Hymns between “Arians” - King`s College London

Hymns between “Arians”, “orthodox” and
polemical discourse – is there a way out?
Arik Avdokhin
PhD Candidate
Department of Classics
King’s College London
Secondary sources
The Past is Prologue
The Revolution of Nicene Historiography
by
Thomas C. Ferguson
BRILL
LEIDEN • BOSTON
2005
Come gather round people, wherever you roam
And admit that the water around you has grown
And accept it or soon you’ll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you is worth saving
You better start swimming or you’ll sink like a stone
For The times they are a-changin’
—Bob Dylan
CHAPTER ONE
INTRODUCTION: THE BEGINNING OF THE END OF
THE “ARIAN” CONTROVERSY
The “Arian” Controversy as a hermeneutic for understanding the
fourth century has become anachronistic. Recent scholarship has rendered this hermeneutic inviolable in two particular areas.1 The first
concerns the polemical creation of the term, the second the false
dichotomy between “heresy” and “orthodoxy.”
The last twenty years have seen a number of works deconstructing the “Arian”
controversy. An important early article was Maurice Wiles’ “In Defence of Arius,”
Journal of Theological Studies 13 (1963), 339–347. Robert Gregg and Dennis Groh’s
“The Centrality of Soteriology in Early Arianism,” Anglican Theological Review 59
(1977) 260–278 and Early Arianism: A View of Salvation (Phiadelphia: Fortress, 1981)
were significant in examining the theology of Arius from a constructive element.
Gregg and Groh argued that early Arianism presented a comprehensive soteriology based on Arius’ teaching concerning the nature of Christ. Roughly contemporaneously to Gregg and Groh, two other works also appeared: Thomas A. Kopecek’s
A History of Neo-Arianism (Cambridge, MA: Philadelphia Patristics Foundation, 1979),
tracing the theology of Aetius and Eunomius; and Rudolf Lorenz’ Arius judaizans?:
Untersuchungen zur dogmengeschichtlichen Einordnung des Arius (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck
und Ruprecht, 1980) examining possible influences from Judaism on the development of Arius’ theology. Two major works on the fourth century were produced
towards the end of the 1980s: Rowan Williams’ Arius, Heresy, and Tradition (London:
Darton, Longman, and Todd, 1987; second edition, 2001) and R.P.C. Hanson’s
magisterial The Search for the Christian Doctrine of God: the Arian Controversy 318–381
(Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988). Williams’ work was essential in placing Arius within
the context of the development of early fourth-century theology. Hanson’s work, as
the title indicates, was broader in scope, and was fundamental in helping to recast
the understanding of the development of doctrine. For a comparison and critique
of Gregg and Groh, Williams, and Lorenz, see Richard Vaggione’s lengthy review
article, “‘Arius, Heresy, and Tradition’ by Rowan Williams; also Gregg and Groh’s
‘Early Arianism,’ and Rudolph Lorenz’ ‘Arius judaizans?’,” Toronto Journal of Theology
1
2
 
First, scholarship has demonstrated the polemic creation of
“Arianism.” Put simply, no contemporary in the fourth century was
aware that an “Arian” controversy was engulfing the church. No
one considered themselves “Arians” or even considered Arius the
predominant figure in the debate. Rather the category of “Arian”
was a creation of Athanasius of Alexandria to recast his struggles in
the see of Alexandria and in the empire. Faced with a variety of
disciplinary charges against him, it was Athanasius who argued that
a group of supporters of the presbyter Arius were systematically
attempting to unseat him from his see for doctrinal reasons. Linking
himself with the Creed of Nicaea as his defense, in Athanasius Arius
becomes the archetypal heretic. Both the “Arian” controversy and
“Arian” as a group designation are the polemical creations of
Athanasius. Nicaea and “Arianism” became polar opposites when in
fact the theological landscape was much more complex.2 There were
persons opposed to Nicaea who would have nothing to do with Arius
or his followers; likewise there were supporters of Nicaea who would
have nothing to do with Athanasius.3 Not only is the “Arian” controversy not an accurate description of the theological climate of the
fourth century, it was a polemical creation which became standardized in historical discourse.
In regards to the second point, previous assumptions assumed a
body of doctrine which can be identified as “orthodox” from which
one knowingly and purposely dissents.4 For centuries the “Arian”
5 (1989), 63–87. Two important collections of essays also appeared: Arianism: Historical
and Theological Assessments, Robert Gregg, ed. (Cambridge, MA: Philadelphia Patristic
Foundation, 1985); and Arianism after Arius: Essays on the Development of the Fourth Century
Trinitarian Conflicts, Michel Barnes and Daniel H. Williams, eds. (Edinburgh: T&T
Clark, 1993). For a recent assessment of this time period and the theological issues
involved, see Joseph Lienhard, Contra Marcellum: Marcellus of Ancyra and Fourth Century
Theology (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2000). Richard
Vaggione’s Eunomius of Cyzicus and the Nicene Revolution (New York: Oxford, 2001)
has thoroughly re-examined the development of doctrine in the fourth century,
focusing on the role of Aetius and Eunomius.
2
See Timothy Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius: Theology and Politics in the Constantinian
Empire (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993), and Maurice Wiles,
“Attitudes to Arius in the Arian Controversy,” Arianism After Arius.
3
On the variety of parties within Nicene Christianity itself, see Vaggione, Eunomius,
315–317; Philip Rousseau, Basil of Caesarea (Berkeley: University of California Press,
1994), 97; and Lienhard, Contra Marcellum, 31–33.
4
For a recent attempt to synthesize how recent scholarship has produced a
different historical paradigm for the fourth century, see Michel Barnes, “The Fourth
Century as Trinitarian Canon,” in Christian Origins: Theology, Rhetoric, and Community,

3
controversy was seen as the archetype of such a vision. The term
tended to refer specifically to the reaction of Alexander of Alexandria
to the teaching of one of his presbyters in the year 318. According
to this paradigm, Arius questioned the fundamental tenet of the
Christian faith, the divinity of Jesus, and because of influences ranging from Judaism, pagan philosophy, or even demonic control, contumaciously deviated from what had always been the church’s teaching
regarding the Trinity. The term “Arian” controversy, as developed
in later historiography, tied the theological debates of the fourth century to the person of Arius and the events which emerged from the
318 confrontation. The furor surrounding Arius’ teaching resulted in
a council called by the Emperor Constantine at Nicaea in 325. The
Creed of this Council eventually became the standard of orthodoxy
championed by Athanasius of Alexandria, who was persecuted for
his Nicene beliefs by followers of the presbyter Arius. The “Arian”
controversy was then “solved” by the Council of Constantinople in
381, which added a fuller description of the Spirit to the Creed of
325 and refined Trinitarian theology by adopting the language of
the Cappadocian fathers and describing the Godhead as three persons in one substance.5 After this “settlement” Arianism disappeared
from the scene, remaining as remnants in “barbarian” tribes such
as the Goths. Orthodoxy had triumphed against heresy, tradition
against innovation, faithfulness to the received apostolic tradition as
opposed to willful deviation. The only place that “Arianism” flourished
was among groups external to the centers of Christendom. This was
the accepted understanding of the fourth century into the second
half of the twentieth century.6
Lewis Ayres and Gareth Jones, eds. (New York: Routledge, 1998), 47–67. See also
Lienhard, Contra Marcellum, 28–46, which is essentially a reworking of his essay “The
‘Arian’ Controversy: Some Categories Reconsidered,” Theological Studies 48 (1987),
415–437; see also Orthodoxie, Christianisme, histoire (Collection de l’École française de
Rome, no. 270), Susanna Elm, Eric Rebillard, and Antonella Romano, eds. (Rome:
École française, 2000) For work on the formation of the category of heresy in preNicene Christianity, particularly the role of Justin and Irenaeus, see Alain Le
Boulluec, La Notion d’hérésie dans la littérature grecque, II e–III e siècles (Paris: Etudes
Augustiniennes, 1985).
5
For a discussion of the Cappadocians in the “settlement,” of 381, see Hanson,
Search, 676–737; Anthony Meredith, The Cappadocians (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s
Seminary Press, 1995); and Jaroslav Pelikan, Christianity and Classical Culture: the
Metamorphosis of Natural Theology in the Christian Encounter with Hellenism (New Haven:
Yale University Press, 1993).
6
For a summary of nineteenth and twentieth century historiography of the
4
 
The work of recent scholarship has done much to recast this image,
though not entirely: as Rowan Williams noted, “We have come a
fair way from the harsh polemic of Newman, though the shadow of
Arianism-as-Other still haunts modern discussion.”7 Doctrine is now
understood as having evolution and development. The rigidity of
concepts of heresy and orthodoxy no longer are tenable. Furthermore,
neither are historical categories which are predicated on them, such
as the “Arian” controversy. The quest for the Christian doctrine of
God is no longer seen as the maintenance of an unaltered apostolic
faith in response to the teaching of a single presbyter and likeminded
followers. Scholarship has demonstrated the diversity of theological
opinion prior to the Council of Nicaea.8 Accepting the theological
diversity inherent in the fourth century has necessitated rejecting
facile labels which an “Arian” Controversy overlooks. A variety of
works in the last decades have shown that the “Arian” controversy
was not “Arian” at all, nor did the unfolding of the “controversy”
resemble the church’s received historical narrative.9 Rather than operating within the constraints of “heresy” and “orthodoxy”, notions
which privilege certain expressions of Christian theology over and
against another, the “Arian” controversy is now understood as a
debate which began before Arius, involved different understandings
of the nature of the Trinity, and continued after the “settlement” of
381. This is not to say that there was not a sustained and passionate theological debate during this time period—quite the contrary.
“Arian” controversy, see Williams, Arius, 1–25; Maurice Wiles, Archetypal Heresy:
Arianism Through the Centuries (New York: Oxford, 1996), and Thomas Ferguson, “The
Enthralling Heretical Power: History and Heresy in John Henry Newman,” Anglican
Theological Review 85 (2003), 641–662.
7
Williams, Arius, 22.
8
In particular see the recent discussion in Vaggione, 376–377; see also Winrich
Lohr, “A Sense of Tradition: the Homoiousian Church Party,” in Arianism after Arius,
81–100. For a discussion on the debates about the theology of Origen in the preNicene church, see Tim Vivian, Peter of Alexandria: Bishop and Martyr (Philadelphia:
Fortress, 1988); Williams, Arius, 124–174; and Jon Dechow, Dogma and Mysticism in
Early Christianity: Epiphanius and the Legacy of Origen (Macon, GA: North American
Patristic Society Monograph Series, 1988), 96–124.
9
The work of recent historical scholarship has demonstrated this. In particular
see Timothy Barnes’ reconstruction of the church just before and immediately following the Council of Nicaea in Constantine and Eusebius (Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press, 1981), and Athanasius and Constantius: Theology and Politics in the
Constantinian Empire (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993); see Wiles,
“Attitudes to Arius in the Arian Controversy,” and Rebecca Lyman, “A Topography
of Heresy: Mapping the Rhetorical Creation of Arianism,” Arianism after Arius, 45–62.

5
Rejecting labels of “heresy” and “orthodoxy” has in fact provided a
greater awareness of the variety of factors which contributed to the
construction of orthodoxy. Factors such as Scriptural exegesis, imperial involvement, sheer force of personalities, and issues of gender,
to give but a few examples, all played substantial roles in the eventual marginalization of “heresy.”10 Rejecting the “Arian” label has
deepened understanding of the theological controversy of the fourth
century and the development of Christian doctrine.
This work seeks to further the work of recent scholarship by examining the role of the genre of church history in the theological struggles of the fourth century. A variety of factors combined to give rise
to the eventual predominance of Nicene Christianity: the increased
role of bishop in the imperial church and the rise of the ascetic
movement being two of the most prominent.11 Rebecca Lyman noted
that towards the end of the fourth century “New models of asceticism, episcopacy, and theological authority were in intense and often
violent political and literary confrontation,”12 likening the manner in
On the question of Scriptural exegesis, Charles Kannengiesser’s Holy Scripture
and Hellenistic Hermeneutics in Alexandrian Christology: the Arian Crisis (Colloquy/The
Center for Hermeneutical Studies in Hellenistic and Modern Culture, the GTU
and the University of California, Berkeley, CA, 1982) was an important work. On
imperial involvement, including the personalities involved, see Barnes, Athanasius and
Constantius and Hal Drake, Constantine and the Bishops: the Politics of Intolerance (Baltimore:
Johns Hopkins University Press, 2000). For the role of gender in the construction
of heresy, see Virginia Burrus, The Making of a Heretic: Gender, Authority, and the
Priscillianist Controversy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995).
11
For a description of new paradigms of power in the church, see Peter Brown,
Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Towards a Christian Empire (Madison, WI: the
University of Wisconsin Press, 1992), in particular 71–158. A.H.M. Jones, The Later
Roman Empire 184–602: a Social, Economic, and Administrative Survey (Oxford: Blackwell,
1964), 873–937, remains a thorough overview. See also Richard Lim, Public Disputation,
Power, and Social Order in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995)
on the role of rhetoric in Late Antique understandings of power. On the question
of asceticism, see David Brakke, Athanasius and the Politics of Asceticism (Oxford:
Clarendon, 1995); Susanna Elm, Virgins of God: the Making of Asceticism in Late Antiquity
(Oxford: Clarendon, 1994); Philip Rousseau, “Christian Asceticism and the Early
Monks,” in Early Christianity: Origins and Evolutions to AD 600, Ian Hazlett, ed.,
(Nashville: Abingdon, 1991), 112–122; see also Peter Brown, The Body and Society:
Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity (New York: Columbia University
Press, 1988), 213–427.
12
Rebecca Lyman, “Origen as Ascetic Theologian: Orthodoxy and Authority in
the Fourth-Century Church,” Origeniana Septima (Leuven: University Press, 1999),
187.
10
6
 
which these factors came together as a “complex alchemy.”13 This
dissertation will examine the contribution of church history in creating the alchemist’s philosopher’s stone of Nicene Orthodoxy. Given
that the “Arian” controversy is no longer an accurate term, we must
turn as critical an eye on the role that the writing of history played
in the fourth century as scholars have with regard to other literary
genres. The literary construction of “Arianism” by later church historians is an important piece in the development of the “Arian” controversy, as is evidence of a corresponding diversity in historical as
well as theological understandings of the fourth century. As the century drew to a close, various authors began to compose continuations of the Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius. There was a wide variety
of interpretation of the events of the fourth century, but eventually
a Nicene version of events passed into the historical consciousness
of the church. Historical diversity went the way of theological diversity, and Athanasius’ polemical construct was institutionalized through
the Ecclesiastical History of Rufinus and the later historians Socrates,
Sozomen, and Theodoret, and became the historiographic shorthand
for summarizing the fourth century. Despite the work done in reinterpreting the theological climate, corresponding work in the study
of church history remains to be done. This historiographic shorthand did not come about naturally. It was part of an elaborate and
detailed appropriation of the fourth century by later authors.
It is true that reconstructing the theological developments of the
fourth century has necessitated that scholars of Late Antiquity determine the proper chronology of events, and the movements and developing ideas of individuals. This has been an important part of setting
the development of doctrine within the historical context of the
fourth-century. Yet the church historians themselves have only played
a tangential role so far in examining the construction of Nicene
orthodoxy and of the “Arian” controversy. They are cited in scholars’ works to support various historical reconstructions, but they themselves have not been scrutinized.14 In the service of placing the
Lyman, “Origen as Ascetic Theologian,” 187.
This tendency to use the church historians to reconstruct the careers of figures
involved in the theological debates of the fourth century has been common to many
works in recent years. For example, in both Constantine and Eusebius and Athanasius
and Constantius Timothy Barnes relies heavily on Eusebius, Rufinus, Socrates, Sozomen,
and Theodoret for his historical reconstructions, yet gives no insight into the moti13
14
SACRED VIOLENCE
African Christians and Sectarian Hatred in
the Age of Augustine
BRENT D . SHAW
c ha p t er 1 0
Sing a new song
People who separate themselves from the community
of the holy are not singing a new song.
They are following the music of old hatreds,
not the new music of charity. What is the music
of this new charity? It is peace.
(Augustine)
It is forbidden to kill. Therefore every killer is
punished, unless he kills as part of a large crowd
and to the sound of trumpets. That’s the rule.
(Voltaire)
Ritual chanting, singing, rhythmic shouting, metrical voices accompanied by bodily gestures like clapping and dancing involved members of
Christian congregations in common ritual practices. These types of bodily participation were also an important part of traditional non-Christian
sacred ritual and ceremony in Africa. One such performance had imprinted
itself vividly on Augustine’s memory. As a young man at Carthage he
had heard the chanting and singing of songs at a festival for the goddess



Aug. En. in Ps. .– (CCL : ): “Quisquis se a coniunctione sanctorum separat, non cantat
canticum novum. Secutus est enim veterem animositatem, non novam caritatem. In nova caritate
quid est? Pax.”
Voltaire, “Droit,” in Questions sur l’Encyclopédie, Paris, – = Dictionnaire philosophique, 2:
Oeuvres complètes de Voltaire, vol. , Paris, Garnier, , p. : “Il est défendu de tuer; tout
meurtrier est puni, à moins qu’il n’ait tué en grande compagnie, et au son des trompettes; c’est la
règle.”
The title is derived from Optatus, Contra Parm. .. (SC : ), who is quoting Ps. : , which
is, in turn, quoted by Aug. Contra litt. Petil. .. (CSEL : ); and Contra Gaud. .. (CSEL
: ) in condemning the dissidents: “Cantate domino canticum novem, cantate domino omnis
terra.” Cf. Aug. Ep. . (CSEL : ) and . (CSEL : ); En. in Ps. . (CCL : ); and,
at length, in En. in Ps. . (CCL : ). Of course, all of this echoes the threatening coming of
the apocalypse: Revelation, : ; the actions analyzed here fall under the category of “incorporating
practices” that function to reinforce, form, and create social coherence, see Connerton, “Bodily
Practices,” ch.  in How Societies Remember, pp. , –, where gestures represent an analogue to
the movements discussed here; for the Roman analogues, see Horsfall ().


Sing a new song
Berecynthia – the Mother of Everything – songs that he later castigated as
grossly obscene, even if quite effective. Among African Christians it was
the same. They knew that song had the power to transform hearts and
minds. Their leaders, the bishops, knew from their own personal experiences how much song mobilized emotions by appealing to what they called
“pleasure,” or voluptas, and that singing did this so strongly that they feared
its effects, knew its dangers, and were aware of the subversive threats that
it posed, especially to the minds of “the weak.” They wished, if possible, to
ban singing and chanting from the church. But they knew that this was
not possible. They knew that this power would have to be managed and
controlled.
The unifying and mobilizing drive of chants and songs suggested their
utility in sustaining crowd actions, sometimes violent ones. The use of
rhythmic repetition and exhortations repeated in unison produces group
unity and energy. To understand some of the effects, we might begin
by retelling the model horror story of the savage beating inflicted on the
Catholic bishop Maximianus of Bagaı̈, a small town in southern Numidia,
around the year . One day, as Maximianus stood at the altar in his
basilica, sectarian enemies rushed at him with what is described as “a
terrifying force and a furious cruelty.” His assailants repeatedly struck him
with clubs and other makeshift weapons, including jagged pieces of wood
that they had broken off the altar when they smashed it to pieces over
his head. The terrified bishop had taken refuge underneath it. Getting to






Aug. Civ. Dei, . (CCL : ): “et Berecynthiae matri omnium, ante cuius lecticam die sollemni
lavationis eius talia per publicum cantitabantur a nequissimis scaenicis.”
Anon. In Festo Translationis Reliquariarum SS. Martyrum = Sermo Mai, :  (PLS : ): “Hoc
autem a Christianis longe abesse debet, quia omnis qui ad ecclesiam Catholicam venit, novum se
canticum cantaturum . . . Cum enim gentilis fuerit, ut Christianus fiat, sicut mutatur vocabulo, sic
debet mente mutari.”
See Aug. Confess. .. (CCL : ), a powerful analysis of the effects of songs and chants on the
human mind that deserves far more attention than I can give it here; it was written, notably, some
years after the composition of his pop song. It is suffused with Platonic fears about corrupting effects
of music and poetry. See Pizzani () and (), pp. –, and Richter (), pp. –, both
of whom draw attention to the significance of this passage.
For but one recent example among the very many that could be offered, consider the case of Simon
Bikindi, the renowned Rwandan singer who was put on trial by the International Criminal Tribunal
for Rwanda, accused of writing lyrics that were used to incite killings in the  genocide. He was
sentenced to fifteen years in prison for composing songs that fueled contempt of the Tutsi and incited
Hutus to kill Tutsis. Three songs of his were cited as ones sung by Hutu mobs as they murdered
their ethnic enemies (The New York Times, Tuesday,  September, , p. A; ibid., Wednesday,
December , , p. A).
Collins, Violence, pp. –, analyzing the United Airlines Flight  case, and noting how “conflict
talk is highly repetitive,” i.e. analyzing precisely how it is used in order to overcome the impediment
to direct violence that is at the center of his model.
This is one of the model “horror stories” that became part of a dossier of violence that was deployed
for political purposes; as such, it will be discussed in detail later (see ch. , pp. –).
Sing a new song

him, one of the attackers stabbed the bishop in the groin with a dagger,
presumably cutting a femoral artery since he began to bleed profusely.
Maximianus’ life was saved by a fortuitous accident. As his attackers
dragged his body along the dusty road outside the basilica, the dirt from
the ground clogged the bleeding artery and stopped the outpouring of
blood that had brought him to the point of death. When his attackers
relented a little, men from Maximianus’ side, his Catholic partisans, counterattacked. Grabbing and pulling at the bishop’s body, they succeeded in
tearing him away from the grasp of his assailants. The attempt to carry
Maximianus to safety was done to the accompaniment of the singing of
songs by the Catholics who had rushed to their bishop’s defense. These
actions, especially the singing, provoked a renewed outburst of rage on the
part of the original attackers who returned to the fight, violently pulling
Maximianus out of the hands of those who were trying to rescue him.
What songs were the Catholics singing in the midst of this violent scene?
Were they biblical psalms, well known from liturgical readings and from
sermons? Or were they singing another kind of song, a hymn for example? And why in the middle of this violent mêlée, providing, as it were, a
soundtrack for their rage?
To mobilize attitudes and sentiments, to guide the opinions and actions
of large numbers of ordinary people requires forms of communication
other than the written letter, a pastoral tract, or even the living message
of a sermon. In a polemical sermon delivered in the basilica of one of his
great enemies, the dissident bishop Emeritus, in September , Augustine
claimed that the Church itself was speaking through his mouth in the
words of the Psalmist: “I shall persecute my enemies and I shall seize them,
and I shall not turn back until they are utterly defeated.” Those who
heard his words were roused to action. Like an aggressive and fiery sermon,
militant song, often modeled on Psalms like this one, could mobilize men
for an attack. Some involvement of the body in rhythm, in movement
as well as in thought is helpful, and some participation that connected all
the members of a congregation in a common act is important. The church



Aug. Ep. . (CSEL : ): “Deinde cum ab eis tandem relictum nostri cum psalmis auferre
temptarent, illi ira ardentiore succensi eum de portantium manibus abstulerunt male mulcatis
fugatisque Catholicis.”
Aug. Sermo ad Caes.  (CSEL : ): quoting Psalm : : Persequar inimicos meos et comprehendam
illos, et non convertar donec deficiant. (VG: same text); having already quoted Psalm : (VG :),
with much the same intent.
For a comparison, see Pettegrew, “Militant in Song,” ch.  in Culture of Persuasion, at p. : “gangs
of Protestants rampaged among the stalls, singing psalms and overturning the wares of Catholic
vendors. Iconoclastic attacks on churches and wayside shrines would invariably be accompanied by
boisterous singing.”

Sing a new song
in Africa was hardly alone or the first in this use of song and chant in
sectarian conflict. Even so, the singing of hymns was a recent revolution in
the Latin-speaking churches of the West, much newer than the sermon.
It was precisely in the decades of the late fourth and early fifth centuries
when the practice arrived. Novelty added to power.
In the churches of the eastern Mediterranean in the s, the mobilization of people by means of hymns had assumed renewed force in the context
of Ephraem’s polemical attacks on the followers of Bardaisan and Mani.
The response made sense, since it was Bardaisan himself who reputedly first
developed the medium of sacred songs to battle his sectarian enemies. If
the songs excited common dislikes in a popular mode, they were still elite
productions. Ephraem wrote them after having observed the success that
the songs and rhythmic compositions of his enemies had in mobilizing
their supporters. He set himself to learning the rhythms and imitating the
form. The utility and apparent success of the songs is suggested by the
large numbers that Ephraem composed: the texts of well over four hundred have survived, a number that is probably well below the total that he
created. These eastern origins are often noted, but another important one
is often not: the centrality of hymn singing to Manichaean devotions, as is
manifest from Ephraem’s response to the songs already being sung by the
followers of Mani. Augustine makes repeated reference to the core place
of hymn singing in his religious life as a Manichee. Importantly, he recalled
that he could remember the words by heart precisely because he had sung
them in songs. The large numbers should also be noted. Like sermons,
songs were mass produced for mass consumption. There does not exist
any exact record of the numbers composed in our period, but comparison with other ages suggests the possibility of the truly great numbers






It was an innovation reaching the western churches in the late s and early s from the East:
Fontaine (), p. , cf. Richter (), p. .
T. J. Lamy, ed., Historia sancti Ephraemi, – in Sancti Ephraemi Syri Hymni et Sermones, vol. 
(Machliniae, ), pp. –, at pp. –; cf. Sozomen, Historia Ecclesiastica, .. (GCS : );
see Lieu, Manichaeism in the Later Roman Empire, p. .
Ephraem refers to about  of these songs, suggesting a larger-scale production of them; see Griffith
() on the cultural background.
BeDuhn, Augustine’s Manichaean Dilemma, , pp. –.
Aug. Contra Faust. ., .– (CSEL .: , –); Confess. .., .. (CCL : ,
).
Brown, Singing the Gospel, p. : “the sheer volume of sixteenth-century hymnal printing provides
very strong indirect evidence of the popular diffusion and use of the Lutheran hymns.” Brown then
demonstrates the significant effects that hymns had for the creation of a new Christian identity and
for resistance to opposing religious ideas. Again, it is the scale of the production of the new songs
that is evident: Pettegree, Culture of Persuasion, pp. –, –. There was no print revolution in
the fourth and fifth centuries, but the principles of a mass-communicated medium still apply.
Sing a new song

that could be achieved. The total of individual sermons perhaps absolutely outnumbered those of individual songs, but because of repetition
and mimicry, songs no doubt involved the participation of much greater
numbers.
The hymns sung in church, the Psalms that were chanted or sung as
a regular part of the liturgy, were an important part of this engagement.
The songs were one of the main repetitive actions that large numbers
of ordinary parishioners had in common with their clergy. Singing and
chanting were sometimes supplemented by bodily movements, like the
hard thumping of the breast with open hands or clenched fists during
stirring moments of a sermon, for example, to signify sympathy or contrition. As a preacher, Augustine noted the verve with which a congregation
(on one occasion in his home town of Thagaste) engaged in the singing
of the psalms. But singing was everywhere used to mobilize emotions
and not only in churches. Travelers sang songs in unison to ward off their
fears as they moved through a potentially threatening countryside, especially in the ominous dark of night. There is little reason to doubt that
Christian songs, once popularized, were sung throughout the same range
of venues found in later ages: in private houses, workshops, marketplaces,
streets and fields, and even in bathhouses. As with the clutch of fearful travelers, the suggestion is that the singing was frequently done in
groups.
Songs were also part of an improvised oral world of abuse and aggression.
Ritually chanted insults called convicia were the heart of inflicting verbal
injury among non-Christians. But they were also powerful verbal weapons
adapted by Christians for their attacks on each other. Verbal insults had
become the stock-in-trade of polemical assaults by one side on the other,
embedded, in their most powerful oral form, in the sermons preached in




Brown, Singing the Gospel, p. , indicates the volume: , hymn editions, and more than ,,
hymn books and song sheets in circulation in sixteenth-century German-speaking lands. England
of the Methodist revival was no different. Charles Wesley alone published more than , hymns
in his lifetime and left more than , in manuscript: a total on the order of ,–, authored
by him alone: Rattenbury, Charles Wesley’s Hymns, pp. –.
 Aug. En. in Ps. .– (CCL : –).
Aug. En. 1 in Ps. . (CCL : –).
The list of places is for Luther’s hymns in sixteenth-century German lands: Pettegree, Culture of
Persuasion, p. ; compare Licentius’ singing of songs in the outhouse at Cassiciacum: see p. 
below.
On the use of convicia or ritual insults, see, for example, J.-P. Cèbe, La caricature et la parodie dans
le monde romain antique des origines à Juvénal, Paris, de Boccard, , pp. –; A. Richlin,
The Garden of Priapus: Sexuality and Aggression in Roman Humor, rev. ed., New York and Oxford
University Press, , p.  f.; for their purpose in forensic confrontations, see J. M. Kelly, “The
Underlying Sanctions of Roman Litigation,” ch.  in Roman Litigation, Oxford, Clarendon Press,
, pp. –, at pp. –.
Primary Sources
Athanasius of Alexandria, Oration I against the Arians
(ca. 340 AD)
1. Of all other heresies which have departed from the truth it is acknowledged that they
have but devised a madness, and their irreligiousness has long since become notorious to
all men. For that their authors went out from us, it plainly follows, as the blessed John has
written, that they never thought nor now think with us. Wherefore, as says the Saviour, in
that they gather not with us, they scatter with the devil, and keep an eye on those who
slumber, that, by this second sowing of their own mortal poison, they may have
companions in death. But, whereas one heresy, and that the last, which has now risen as
harbinger of Antichrist, the Arian, as it is called, considering that other heresies, her elder
sisters, have been openly proscribed, in her craft and cunning, affects to array herself
in Scripture language , like her father the devil, and is forcing her way back into
the Church's paradise,— that with the pretence of Christianity, her smooth sophistry (for
reason she has none) may deceive men into wrong thoughts of Christ—nay, since she has
already seduced certain of the foolish, not only to corrupt their ears, but even to take and
eat with Eve, till in their ignorance which ensues they think bitter sweet, and admire this
loathsome heresy, on this account I have thought it necessary, at your request, to unrip
'the folds of its breast-plate ,' and to show the ill savour of its folly. So while those who are
far from it may continue to shun it, those whom it has deceived may repent; and, opening
the eyes of their heart, may understand that darkness is not light, nor falsehood truth,
nor Arianism good; nay, that those who call these men Christians are in great and
grievous error, as neither having studied Scripture, nor understanding Christianity at all,
and the faith which it contains.
2. For what have they discovered in this heresy like to the religious Faith, that they vainly
talk as if its supporters said no evil? This in truth is to call even Caiaphas a Christian, and
to reckon the traitor Judas still among the Apostles, and to say that they who asked
Barabbas
instead
of
the Saviour did
no evil,
and
to
recommend Hymenæus and Alexander as
right-minded men,
and
as
if
theApostle slandered them. But neither can a Christian bear to hear this, nor can he
consider the man who dared to say it sane in his understanding. For with them
for Christ is Arius, as with the Manichees Manichæus; and for Moses and the
other saints they have made the discovery of one Sotades , a man whom
even Gentiles laugh at, and of the daughter of Herodias. For of the one has Arius imitated
the dissolute and effeminate tone, in writing Thaliæ; on his model; and the other he has
rivalled in her dance, reeling and frolicking in his blasphemies against the Saviour; till the
victims of his heresy lose their wits and go foolish, and change the Name of
the Lord of glory into the likeness of the 'image of corruptible man ,' and
for Christians come to be called Arians, bearing this badge of their irreligion. For let them
not excuse themselves; nor retort their disgrace on those who are not as they,
calling Christians after the names of their teachers, that they themselves may appear to
have that Name in the same way. Nor let them make a jest of it, when they feel shame at
their disgraceful appellation; rather, if they be ashamed, let them hide their faces, or let
them recoil from their own irreligion. For never at any time did Christian people take
their title from the Bishops among them, but from the Lord, on whom we rest our faith.
Thus,
though
the blessed
Apostles have
become
our
teachers,
and
have ministered the Saviour's Gospel, yet not from them have we our title, but
from Christ we are and are named Christians. But for those who derive the faith which
they profess from others, good reason is it they should bear their name,
whose property they have become.
Sozomen, Ecclesiastical History
(finished between 443 – 448 AD)
Book 1, Chapter 21 (at the Council of Nicaea, 325 AD)
It ought to be known, that they affirmed the Son to be consubstantial with the
Father; and that those are to be excommunicated and voted aliens to the Catholic Church,
who assert that there was a time in which the Son existed not, and before He was begotten
He was not, and that He was made from what had no existence, and that He is of
another hypostasis or substance from the Father, and that He is subject to change or
mutation.
This
decision
by Theognis, bishop of Nicæa;
bishop of Scythopolis;
and
was sanctioned by Eusebius, bishop of Nicomedia;
by Maris, bishop of Chalcedon;
by Patrophilus,
by Secundus, bishop of Ptolemaïs in Libya. Eusebius
Pamphilus, however, withheld his assent for a little while, but on further examination
assented. The council excommunicated Arius and his adherents, and prohibited his
entering Alexandria. The words in which his opinions were couched were likewise
condemned, as also a work entitled Thalia, which he had written on the subject. I have not
read this book, but I understand that it is of a loose character, resembling in
license Sotadus. It ought to be known that although Eusebius, bishop of Nicomedia,
and Theognis, bishop of Nicæa, assented to the document of this faith set forth by
the council, they neither agreed nor subscribed to the deposition of Arius. The emperor
punished Arius with exile, and dispatched edicts to the bishops and people of every
country, denouncing him and his adherents as ungodly, and commanding. that their
books should be destroyed, in order that no remembrance of him or of the doctrine which
he had broached might remain. Whoever should be found secreting his writings and who
should not burn them immediately on the accusation, should undergo the penalty of
death, and suffer capital punishment. The emperor wrote letters to every city
against Arius and those who had received his doctrines, and commanded Eusebius and
Theognis to quit the cities whereof they were bishops; he addressed himself in particular
to the church of Nicomedia, urging it to adhere to the faith which had been set forth by
the council, to elect orthodox bishops, to obey them, and to let the past fall into oblivion;
and he threatened with punishment those who should venture to speak well of the
exiled bishops, or to adopt their sentiments. In these and in other letters, he manifested
resentment against Eusebius, because he had previously adopted the opinions of the
tyrant,
and
had
engaged
in
edicts, Eusebius and Theognis were
and Amphion received
that
his
plots.
ejected
of Nicomedia,
In
from
accordance
with
the churches which
and Chrestus that
the
imperial
they
of Nicæa.
On
held,
the
termination of this doctrinal controversy, the council decided that the Paschal feast should
be celebrated at the same time in every place.
Socrates Scholasticus, Ecclesiastical History
(finished after 439 AD)
Book 6, Chapter 8 (developments in Constantinople in early 400 AD).
The Arians, as we have said, held their meetings without the city1. As often
therefore as the festal days occurred— I mean Saturday and Lord's day— in each week,
on which assemblies are usually held in the churches, they congregated within the city
gates about the public squares, and sang responsive verses adapted to the Arian heresy.
This they did during the greater part of the night: and again in the morning, chanting the
same songs which they called responsive, they paraded through the midst of the city, and
so passed out of the gates to go to their places of assembly. But since they did not desist
from making use of insulting expressions in relation to the Homoousians, often singing
such words as these: 'Where are they that say three things are but one power?'— John (sc.
John Chrysostom) fearing lest any of the more simple should be drawn away from
the church by such kind of hymns, opposed to them some of his own people, that they
also employing themselves in chanting nocturnal hymns, might obscure the effort of
the Arians, and confirm his own party in the profession of their faith. John's design
indeed seemed to be good, but it issued in tumult and dangers. For as
the Homoousians performed their nocturnal hymns with greater display—for there were
invented by John silver crosses for them on which lighted wax-tapers were carried,
provided at the expense of the empress Eudoxia,— the Arians who were very numerous,
and fired with envy, resolved to revenge themselves by a desperate and riotous attack
upon their rivals. For from the remembrance of their own recent domination, they were
full of confidence in their ability to overcome, and of contempt for their adversaries.
Without delay therefore, on one of these nights, they engaged in a conflict; and Briso, one
of the eunuchs of the empress, who was at that time leading the chanters of these hymns,
was wounded by a stone in the forehead, and also some of the people on both sides
were killed.
Whereupon
the
emperor
being
angered,
forbade
the Arians to chant their hymns any more in public. Such were the events of this occasion.
We must now however make some allusion to the origin of this custom in
the church of
responsive
singing. Ignatius third bishop of Antioch in Syria from
the apostle Peter, who also had held intercourse with the apostles themselves, saw
a vision of angels hymning in
alternate chants the Holy Trinity.
Accordingly
he
The imperial decree of Theodosius from 28 January 386 AD (Codex Theodosius XVI, 1, 4) banned the “Arians” from
their city churches, however, they were granted permission to convene outside the city walls.
1
introduced the mode of singing he had observed in the vision into the Antiochian church;
whence it was transmitted by tradition to all the other churches. Such is the account [we
have received] in relation to these responsive hymns.