192; e.g., Renehan (1976) esp. 97: "an examination of
the original context of the borrowed material will reveal a value-judgment of Sallust
himself."
71. E.g., Baldwin (1992a), for an excellent discussion of a detaiL
72. Gibbon, The Declineand Fall of the Roman Empire, c. 53, 420.
73. R. Jenkins (1963).
74. Browning (1977) 1.
75. D. Afinogenov in Ljubarskij et al. (1998) 23.
76. The pitch for postmodernism has been made by Mullett (1990), though
she really summarizes a range of mostly positive developments. Byzantine studies
are too driven by positivist assumptions to take postmodernism seriously.
77. Mango (1975) esp. 4-8, 17-18.
78. Mango (1981).
 Notes to Pages 40-47 239

79. E.g., Harris (2000), whose argument is not, however, invalidated by the
"classical facade" theory (24).
80. Av. Cameron (1985) 7-8, also 36-37, 234-235, in fact passim: 17, 20, 25,
27-29, 31, 130-131, 150,248; also (1970) vii, 30, 134-135.
81. Av. Cameron (1985)130.
82. Kaegi (1965) esp. 37.
83. Av. Cameron (1985)130and 31 respectively (quoting G. Downey).
84. Av. Cameron (1978) esp. 80, 89. When searching for prior attestations of
the cult, she cites ... Procopius! (87)
85. Av. Cameron (1985) 27-28.
86. Av. Cameron (1982) 50; elsewhere, in (1991) 197-198, the same scholar
even accuses Procopius of not mentioning the Council of 553,which occurred after
the period covered by his narrative! She lamely suggests that it "took place as he
was completing" his history ("the real issues ... they were now what counted." But
for whom?). Scott (1981a)68, criticizes Agathias for not discussing that same Coun-
cil, in his opinion the most important event of the period discussed by Agathias
(more than the abolition of the Gothic kingdom? the war with Persia? Justinian's
attack on philosophy?). The Council of 553 was an ineffectual gesture. Scholars
who think that Procopius distorts history should look more closely at the religious
chronicles that have become fashionable: e.g., Croke (2001) 132.
87. Cf. Tacitus, Annals 13.49.
88. Cf. C. Jenkins (1947). Soyter (1939) 102, says that we should be thankful
to Procopius for the information he preserves. Some scholars now prefer Malalas:
e.g., Croke (1990b) 38.
89. Beck (1984).
90. Matthews (1989) x; also 20, 228.
91. E.g., Av. Cameron (1985)x-xi, 17,19, and c. 2.
92. For a weaker version of this argument, see Av. Cameron (1985) 11-12.For
the latest round of arguments regarding dates, see Greatrex (1994), (1995b), (2003);
Evans (1996).
93. Fatouros (198o) 517.Attempts to connect him to circles in Gaza and dis-
cover his ancestry (most recently by Greatrex [1996aJ) remain entirely conjectural,
and, in any case, prove little.
94. For his travels, see Av. Cameron (1985)13-15.
95. Hegel, Lectureson the Philosophyof World History, 154.
96. B. Rubin (1954)28-31; (1960, 1995)v. 1, esp. 200-202, and 197-244 passim,
for the "Opposition." Also Irmscher (1976) 137-138;Tinnefeld (1971)c. 1; and Evans
(1972) 95, for Procopius the class-conscious senator (though he is called a bureau-
crat on 147n. 44).
97. So too Greatrex (2000) 223-228 (esp. 227 n. 53: "Procopius' criticisms ...
seem more individual than conventional").
98. Av. Cameron (1985)7, 23, 64, 144-145,245·
99. For a concise justification of ancient political conservatism and its philo-
sophical roots, see Behnegar (1995) 260. Cf. Plato, Republic 422a.
100. For Kaiserkritik, see B. Rubin (1960, 1995)v. 1, 234-244; Tinnefeld (1971)
240 Notes to Pages 47-53

c. 1, which spawned a large secondary literature. Contra: Greatrex (2000) 220-222.

For genre, see also chapter 4, third section.
101. Fornara (1983) 142.
102. For this speech, see chapter 1, second section; chapter 4, first and second
sections.
103. Greatrex (2000) 216-220.
104. Av. Cameron (1985)3, 46, 134,reads the Buildings and the SecretHistory
independently of the Wars. Yet she admits elsewhere that "at every point the Secret
History proclaims its relation to the Wars" (16,50,54). Therefore, her argument is
backward in principle; yet its purpose is to show Procopius as a "less classical"
author, the a priori goal of her book (x-xi, 56).
105. The phrase is repeated, with variation, at SecretHistory 13.33;cf. 6.21,11.2,
21.24, 26.11for innovation. For the passages cited above, see Teuffel (1871)213n. 1
and Braun (1886) 179,219-220.
106. For classical tyranny, see McGlew (1993) 24-34; for various meanings of
tyranny in antiquity, see Courcelle (198o) 202-208.
107. E.g., Wars 3.3.5-13:the usurper John, contrasted favorably to Valentini an
III, who destroyed him as well as the empire; 5.1.26-31:Theoderic, about whom we
will have more to say later.
108. Lieberich (1898, 1900) v. 2, 3-6; this has led to a search for Hellenistic
antecedents: Puhlhorn (1977)382.
109. Ma. Whitby (2000) esp. 46.
110. E.g., Eusebius, Tricennial Oration in Praise of Constantine 9; see Ma.
Whitby (2000).
111.Teuffel (1871) 208-209; Haury (1890-1891) 31-34; Bury (1923) v. 2, 428;
Gantar (1962a) 10, (1962b); Downey (1947) 171; Evans (1968) 137, (1971) 87; Beck
(1986) 22.
112. Angold (1996) 24. For conspiracies, see chapter 4, fifth section.
113. Downey (1953)suggested that Book 1was "a literary show-piece designed
to be presented orally before the Emperor and the Court" but that the text as a
whole shows signs of incompleteness (1947); contra: Mi. Whitby (1988) 73.
114. For the context, see Crow (1995) 121,who notes that there is no evidence
for the restorations of the walls that the panegyrist attributes to Justinian.
115. See Cherf (1992) and Gregory (2000) for Thermopylae. For parallels, see
Haury (1890-1891) 31-34, to which more can be added: cf. Secret History 21.9-25
with Buildings 1.1.25-26 (choice of officials); 13.28-33with 1.7.6-10 (Justinian's fast-
ing and insomnia); 17.5 with 1.9.2-10 (treatment of prostitutes); 10.11with 1.11.8
(Theodora's appearance). For Alexander, PIRE 3, 43-44: Alexander 5. The guards
of Thermopylae fought bravely against the "Huns" in 540, though the enemy out-
flanked them (Wars 2.4.10). The garrison installed by Alexander proved its worth
in 559 (Agathias 5.23.6).
116. Toland, "Clidophorus, or of the Exoteric and Esoteric Philosophy," in
Tetradymus, 95-96.
117. Centaurs: Evans (1971)91, (1972) 126-127;Agathias: Kaldellis (1999a) 232,
245- 248.
118. Iullien (2000) 62 on ancient Chinese writing.
 Notes to Pages53-57 241

119. Star: Gantar (1962a) citing texts on this star's baneful influence; the allu-
sion is accepted by MacCormack (1981)307-308 n. 304. Krumbacher (1887)233also
suspected that the Buildings was ironic in a way that allowed readers to uncover the
truth for themselves. For other possible instances of subversion, see Rousseau
(1998). Though sympathetic to Rousseau's aims, I am not convinced by his argu-
ment here. For Homer in classical education, see Hock (2001), esp. 69 for sleeping
Diogenes. For drunken recognition of Euripides, see Plutarch, Alexander 51.5-6,
and 53.2-5 for another occasion. Cf. Psellos, Chronographia6.61.
120. Plutarch, Themistocles1.1-2, 2.3; cf. Cimon 9.1. The opposite is implied in
Plato, Republic 32ge-330a. Pace Mi. Whitby (2000) 66, Procopius was not referring
to Thucydides, who mentions neither Neocles nor the boast.
121. SecretHistory 6.1-3, 6.11-17;for Justin's illiteracy, see Vasiliev (1950) 82-
84, who rejects the tradition. Baldwin (1989) accepts it, with the provision that it
may refer to "lack of formal education."
122. Justiniana: Grabar (1948).
123. See chapter 4, first section; cf. Plutarch, Themistocles27-31.
124. Cf. Wars 2.2.15.
125. See Croke and Crow (1983) for various misrepresentations (not limited
to Daras), and 147, 157-158for discrepancies with the Wars (contra: Mi. Whitby
[1986], who argues for exaggeration rather than fabrication); for other distortions,
more often than not deliberate, see Downey (1939),who first saw Procopius' physi-
cal descriptions as panegyrical; Av. Cameron (1985) 100, 106-108, (1989) 176;Ads-
head (1990) 108-109; E. K. Fowden (1999) 93-94; Gregory (2000). For general notes
on this work, see Puhlhorn (1977). For useful summaries of Justinian's building
program, see Maffei (1988) and Evans (1996) 215-225.
126. Av. Cameron (1985)101;cf. Roques (2000a) 37.
127. For Xenophon in the Buildings, see Gantar (1962b).
128. "Sincerity," etc., in Av. Cameron (1985) 11,31, 57, 84 (thrice in a para-
graph), 88, 242; "truth," "true," "real": xii, 31 n. 83, 25, 34, 45, 150, 151.Apparently
the concept of "greed" is also off limits, being too classical for the sixth century (7;
yet it was used by the ecclesiastical historian Evagrius: 4.30, 5.1). Cameron some-
times uses this device reflexively: what, for example, is wrong with calling ethno-
graphic digressions "classical" (34)? On the other hand, she has no problem calling
the Three Chapters one of "the real issues of the day" (27), calls the views that she
ascribes to Procopius his real views and real opinions in (1966) 481 (but note the
title), and questions the sincerity of the panegyrist Corippus in (1983) 176.
129. Av. Cameron (1986) 54.
130. Augustine, Confessions6.6.9.
131.Av. Cameron (1985)11.Nor is it really helpful to say, so long as we actually
want to understand our authors, that the question of sincerity is "not particularly
helpful," as does Mi. Whitby (2000) 59. Both scholars want the text to be sincere
but cannot get around the SecretHistory.
132. Kaldellis (1999b) 136-137n. 285, and below.
133. Herodotus 3.80.5 (Otanes notes that they also find flattery repulsive);
Xenophon, Hiero 1.14-15,7.5-9; Plato, Republic 575e; Maximus of Tyre, Or. 14.7-8.
134. Strauss (1991) 30.
242 Notes to Pages 57-64

135. Agapetus 12,22, 31, 32, 56.

136. John Lydus, On the Magistraciesof the Roman State 3.76; for the emper-
or's requests, 3.28.
137. Av. Cameron (1985) 103 n. 144, also 35 (citations to both Aristophanes
and the SecretHistory here are mistaken), 87 n. 21,245 n. 27.
138. Av. Cameron (1985) 106-108 (and n. 182).
139. Av. Cameron (1985)88-89. But note that if "there is no reason to believe
that he could not have accepted the standard view of God and emperor," the Build-
ings also offers no persuasive evidence that he did.
140. Av. Cameron (1985) 245-246.
141. Av. Cameron (1985)247,252 n. 76, 260.
142. Aristophanes, Clouds 225-228; cf. Plato, Apology 19C.For Aristophanes in
the SecretHistory, see also chapter 4, third section.
143. Note the unnecessary comparison to Semiramis in Buildings 1.1.53(cf.
SecretHistory 1.9).
144. Honore (1978) 64-67, does not deem it impossible. Tribonian may have
been alluding to Cicero's ambiguous quip about Octavian: "laudandum adulescen-
tern, ornandum, tollendum" (Letters to His Friends 11.20.1,"lifted up," i.e., "done
away with." See also Cicero's On Friendship 99). For more possible sarcasm on the
quaestor's part, see Honore (1975) 117.For Tribonian and philosophy, see chapter
3, fourth section.
145. Ahl (1984) 198-199.
146. Respectively, Rousseau (1996) 19 and Moorhead (1994) 87. For this pas-
sage of the Buildings, see also chapter 4, second section. Cf. the periegete Pausanias
8.2.5 (Arcadia): "For now that evil has attained such magnitude and has covered
the entire earth and all the cities, no longer does any human being become a god,
except in the speeches and flattery given to those in power."
147. For Mermeroes, see PLRE 3, 884-885; for Goubazes, see 559-560.
148. Seneca, Letter to Lucilius 79.6; for his views on authorship, see Finkelpearl
(2001) 83 ff.
149. Powell (1991) 167.
150. Choerilus of Samos fr. 1.

Chapter 2. Tales Not Unworthy of Trust: Anecdotes and the Persian War

1. Agathias, preface 4-5; see Kaldellis (1999a) esp. 207- 211, and (1997).
2. Plutarch, Theseus 1.1-5.
3. Drake (2000) 163.
4. Mango (1980) 243; for an incredulous survey, see Bruckner (1896) 19-24.
5. Av. Cameron (1985) 153-156.
6. Scott (1981a)73.
7. Greatrex (1998) 74. The either/or contrast employed here rests on positivist
assumptions about "historical accuracy" that impel British scholarship especially.
Goffart (1980) 58-70 recognized that the introduction of each War is different in
 Notes to Pages 64-7 1 243

nature and intention from the rest of its narrative and should be treated differently.
Yet the examples that he gives of distorted material are not entirely convincing (65),
and his solutions are vague and not always helpful (classifying the introductions
with the ethnographic digressions or treating them as political propaganda).
8. The ecclesiastical historians of the mid-fifth century also realized that the
dynasty was weak: Sozomen 9.6; Theodoret 5.36.
9. Both sides cited and discussed by Av. Cameron (1969-1970) 149; Holum
(1982a) 83 favors the story; Blockley (1992) 51-52 doubts the details, but sees fire
behind the smoke.
10. Bury (1923)v. 2, 1-3; Blockley (1992) 53-55.
11. Av. Cameron (1985)153.
12. John Lydus, On the Magistraciesof the Roman State 2.11,3.41, noted this
transition and ascribed it to a law by Theodosius I. The policy inaugurated by
Arcadius was immediately criticized by Synesius, On Kingship 13 (cf. 3.3b-c); for its
repercussions, see Kaegi (1981)20-24; McCormick (1986) 47.
13. Holum (1982a) 50-51, 79 (quotation), and 90-95 for the regime of Theo-
dosius II. Cf. Machiavelli, FlorentineHistories 1.1.
14. Wars 1.2.6; confirmed by Synesius, On Kingship, esp. 13-15;Philostorgius
11.3;Zosimus 5.12.1.
15. For the influential logioi of Arcadius' reign, see AI. Cameron and Long
(1993) 72 ff.
16. Cf. Mi. Whitby (1994), who discusses kings after Chosroes who preferred
not to campaign, perhaps in imitation of their Roman counterparts: 256-257.
17. Isdigerdes was praised by Christian authors for his toleration and reviled
in Persian sources (see Av. Cameron [1969-1970] 150,for texts and studies).
18. Av. Cameron (1969-1970) 151-152,citing previous scholarship; and PIRE
2, 84-86: Flavius Anatolius 10.
19. Holum (1977) esp. 169, and (1982a) 101,argues for (an) Anatolius in 420-
422; contra: Synelli (1986) 59-61, 67-69. Blockley accepts Anatolius, but still thinks
that Procopius has conflated the wars: (1992) 57, 61, and 200 n. 31,201 n. 39.
20. PIRE 2, 920: Procopius 2.
21. For Perozes' campaigns, see Drouin (1895)232-238; Ghirshman (1948) 87-
92. Briefer treatments by Christensen (1944) 289-294; and R. N. Frye in CHI, 147-
148. Procopius' account tallies on the whole with the eastern sources.
22. Otherwise unknown: PIRE 2, 431:Eusebius 19.
23. Cf. 2 Samuel 12.1-15.For this fable, see Dijk (1994).
24. The stratagem of the Ephthalites during Perozes' second invasion is suspi-
ciously similar to that used by the Phocaeans against the Thessalian cavalry in He-
rodotus 8.28. But eastern sources support Procopius: Haury (1896) 6-7; Moravcsik
(1966) 375-376; Hunger (1969-1970) 27. It is also reported in Agathias 4.27.4; and
Maurice, Strategikon 4.3.1-20.
25. See the curious archaeological discoveries of Ghirshman (1948) 4-6; for
such customs, see Matthews (1989) 61-62.
26. Hartog (1988) 256; for the effect on readers, see Arieti (1995) 140. For
burying alive among the Persians, see Herodotus 7.114 (though not a funeral
custom).
244 Notes to Pages71-73

27. For cities as "the barrier between 'Roman' and 'non-Roman,' between the
'civilized' and the 'barbarian,' " see Matthews (1989) 392-397, from the point of
view of defense. Cf. Peter the Patrician fr. 9.2.
28. LS!, s.v. YOQy6~, rOQYW;SecretHistory 16.1.It can probably be identified
with Gurgan (classical Hyrcania), near the Caspian Sea, which seems to have been
on the border of Ephthalite territory (A. D. H. Bivar in CHI, 214). The fifth-century
historian Priscus of Panium (fr. 41.3) records that the Roman ambassador Con-
stantius (actually Constantine) met Perozes in 464-465 at "Gorga" on the border
between Persia and the Kidarite Huns, i.e., in this instance, the Ephthalites. Procop-
ius either had faulty information or changed the name to suit his characterization.
Their main city was probably Balkh (Hellenistic Bactra), possibly the "Balaam"
mentioned later by Priscus (fr. 51.1;cf. Hannestad [1955-1957]435). A Turkish envoy
to Constantinople in 568-569 claimed that the Ephthalites lived in cities rather than
villages (Menander the Protector fr. 10.1).
29. Cf. Menander the Protector fr. 15.3for the notion of Scythian invincibility.
Note that Perozes is the third Persian king in Procopius' account.
30. Moravcsik (1958)v. 2, 279; for this and other names, see King (1987)83-85.
31. Ghirshman (1948) 127-128; Chinese sources consistently depict them as
nomadic: Miyakawa and Kollautz (1989) 92-99.
32. Iullien (2000) 62.
33. Giiterbock (1906) esp. 4 ff.; in diplomatic exchanges: Chrysos (1976) and
(1978) 35-36.
34. E.g., Wars 1.16.1,2.10.13-14;Peter the Patrician fr. 13; Theophylact 4.11.2
(in a letter of Chosroes II to Maurice); and Mi. Whitby (1994) 245 and n. 54. For
other expressions, see G. Fowden (1993) 18n. 21.
35. See the excellent survey by N. Garsoian in CHI, 568-592; for interactions
across the frontier, see Lee (1993) 49-66.
36. See Alfoldi (1970) 9-25; and Hartog (1988) 322-339, for the portrayal that
proved decisive, even if its empathy was rarely emulated. The view of Achaemenid
Persia as a servile tyranny was promoted by many classical writers (e.g., Hippocra-
tes, On Airs, Waters,and Places16, 23; Isocrates, Or. 4.150-152;Aristotle, Politics3.14,
5.11,7.7; for the tragedians, see Hall [1989] 190-200), even those who idealized its
founder (Xenophon, Cyropaedta8.8, Agesilaus,passim; Plato, Laws 694a-696a). This
view of the Achaemenids was upheld by writers of the Roman period (e.g., Aelius
Aristides, On Rome 15-23; Heliodorus, Aethiopica 6.13,7.2; Agathias 2.10.1-4).
37. For Parthians as Achaemenids, see Lucian, How History Should Be Written
18; cf. Spawforth (1994). For the depiction of Sasanid Persia, see Carratelli (1971),
which only alludes to the importance of the classics. Absent an adequate discussion,
I mention some of the more interesting texts. Herodian's account of contemporary
Persian education (i.e., bows and horses: 6.5.4) is taken from Herodotus (1.136).For
the orator Libanius, the wars against the Sasanids reenacted or continued the Per-
sian Wars of antiquity (Or. 11.158,15.16,59.65-70; Letter 1402). Themistius flat-out
called the Persians of his time "Achaernenids" (Or. 4.57b), while the Latin writers
called Ardashir, the founder of the Sasanid empire, "Xerxes" (Dodgeon and Lieu
[1991] 26-28). It is interesting that the method by which Gibbon composed his
account of the Sasanids is similar to that of the writers of late antiquity: "From
 Notes to Pages73-76 245

Herodotus, Xenophon, Herodian, Ammianus, Chardin &c. I have extracted such

probable accounts of the Persian nobility, as seem either common to every age, or
particular to that of the Sassanides" (The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, c.
8, 229 n. 58; Gibbon's italics).
38. E.g., Priscus of Panium (fr. 41.3),who modeled his account of the relations
between the Sasanids and the Ephthalites on Herodotus' account (3.1) of the rela-
tions between the Egyptian Amasis and Cambyses; for this and other examples, see
Moravcsik (1966) esp. 369-371, 374-376; Hunger (1969-1970) 22, 26-28, 31; and
Blockley (1972), to which can be added, with reference to Persian history, Gregory
of Nazianzus, Or. 5.11;and John Lydus, On the Months 4.118.For examples from
Procopius, see Av. Cameron (1985)40-42.
39. Cassius Dio 80.4.1; Herodian 6.2.1-2, 6.2.6-7, 6.4.5; Ammianus Marcelli-
nus 17.5.5;Julian, Or. 2.63a-b; cf. Tacitus, Annals 6.31. For the Greek writers, see
Potter (1999) 99-100, citing previous treatments; for the Sasanids' knowledge of
their ancestors, see Yarshater (1971)and, for Sasanid ideology in general, Wiesehofer
(1996) 165-169. However, some conscious Sasanid evocation of the Achaemenids
has been postulated by Mi. Whitby (1994) 234-235 and G. Fowden (1993) 27-30.
40. Questa (1989). Cf. Agathias 4.29.6, where Chosroes is compared to Cyrus,
Darius, and Xerxes. For his limited use of Herodotus, see Av. Cameron (1969-1970)
75,90,96, and passim. Cameron's article on "Herodotus and Thucydides in Agath-
ias" (1964) is, however, unconvincing: the possibility of a correspondence of ideas
without verbal parallel is rejected out of hand, whereas numerous verbal parallels
are laboriously explained away.
41. Cesa (1981)404; for "barbarian" as an insult, see Belisarius in Wars 4.15.20.
42. Chrysos (1976) 12-16.
43. According to Av. Cameron (1985)219, Procopius claims that the Ephthal-
ites "are as good as the Romans or the Persians, that is, that they have transcended
the quality of barbarism." But the Persians are the barbarians in the two first books
of the Wars. Unlike Procopius, Cameron perhaps does not consider the Persians to
have been barbarians (152;Cesa's article is relegated to a footnote with no discus-
sion: 169 n. 140).
44. For Chosroes and Justinian, see chapter 4, first section; for the Vandal
War, see Scott (1981a)73-74.
45. For tyranny as antithetical to politeia, see Aristotle, Politics 1293b29.
46. Strauss (1991)69; cf. Aristotle, Politics 1279b6-7, 1295a19-22,1311a2-4.
47. Priscus of Panium fr. 11.2.4°6-510; Blockley (1981,1983) v. 1, 57-59. It is
possible that the Greek and his views were invented by Priscus, or at least greatly
elaborated, in order to make those points. For Procopius' knowledge of Priscus, see
Av. Cameron (1985)208-209 (esp. Priscus fr. 22,53,66).
48. See various instances in A. H. M. Jones (1986) 148,5°3-5°4,559,629-632,
703-704, 811,819. For Priscus and other defectors, see Goffart (1989) 105-106 (and
n. 104).
49. For Pliny and Tacitus, see Drake (2000) 49-50.
50. Av. Cameron (1985)154-155,four times in one paragraph.
51. Not the first shark to taste Persian flesh: Herodotus 6.44. For sharks, see
Aelian, On the Nature of Animals 1.55,9.65; for pearls in the Persian Gulf, see the
246 Notes to Pages76-78

Greek writers quoted by Potts (1990) 138, 142, 148-149, esp. Isidore of Charax; to
these should be added Aelian, On the Nature of Animals 10.13,15.8;see Philostratus,
Life of Apollonius of Tyana 3.57,for the dangers posed to pearl fishers by sharks. For
Persian love of anecdotes, see Howard-Johnston (1995) 170-171.
52. Christidis (1996) 100-101.
53. Kustas (1970) 62.
54. Benardete (1969) 4-5; Arieti (1995) 89-90, 119;Plato also tells a false story
to reveal a truth about eros:see Nussbaum (1986) 212-213.
55. For eros as a beast, see Thornton (1997) 38.
56. Montgomery (1965) 191-217,citing other occurrences of the word.
57. Cf. Wars 1.4.17:ooa ... AEyO'UOLV ELJtELVa~LOV· LO(jJ~ yaQ av Tepxui OU
JtaVTUJtaOLVaJtLOTO~ 0 A6yo~ ()6~ELEV ELvaLwith Anabasis, preface 3: OTLxui
aUTo.. &~LaCP~YllTu TE ~OL E()O~E xui ou JtUVTl] aJtLoTa. Procopius knew the
Anabasis and used it as a model (cf. Wars 4.16.12-25 with Anabasis 7.9-10). He
consulted Arrian's geographical treatises and cited another now-lost text: see Roos
(1926) 116;Av. Cameron (1985)216-218. For Arrian in the sixth century, see Hunger
(1978) v. 1,528; v. 2,326. A large number of his fragments are preserved in a range
of sixth-century texts: see Roos (1967)v. 2,315-320. For the use of Arrian by Malalas,
see Jeffreys (1990) 173-174, 196; by John Lydus and Stephanus of Byzantium, see
Bosworth (1983).
58. Herodotus 7.44, 7.54, 7.128; cf. Mardonius' "longing" to seize Athens for
the second time (9.3). Any similarities between Alexander and Xerxes are naturally
ironic, given the ideological dimension of the Macedonian expedition.
59. Thornton (1997) 13;cf. 14 for instances from the world of politics.
60. Thucydides 6.24; for his use of eros, see Forde (1989) esp. 31-50; for this
episode from a Platonic perspective, see Saxonhouse (1983) 150-151;for the Athen-
ian empire as a tyranny, see Croix (1954) 2-3.
61. Benardete (1969) 136.
62. Thornton (1997) 45-46, 128.
63. Plato, Republic 572d-579b; for tyrannical and philosophical eros in Plato,
see Rosen (1988). For the same distinction (exoterically), see Xenophon, Symposium
8 (quoted by Procopius in the SecretHistory; see below); for philosophical eros in
the Wars, see 2.12.9,5.6.16,7.32.24. For the erotic drives of the tyrant, see also Aris-
totle, Politics 5.11.
64. For minor instances of tyrannical eros in the Wars, see 3.3.11, 3.6.1
(= 3.7.18),4.22.2.
65. SecretHistory 8.1-28, also 12.28,17.16.
66. SecretHistory 16.11-12:no one was allowed to speak of him. The empress,
it seems, covered her tracks well (the man is known only from this passage: PLRE
3, 107: Areobindus 1). Yet her chastity after her marriage is assured by Procopius'
silence: Honore (1978) 10.
67. SecretHistory 9.30-32; note the spin put on this eros in Wars 1.25.4.
68. For the eros of Belisarius for Antonina, see SecretHistory 1.20,3.2, 4.41;for
Antonina, 1.17-18,1.35.For a full discussion, see chapter 4, third section.
69. SecretHistory 9.47-51. The law is CJ 5.4.23;see Vasiliev (1950) 392-397. For
 Notes to Pages78-82 247

a legal examination, upholding Procopius' accuracy, see Daube (1966); cf. Honore
(1978) 9- 11.
70. ~Quo811, EQ(jJ~lJ~Vll, and O'UVOLXL~(jJ are used by both Herodotus and
Procopius; cf. also OU'tE rov vouov EA'Uoav ()ELoav'tE~ Ka~~uoEa ... JtaQE-
~EUQOV aAAov vouov, with 'Iouo nvrcvov ()E ~uv ()EELJtOAAepE8EQUJtE'UOV ...
AuoaL 'tE 'tou~ vououc rov ~aoLAEa [Justin] vo~cP E'tEQCP ~vuyxaoE [Justinian].
For Cambyses in Herodotus, see Hartog (1988) 33°-332,336-339.
71. Connor (1984) 156.
72. Plato, Republic 574e. Cf. McGlew (1993) 30 n. 32: "Herodotus' portrait of
Cambyses offers a perfect complement to Plato's theoretical account of tyranny."
Browning (1987) 40, captured the essence of Procopius' account: "Justinian was by
now too powerful to care for convention." See Angold (1996) 26 for further
thoughts on Procopius' view of this marriage.
73. Grumel (1958) 270 gives 4 April for Easter 527. Most sources give 1 April
for the coronation: Marcellinus Comes and the ChroniconPaschaleunder 527; Jus-
tinian, Novel 47.1; Evagrius 4.9; and Procopius. Only Peter the Patrician gives 4
April (in Constantine VII Porphyrogennetus, Book of Ceremonies1.95).
74. Cf. Secret History 9.31-32: EyLVE'tO'tE ~ JtOAL'tELarof EQ(jJ'tO~ 'tOU()E
uJtExxa'U~a, with Xenophon, Symposium 4.25: ... OU EQ(jJ'tO~ OU()EVEO'tL()ELVO-
'tEQOVuJtExxa'U~a (cf. Achilles Tatius, Leucippeand Cleitophon 1.5.6). It is believed
that Procopius knew only the Cyropaedia(Greatrex [1996a] 132n. 12,citing previous
bibliography), but this is unlikely.
75. Justinian, Novel 74.4; Moorhead (1994) 36, cites Plato, Laws 839b.
76. Xenophon, Cyropaedta1.4.5;cf. Nadon (2001) 160.
77. Cf. Polybius 15.20.3.
78. E.g., Av. Cameron (1985) 155.
79. Wars 1.23.1, 2.5.1, 2.5.27, 2.10.10,2.17.2,2.20.1,2.26; SecretHistory 2.26.
80. Benardete (1963) 12-13. Homer's use of patronymics is not determined
solely by constraints of meter. Plato used them also to make esoteric arguments:
e.g., in Republic 427C.
81. For the early years of Cavades, see Christensen (1925) 91-115,following a
lengthy analysis of the sources; also (1944) 296-297, 335-352. For summaries, see
Ghirshman (1948) 88, 92; R. N. Frye in CHI, 149-150.
82. See the excellent article of Crone (1991);for a discussion of previous views,
see E. Yarshater in CHI, 991-1024, esp. 991-1001,1018-1024.
83. See the versions in Christensen (1925) 112-113, (1944) 349 n. 4; Av. Cam-
eron (1969-1970) 157-158;E. Yarshater in CHI, 994.
84. See the versions in Christensen (1925) 114,(1944) 350-351.
85. Christensen (1925) 93-94 n. 5, (1944) 297 n. 2; Ghirshman (1948) 18,93; cf.
Wars 1.7.1.For relations between Persians and Ephthalites after Perozes, see Hannes-
tad (1955-1957) 441-442.
86. Z. Rubin (1995)uses this statement as a springboard for an analysis of the
Persian and Arabic sources on the king's policies.
87. SecretHistory 8.26, also 6.21,11.2,21.24,26.11,and, prudently placed in the
mouth of enemies, Wars 2.2.6. See also chapter 1, fourth section. Cf. John Lydus,
On the Magistraciesof the Roman State 2.19 for tyrants and innovation (for this
248 Notes to Pages 82-87

passage, see also chapter 4, second section). For Justinian's own view of innovation,
see Honore (1978) 27-28, based on the emperor's laws.
88. Cf. Otanes in Herodotus 3.80.5.
89. Strabo 7.3.7: 'ta~ yuvalxa~ rrAa't(jJvLXW~ Exov'ta~ xOLva~ (reading He-
rodotus 1.216.1);cf. Benardete (1969) 99.
90. Av. Cameron (1969-1970) 101.
91. For Agathias' use of Procopius here, see Av. Cameron (1969-1970) 154-157;
in general, 69, 74, 114,149-151.
92. Cf. Saxonhouse (1994); Craig (1994) c. 6. Plato meant something quite
different from Cavades.
93. For whom see Christensen (1925) 9, 92-93, 111-115,(1944) 295, 347-351.
94. Christensen (1925) 115n. 2, (1944) 351n. 2.
95. Again Agathias imitated Procopius in producing his own parallel history
of Rome and Persia: 4.29.1-4. For Hypatius' prestigious but inglorious career, see
Greatrex (1996b).
96. Cf. Wars 1.2.1-4 with 1.11.2;but note that 1.2.5has no correlate: Cavades
did not fear the Romans.
97. See chapter 5, fifth section.
98. SecretHistory, chapters 6 (20, 24, 26, 28), 8 (29, 31), 11(4, 5, 6, 12, 23), 13
(7, 13);also 18.29,19.6, 19.11, 22.13,22.30, 24.13,26.23;applied to Theodora: 16.11,17.3,
17·31.
99. Av. Cameron (1969-1970) 156;Christensen (1925) 90, (1944) 345.
100. Note the significant usage in Wars 1.7.31(though not in the voice of
Procopius himself).
101. Cf. Wars 7.21.6-7, where virtue is dissociated from justice. See Thucydides
8.68 (on which, see Forde [1989] 143-147); and Machiavelli, The Prince c. 8 (on
which, see Mansfield [1996] c. 1).
102. Herodotus 7.2-4; Xenophon, Anabasis 1.1.1-3; Cyropaedia 8.7.9-11: "in
accordance with tradition, custom, and law." For succession in Sasanid Persia, see
Christensen (1944) 64-65, 98 n. 3, 263, 353-356 (the alternatives seem to have been
nomination by the previous king or election by the nobility; in this respect, Wars
1.21.20is more accurate than 1.11.3);cf. the approaches to this complex problem by
R. N. Frye in CHI, 133-134;Mi. Whitby (1994) 250-251; and Wiesehofer (1996) 169-
170. Whatever the details, there was no "law of primogeniture" (Blockley [1992]
104).
103. See, e.g., Herodotus 5.39-42: despite his av6Qaya8Lll, Dorieus had to
submit by law to his older (but mad) brother Cleomenes; cf. Zames' av6QELa (~v
yaQ aya8o~ 'ta JtOAE~La) in Wars 1.11.5.For the tension among virtue, law, and
heredity in kingdoms, see Aristotle, Politics3.15-18.Xenophon also implied that in
monarchies law follows the royal will: Cyropaedia8.1.22,8.8.1.
104. The same argument, mutatis mutandis, has been made about much of
Herodotus; see Hartog (1988); Fehling (1989) 28-30, 49-57, 62-63, though it need
not be that the information is entirely invented.
105. For the office and the man, see Wars 1.6.18;Christensen (1944) 131-132,
348-352, 355-356. For the negotiations, see Wars 1.11,and the narrative of Vasiliev
(1950) 265-268, who follows Procopius.
 Notes to Pages 87-9 2 249

106. Cf. Wars 2.9.8 with SecretHistory 8.24-25.

107. Mentioned also in Buildings 3.1.6.
108. For date, title, and authorship, see Garsoian's "Introduction" to the Epic
Histories, 6-16; Garsoian supposes that Procopius drew upon a wider tradition and
not upon a version (perhaps Greek) of this specific text (10, 20). However possible,
such a conclusion does not seem necessary. Note that Procopius suppresses all ref-
erences to religious discord between the Persians and the Armenians (a prominent
theme of the Epic Histories) in accordance with his suppression of religious differ-
ences between Romans and Persians in the introduction to the Persian War. The
possibility of a Greek source, as well as the authorship of "Faustus," is tentatively
defended by Traina (2001), who also promises a "complete commentary" on these
passages of Procopius: 407 n. 17.
109. Wars 1.5.8; Epic Histories 5.7; for the fortress, northwest of the Persian
Gulf, see Garsoian's "Appendix on Toponymy," 443-445; from an administrative
point of view, see Wiesehofer (1996) 188. Ammianus Marcellinus calls it "Agabana"
(27.12.3).
110. For various possibilities, see Traina (2001) 410 n. 35.
111. Cf. Herodotus 3.133 ff., 3.139 ff., 7.38 ff.; Esther 5 ff.; Mark 6.17-28
Matthew 14.3-11. The king's role can just as well be played by a god, as in the legend
of Midas (Ovid, Metamorphoses 11.90-193; Maximus of Tyre, Or. 5.1). This is a uni-
versalliterary device: see, for example, the first story of the Mabinogion.
112. For Arsak II, see Garsoian (1967).
113. Wars 1.5.19-28, following Epic Histories 4.54. In her "Commentary" (302
n. 8), Garsoian notes the story's similarity to the myth of Hercules and Antaeus
(see Apollodorus, Bibliotheca 2.5.11). Cf. Wars 2.12.8-30.
114. Cf. Wars 4.10.13-22.
115. For the hostility of the Epic Histories to Persia, see Garsoian's "Introduc-
tion," 51.
116. Wars 1.1.5, and see chapter 1, first section.
117. Teuffel (1871) 202; examples in B. Rubin (1960, 1995) v. 1, 178-197; Bury
(1897) 93, (1923) v. 2, 303 n. 2, 424-4 25; Evans (1972) 17, 93-94, 140 n. 15, n. 17, 141
n·30.
118. The Latin tradition offers excellent examples; see, e.g., Strauss (1958) 42,
138- 142 (Livy); Syme (1958) 528-529; and Rudich (1993) 47 (Tacitus); also Sacks
(1990) 127 ff. (Diodorus); Blockley (1981,1983) v. 1, 57-59 (Priscus). In this respect,
as in so many others, Agathias followed Procopius (e.g., 1.5.3-10, at the beginning
of the work, and unchallenged).
119. Cited in Mansfield (1996) 134.
120. Epic Histories 4.20; it is irrelevant here whether Procopius used this text
or another version in the same tradition. The event itself was, of course, unhistori-
cal (see Garsoian's "Commentary," 290 n. 8, 291 n. 18).
121. SecretHistory 14.2 (see esp. chapter 2, third section, and chapter 4, first
section); cf. Cassiodorus, Variae 10.31.2.
122. E.g., Av. Cameron (1985) 239-241; Alonso-Nunez (1987) 11, 13.
123. Schopenhauer, Parergaand Paralipomena, v. 1,361.
124. Soyter (1939) 102.
250 Notes to Pages 92-98

125. Benardete (1969) c. 1; see esp. Herodotus 2.158.5.

126. Menander the Protector fr. 6.1.405-407. For Christians identified by Per-
sians on the basis of burial practices, see Brock (1982) 9. I have yet found no refer-
ence in modern works to Seoses as a Christian martyr, although I would not be
surprised if one turned up.
127. Agathias 2.22.6-23.10, 2.31.5-9; see the discussion by Av. Cameron (1969-
1970) 90-9 1; for Agathias' view of Persian culture, see Questa (1989), and 381-386
for funeral customs.
128. Kaldellis (1999a) 240- 242, 247-248.
129. Agathias 2.30.3, alluding to Pindar, Isthmian Ode 7.25.

Chapter 3. The SecretHistory of Philosophy

1. Benardete (1969) 6.
2. Cassiodorus, Variae 11.1.19.
3. Polybius 6.3- 18; see Walbank (1972) c. 5, for sources and discussion; for
theories on the transformation of regimes, see Ryffel (1949) focusing on historians
and philosophers. Aristotle objected that there was no reason to cast the sequence
in a particular order (Politics5.12)but did so himself nonetheless (3.15).
4. Plato, Republic 375a-376a. Aristotle saw these as the chief qualities of Plato's
guardians (Politics1327b38ff.).
5. Synesius, On Kingship 19.For the context, see AI. Cameron and Long (1993)
c. 4, who conclude that it was never delivered before the emperor. For another
interesting parallel, see Amory (1997) 54-55.
6. Craig (1994) 28.
7. Scott (1985) 102-103·
8. Socrates follows Hesiod's sequence of the races of man in Works and Days:
golden, silver, bronze, heroes, iron. Democracy thus corresponds in some sense to
the race of heroes (see my Introduction). Besides, if Plato evaluated regimes on the
basis of their tendency to produce philosophers and their tolerance and acceptance
of philosophy, he must have concluded that democracy was the best of the regimes
known to the Greeks. That is why he has Socrates state explicitly that precisely
because democracies produce all kinds of men, a philosophical legislator should
choose "to go to a city under a democracy" (557d). Without using these arguments,
Monoson (2000) explores Plato's positive engagement with democratic theory and
practice.
9. Crone (1991) 26.
10. SecretHistory 19.4-7, 23.7; Wars 1.7.35,1.10.11.
11. Pace Av. Cameron (1985)45, 205; and Howard-Johnston (2000) 24 (a hos-
tile treatment). Procopius uses this phrase often, but always in order to highlight
through contrast an individual or city's preparedness for war (e.g., Wars 5.25.22,
7.40.9; Buildings 2.2.17,based on Thucydides 3.82.2). For a different example, see
the clever variations on Thucydides 2.65.9 in Wars 5.1.29and 5.12.51.Procopius' style
 Notes to Pages98-101 251

was in this matter directly influenced by Thucydides (for whom, see Romilly
[1956b] c. 1, esp. 36, 47-48, 83).
12. Procopius' praise for Anastasius has often been exaggerated since Bruck-
ner (1896) 44-49. The prosperity of his reign was celebrated in Latin by Priscian, In
Praiseof the EmperorAnastasius 149 ff., and in Greek by Procopius of Gaza, Panegy-
ric on the Emperor Anastasius 28-30. For the perils of peace, see Buildings 2.9.16;
Vegetius 1.7-8, 1.28, 3.10; John Lydus, On the Magistraciesof the Roman State 3.51
(under Anastasius); Theophylact 1.4.1(on the capture ofSingidunum by the Avars).
For the bad state of defenses at the beginning of the sixth century, see Kaegi (1995)
94-95, 99, based almost entirely on Procopius.
13. Secret History 6.11-12,6.18, 8.2-3; Wars 3.9.5; Justin's illiteracy is attested
elsewhere: Vasiliev (1950) 82-84 rejects the tradition. Baldwin (1989) accepts it, with
the provision that it may refer to "lack of formal education."
14. SecretHistory 6.19; also 8.30, and passim.
15. Blockley (1981,1983)v. 1,55-57; cf. Av. Cameron (1985)208-209 (esp. Pris-
cus fr. 22, 53, 66).
16. For the author's Platonism, see below.
17. For diabole and phthonos, see Plato, Apology 18d, 28a; Euthyphro 3c-d; Xen-
ophon, Apology 14,32; Diogenes Laertius 2.38.For envy and slander against the wise,
see Xenophon, Memorabilia 1.2.31,4.2.33; Philostratus, Life of Apollonius of Tyana
1.2,4.36, 6.13;Themistius, Or. 21.256-257,23.285a.For envy and justice, Wars 2.2.15.
18. Justice: Plato, Phaedo 118a(the last word), Letter 7.324e; Xenophon, Memo-
rabilia 1.1.18,4.8.11(the last chapter), Apology 14, 16: "most just." Arrogance: Dioge-
nes Laertius 2.28;Xenophon, Apology 1-2, 32; note the defensiveness in Memorabilia
1.1.5,1.2.5,1.7·1,1.7.5.
19. Plato, Apology 24b; Xenophon, Memorabilia 1.1.1;Apology 10, 12,24; Dioge-
nes Laertius 2.40. In general, see Hansen (1995).
20. Aristophanes, Clouds 1400; Xenophon, Memorabilia 1.2.9. The formula-
tion in Wars 1.11.34also contains an allusion to Thucydides 1.130(the Spartan king
Pausanias' adoption of Persian habits), a phrase used by Procopius on a number of
occasions (Braun [1886] 175). In the case of Seoses it is playful, as the charge of
Medism is reversed to signify the adoption of Roman customs such as burial by a
Persian (see chapter 2, fifth section).
21. For such speculation, see Christensen (1944) 355-356;B. Rubin (1960, 1995)
v. 1, 260. Vasiliev (1950) 268, though unaware of the problems of this passage, lim-
ited his account to what can be said safely: Seoses was "executed for exceeding his
power and frustrating the peace."
22. Agathias vainly tried to rival his audacity: 4.1.8.
23. Agathias 2.30-31; note the pun in ~ xQu'touou EJtL'tep XQEL't'tOVL ()6~u.
For Agathias, the Platonists, and their code words for Christianity, see Kaldellis
(1999a) 240- 242.
24. See AI. Cameron (1969) 18-19;Av. Cameron (1969-1970) 175;Athanassiadi
(1993) 25. "Without pushing skepticism too far," AI. Cameron wonders whether
Chosroes would have been so devoted to the Platonists as to insist on the clause.
But devotion is probably less an issue than the desire to meddle in the internal
affairs of the empire by posturing as the protector of its persecuted minorities (a
252 Notes to Pages 101-103

tactic regularly used by modern states). Later events showed that it pleased the
ostentatious Chosroes immensely to act as the champion of Justinian's enemies or
victims: cf. his support of the Greens at Apamea (Wars 2.11.32 ff.) and treatment of
the pagans of Carrhae (Harran) as though they were natural allies of Persia (2.13.7).
As a patron of learning and acclaimed philosopher-king (in Persia at least: Wieseh-
ofer [1996] 216-221), insisting on the protection of the empire's greatest minds had
an irresistible ideological appeaL Independent evidence supports Agathias' account,
in the form of a treatise written by one of the philosophers named by him, Priscian
of Lydia, which addresses questions raised by Chosroes and survives in Latin trans-
lation: Tardieu (1986) 23-24 n. 105; Walker (2002) 62-63. For other possibly related
testimony, see Topping (1976) 13-15. Justinian intervened in Gothic Italy on behalf
of converts to Catholicism (Cassiodorus, Variae 10.26), as Theoderic seems to have
done on behalf of the empire's Arians (Moorhead [1992] 235 ff.). Roman emperors
also showed an interest in Persia's Christian minority (Brock [1982] 9), and Justin-
ian added clauses of protection for them in later treaties with Chosroes (Guillau-
mont [1969-1970] 49-50). It is not clear that the philosophers' journey to Persia
was caused by Justinian's "closure of the Academy": Hallstrom (1994), whose own
suggestion, however, is as conjectural as those he criticizes.
25. E.g., Bury (1923) v. 2, 88 (treaty), 370 ("The Suppression of Paganism");
B. Rubin (1960, 1995) v. 1, 295-297 (the philosophers illustrate Chosroes' reputation
for learning but are not mentioned in the discussion of the treaty); Av. Cameron
(1969-1970) 175, (1970) 101-102, accepts the story, but fails to mention it in her
discussion of Procopius' account of the treaty: (1985) 158. For ideological uses of the
story, Walker (2002) 56-59. A recent monograph on the early sixth-century war,
which carefully examines all the available sources, fails to mention Agathias' testi-
mony in the chapter which discusses the treaty: Greatrex (1998) c. 10. This oversight
was later brought to the author's attention: in an addendum to his preface, he
dismisses it as unimportant (xiv). But to whom?
26. Cf. SecretHistory 11.23.
27. Chadwick (1981), for Symmachus, 6-10, 15-16. See also Moorhead (1992)
158-161.
28. Bornmann (1974) 144-147. For Theoderic's reign, see Moorhead (1992),
esp. 106 for his sapientia, which is mentioned by contemporary sources. For more
praise, see Wars 5.12.21-54.
29. Wars 1.11.33;cf. Agathias 2.30.5.
30. Cf. Strauss (1991) 205-206.
31. Boethius claimed that his devotion to philosophical ideals while in office
offended powerful men and that his involvement with philosophy, probably mis-
construed as magic, was among the charges leveled against him (The Consolationof
Philosophy 1.4.5-9, 37-43). See Chadwick (1981) 48-56 (esp. 83: "one thirteenth-
century manuscript claims that he was unable to complete the work 'because of the
envy of the Italians' bringing about his death"); and Moorhead (1992) 219-222 (who
forgets that Procopius supports Boethius' claim that philosophy was one of the
charges). The role of philosophy in these events is sometimes completely invisible
to scholars despite its centrality in the sources: e.g., Garzya (1995) 346.
32. Herodotus 3.64; cf. Bornmann (1974) 147.
 Notes to Pages 103- 106 253

33. See chapter 2, fourth section.

34. Arguments for various dates in Moorhead (1992) 224-226.
35. AL Cameron (1966-1967) 669-670, (1969) 8-11; for the archaeological evi-
dence, which reinforces the conclusion, see Frantz (1975).
36. For the dates of Simplicius, see AI. Cameron (1966-1967) 664-665, (1969)
24·
37. Athanassiadi (1993) 17- 24: "The strategies of survivaL" Damascius offers
numerous examples of high-placed Hellenes and philosophers. For the political
activities of pagans in the fifth century, see Kaegi (1968) c. 2.
38. Damascius, The PhilosophicalHistory fr. 124; cf. fr. 26B.
39. For general accounts, see Constantelos (1968) 372-380; Harl (1990) 21-27.
40. Simplicius, Commentary on the Manual of Epictetus, epilogue (a clear ref-
erence to Justinian, according to Hadot, "Introduction," 20). The text was certainly
written after 529 and probably after 532: ibid. 8-19. I would place it after 550.
41. Reading EXJt'UQWOEL~ for EXJt'tWOEL~ (cf. 14.89-90).
42. Earthquakes, floods, plagues, and famine: Secret History 2.27, 4.1, 6.22,
18.19, 23.20, 24.11, 25.10, 25.25, 26.22; for nature amplifying human depravity, 12.16-
17, 18.36-45; cf. the conjunction in Wars 4.14.5-6.
43. Cf. Simplicius 14.21-23 OELO~OU~ xui xa'taxA'UO~OU~ xui EXJt'tWOEL~
(EXJt'UQWOEL~?) ... JtOAEWV aAwoEL~, with SecretHistory 7.6 (in a metaphor about
the factions) WOJtEQ OELO~OU ~ xa'taxA'Uo~oU EJtLJtEOOV'tO~ ~ JtOAEW~ ExaoTrl~
JtQo~ 'tWV JtOAE~LWV aAOUOll~.
44. Cf. Simplicius 14.24 CPOVO'U~ &()LXOU~ xui AlJO'tELa~ xui aQJtayu~ with
SecretHistory 6.20 a()LXOV cpOVOVxui XQll~a'tWv aQJtay~v (cf. also 11.3) and 21.14
'to YUQ 'tOU CPOVEW~ 'tE xui 'tOU AlJO'tOU ovouo, for more AlJo'tELa~ see 21.3,
aQJtayu~ 7.16
45. SecretHistory 9. 15, 9. 17, 9. 24, 9. 28.
46. SecretHistory 2.6, 3.30, 5.20, 7.36, 13.33, 17.26, 22.7, 25.20, 27. 27.
47. Cf. Simplicius 14.31 La'tQLxti~ xui OLXO()O~LXti~ xui 'tEX'tOVLXti~, and
14.26 for education with Secret History 26.7 OU'tE La'tQWV 'tL~ ~ ()L()aOXaAWV 'to
AOLJtOV EyLyVE'tO AOYO~ OU'tE ()l1~OOLa~ 'tL~ E'tL OLXO()O~La~ JtQOVOELV. Cf. also
26.24, 26.33. For the attack on education (including teachers and rhetors), see also
26.1-2, 26.5-7. For the charge of useless constructions (OLXO()O~La), see SecretHis-
tory 8.7, 11.3, 19.6, 26.23.
48. Simplicius, Commentary on the Manual of Epictetus 32.186 ff.; for many
who left the empire, see SecretHistory 11.38. Cf. Strauss (1991) 98: "If [a philosopher]
has to choose between a fatherland which is corrupt and a foreign city which is well
ordered, he may be justified in preferring the foreign city to his fatherland" (cf.
211). For Simplicius and philosophers in corrupt states, see the analysis of AL Cam-
eron (1969) 14-21, and the remarks in the "Introduction" of Hadot's edition, 16-19
(though I disagree that the exposition of traditional themes precludes autobio-
graphical or contemporary references).
49. Simplicius, Commentary on the Manual of Epictetus30.11-25, 32.211-215; cf.
Craig (1994) 108.
50. Olympiodorus, Commentaries on Plato's Gorgias 26.18; for wild beasts, see
32.4, 41.2.7. For the date of this work, see Tarrant (1998) 4 17 n. 3.
51. See Westerink's "Introduction" to the Anonymous Prolegomenato Platonic
Philosophy,xiii-xx.
254 Notes to Pages 106-109

52. See chapter 1, first section.

53. For religious dissimulation, see chapter 5, first section.
54. AI. Cameron argued for Athens (1969); contra: Blumenthal (1978). The
current favorite is Carrhae (Harran), following the impressive research of Tardieu
(1986), (1987); for elaboration on his thesis, see Hadot (1990) and the "Introduc-
tion" to her edition of Simplicius, 24-50; also Athanassiadi (1993) 24-29. Harran is
attractive, but there is no direct evidence: Foulkes (1992). For the state of the ques-
tion, Thiel (1999); Walker (2002) 63-65.
55. Agathias 2.31.3; also suspected by Hadot (1990) 280.
56. Av. Cameron (1970) 9- 10.
57. Agathias 4.29.1; Av. Cameron (1969- 1970) 158.
58. Agathias, preface 9: Plato; 2.30.3: Neoplatonists (Pindar, Isthmian Ode
7.25, supplies the missing word). The "wise men of old" are mentioned in 3.1.4 and
5.20.7 (both may refer to Procopius). Emulous of his awesome superiority, Agathias
pedantically tried to correct Procopius on matters of detail (e.g., 4.26.4-7).
59. Wolfram (1988) 262-263, 330; Moorhead (1992) 13- 14, 87, 104-106. The
mention of his illiteracy in another source has been ascribed to confusion with the
emperor Justin: Baldwin (1989).
60. Cf. Amory (1997) 157: Procopius "has inserted the allegation to strengthen
his explanatory opposition ... between classical education and barbarian soldierly
virtue." Amory's analysis of the episode is astute, but his discussion of its signifi-
cance relies on the false premise that the historian was a propagandist for Justinian.
Amory's contention that in Procopius' view "barbarians" were not fit to rule (156)
falters before his praise of Theoderic and Amalasuntha and his outright heroization
of Totila-in the Wars, no less! Procopius has no comparable praise for any Roman
emperor.
61. Amory (1997) 156; but Wars 5.2.2, 5.4.4 establish a precise chronology in
spite of the narrative. Note Athalaric's solicitude for grammarians as late as 533:
Cassiodorus, Variae 9.21.
62. Wolfram (1988) 336, and 334-337 for the reign.
63. Diabetes: Frye (1995).
64. Wars 5.2.3-6, 5.4.29. Cassiodorus praised her education in Greek, Latin,
and Gothic culture (Variae 11.1).
65. Wars 5.2.24, 5.3.4, 5.3.12, 5.3.28, 5.6.2-5, 5.6.11, 5.6.19; cf. SecretHistory 16.1.
66. The opposite view was taken in 507 by Ennodius, Theoderic's panegyrist,
who boasted that the Gothic king had united classical learning and military virtue:
Amory (1997) 114- 117.
67. Wars 5.2.3, 5.2.21; SecretHistory 16.1.
68. E.g., Herodotus 1.60, in equally strange circumstances.
69. Cf. Wars 5.2.30 with 5.1.27.
70. 'AV()QELU does not occur in Book 5 of the Republic, although it appears
most frequently in Books 4 and 6. The reader should note the concentration and
distribution of cognates of &v~Q in the section of the Wars dealing with Amalasuntha.
71. Barnish (1990) 28-31, esp. 29; and Cassiodorus, Variae 10.3.
72. Wars 5.3.1-4, 5.4.1-3, 5.11.1,5.11.8, 7.8.21; Theodahad unlawfully seized the
property of others and even "considered it a great misfortune to have neighbors."
 Notes to Pages 109- 113 255

Cf. Cassiodorus, Variae 4.39, 5.12, 10.3.6; in ibid. 10.5.2 the king states (through
Cassiodorus) that "I have changed my conduct with my station" but also declares
"that whatever, by God's help, I rule, that thing is peculiarly my own." For his
properties, see Wolfram (1988) 298-299; for the reign, see 332-342. Cf. Plato, Repub-
lic 485e;for no private property, see 416d ff., 464b-d, 543b-c; also 390d-391C,486b,
and 521a.For Socrates' poverty, see 337d, 338b; Apology 19d-20a, 38b.
73. Wars 5.3.1.Cf. 5.6.15-16; Plato, Republic 521d, 525b, 543a.
74. Wars 5.6.1-2, 5.6.6, 5.7.11, 5.9.1-2, 5.9.6; Plato, Republic 486a-b, 503C-d;cf.
537C-d.
75. Wars 5.3.30; cf. 5.6.26, simply "the orator." Peter was one of Justinian's
most important officials and diplomats, later holding the rank of magisterofficiorum
for an unprecedented term of twenty-five years (539-565). He wrote historical and
political works. See in general Antonopoulos (1990); for his career, see PIRE 3,
994-998: Petrus 6; for his works, see Karpozelos (1997) 420-431.
76. For a legal and historical analysis of this agreement, see Chrysos (1981).
77. Cf. Wars 5.7.19- 2 0 .
78. Craig (1994), esp. c. 1.
79. Saxonhouse (1983).
80. Plato, Republic 423d (EJtLT'll()EUWV), 433a ff. (EJtLT'll()EUELV, EJtLT'll()EL-
OTUT'll). The verb qYUAUOOWis pervasive in the dialogue. For the epistemic status
of this view of justice in the Republic, cf. 432c-e with 479d and 515a.
81. Procopius has introduced another dialogue into the Wars, which also
shows equally the influence of Plato's Socrates and Thucydides' Melian Dialogue: it
is that between the Gothic envoys and Belisarius, which leads to a temporary truce
(6.6). This passage will be examined in a separate study.
82. So too Antonopoulos (1990) 79. Cf. the Goths in Agathias 1.5.
83. Cf. Wars 5.3.30with Republic 336b and 354a (which comes after 350d); one
may choose between two views of gentleness to understand this discrepancy: 375c-e
or 566e. In the Republic, at any rate, Thrasymachus is converted (358b, 498c-d).
84. Similar arguments in Plato's Theaetetus 172c-176a(cf. Republic 496d-e and
620c-d, which should be contrasted to 433a-434b and 443C-444b).If the view of the
philosophical life in the Theaetetus and the Gorgias is not entirely accurate, that
found in the Republic is downright fantastic. For a more active political role for
philosophers, see Damascius, The PhilosophicalHistory fr. 124. Olympiodorus was
less hopeful (Commentary on Plato's Gorgias 45.2). For the irony in Socrates' view
of philosophers in the Gorgias-considering his own fate-see Clay (2000) 36-37.
85. Bury (1923)v. 2, 164-167;Foss (2002) 162-163,171-172;Evans (2002) 63-66.
Peter's innocence is not established by the arguments of Antonopoulos (1990) 62-
69, who relies on a priori assumptions about his high moral character. Others do
not believe Theodora capable of such a crime, e.g., Comparetti (1925) 74.
86. Wars 5.4.25;cf. Bury (1923)v. 2, 164-165 n. 3: Procopius "designedly made
his statement ambiguous." In the SecretHistory (16.3) he says that fear of Theodora
prevented him from divulging the truth in the Wars.
87. So too Teuffel (1871)201.
88. Plato, Gorgias 466b-c ff. For Peter's greed and thefts, see Secret History
256 Notes to Pages 113-119

24.22-23; for his wealth, which is independently attested, Antonopoulos (1990)

30-3 2.
89. Saxonhouse (1983) 145.
90. Cicero, Republic 2.52.
91. Saxonhouse (1994) 67 and 75. For Aristotle's criticisms (Politics2.1-5), see
Strauss (1991) 277: "he understands perfectly what Plato is doing, but he refuses to
treat as ironical what is meant ironically."
92. Saxonhouse (1982) 203.
93. In Cassiodorus, Variae 9.24.8. For the ubiquity of this Platonic theme in
antiquity and beyond, see Praechter (1905) 482-484.
94. Boethius, The Consolationof Philosophy 1.4.5.
95. Barnish (1990) 29·
96. Agapetus 17; see Letsios (1985), esp. 182; also Henry (1967) 295-296:
"Agapetus implies that the Bible provides the definition of a key term in Plato's
prescription, so that a Christian emperor becomes the concrete expression of what
Plato had in mind."
97. For the author's Platonism, see Valdenberg (1925) 56-58, 62-64, whose
arguments suffice but do not go as far as they might. The author's conceptual
framework is thoroughly Platonic, despite the fact that he criticizes some of Socra-
tes' specific proposals, which his reviewer Photius mistook for a total rejection of
the Republic (Bibliotheca37). See Fotiou (1985) and O'Meara (2002).
98. Wiesehofer (1996) 216-221;Walker (2002) 59-67.
99. Kaldellis (2003b).
100. Starnes (1990) 4.
101. Kaldellis (2003a).
102. Lanata (1984), esp. pt. 2., c. 4, and (1989).
103. Kaldellis (1999a).
104. Av. Cameron (1985) 7,199; Downey (1949) 98; also Veh (1950-1953) v. 1,
5, and Evans (1972) 113:"he was no philosopher."
105. For Agathias, see above. For Ammianus, see Libanius, Letter 233.4: "to
judge from his dress he is enlisted in the army, but in fact he is enrolled among
philosophers; he has imitated Socrates despite having gainful employment" (tr.
Barnes [1998] 61-62; cf. 76-78, 166-167). Theophylact prefaced his History with a
dialogue between "queen" Philosophy and her "daughter" History. For later au-
thors, see Kaldellis (1999b); and Anna Komnene, Alexiad, preface 1.2, and 10.2.1
(Browning [1977]). Cf. Syme's denials that Sallust was influenced by Plato's "doc-
trines" in (2002) 241, 244, with MacQueen (1981). In a new foreword to Syme's
book, R. Mellor more or less admits MacQueen's thesis (xliv-xlv), though he still
tries to minimize the seriousness of Sallust's philosophical aims.

Chapter 4. The Representation of Tyranny

1. See chapter 2, third section.

2. Wars 1.16.1,2.10.13-14;Chrysos (1976) 17-20.
 Notes to Pages 119- 12 6 257

3. For Chosroes, see Wars 1.23.1,2.9.8; for Justinian, see Secret History esp.
8.22 ff., also 6.28, 13.10,22.31-32,29.1,29.12(for avarice, passim); for love of innova-
tion, see chapter 1, fourth section, and chapter 2, fifth section.
4. Av. Cameron (1985) 66, also 143, 162-163. Pace Cameron, Procopius no-
where accuses Chosroes of "preoccupation with theology" (143); also Evans (1972)
60 for the parallel. Howard-Johnston (1995) 177suggests that the portrait of Chos-
roes is unreliable precisely because it "bears a suspiciously close resemblance to
Procopius' own view of Justinian."
5. Romm (1998) 24·
6. See chapter 5, fifth section.
7. Roux (1992) 189-190, 289·
8. See chapter 2, fourth section.
9. Cf. Agathias 2.28-32; for a more balanced assessment, see Wiesehofer
(1996) 216-221.
10. The attractions of Daphne are described by Libanius, Or. 11(on Antioch),
and others.
11. AI. Cameron (1976) 180, also 104.
12. Evans (1996) 18, and 37; more fully, AI. Cameron (1976) c. 7.
13. For paganism at Harran, see Segal (1955)124-126. Contrariwise, when Beli-
sarius captured the Persian fort of Sisauranon the following year, he found that the
inhabitants were all Christian and let them go (Wars 2.19.24).
14. See chapter 2, second section.
15. On which see Crone (1991) 31-34.
16. For Origenes, see PIRE 3, 957. For the riots, see Bury (1897), (1923) v. 2,
39-48; Stein (1949) v. 2,449-456; Greatrex (1997).
17. See chapter 2, fifth section.
18. Procopius implies that this was a Persian custom, applicable even to for-
eign kings (cf. Wars 1.5.29, in another passage that mirrors the imprisonment of
Cavades). It is unclear whether there was such a custom: Christensen (1925) 114,
(1944) 351;Mi. Whitby (1994) 251-252.
19. Evans (1984) 381. Also in Homer, Iliad 10.173,but the context suggests
Herodotus.
20. See chapter 1, second section.
21. Cf. Wars 5.6.22-25 with Thucydides 1.129;see Carolla (1999) 165-168.
22. For John, see Stein (1949) v. 2, 433-449, 463-483; for the faults of Tribo-
nian, Honore (1978) 64.
23. Iullien (2000) 49.
24. Bury (1897) 93: his "sympathy is not with Justinian."
25. For Marcellinus, see Bury (1897) 92-93; for Malalas, Scott (1981b) esp.
17-18, 23. Av. Cameron (1985) 159, unfairly paints Procopius' account of the riots
with the brush of fascism, claiming that he "sympathized totally with the interests
of law and order." (A sinister statement, for who doesn't? Apparently anyone who
knows that "order" is merely "repression": 166 n. 120). Cameron's arguments are
weak and contradictory. She accuses Procopius of "blaming the affair entirely on
the Blues and the Greens" without explaining their grievances (166) but on the next
page concedes that he did differentiate between the people and the factions and
258 Notes to Pages 126-132

admitted the responsibility of Justinian's ministers. So which is it? Her claim that
as a true loyalist he "condemns the senators who followed Hypatius for behaving
'as a crowd usually does' " totally misrepresents his criticism (1.24.31), which is
that they lost the chance to eliminate Justinian. To support her contention that he
whitewashed the massacre from sheer enthusiasm for "state violence" and "repres-
sion," she cites the number of dead from Malalas (30,000), implying that Procopius
suppressed it. In fact it is he who gives that figure (1.24.54; cf. SecretHistory 18.32);
Malalas gives 35,000 (18.71). It is Cameron who cannot keep her figures straight:
elsewhere she cites 50,000 (23). Her carelessness with the text is revealed when she
says that the "only specific reference" to the senators "places them on the side of
the emperor" (64), wrongly citing 1.24.6 instead of 1.24.10, and forgetting the speech
of Origenes. Finally, her admission that "at any point he may not be writing what
he really thinks" undermines her entire position. That Procopius' view of state
violence was the exact opposite of what she alleges is demonstrated by Scott (1985).
26. Cf. SecretHistory 11.12with Wars 2.1.12-15.
27. For a genuinely astrological treatment of the omens that signaled the fall
of Antioch, see John Lydus, On CelestialSigns, preface 1. Lydus seems to have been
inspired by that event to write his treatise.
28. Crone (1991) 30, citing other examples; for an additional possibility, see
Mi. Whitby (1994) 256-257; for the foundation, see Christensen (1944) 386-387; for
Persia's need for skilled Romans, Blockley (198o).
29. Theophanes the Confessor 301. For Sasanid solar adoration, see Christen-
sen (1944) 143- 145.
30. For Goubazes, see PIRE 3, 559-560. For Sasanid royal protocol and cere-
mony, especially under Chosroes, Christensen (1944) 397 ff.; in Persian royal litera-
ture, Sundermann (1964).
31. Avery (1940) 79, interprets this to mean that senators kissed the emperor's
right breast.
32. Garland (1999) 13; also Foss (2002) 159-164, who highlights the inferior
nature of other sources: 142 ff.
33. I cannot accept Fisher's argument that the testimony of the SecretHistory
is suspect because it would have offended sixth-century readers: (1978) 255, 268. The
truth is not always agreeable. If only Fisher's argument were true of the warlords of
the twentieth and twenty-first centuries! For misogyny, see also Av. Cameron (1985)
75, and c. 5 passim.
34. Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae 2.29.14.
35. For Moschopoulos, whose work is still unpublished (if it is his), as for the
relative strength of these words, see Dickey (2001) 9. For a similar definition of
despotes,see Aelius Aristides, On Rome 23.
36. Chrysos (1978) 35.
37. Herodotus 8.102; see Mi. Whitby (1994) 243.
38. For Pharas and Gelimer, see also chapter 5, third section. Cf. Boudicca in
Cassius Dio 62.3.1.
39. MacCormack (1981) 76; for the treatment of defeated kings before Justin-
ian, see McCormick (1986) 97 (esp. n. 79); cf. 125-129 for the celebrations of 534.
For a lively picture of the court, see Ravegnani (1989).
 Notes to Pages 132-136 259

40. Pazdernik (1997) 40-47, also 175; summary in (2000) 154-158.

41. The topic deserves extensive study; see Scott (1985) for preliminary re-
marks.
42. Fotiou (1981). For Zosimus, see Paschoud (1975).
43. Honore (1975) 123 and n. 306.
44. Lanata (1984), esp. pt. z., c. 4, and (1989).
45. John Lydus, O n the Magistracies of the Roman State 1.6; for Agapius, 3.26.
My examination of Lydus’ politics has been accepted provisionally for publication
in the 2004 volume of Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies.
46. I intend to argue this elsewhere.
47. Suetonius, Domitian 13; Pliny, Panegyric 2.3. But Pliny calls Trajan domi-
nus in his letters. The term seems to have been weaker than its Greek equivalent:
see Dickey (2001). Cf. Pompeianus and Commodus in Herodian 1.6.4; for other
examples, see Brehier (1905) 163-164.
48. See Comparetti (1925) 68-72, for an imaginative explanation. I do not
accept B. Rubin’s view that the story evokes Domitian’s reputation as the Antichrist,
thus linking it to the later comparison of Justinian to a demon (see fourth section,
below). It is told from a senatorial standpoint and its significance is political, not
religious. A butchered emperor makes a lame Antichrist. Besides, Rubin finds that
almost all the ‘bad’ emperors had reputations for being the Antichrist, which means
that Procopius cannot make any negative comparison without confirming Rubin’s
thesis!
49. John Lydus, On the Magistracies of the Roman State 1.49, 2.19.
50. Matthews (1989) 245, a useful discussion of the fourth-century debate (cit-
ing previous bibliography).
51. Procopius’ accusations are treated as rhetorical by Alfoldi (1970) 24-25.
52. Eusebius, Life of Constantine 4.67; see Avery (1940) esp. 72-73 (Eusebius),
and 79-80 (Procopius). For the history of Roman proskynesis, see Treitinger (1956)
81-90.
53. Constantine VII Porphyrogennetus, Book of Ceremonies 1.84, 86-87, 89;
for Peter’s work, see Al. Cameron (1976) 249-250, though no detailed study exists;
for the book in general, see Av. Cameron (1987). The accounts preserved by Peter
of the accessions of Anastasius (1.92) and Justin I (1.93) do not mention proskynesis.
But the account of Leo’s accession refers once to proskynesis involving the kissing
of the emperor’s feet (1.91, p. 415 Bonn ed.), and this must be explained. As Bury
noted in (1923) v. 1, 316 n. 2 , the actual narrative of the accession reaches only to p.
412, line 18, of the Bonn edition, everything after that being “generalized (in the
present tense) so as to apply to any emperor who is crowned in the Hebdomon
palace.” In other words, it is a later addition, possibly by Peter himself or Constant-
ine VII (Treitinger [i956] 10 n. 9). Note that proskynesis is qualified there (as well
as on p. 414, line 3) as taking place “only if it is not Sunday.” A factual account of
a historical event would not contain such conditions.
54. Corippus, Iohannis 1.118-121, 1.155-158, and, less elaborately, to the general
himself: 4.310-311; cf. Corippus, I n Praise of the Emperor Justin the Younger 1.156-158
(including kissing the imperial feet); other references in this poem to adoratio are
general: 2.275-277, 2.410-414, 3.258-259 (an Avar ambassador), 4.130-131.
260 Notes to Pages 136-143

55. Lane Fox (1986) 320-325 makes sense.

56. Quintus Curtius 8.5.22; the Greek accounts are Arrian, Anabasis 4.10-12;
Plutarch, Alexander 51,54-55.
57. Aurelius Victor, On the Caesars39.2-4; cf. PanegyriciLatini 8.13.3(Caesar
Constantius), 9.6.1 (Eumenius, For the Restoration of the Schools);for earlier uses,
see Brehier (1906) 168; and Hagedorn and Worp (1980) 166-167. The shift to the
exclusive use of despotesin official documents occurred in the early fourth century.
58. Rosch (1978)39-40, examples on 94-95,144,148; also Worp (1982).
59. Brehier (1906) 171; Rosch (1978) 139.
60. Guilland (1967) v. 2, 1;for later proskynesis,v. 1, 144-150.
61. Worp (1982) 212.
62. Persian: Treitinger (1956) 88-89, 228; Christian: Pazdernik (1997) 231-233.
63. Agapetus 23, 68; see Letsios (1985) 187, 191.The origins of this Christian
metaphor lay in St. PauL
64. E.g., Aeschylus, Persians 584-590; Herodotus 7.136.1;Xenophon, Anabasis
3.2.13; Agesilaus 1.34;Isocrates, Panegyricus151;Plutarch, Artaxerxes 22.4.
65. Lane Fox (1986) 320-325.
66. Cited and discussed in Van Dam (2002) 65.
67. Mango (1959) 32-33; MacCormack (1981) 75. See also chapter 1, fourth
section.
68. Revelation 19.10,22.8-9; Justin Martyr, Apology 1.17;Theophilus, ToAuto-
lycus 1.11;Tertullian, Apology 34.1-2; (= Orosius, History against the Pagans 6.22);
for the fourth century, Setton (1941)c. 8. Procopius mentions proskynesisin a Chris-
tian context in Wars 2.11.15-16.
69. Cf. SecretHistory 3.25;for a later example, see Michael III in Theophanes
Continuatus 4.38 (pp. 200-201).
70. Av. Cameron (1970) c. 8-9, (1985) 115n. 16, 259; and Frendo (2001) 130
(two different approaches to reading Procopius).
71. Marcellinus Comes, Chronicle, s.a. 527. Paul the Silentiary reversed the
comparison between church and hippodrome: Macrides and Magdalino (1988)
55-56.
72. Nietzsche, The Caseof Wagner 7. Nietzsche knew that this applies primar-
ily to his own writings.
73. Unfinished: B. Rubin (1960, 1995)v. 1, 224; Av. Cameron (1985) 50,53-55;
contra: Evans (1975)109. For genres, see below.
74. Greatrex (2000) 218-220, (1995a) 9- 13.
75. Adshead (1993) breaks it into three works based on genre (Milesian Tale,
Aetiology, and Financial Pamphlet). She excludes the preface and transitions as
interpolations. Though she offers insightful comments about specific aspects of the
work, she ignores its unifying threads, and her genres do not always fit. Besides,
Thucydides 3.82-83 is not a genre, and it is circular to ascribe the putative coher-
ence of the work to the cleverness of the compiler (28). Also, her thesis tends to
collapse on itself when she suggests that the compiler was none other than Procop-
ius himself (19). The suggestion that it is the only extant example of the genre of
anecdota devised by Theopompus of Chios has little to recommend it (B. Rubin
 Notes to Pages 143-154 261

[1960, 1995] v. 1, 470; Angold [1996] 21-22). For the nonexistent genre of Kaiserk-
ritik, see chapter 1, fourth section. Combination: Evans (1975)107-108.
76. Bury (1923) v. 1, 423 n. 2; Tinnefeld (1971) 18; Av. Cameron (1985) 66;
Lozza (2000) 81.
77. Wars 5.2.30; see chapter 3, third section.
78. Cf. Corbulo in Cassius Dio 62.19.4, and the comment of Tiridates in 62/
63.6.4.
79. B. Rubin (1960, 1995)v. 1, 199.
80. Zaberganes, otherwise unknown: PIRE 3, 1410.
81. Cassiodorus, Variae 10.20.2;Justinian, Novel 8.1.
82. James (2001) esp. 69, 90; Moorhead (1994) 38-40; Angold (1996) 27-29.
83. Adshead (1993) 7-10, a good analysis of the first part, whose focus on
genre, however, cannot explain the role of Theodora and is therefore silent about
it.
84. See chapter 5, fourth section.
85. See Evans (2002) c. 5.
86. For Sergius, see PIRE 3, 1124-1128.
87. Pazdernik (1994) 280.
88. Aristotle, Politics 5.11 (1313b32-38), 2.9 (1269b33-34). Aristotle's view of
women was more nuanced than is implied by these passages and many scholars:
see Swanson (1992). Plutarch cites Aristotle when he uses the word: Lycurgus 14.1.
For the "rule of women" in myth, Vidal-Naquet (1986) c. 10. For women and tyr-
anny in Herodotus, Lateiner (1989).
89. Specific allusions: SecretHistory 1.14and 13.3 (Peace620); 9.50 (Peace320;
Knights 692); 13.11,18.29, and 20.22 (Clouds 225-228); 14.11 (Knights 632); 14.11
(Clouds 889 ff.); 17.31 (Knights 41); and 18.21 (Acharnians 704). Language: Lozza
(2000). For Aristophanes in the Buildings, see chapter 1, fourth section.
90. Bornmann (1978)30-37; Baldwin (1987) 152n. 10; Lozza (2000) 91-93.
91. For the game, see also chapter 1,fourth section; for the patrician, see chap-
ter 4, second section.
92. For the edict, see Bonini (1980), and 97-105 for Procopius. The accusation
is also made by Evagrius (4.30), who may have known the SecretHistory, though
this is doubted today (Allen [1981]190).
93. For the professional background, see Greatrex (2001). The lawyer Agathias
directly cites the Novels (5.2.4). For John Lydus, Caimi (1981).
94. Scott (1985) admits not looking at the Novels too closely (102 n. 38).
95· Honore (1975), (1978) 24·
96. CJ5.4.23; for a discussion, see chapter 2, fourth section.
97· Honore (1978) 54·
98. For Justinian's notion of monarchy, see the works cited by Maas (1986)
25 n. 46.
99. Ruhl (1914) esp. 290.
100. Av. Cameron (1985) 56-61, and n. 48 (with misquotations and wrong
citations). Her evidence for pervasive belief is slim, especially considering the bulk
of sixth-century literature. B. Rubin (1951)477-479, admitted that there is less evi-
dence from that century than others. Other scholars invoke the same platitudes to
262 Notes to Pages 154-163

explain the demonology, e.g., Evans (1972) 92; Mango (198o) 244. Cameron notes
the Souda's characterization of the SecretHistory as part invective part comedy, but
dismisses the latter component as too "simple" -as though serious comedy is sim-
pler than invective! Not all modern readers take the demonology at face value: Beck
(1986) 20, 106.
101. Av. Cameron (1987) 108, esp. n. 9.
102. Av. Cameron (1985) 59-60, 68.
103. Av. Cameron (1985) 44.
104. Examples in B. Rubin (1951) 478-479, (196o) 60-61.
105. John Lydus, On the Magistraciesof the Roman State 3.58-59.
106. B. Rubin (1951), (196o), (1960, 1995) v. 1, 204, 206-209, 442-457. Despite
its volume, Rubin's work has remarkably little to say about Procopius as an author,
dissolving every aspect of his text into nebulous "backgrounds," whether religious,
political, or literary. Also, Procopius' demonology has no clear apocalyptic compo-
nent (pace Scott [1985] 108-109). In fact, the beginning of the SecretHistory looks
ahead to better times.
107. Cf. SecretHistory 12.26, 12.32, with Mark 3.22; Matthew 9.34, 12.24.
108. Justinian, Novels 133.5 (and preface), 5 (preface).
109. Justinian, Novels 30.11, 8 (preface).
110. Av. Cameron (1985) 246-247, 256.
111. Gantar (1961).
112. Honore (1978) 65,85-86,126-127,241. The words in Tanta may have been
Justinian's: 42.
113. See the constitutions that introduce and confirm the Digest;also the pref-
aces of Novels 7, 18, 46, 49, 84, and 107.1.
114. Honore (1975) 122- 123.
115. Honore (1978) 28-30; Hitler: Mango (1980) 135.
116. Strauss (1991) 211.
117. Rahe (1994) v. 1, 5.
118. SecretHistory 8.29, 13.2, 13.8, Wars 8.21.7. See Shukman (1999) 78, 84, for
Stalin.
119· Plass (1988) 37.
120. Av. Cameron (1985) 88-90; also 56-57, 65-66, 242, for taking the Build-
ings and SecretHistory "at face value."
121. Av. Cameron (1985) 57 n. 53; for the panegyrical aspect, see Garzya (1995)
342-343, who notes that it was copied into the Souda. For more praise of Theoderic,
see Wars 5.12.21-54.
122. Wars 1.10.11,3.1.2, 3.7.4 ff., 7.40.9; SecretHistory 19.5. Cf. Veh (1950-1953)
v. 2,5-7.
Croke (2001) 96, 98, 107, 128- 133, 176- 177.
123.
Machiavelli, Discourseson Livy 3.6.13.
124.
For these men, PIRE 3, 107- 109, 574-576.
125.
For these men, PIRE 3, 125-1 30, 547-548.
126.
Frendo (2001) 126 n. 11.We may wonder why this conspiracy is recounted
127.
in the Gothic War, where it has no place, rather than in the Persian War (given the
 Notes to Pages 163-168 263

Armenian origin and grievances of the conspirators). For a good discussion of the
account, see Av. Cameron (1985)141.
128. SecretHistory 12.20,18.29; Wars 7.35.9-11, 7.36.4-6.
129. See chapter 1, fourth section. For Procopius' praise of usurpers and re-
bels, see Bruckner (1896) 34.
130. Cf. Xenophon, Memorabilia 2.8.4.

Chapter 5. God and Tyche in the Wars

1. Exception: Kaegi (1990) 78. Av. Cameron (1986) 57 sees it as opposition to

paganism. Adshead (1990) 100 suggests an imitation of Thucydides (mutilation of
the Herms).
2. Gibbon, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, c. 32, 261 n. 64, and
c. 40, 561n. 12.
3. Dahn (1865) 193.
4. A thesis revived by Adshead (1996).
5. Browning (1987) 170, 178, perhaps only reflective of his attitude toward
power.
6. Teuffel (1871)222, among other German scholars.
7. Elferink (1967).
8. Downey (1949) 102.
9. Bonfante (1933) 285, rightly rejected by Kaegi (1965) 31 n. 38 and Evans
(1968) 137.
10. Evans (1971)91; Honore (1978)3 n. 12.
11. B. Rubin (1954) 65, (1963) 641: "a Syrian, if not Jew." Kaegi (1968) 217n.
125called Rubin's Procopius "fundamentally Christian," whereas Evans (1971)82 n.
6 viewed him as a skeptic. The same confusion exists in the position of Stein (1949)
v. 2, 715-716.
12. Wootton (1983)120-123.
13. Evans (1976)357:"Gibbon's doubts ... thoroughly refuted. Procopius and
his contemporaries were children of their own time." Also Av. Cameron in numer-
ous publications, esp. (1966), (1985) c. 7. Her position is now widely accepted; for
example, by Hunger (1978)v. 1, 298-299; Kaegi (1990) 55;Croke and Emmett (1983)
5, as well as in all studies of later historiography and subsequent surveys of the age.
Not everyone is convinced: Mango (198o) 243-244; cf. the silence of B. Baldwin in
the ODE.
14. Downey (196o) 33: Procopius as superstitious as his contemporaries.
15. See chapter 4, first section.
16. Downey (1949) 89.
17. Haury (1896) 13;also those cited in Av. Cameron (1966) 467.
18. The bibliography is extensive; in general, see Bury (1923) v. 2, 366-394.
For pagans, Constantelos (1968); Irmscher (1981); Trombley (1985). For heretics,
Cront (1982). For Palestine, Holum (1982b); P. Gray (1993).
19. In Cassiodorus, Variae 10.26.
264 Notes to Pages 168-174

20. The Book of Pontiffs 59.

21. One example in Av. Cameron (1982) 47.
22. Fotiou (1981)547; Fiaccadori (1979) 130n. 12.
23. Cavallo (1978). For Chosroes, Wiesehofer (1996) 216-221.
24. SecretHistory 11.14-33,11.39;Agathias 2.30-31; see chapter 3, second sec-
tion.
25. Zagorin (1990) 292 (c. 12 in general).
26. Ahl (1984). The literature is growing. Cf. Wars 2.6.3-7, 2.7.23, and
8.16.23-24.
27. Av. Cameron (1985) 161,also 17, 21-23, 43, 243-245, 253; (1966) 481 (could
give no suspicion of paganism). For similar warnings, Teuffel (1871) 201; Soyter
(1939) 100,105; Hunger (1978) v. 1, 296; Evans (1971)81: "it is virtually necessary to
believe that Procopius maintained a successful facade of orthodoxy."
28. Montaigne, Essays3.2.
29. Eusebius, Life of Constantine 4.54. For a spectrum of practices and beliefs,
see Guignebert (1923).
30. CJ 1.5.18.5. For religious dissimulation in the sixth century, see Kaldellis
(2003a).
31. Cf. SecretHistory 27.6 ff., and, from a different view, Buildings 5.7.16.
32. See the lucid survey of Garnsey (1984), who notes that "toleration implies
a degree of acceptance as well as a degree of disapproval," otherwise it is indiffer-
ence. Drake (2000) has recently argued that Constantine's declarations were princi-
pled and not just rhetorical, but he downplays his persecution of heretics and
almost completely ignores the measures he took against pagan cults. He also fails
to consider the apologists' interested motives. Other scholars state that Procopius
opposed persecution not on principle, but only because it disturbed order, violated
rights, and caused untold devastation to so many people! (This is essentially the
view of Evans [1972]115,118.)
33. Av. Cameron (1966) 469, avoiding all the problems of this passage.
34. Av. Cameron (1985)119;also 6, 66, citing Agathias, who was, however, not
a Christian either; also Baldwin (1992b). For the passage as skeptical, see Teuffel
(1871)221;Westerink, introduction to the Anonymous Prolegomenato Platonic Phi-
losophy, xxiii.
35. Av. Cameron (1991)208. For a liberal, tolerant Procopius, see Scott (1985);
Greatrex (2000) 221.
36. David Hume, DialoguesConcerningNatural Religion, parts 2 and 12.
37. Soyter (1939)106-107, but he finds the historian's position ultimately con-
tradictory.
38. Quotations from Av. Cameron (1985) 30, 36, 119.True to her argument,
Cameron devotes scarcely two pages to the whole matter (yet in [1966] 467, she
remarks that "it is wrong to concentrate on some passages to the exclusion of
others"). This view of tyche is not new; it was outlined by Krumbacher (1887) 233-
234 and B. Rubin (1954) 58, though they rarely receive credit for it now.
39. Av. Cameron (1966) 479.
40. Cited in Teuffel (1871)229.
41. See seventh section below.
 Notes to Pages 174-183 265

42. For particularly egregious examples, see Veh (1950-1953)v. 2, 20-30; Dow-
ney (1949) 91, though they are not untypical.
43. Kaldellis (1999b), introduction.
44. Nussbaum (1986) 69.
45. Cf. Teuffel (1871)205. Tyche will be referred to as feminine when consid-
ered as a personal agent and as neuter when considered as a concept.
46. For example, Pflugk-Harttung (1889) 74; Hannestad (1960) 181;Av. Cam-
eron (1985) 171.
47. Gaizeric: Wars 3.3.24,3.4.6, 3.4.14;for Cavades, see chapter 2, fifth section.
48. Wars 3.4.12-13. For the antithesis of "force" and tyche, see Attila in
3.4.29-35 (for Gaizeric and Attila, cf. 3.3.24 and 3.4.6 with 3.4.34).
49. Eusebius, EcclesiasticalHistory 8.1.
50. E.g., Teuffel (1871)229; B. Rubin (1954) 62; Kaegi (1968) 215-216;Elferink
(1967) 120-121;Evans (1971) 94, (1972) 124-125.
51. Moorhead (1994) 77 n. 12.
52. Cf. Buildings 6.5.1ff., 6.6.2.
53. Cf. Wars 3.3.14-36 with 4.8.1-2. Procopius' account of Basiliscus is proba-
bly based on Priscus of Panium (cf. fr. 53).
54. Av. Cameron (1985) 173finds proof here that Procopius saw the recon-
quest as divinely ordained (probably following the version given in Buildings 6.6.8-
16). She omits all references to tyche (which are bountiful in the passages she cites)
and does not contrast the favorable signs that marked the beginning of the expedi-
tion with its disastrous net results. Furthermore, some of the statements she attri-
butes to Procopius do not exist in the text (e.g., 3.17.6on 173-174),a not-uncommon
problem in her book and many articles. Also Knaepen (2001) 392-393, who thinks
that by tyche Procopius means the Christian God, citing Gelimer's letter as proof
(394-395 n. 49)!
55. Scott (1981a)73-74.
56. Cf. Wars 3.10.18-21and the later official interpretation of events: Buildings
6.5.6; cf. Pazdernik (2000) 153-159.
57. Wars 6.8.1. Evans (1971)85-86 notes the allusions and changes but tries to
differentiate between tyche and God. For exceeding mortal bounds, Wars 2.3.42-43;
for divine envy, see Dodds (1951)29-32; in Herodotus, Arieti (1995) 50-51; for the
envy of tyche, see Polybius 39.8.2.
58. Austin (1983)58-60; for the journey and fleet, see Casson (1982).
59. An interesting parallel to the fluctuating prominence of God in these four
speeches is Cicero's four Catilinarian Orations (two before the Senate, two before
the people); cf. the speech ofXenophon in Anabasis 3.1.15-25with that in 3.1.35-44.
For a good analysis of the problems Belisarius tried to solve with these speeches,
see Pazdernik (2000) 160 on the Thucydidean background. Pazdernik does not note
that the council of war is based on Thucydides 6.47-50 and therefore indirectly
suggests that Belisarius' leadership was a unifying force such as was absent from the
Athenian expedition.
60. Romanelli (1935) 129, recognizes that the campaign was a series of acci-
dents and concludes that this reflects Procopius' superstition!
61. So, e.g., Downey (1949) 92-93, 95, who places too much weight on this
266 Notes to Pages 183-188

ambiguous statement; cf. Wolfram (1990) 181:"God and his rod Tyche ('fate')."
Knaepen (2001) 391-392 simply ignores the references to tyche.
62. E.g., Wars 2.9.13,3.21.7;Gelimer in 3.25.13;SecretHistory 10.9-10.
63. E.g., Wars 4.7.8; cf. Teuffel (1871)227 and n. 2.
64. Augustine, City of God 4.18:"Why do people worship her, if she is blind?
.... Or does Jupiter send her too, where he pleases? Then let him alone be wor-
shipped, because Fortuna cannot oppose him when he gives orders and sends her
where he pleases."
65. As Augustine seems to have realized, though his argument smacks of his
usual sarcasm: City of God 7.3. Both Augustine and Boethius tried to subordinate
fortune to God by eliminating her autonomy and seeing a plan behind her apparent
indifference to justice, for which plan, of course, only faith could furnish proof (cf.
Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy 4.5.7: "you must not doubt that all things
happen as they should"). They also subtly substituted fate for fortune, because
fate-defined conveniently as "the order imposed on things that change" (ibid.
4.6.9)-is neutral and lacks precisely those qualities they wanted to avoid. In short,
what they subordinated to God was nothing like Procopius' notion of tyche (cf.
Augustine, City of God 5.1:fate is either the will of God or astral determinism). For
general treatments, see Haefele (1954) 51-58; Chadwick (1981)242-244, 250. Cf. the
Souda s.v. 'tuX'll: "According to the Hellenes tyche is the improvident governance of
the world ... whereas we Christians confess that God governs all." The difficulties
faced by Christians were foreshadowed in Josephus, who was not averse to Hellenic
notions but also wished to preserve the supremacy of God: Lindner (1972) 42-48,
85-94. Josephus sacrificed both the independence and the capriciousness of tyche.
For the ecclesiastical historians, see below.
66. MacIntyre (1984) 100.
67. Chesnut (1986) 39, also 9-13, an excellent discussion of tyche; cf. Walbank
(1957)v. 1, 17.
68. E.g., Cicero, On the Nature of the Gods 1.20.55.
69. Cf. Herodotus 9.82; Cassius Dio 74.13.1;Wars 1.13.17,1.14.12.
70. Ptlugk-Harttung (1889) 90, referring to "Belisarius' luck." Browning
(1987) 79-80: "They were lucky with the weather. Procopius had a stroke of
luck .... Belisarius, scarcely able to believe his luck This was Gelimer's chance,
and he missed it ... it had been a close-run thing." Wolfram (1990) 179:"The battle
was winnable for the Vandals, had Gelimer not been abandoned by fortune and
good sense." Evans (1996) 127-129: "before departure, the Byzantines had two
strokes of luck .... The army disembarked and chanced upon a stroke of luck ....
Gelimer threw away his one chance for victory," 132:Justinian "had grasped the
chance to invade," and 139:"the Vandal conquest had been easy." The city's tradi-
tional appellation was actually Felix Karthago: Clover (1986) 2-5, 9-10.
71. Pace B. Rubin (1954) 143.
72. The Strategikon of Maurice warns against this behavior after a victory,
which "can be disastrous" (7A.14;cf. 7B.17.38-39,8.2.44); cf. Plato, Republic 469d.
73. The same passage was cited, to different effect, by Agathias: Kaldellis
(1999a) 222; also Cassius Dio 36.20.1, and, with variation, Menander the Protector
fr. 7.6.
 Notes to Pages 188-198 267

74. Corippus, Iohannis 3.22; for the value of this text, see Moderan (1986),
who shows that it is a propagandistic and unreliable text that should never be
preferred over the Vandal War; cf. Av. Cameron (1983).
75. Chapter 1, second section.
76. Cf. Wars 4.19.3-4, 4.20.33with Thucydides 2.65.5 (Braun [1886] 177).
77. Evagrius 4.19: "which Procopius the rhetor has elaborated exceedingly
clearly."
78. For this ease, cf. Thucydides 3.86.4 with Wars 5.5.7.
79. Cf. Plutarch, On PraisingOneselfInoffensively 11 (= Moralia 542e-543a).
80. In defeat or hardship, and particularly during sieges, necessity is often
associated with tyche (cf. Wars 4.6.23-24, 6.3.16, 6.21.35,7.17.2,7.25.5, 8.12.4-5). For
the reign of Vittigis, see Wolfram (1988) 342-349. For the speeches and deeds of
Vittigis, see also chapter 1, second section.
81. Hannestad (196o) esp. 157ff., who concludes that the narrative is reliable
in other respects.
82. For the military details, see Wolfram (1988) 302-304.
83. See Wars 6.9.23 for the inevitable reformulation. Cf. Democritus fr. D29;
Plutarch, On Praising OneselfInoffensively 11 (= Moralia 542f). For postponement
in the Wars, see chapter 1, second section.
84. Av. Cameron (1966) 472.
85. Adshead (1990) 98.
86. See Adshead (1990) 95-104, who treats Procopius as "an experienced Thu-
cydidean," but discards all of Belisarius' references to tyche. For the parallels, Braun
(1886) 209-211.
87· Adshead (1990) 99; Carolla (1999) 171-176.
88. Thucydides 2.60.1; cf. Braun (1886) 184.
89. For the reason for Constantine's execution, see SecretHistory 1.24-30. Per-
haps by tyche Procopius means Antonina; the language he uses in the Gothic War
fits her as well as fortune.
90. Cf. Wars 5.11.11-14and 5.13.17-18with 6.3.23-27 and 6.18.14, as well as
5.11.25with 6.3.32and 6.7.2 on pronoia.
91. Cf. Wars 6.29.7, 6.29.11,and the letter from Rome.
92. Wars 6.29.17,6.30.5, 6.30.12.These expressions are bound to be misunder-
stood if they are taken out of the context of Procopius' use of tyche; e.g., Wolfram
(1964) 14, (1988) 350.
93. Wars 5.1.15-24. The parallel between Theoderic's strategy against Odoacer
and Belisarius' against Vittigis is noted by Wolfram (1988) 347, who relies on Pro-
copius throughout. The defenses of Ravenna were legendary: it was only by the
guidance of an angel that Aspar penetrated them in 425 against the usurper John
(Socrates 7.23). Procopius notes that Honorius fled to Ravenna chiefly because of
its defenses (3.2.9; additional reasons have been postulated: Neri [1990] 535-539).
94. Thucydides 2.65.6-8, and 4.126.6 for Brasidas; cf. Braun (1886) 177-178,
180.
95. Thucydides 2.65; cf. Cresci (1986) 451-456, who recognizes that Wars 7.1is
a "key" passage. For the contrast in Thucydides as "especially important," Connor
(1984) 60-63.
268 Notes to Pages 198-203

96. Cf. Wars 7.2.7 with 7.1.13-14 (ability); 7.6.4 (philophrosyne, synesis, and
philanthropia: abstains from offending women) and 7.8.1-9 (philanthropia) with
7.1.11(abstinence from women) and 7.10.17(Belisarius' philophrosyne); 7.20.31 (so-
phrosyne toward women) with 7.1.11(Belisarius' sophrosyne);7.8.15(praos, etc.) with
7.1.7 and 7.1.15;for behavior toward farmers, cf. 7.13.1with 7.1.8-10; cf. 7.8.12-13
punished his own soldiers who offended Italians. For the reign, Wolfram (1988)
353-361.
97. For the conventional view of this passage as a diversionary tactic to miti-
gate Belisarius' failures or clear him of suspicion, see Av. Cameron (1985) 160, 188
n·7·
98. Cf. Artabazes in Wars 7.4.4 with Totila in 7.4.15-17.
99. See the emperor's Pragmatic Sanction regarding Italy (App. 7 in the
Schoell and Kroll ed. of the Novels [pp. 799-802]). For an analysis, Archi (1978),
esp. 22-24 for designating Totila a tyrant.
100. For a similar view of tyche, see Dio Chrysostom, Or. 65.5 ("On For-
tune").
101. For tyche and the wind, see Wars 1.14.36,1.17.10, 3.6.15-17,3.24.11, 4.4.32-
36, 4.15.40 ff., 6.4.26, 7.7.5, 7.8.9, 7.10.7, 7.15.12, 7.18.4-8, 7.28.3, 7.28.18, 7·30.11,
7.4°.15-16, 8.11.60,8.26.2; for the metaphor itself, cf. SecretHistory 30.18. The com-
parison came naturally: pseudo-Dio Chrysostom, Or. 63.1("On Fortune"), and Fa-
vorinus, On Fortune (= Dio Chrysostom, Or. 64.7).
102. Cf. Polybius 29.22.2.
103. Attempted by Elferink (1967) 116-122.
104. E.g., Evans (1971)89-90; Av. Cameron (1985) 138(cf. 117-118).
105. For this "subjective" ontology of tyche, possibly Stoic, see Alexander of
Aphrodisias, On the Soul (Supplement) 179. Totila claims that those who make the
same mistake twice cannot blame tyche (7.16.23).The determining criterion here is
the "knowledge" gained from the "experience" of the first mistake. Ignorance is a
precondition of tyche, and the fourth-century B.C. historian Anaximenes of Lamp-
sacus even identified them (John of Stobi 2.8.17).
106. Consistent, however, with his view that tyche is subordinate to God, he
does say that the Goths have "chanced" to defeat the Romans (Wars 7.21.5).
107. For tolma in Thucydides, see Forde (1989) 17-26, 37.
108. Wars 3.5.10,3.25.22-26, 4.16.19;for example, cf. 3.12.13-14with 4.1.16and
4. 15. 29.
109. Wolfram (1988) 306,357, speaks of "irreparable damage."
110. Av. Cameron (1985)44-45, 143,240, views this as a defect; also Howard-
Johnston (2000) 24. One wonders what their verdict would be on Thucydides (cf.
Romilly [1956b] 50-52; Westlake [1986] c. 2); cf. a scholiast on Homer: he "has the
art of revealing the whole character of a man by one word" (cited in Griffin [198o]
50). For Procopius' characterizations, see B. Rubin (1954) 70-75. For the Thucydi-
dean background, see Braun (1886) 174-181:"Thucydides vitas et mores hominum
excellentium. .. paucis quidem sed perspicuis verbis depinxit; iisdem saepe verbis
Procopius usus est."
111.Av. Cameron (1985) 148-149, and 45: "empty of real content." Also Stein
(1949) v. 2,718; Howard-Johnston (2000) 24 (a hostile treatment).
 Notes to Pages203-207 269

112. So too the speeches in Sallust: Syme (2002) 198, 255, and most ancient
historians.
113. Downey (1961) 533-546; Kennedy and Liebeschuetz (1988) 65-66.
114. Av. Cameron (1985) 117, (1966) 468; and Evans (1971) 88-89, who does
not cite the digression on tyche in Wars 2.9.
115. Av. Cameron (1985) 117-119; for the word, 145.
116. See second section above.
117. Downey (1949) 95, suggested that Procopius "felt constrained for literary
reasons" to produce a balance between God and tyche. But this constraint is re-
flected in the work of no other historian of late antiquity, nor is tyche as prominent
in the work of any other. Procopius' successor Agathias, who was no Christian,
hardly ever mentions tyche, whereas the Christian Theophylact does (e.g., 2.5.2,
2.5.5, 2.15.5, 2.17.13, 3.6.13). For the flexibility of classicizing history, see Mi. Whitby
(1988) 41, 354.
118. See chapter 2, fifth section.
119. Cf. the view of tyche attributed to Rome's enemies by Dionysius of Hali-
carnassus in the preface of his Roman Antiquities (1.4.2), though he uses stronger
language to characterize her amorality. For the pagan gods' indifference to the
abuse of mortals, see Libanius, Or. 19.12, 20.12.
120. For the sequence of amoral tyche followed by a deferment to God, see
SecretHistory 10.10.
121. When the governor ordered Polycarp to say "Away with the atheists"
(meaning the Christians), the saint looked at the crowd and said "Away with the
atheists" (meaning the unbelievers): The Martyrdom of Polycarp 9.2 (= Eusebius,
EcclesiasticalHistory 4.15.18-19). The governor seems not to have noticed the double
entendre. Cassius Dio records that the populace of Rome rejected Macrinus' eleva-
tion of his son Diadumenian, but, when pressured by the senators to praise the two
rulers, "raised their hands to heaven and cried out 'He is the Augustus of the Ro-
mans; having him, we have everything,'" referring to Jupiter (79.20.2). Cf. Perozes
and the king of Ephthalites: chapter 2, third section. Av. Cameron (1966) 478
claimed that in the passage under discussion Procopius did "confuse, or identify,
God and Fortune" but draws no conclusions from this.
122. Bury (1909) 49.
123. E.g., Wars 8.32.29 (discussed below); SecretHistory 10.10.
124. Pace Av. Cameron (1966) 468,478, who omits the crucial words (in [1991]
200, the entire context of professed-or feigned-bewilderment is suppressed, and
the statement is taken as a straightforward confession of religious belief); Evans
(1971) 89 at least recognizes the ambiguity.
12 5. Buildings 2.10.2, 5.5.1, 5.29.9; see Downey (1961) 529-530, and 73-75 for
Tyche.
126. Wars 1.17.37,2.8.6. The city was notorious: cf. Julian's Misopogon;Ammi-
anus Marcellinus 22.10.1. The decadence of Syrians was a commonplace. In a playful
paradox, Cavafy contrasted the sensual Christians of Antioch to the prudish pagan
emperor ("Julian and the Antiochenes").
127. Life of St. Symeon the Stylite the Younger 57, with references to God's
"wrath" and "anger." Cf. Peter the Patrician in Menander the Protector fr. 6.1.36-
270 Notes to Pages207-210

40, attributing the capture of Antioch to God's punishment of "the excessive good
fortune of the Romans." This is more Herodotean than Christian, but not necessar-
ily un-Christian. Elferink (1967) 132n. 54 supposes that Procopius was implying a
cause for God's anger: Justinian's iniquity. But this has no basis in the text, and the
argument depends on a clear distinction between God and tyche.
128. For examples, see Kaegi (1968) c. 4-5. See below for the plague.
129. For an instructive formulation, see Lactantius, On the Anger of God 1.
130. E.g., Theodoret, On Divine Providence1.11.
131. Montaigne, Essays3.3 (pp. 623-6 24); see Schaefer (1900) 16-18,79-87, and
144-150 for Pyrrhonism as "rhetorical window-dressing, designed to mitigate the
shocking effect of the attack on Christianity." Cf. the complaints against Socrates'
cynical professions of ignorance, which undermined the beliefs of others: Plato,
Republic 336e-337a,Symposium 216e; Augustine, City of God 8.3-4; and Clay (2000)
94: "In the view of those he annoyed, Socrates knew the answers to his questions,
and his questions were designed to expose the pretensions and ignorance of his
unwilling victims," and 179-180. Also Cicero, On the Nature of the Gods 2.1.2-3,
3.1.4,3.3.7,3.39.93. For a modern example, Popkin (1979) 226.
132. Epicurus in Lactantius, On the Anger of God 13.20-21; Sextus Empiricus,
Outlines of Pyrrhonism 3.9-12; cf. Cicero, On the Nature of the Gods 3.32-38. David
Hume, Dialogues ConcerningNatural Religion, parts 10-11, remains the most suc-
cinct exposition, though the reader must pay attention to the shifting alliances be-
tween the speakers and their tendentious arguments. Like Procopius, Hume was
not entirely free to speak his mind. The problem of evil was at the core of a number
of dualist heresies, both in antiquity and throughout the medieval period: see, in
general, Runciman (1947), although this work is outdated in many respects.
133. Lactantius, On the Anger of God 13.22.Augustine devoted a wide-ranging
though inconclusive treatise to this subject (the De Ordine), in which he upholds
various vague solutions; cf. 2.15:"These and other things in human life drive many
men to the impious belief that we are not governed by any order of divine Provi-
dence. Others, however, upright and good ... are so confused by the great obscurity
and maze of affairs, so to speak, that they cannot see any order." See Chadwick
(1981)239-241, for a post-Augustinian, albeit still inconclusive, treatment.
134. Young (1973).
135. Possibly Homer, Iliad 24.525-533.
136. See chapter 1, second section.
137. Iouanna (1999) 209: Thucydides, "though implicitly he challenges reli-
gious causality, shows himself to be openly skeptical of the rational explanations
advanced by the physician."
138. E.g., Croke (1981)123;Meier (1999) 185-186, 189-190 (though recocgniz-
ing his differences from the ecclesiastical tradition); and esp. Av. Cameron (1985)
40, 168, 234-235, who again cites statements that do not exist in the text: e.g., 29:
"coupled with his conviction that all must be for the best." It seems that Cameron
has transposed a comment made in connection with the fall of Antioch to the
account of the plague. Neither passage is examined critically and everything is taken
entirely at face value, except, of course, for tyche and related terms, which are
strictly excluded. It is also unclear what it means when she says that Procopius
 Notes to Pages210-212 271

differs from Thucydides in that "he can find no human explanation" for the plague
(40). For the plague, see Evans (1996) 160-165; Allen (1979) (correctly identifying
Procopius as "agnostic" but omitting the testimony of Corippus, Iohannis 3.343-
400, possibly the earliest source). For a medical diagnosis, see Leven (1987)140-144.
Modern discussions have possibly exaggerated its effect: Durliat (1989).
139. Iouanna (1999) 181;for Thucydides' rationalist view of nature, see Ed-
munds (1975)169-172.
140. Justinian, Novels 77.1(before the plague) and 141.
141. According to Malalas, God, "in his mercy," punished mankind for its
"lawlessness" (18.92; cf. Croke [1990a] 23). According to Agathias, many believed
that the plague represented the "wrath of God," punishing man's injustice (5.10.6,
the historian himself did not subscribe to such beliefs; cf. Kaldellis [1999a] 223-226,
and below). Among those mentioned by Agathias was to be the Syriac ecclesiastical
historian John of Ephesus (cf. Allen [1979] 20), and the author of the Life of St.
Symeon the Stylite the Younger 69. The Syriac continuator of Zachariah claimed that
the plague was "a scourge from Satan, who was ordered by God to destroy men"
(10.9; cf. Allen [1980] 472-473). Evagrius, influenced by both Thucydides and Pro-
copius, blandly claimed that only God, who directed the plague, knew its causes
(4.29; cf. Allen [1981]190-194). He did not refer to his wrath (pace Av. Cameron
[1985]42 and n. 60). Corippus, possibly the earliest source, offers a different inter-
pretation: God punished the inhabitants of Libya for the sins they committed during
the plague by sending the Moors against them afterward (Iohannis 3.343-400). The
Christian historian Theophylact reports that Jesus visited the Avars with plague to
punish their ruler's impiety (7.15.1-3).See in general Meier (1999) 197-204.
142. Theodoret, Letter 52. For instances of "divine wrath" in early Christian
writers, see Young (1973), and, regarding events of the fifth century, Kaegi (1968)
c. 4-5. For a treatise, see Lactantius, On the Anger of God, esp. 16 ff.
143. Traces of this interest, though from a Christian viewpoint, can be found
in Corippus: Iohannis 3.343-400. Cf. Bury (1909) 129:"Thucydides occasionally re-
fers to oracles, but their sole significance for him lies in the psychical effect they
produce on those who believe them."
144. Cf. Wars 2.22.11with Thucydides 2.47.4, 2.53.4.
145. Skedros (1999) 124. See also the Life of St. Symeon the Stylite the Younger
78. For the ways in which the Byzantines reconciled their faith with disasters, in
practice and theory, see Dagron (1981)and Vercleyen (1988).
146. This is the only passage in the Wars where pronoia is ascribed to divinity;
elsewhere it is a human quality (cf. the ironic usage of 2.10.6-9).
147. Aprophasiston and automaton occur twice in the account of the plague
(Wars 2.22.23, 2.22.31,2.22.33-34); cf. 6.19.11-12,8.14.34 (which must be taken with
8.14.38),and 8.32.28-34 (multiple occurrences). For automaton and tyche, see below.
For aprophasistonand plague, see Thucydides 2.49.2.
148. Socrates, Book 5, preface.
149. Iouanna (1999) 209: "One unexpected consequence of this refusal to
speculate about causes is that the historian saw things more clearly than the physi-
cians of his time."
150. For innovation, see chapter 1, fourth section, and chapter 2, fifth section.
272 Notes to Pages 212-217

151.Agathias 5.6-8.
152. Allen (1979) 6.
153. Pace Av. Cameron (1985) 234-235.
154. Agathias 4.26.4; for his knowledge of Thucydides, see Adshead (1983).
155. The Christian historian Theophylact, discussing the earthquake of 583,
differs from the classical model here (1.12.11).
156. Kaldellis (1999a).
157. Av. Cameron (1985)3, also xi.
158. Cf. Wars 2.30.51, 3.21.7.
159. Roisl (1981)44-50 unconvincingly impugns Procopius' account of Toti-
la's death by relying on a priori assumptions about the king's psychology and fuss-
ing about the details of his attire.
160. Av. Cameron (1966) 473-474, (1985) 114,237. Again, the digressions on
tyche are ignored.
161. App. 7 to the Schoell and Kroll ed. of the Novels (pp. 799-802).
162. Gregory the Great, Dialogues 2.15.2and the seventh-century continuator
of The Book of Pontiffs 61 (on pope Vigilius).
163. Alcuin, Letter on the sack of Lindisfarne, in Loyn and Percival (1975)110.
164. Cf. Belisarius in Wars 5.24.9. For tyche playing with men, see Herzog-
Hauser (1943) 1668-1669.
165. See third section above, on Wars 4.7.18.
166. E.g., Teuffel (1871)228-229; Av. Cameron (1966) 477-478.
167. The context of both passages repays study. Cf. Thucydides 1.140.1;Plu-
tarch, How to Read Poems 6 (= Moralia 23Cff.).
168. For the paralogosand tyche, cf. Wars 1.9.12-13,8.32.29;Totila in 7.7.15;cf.
Polybius 2.7.1-2.
169. E.g., Demosthenes, Or. 2.22; Polybius 15.6.8,29.22.2; Herodian 1.13.6;Ju-
lian, Letter to Themistius 255d, 257a;cf. Wars 7.14.23(fate).
170. See the encyclopedic entries of Herzog-Hauser (1943) and Ruhl (1915).
See Chesnut (1986) c. 2, for tyche in historical and philosophical texts; see Haefele
(1954) 49-86 and Wolfram (1964), esp. 1-15,in Latin literature of late antiquity.
171. Gaza: Haury (1896) 13-14;Corippus, Iohannis 3.234-235,3.413-425; Theo-
phylact: see n. 117.Christians were at first reluctant to use such pagan terms. Euseb-
ius deliberately used other words to designate accidents (Chesnut [1986] 39-50).
His successors used surrogate terms such as kairos, though were not averse to tyche
(ibid. 188-192, 206, 212-214). By the sixth century it was acceptable in Christian
circles because theologians had cleared the ground and a heavily providential view
was taken for granted (ibid. 216-223).
172. Olympiodorus: Matthews (1970) 95-97; Zosimus: Paschoud (1974) 328.
Elferink (1967) sees a contradiction between God and fortune in Procopius while
recognizing that he sometimes uses them interchangeably. He argues that they are
distinct but can find no clear principle for why either term is used in any particular
instance (132). Elferink deserves credit for trying to discover the principles of Pro-
copius' composition, even though the two entities cannot, in my view, be differenti-
ated.
173. See Matthews (1989) 427-4 28, 544-545 n. 9, and 424-435 for his religios-
 Notes to Pages 217 -21 9 273

ity; Naude (1964) for Fortuna. Tyche made its historiographical debut in the work
of Duris, the early third -century B.C. tyrant of Samos, whose usage has also been
understood in terms of literary aims: Fornara (1983) 126 ff.
174. Walbank (1972) 61; in general: 60-65.
175. Polybius 36.17.1-2; cf. Walbank (1957) v. 1, 22.
176. Walbank (1972) 60,64-65, (1957) v. 1, 25. Various compromises have been
proposed (e.g., Green [1989] 170-171), and theories that postulate a development in
his thought have rightly been rejected. For tyche in the Hellenistic period, see Green
(1990) 55, 74, 400-401.
177. Walbank (1972) 61-62; Pedech (1965) esp. 54-57. For daimonion in the
Wars, see 2.30.51, 3.11.30, 3.25.18, 4.1.24, 4.14.16, 6.29.32, 7.13.16, 7.19.22. The Secret
History needs separate treatment (see chapter 4, fourth section). B. Rubin (1954) 59
saw a similarity between Procopius' daimonion and the Christian DeviL
178. Walbank (1957) v. 1, 23, (1972) 63-64. Unfortunately fortune in the Histor-
ies has not been studied with attention to the broader aims of each episode in which
it occurs. As with Procopius, scholars are content to excerpt statements and discuss
them analytically, which occludes the role played by particular instances of tyche in
promoting Polybius' philosophical objectives, his "moral vision," which has only
recently been identified: Eckstein (1995) esp. 262-271, who places tyche in the con-
text of his pessimism.
179. Schopenhauer, Parergaand Paralipomena, v. 2, 408. For personification,
see Deubner (1902-1909), esp. 2075-2076, 2142-2145 for tyche; in general, see Staff-
ord (2000). It was discussed by Cicero, On the Nature of the Gods 3.16-25, esp.
3.24.61 regarding Fortuna: "obviously an abstraction" and "nobody will dissociate
fortune from inconstancy and haphazard action, which are certainly unworthy of a
deity." Also Pliny, Natural History 2.5.14-15.
180. Evagrius 3.26; Allen (1991) 139; cf. Chesnut (1986) 191, 219-220.
181. Herzog-Hauser (1943) 1648, 1653, 1678-1689; Ruhl (1915) 1344-1357 (geo-
graphically); Waser (1915).
182. Theophylact 8.13.10; for pagan statues in early Byzantium, see Mango
(1963).
183. Cicero, On the Nature of the Gods 1.27.77-3°.85; cf. Dio Chrysostom, Or.
65.12 ("On Fortune").
184. Machiavelli, The Prince, c. 25.
185. Fischer (1996) 258, 260.
186. Simplicius, On Aristotle's Physics 328; cf. 333, 360-361 for worship. For
moralizing views of fortune, see Dio Chrysostom, Or. 65 ("On Fortune"); pseudo-
Dio Chrysostom, Or. 63.7 ("On Fortune"): "Let us then not call any fortune eviL
For neither does anyone say that virtue is evil, nor that goodness is eviL" Cassius
Dio professed his devotion to Tyche (73.23), but she seems to have been quite unlike
the tyche of Procopius. For less positive views, see Pliny, Natural History 2.5.22,
though his intention is to ridicule her followers and so probably does not represent
their beliefs faithfully. Also the first-century A.D. Tabula of Cebes7-9,30-31, though
it is not clear that personification here represents divination. Historians tended to
present a negative image: Herzog-Hauser (1943) 1663, influenced perhaps by the
uncaring deity of New Comedy: Ruhl (1915) 1320-1321.
274 Notes to Pages 219-220

187. See Clendinnen (1991) 67-83, 122, 141-152,and passim for a fascinating
reconstruction.
188. In Clement of Alexandria, Stromata 5.14.128;Eusebius, EvangelicalPrepa-
ration 13.13.687d;Theodoret, Therapyfor GreekMaladies 6.16.
189. Edmunds (1975)3, 174,against the pioneer F. M. Cornford.
190. Romilly (1956b) 175-176;see Edmunds (1975)187for a definition; cf. 174:
"that Tyche ruled history is out of the question." So too Sallust: Syme (2002) 246.
191. For tyche and the automaton in the Wars, cf. 8.14.34 with 8.14.38; also
8.32.29. Procopius does not differentiate between them, but he uses the automaton
rarely.
192. Anthologies: Aetius, On the Teachingsof the PhilosophersRegardingPhysi-
cal Doctrines 1.29 (= Plutarch, Moralia 885C);John of Stobi 1.6.17. Discussions:
Alexander of Aphrodisias, On the Soul (Supplement) 176-179; Themistius, Para-
phrase ofAristotle'sPhysics47-57; John Philoponus, Commentary on Aristotle'sPhys-
ics 259-296; Simplicius, On Aristotle's Physics 327-361. Simplicius realized that
Aristotle did not view chance theologically (359.25), so, as a dutiful Neoplatonist,
he transformed tyche into a benevolent divine principle in his cosmology (360-361).
For an anthology of mostly Neoplatonic views, see John Lydus, On the Months 4.7,
4.46, 4.100 (cf. Kaldellis [2003aJ).
193. Nemesius, On the Nature of Man 39.313;cf. 31.272.
194. Bury (1909) 257-258.
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 Index

People mentioned throughout the book (Procopius, Justinian, Romans, Greeks, Byzantines,
Persians, barbarians, pagans, Christians, and heretics) are not included, nor are broad geo-
graphical names (Europe, Italy, Syria, etc.). References to modern scholars are not compre-
hensive and focus on discussions of Procopius as a writer.

Abandanes (Persian), 131-132 Ammatas (Vandal), 184

Abasgi, 131 Ammianus Marcellinus, 44, 217, 234, 245, 249,
Abydos, 181 256, 269, 272- 273
Achilles, 22, 53 Amory, P., 254
Achilles Tatius, 247 Anastasius (emperor), 85, 98, 123, 135, 160,
Adergoudounbades (Persian), 84-85, 128 226, 251, 259
Adshead, K., 34, 143, 238, 260-261, 263, 267, Anatolius (general), 67-69, 243
272 Anaximenes of Lampsacus, 268
Aelian, 245-246 Anglo-Saxons, 4
Aeschylus, 260 Anna Komnene, 256
Aetius (anthology), 274 Anthemius (architect), 212
Afinogenov, D., 40 Antichrist, 155, 259
Agapetus (deacon), 57, 114-115,137-138, 256, Antioch, 1, 42, 96, 121-122, 127-12 8, 167, 174,
260 176, 204-209, 216, 257, 258, 269-27°. See
Agapetus (pope), 168 also Theoupolis
Agapius (philosopher), 134, 259 Antonina, 79, 143- 149, 164, 202, 246, 267
Agathias, 20, 26- 27, 36, 37, 40, 53, 63, 65, 67, Apamea, 121-123, 126, 252
73, 83, 93, 101-102, 106, 116-117, 213, 225, Aphthonius (rhetor), 76
235- 237, 239, 240, 242- 245, 248- 252, 254- Apis, 103
257, 261, 264, 266, 269, 271-272 Apollo, 207, 236
Ahl, F., 59, 236, 242, 264 Arabs/Saracens, 1, 204
Albaniv no Arcadius (emperor), 63,65-67,76,85,87,95-
Alcibiades, 8 96,98,243
Alcuin of York, 215, 272 Archelaus (prefect), 181
Alexander (logothetes),52, 227, 240 Ardashir (Persian king), 244
Alexander of Aphrodisias, 268, 274 Areobindus (governor), 162-163
Alexander the Great, 77, 121,136, 138, 241, 246, Areobindus (young man), 78, 246
260 Arianism/ Arians, 42, 166, 252
Alexandria, 25, 36, 105, 218, 227 Aristides, Aelius, 244, 258
Amalasuntha, 95, 107- 109, 113,114, 130, 144- Aristophanes, 58-59, 116, 149, 242, 251, 261
145, 254 Aristotle, 7, 149, 212, 219-22 0, 233, 244- 246,
Amasis (Pharaoh), 245 248, 250, 256, 261, 273-274
Amazons, 149 Armenians, 88-93, 131, 249, 262-263
Amida, 63, 98, 236 Arrian, 77, 246, 259
300 Index

Arsaces (Armenian king), 89, 91, 249 Caesarea (in Palestine), 218-219
Arsaces (conspirator), 163 Calabrians, 199
Artabanes (conspirator), 163-164 Caligula, 134
Artabanus (Persian), 180 Callicles, 112,114
Artabazes (governor), 198, 268 Cambyses, 78-79, 103, 125, 245, 247
Artemisia, 125, 132 Cameron, AI., 122, 237, 251- 252, 253
Ashurnasirpal, 121 Cameron, Av., 28, 31, 41-45, 48, 55-59, 64, 65,
Aspar (generaD,267 117,119-120, 154-155,169, 172, 173, 205, 236,
Athalaric (Gothic king), 107-109, 114,254 237, 239- 242, 245, 248, 250, 252, 257-259,
Athens/Athenians, 8, 9-13, 18, 26, 34-35, 48- 261-265, 268-269, 270-271, 272
49,77,79,100,103,111,168,194,195,198, Caoses (Persian prince), 86, 206
199, 210, 226, 246, 254, 265. See also individ- Cappadocians, 138
ual names Caria,54
Attila, 74-75, 265 Carrhae (Harran), 122, 252, 254, 257
Auerbach, E., 234
Carthage, 162, 177, 179-180, 184, 187, 196, 266
Augustin~ 6,4~56-5~183,24~ 266,270
Caspian Gates, 96
Augustus (emperor), 122, 242
Cassiodorus, 95, 249, 250, 254- 256, 261, 263
Aurelian (emperor), 136-137
Cassius Dio, 245, 258, 261, 266, 269, 273
Aurelius Victor, 137, 260
Cavades,9, 63, 65, 69,78, 80-90,9 2-93,94,
Autumn Star, 53, 55,240
97-99, 103, 106, 114,118,124-12 5, 128, 177,
Auximum, 195-196
Avenarius, G., 235 204, 206, 247- 248, 257, 265
Aztecs, 219 Cavafy, C., 269
centaurs, 53, 240
Bacon, Francis, 220 Cesa, M., 236, 245
Bactra, 244 Chalcedonians, 53, 171
Bakunin, M., 172 Chalcis, 126
Balash/Blases, 81, 83-84, 124 Choerilus of Samos, 61, 242
Baldwin, B., 238, 241, 251, 263, 264 Chosroes I, 9, 14, 54, 67-69, 72-74, 77, 78,
Barabbas, 12 81-83, 85-88, 95-96, 101, 115,118-123, 125,
Basiliscus (usurper), 179-180, 265 129, 131, 144, 146- 149, 168, 205- 207, 209,
Beck, H.-G., 44, 239, 262 243, 245, 251-252, 257-258, 264
Belisarius, 3, 19- 20, 30, 32-35, 46, 66, 78, 117, Chosroes II, 128- 129, 244
120, 131-132,141,143-150, 163-164, 165, 175, Christensen, A., 243, 247- 248, 257, 258
176-204 (passim), 206, 221, 245, 246, 255, Christides, D. A., 35, 238, 246
257, 265- 268, 272 ChroniconPaschale,169- 170, 247
Benardete, S., 94-95, 234, 246- 247, 250 Cicero, 114,133,218, 242, 256, 265, 266, 270,
Bessas (commander), 201
273
Blockley, R. C., 237, 243, 245, 248- 249, 251,
Claudius I (emperor), 233
258
Clement of Alexandria, 274
Blues (faction), 121-122,125, 257
Cleon, 10, 149
Boethius, 102-103, 112-114,252, 256, 266
Colchis, 146-147
Boniface (general), 184
Constantine I, 135,169, 171,264
Book of Pontiffs, 264, 272
Bosporus, 226 Constantine VII, 136, 247, 259
Brasidas, 35, 267 Constantine (officer), 195, 267
Braun, H., 236-237, 240, 251, 267-268 Constantinople, 2, 3, 52, 66, 68, 88, 107, 110,
Browning, R., 39 123, 125, 162, 197, 226, 244
Bruckner, M., 237, 242, 251, 263 Constantius II, 155
Bury, J. B., 206, 220, 243, 249, 252, 255, 257, Corinthians, 49
259, 271 Corippus, 136, 188, 217, 241, 259, 267, 271-272
Busta Gallorum (battle), 203, 214 Cornford, F. M., 233
 Index 301

CorpusJuris Civilis (esp. Codex and Novels), Evagrius, 42-43, 115,121-122, 171, 211,214, 218,
1, 14, 21, 150-158, 169, 223- 228, 246-247, 235, 214, 247, 261, 267, 271, 273
261-262, 264, 271-272 Evans, J. A. S., 36-37, 125, 237- 239, 249, 256,
Cosimo de' Medici, 91 257, 261-265, 268-269
Cosmas Indicopleustes, 236
Crepereius Calpurnianus, 17, 234 Faventia (battle), 198-199
Ctesiphon, 68, 127 Favorinus (rhetor), 268
Cyrus, 54-55,73, 80, 125, 245 Fehling, D., 233, 248
Fisher, E., 258
Damascius, 101-104, 253, 255 Florence (battle), 198
Daphne (near Antioch), 121, 257 Franks, 4, 32, 196, 202
Daras, 241 Frendo, J. D., 13, 234, 260, 262
Darius, 71, 73, 125, 136, 245
Decimum (battle), 181-187, 200 Gaizeric (Vandal king), 155, 177-179, 184-185,
St. Demetrius, 211 187, 221, 265
democracy, 12-13, 161, 234, 250 Garnsey, P., 264
Democritus, 267 Garsoian, N., 244, 249
Demosthenes, 26, 40, 272 Gaza (orators), 217, 239, 272
despotes(dominus), 70, 72-73, 74, 76, 85, 118, Gelimer, 132, 141, 176-177, 182, 184-188, 196,
128- 142, 148- 149, 156 221, 266
Dio Chrysostom, 268, 273 Gepids,l
Diocletian, 134-135, 137, 168 Germanus (general), 160
Diodorus of Sicily, 8, 36-37, 51, 235, 238, 249 Gibbon, Edward, 3, 5, 39-40, 166-167, 233,
Diogenes Laertius, 251 238, 244- 245, 263
Diomedes (hero), 23 God, 14-15, 58, 59-60, 66, 137, 139- 140, 141,
Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 269 147, 148, 156, 159- 160, 162-163, chap. 5 (pas-
Dionysius of Phocaea, 125 sim), 255, 266, 268-271
Dionysius of SYracuse, 36-37, 50, 125 Goffart, W., 234, 242- 243, 245
Domitian, 134, 259 Gontharis (usurper), 162-163
Downey, G., 236, 239-241, 263, 265-266, 269 Gorgo (city), 70-7 1, 244
Drake, H., 63, 242, 264 Goths, 1, 32, 33, 50, 107- 109, 131, 144, 160, 165,
Duris of Samos, 273 170, 177, 189- 204 (passim), 252, 254, 255,
268. See also individual names
Ecclesiastes, 141 Goubazes (Lazi king), 60, 129, 242, 258
Edessa, 127, 236 Gousanastades (Persian), 84, 124-125
Elferink, M. A., 263, 268, 270, 272 Greatrex, G., 64, 124, 142, 238- 240, 242, 247,
Emessa, 152-153 252, 260, 261, 264
Ephthalites, 69-75, 77, 81-82, 84, 85, 128, 243- Greens (faction), 121-123, 125, 223, 252, 257
245, 247, 269 Gregory (conspirator), 163
Epic Histories, 89, 91-9 2, 249 Gregory of Nazianzus, 155, 245
Epictetus, 104, 106, 116, 159, 253 Gregory the Great, 272
Epicurus, 208-209, 270
eros, 77-80, 83-84 Hagia Sophia, 2, 3, 27, 58, 116, 212
Eternal Peace, 68, 101-102, 104, 120-121, 127 Hartog, F., 71, 233, 243- 244, 247-248
Eunapius, 221 Hegel, G. W. F., 46-47, 239
Euphemia (empress), 54, 78 Heliodorus, 244
Eusebius (ambassador), 69-70,77, 80, 91, 243 Hellespont, 226
Eusebius of Caesarea, 18, 135, 159-160, 169, Hephaestus (prefect), 227
178, 234- 235, 240, 259, 264, 265, 269, 27~ Heraclius, 128-129
274 Herodian, 25, 244- 245, 259, 272
302 Index

Herodotus, 4, 7, 12, 17- 20, 26, 35, 39, 40, 44, Jupiter, 218, 266, 269
45,48,55,59,7 1,73,76,78-79,83,87,9 2- Justin I, 54, 78, 85-88, 98, 100, 118, 154, 214,
93, 94-95, 103, 116, 120, 125, 128, 174, 180, 247, 251, 254, 259
206, 233-235, 237, 241, 243- 249, 252, 254, Justin II, 136, 259
257, 258, 260, 261, 265, 266, 270 Justiniana Prima, 54
Hesiod, 13, 61, 250 Justin Martyr, 260
Hippocrates, 26, 244
hippodrome, 2, 121-124, 141, 260 Kaegi, W. E., 42, 239, 243, 253, 263, 271
Hobbes, Thomas, 10, 16, 234 Kaiserkritik, 47, 239- 240
Holum, K., 66, 243 Krumbacher, K., 237, 241, 264
Homer (including Iliad, Odyssey), 9-10, 18,
20- 23, 40, 46-47, 53, 55, 57, 59, 61, 81, 236, Lactantius, 209, 270-271
241, 247, 257, 268, 270 Lamarque, P., and S. H. Olsen, 233-234
Honore, T., 152, 153, 158, 234, 242, 246- 248, Lazi, 60, 129, 131
257, 259, 261-263 Leo (emperor), 179, 259
Honorius, 65, 178- 179, 248, 267 Libanius, 138, 172, 244, 256, 257, 269
Hume, David, 172, 208, 270 Livy, 7, 91, 249
Huns, 69-70,72,74, 240, 244 Locke, John, 52, 132
Hypatius, 85, 88, 123-124, 248, 258 Lombards,l
Lucian, 17, 24- 26, 36, 234- 236, 244
Lucifer of Calaris, 155
Iahdun-Lim of Mari, 121
Lydians, 71, 237
Iberians (Caucasus), 93
Ildibad (Goth), 197
Mabinogion, 249
Isaaces, 201-202
Macedonians, 136, 138
Isaurians, 191
Machiavelli, 91, 125, 161-162, 219-221, 243,
Isdigerdes, 65-67, 69, 76, 77, 85, 86-87, 90,
248, 262, 273
94-96, 98, 243
MacIntyre, A., 183
Isidore of Seville, 131,258
Macrinus (emperor), 269
Isocrates, 36, 238, 244, 260 Majorian (emperor), 160
Malalas, John, 17, 18, 42, 126, 151-152,223, 226,
Janus, 165 228, 234, 239, 246, 257- 258, 271
Jenkins, R., 39-40 Mammes (battle), 29-31, 189
Jerome, 17, 155 Mango, C., 40-42, 63-64, 238, 242, 262, 263,
Jesus, 12 273
Jews (and Hebrews), 12, 141, 166, 168 Manichaeans, 166. See also Mazdakites
John (usurper), 240, 267 Manuel Moschopoulos, 131,258
John Lydus, 21, 57, 116, 133-135, 137, 155, 224- Marcellinus comes, 17, 126, 247, 257, 260
226, 228, 236, 242, 243, 245-248, 251, 258, Marcus Aurelius, 133
259, 261-262, 274 Mardonius (Persian), 132, 246
John of Ephesus (historian), 271 Marincola, J., 234- 235
John of Stobi, 268, 274 Mark (Gospel), 12, 249, 262
John of Thessaloniki (bishop), 211 Marx, Karl, 172
John Philoponus, 274 Matthews, J., 44, 239, 243- 244, 259, 272- 273
John the Armenian (commander), 184 Maurice (emperor), 73,243,244,266
John the Cappadocian, 126, 155, 180-181, 228, Maxim us of Tyre, 241, 249
257 Mazdaki tes, 81
John Troglita, 136, 188 Megarian Decree, 10
Josephus, 266 Melian dialogue, 111,255
Julian (emperor), 155, 169, 245, 269, 272 Menander the Protector (historian), 93, 237,
Juno, 218 244,250,266,269- 270
 Index 303

Mermeroes, 60, 129, 242 Persian Gulf, 75, 245- 246

St. Michael, 121 Peter Barsymes, 224
Michael III (emperor), 260 Peter the Patrician, 107, 110-113, 136, 244, 247,
Midas, 249 255- 256, 259, 269
Milvian bridge, 33, 192 Pharas, 132, 187
Monophysites, 2, 160, 166, 171 Philemon (poet), 219
Montaigne, 169, 208, 270 Philostorgius (historian), 243
Moors, 29-31, 132, 162, 187, 189, 271 Phlegon of Tralles, 234
More, Thomas, 105, 116 Phocaeans, 243
Mullett, M., 238 Phormio, 30
Mundir (Lakhmid king), 204 Photius, 256
Pilatus, Pontius, 12
Naples, 32, 191, 197-199 Pindar, 250, 254
Narses (general), 190, 214-215 plague, 1, 3, 21, 26- 27, 43, 44, 104, 120, 145,
Naupactus (battle), 29-30 174, 176, 204, 209, 210- 213, 236, 253, 270- 271
Nemesius of Emessa, 220, 274 Plato, 4, 5, 7-8, 12- 13, 14, 29, 38, 45, 61, 64,
Neocles, 54-55, 241 77-79,82-83, chap. 3 (passim), 133,142, 157,
Nero, 134 171- 172, 174, 199, 204,207, 221, 239, 241, 242,
Nestor (hero), 61 244,246- 248,250,25 1,254- 256,266,270
Nicias, 34, 194 Platonists/Platonism, 2, 4, 14, 36, 47, 93, 101-
Nietzsche, 11,77, 142, 203, 260 106, 112,116, 134, 168, 171, 251- 254, 256, 274
Nika riots, 2, 3, 36-37, 54, 88, 120, 122- 127, Plataea, 26, 236
130,204 Pliny the elder, 245, 273
Nussbaum, M., 175,233,246,265 Pliny the younger, 259
Plutarch, 22, 25, 36, 54, 59, 63, 241, 242, 261,
Oblivion (castle), 83-84, 89-90, 249 267, 272, 274
Odoacer, 197, 267 Polus (student of Gorgias), 113
Odysseus, 236 Polybius, 8, 9, 19- 21, 23, 95, 169, 174, 218, 235,
Olympiodorus (historian), 217, 272 236, 247, 250, 265, 268, 272- 273
Olympiodorus (philosopher), 105- 106, 113, Polycarp (martyr), 269
253, 255 Portus (near Rome), 33, 201-202
On Politics,99, 115,117,133 pothos, 76-77
Origenes (senator), 123-125, 258 Priscian (orator), 251
Ovid, 249 Priscian of Lydia (philosopher), 252
Priscus (forger), 152-153, 227
Pacurius (Persian king), 89-91
Priscus of Panium, 74, 98, 237, 244, 245, 249,
PanegyriciLatini, 260
251, 265
Papua (fort), 132, 187
Pritchett, W. K., 233
Paraetonia (near Alexandria), 25
Procl us, 134
Paris (hero), 23, 236
Procopius (generaD, 68,243
Parthians, 17, 73, 244
Procopius of Gaza, 251
St. Paul, 260
proskynesis,70, 74, 85, 118, 128- 142, 259- 260
Paul the Silentiary, 260
Pausanias (periegete), 242
Pausanias (Spartan), 125, 251 Quintus Curtius (biographer), 136, 259
Pazdernik, C., 133, 238, 259, 261, 265
Peloponnesian War, 10-11, 18, 20, 48, 49, 77, Ravenna, 32, 179, 196-198, 200, 267
190 Revelation, 139
Pericles, 22, 32, 34, 102-103, 189, 195, 197- 198 Rome (city), 2, 21, 23, 32-34, 95, 141, 153, 165-
Perozes (Persian king), 69-72, 75-77, 81-82, 166, 170, 178, 191- 194, 197, 199, 201-202,
85,9 1,94,97,99,128,243,244,247,269 208, 227, 236, 267
304 Index

Rome (cock), 178 Strepsiades, 58

Romilly, J. de, 10-11, 16, 29, 235, 237, 251 Suetonius, 259
Romulus, 63 Syme, R., 256, 269
Rousseau, P., 241 St. Symeon the Stylite, 207, 269, 271
Rubin, B., 146, 236, 237, 239, 252, 259, 260- Symmachus (ath century), 172
264, 266, 268, 273 Symmachus (oth century), 102-103, 112-114
Synesius of Cyrene, 96, 243, 250
Salamis, 125 Syracuse, 11,34, 36-37, 181,191, 194
Sallust (historian), 238, 256, 269, 274
Samaritans, 79, 166, 168- 170, 227
Tabula of Cebes,273
Sardinia, 179-180, 184-186
Tacitus, 7, 25, 239, 245, 249
Sarpi, Paolo, 166
Teia (Goth), 142
Saxonhouse, A., 113-114,246, 248, 255-256
Telemachos, 53
Saxons, 1
Tertullian, 260
Schopenhauer, Arthur, 92, 218
Tetrarchy, 137
Scott, R., 23, 64, 151,228, 234, 236- 239, 245,
Themistius, 172, 244, 251, 272, 274
250, 258, 259, 261-262, 264, 265
Themistocles, 54-55, 241
Scythians, 71-72, 74, 83, 244
Theodahad, 107-115,125, 147, 168, 199,
Seleuceia (Persian), 68
Seleuceia (Roman), 121 254- 255
Theoderic, 98, 102-103, 107-109, 112,114,159-
Semiramis, 242
160,168,187,197,221,240,25 2,254,262,267
Seneca, 59, 61, 233, 242
Theodora,9,20,36-37,48,50,54,59,77-79,
Seoses, 9, 84, 85, 87, 92-93, 99- 103, 112-114,
104, 113,118,124-125, 129-130, 135,138-141,
250- 251
Sergius, 144, 148 143-150, 151,153,154, 157,163-164, 221, 229,
Sextus Empiricus, 208, 270 240, 246, 248, 255, 261
Shapur II (Persian king), 89 Theodoret of Cyrrhus, 208, 210, 243, 270-271,
Sicilian expedition, 8-9, 34, 77, 194, 265 274
Sicily, 110, 181,190, 197, 206 Theodosius I, 66, 127, 160, 178, 236, 243
Simplicius, 101, 104-106, 113,116,159, 219, Theodosius II, 65, 67, 243
Theodosius (Antonina's lover), 146
253- 254, 273- 274
Slavs, 1 Theophanes the Confessor, 115,128, 258, 260
Socrates (historian), 235, 267, 271 Theophilus (apologist), 260
Socrates (philosopher), 7-8, 9, 12- 13, 58, 83, Theophylact (historian), 27, 83, 137,140, 217,
95-97, 99- 100, 105, 109- 114,142, 171-172, 218, 237, 244, 251, 256, 269, 271-273
207, 250, 255-256, 270. See also Plato Theopompus of Chios, 260
Solomon (general), 29-31, 162, 189, 237 Theoupolis (Antioch), 207
Sostratus of Cnidus, 25 Thermopylae, 52, 227, 240
Souda, 59, 149,262, 266 Theseus, 63, 242
Soyter, G., 173,237, 239, 264 Thrasymachus (sophist), 82, 112,255
Sozomen (historian), 235, 243 Three Chapters, 42-43, 239, 241
Sparta/Spartans, 11,49, 195 Thucydides, 4, 7, 8-12, 16-21, 23-35, 39, 44,
Spinoza, 166 45, 48, 49-50, 62, 77-79, 98, 102, 110, 111,
Sri Lanka, 75 116,174, 188- 192, 194, 197-198, 203, 210- 213,
Stalin, 158 215, 219, 233, 235- 238, 24~ 246, 248, 250-
Starnes, C., 116 251, 257, 260, 263, 265, 267- 268, 270- 272,
Stephanus of Byzantium, 246 274
Stoics, 183, 268 Tiberius II, 137
Strabo, 236, 248 Toland, John, 52-53
Strauss, Leo, 57, 158, 233, 234, 241, 245, 249, Totila, 33, 98, 142, 176, 187, 189, 190, 195, 196,
252, 253, 256, 262 198-204, 208, 214-215, 221, 254, 268, 272
 Index 305

Tribonian, 59, 116,126, 133,156, 242, 257 Vittigis (Gothic king), 32, 176, 191,194-198,
Tricamarum (battle), 185-187 267
Tripolis (Libyan), 179-180 Voltaire, 172-173
Trojan War, 20, 22-23
tyche, 14-15, 30-31, 61, 85, 86, 120, 140, 148, Walbank, F. W., 236, 273
chap. 5 (passim), 265-274 (passim) Whitby, Mi., 28, 233, 237, 240- 241, 243-245,
Tzani, 131 257, 258, 269
Tzazon (Vandal), 184-186
Xenophon,9,55,59,79,80, 87,24 1,244,246-
248, 251,260, 263, 265
Uraias (Goth), 197
Xerxes, 20, 35, 74, 77, 120, 121,125, 132,180,
Urbino, 195, 197
244- 246

Valentinian III (emperor), 240 Yazgird 1. See Isdigerdes

Valentinus (Roman soldier), 192 Yazgird II, 67
Vandals, 1, 29-30, 35, 132, 176-189, 197, 266
Vararanes (Persian king), 67-69, 94, 96-97 Zachariah of Mytilene, 235, 271
Veyne, P., 234 Zamasp, 81
Victor of Vita, 234-235 Zames (Persian prince), 86, 206, 248
Vikings, 4, 215 Zeno (emperor), 69
Virgin, 42, 214 Zoroastrianism, 93
Vitalius (general), 196 Zosimus, 217, 243, 259, 272