The Pelagian Controversy: An Introduction to the Enemies of Grace and the Conspiracy of Lost Souls

Introduction

The Pelagian controversy ( 411 – 431 ) was one of the most important theological controversies in the history of Christianity. It was a bitter and messy affair in the evening of the Roman Empire that addressed some of the most important questions that we ask about ourselves: Who are we? What does it mean to be a human being? Are we good, or are we evil? If we are good, why do we do evil? Are we burdened by an uncontrollable impulse to sin? Is it possible to be sinless? What would have happened if Adam and Eve did not eat that fruit? Do we have free will? How should we understand the relationship between God’s gracious activity and human freedom? Was sexual desire part of God’s plan from the beginning of creation? How should sex and marriage be understood in relation to one another?

This controversy was comprised by a group of men who were some of the greatest thinkers of Late Antiquity. They were deeply immersed in the rich Roman literary and intellectual traditions of that time, and who, along with many other great minds of this period, tried to create equally rich Christian literary and intellectual traditions. Augustine, on one side of the divide, not only produced more literature against the Pelagians than everyone else in this controversy combined, but more of his texts have survived to the present than have survived from any other author from Antiquity; Jerome, an often overlooked player in this fight, translated most of the Bible into Latin, known as the Vulgate, which then became the standard translation in the West for centuries; Cassian, who spent years in the Egyptian desert, brought eastern asceticism to the West, and thereby laid the foundation for western monasticism. The Pelagians, on the other side of the divide, also contributed to and influenced the Christian tradition down through the centuries, because some of their texts, such as Pelagius’ Ad Demetriadem, continued to be read and copied (primarily) under Jerome’s name. Pelagius was an innovator who blazed new spiritual and theological paths that would find a better reception in our time than in his; Caelestius modeled how to bring Scripture and logic together; and Julian endlessly defended the goodness of God’s creation.

Many of the issues that are disputed today about the human person are echoes of the same underlying questions that were disputed in the fifth century. Certainly, the theology of baptism, the precise definition of grace, and the proper understanding of the story of Adam and Eve (which will be explored in this book) are not hotly contested today in the pages of the New York Times, or on cable news. But, there are clear resonances of the aspects of the Pelagian controversy that addressed the proper understanding of freedom, marriage, and sexual desire (which also will be explored in this book) with contemporary fights over the same issues—although the specific grounds on which these battles are fought today, admittedly, are different. The Pelagian controversy, then, which usually is of interest only to historians and theologians of Christianity, should be appreciated by a wider audience, because it was the primary event that shaped the way Christians came to understand the human person for the next sixteen hundred years, and is still relevant today because anthropological questions continue to haunt our public discourse.

This book is intended for readers with a basic grasp of the history of Christianity, students, and scholars in the field. It will introduce this controversy in two movements: the first explores the biographies of the main characters involved, the most important texts that they wrote during the controversy, and the significant events that transpired during it, such as the numerous councils that were convened to address the issues at stake. The second explores the theological ideas both sides espoused. A common caricature describes the Pelagian controversy as nothing more than a tug of war over the single issue between the necessity of grace and the sovereignty of the will, with Augustine championing grace, and Pelagius championing free will. We will see in the second part of this book, however, that not only is the issue of grace and free will much more complicated than how this caricature presents it, but that the Pelagian controversy involved many more issues than just this one.

Before we investigate the Pelagian controversy itself, we first must briefly explore three contexts that set the stage for it. In the first chapter, we will begin by surveying the political landscape of the epoch. We will see that, at the beginning of the fourth century, Christians were a persecuted minority, but, by the end of that century, Christianity had become the official religion of the Roman Empire. Then, we will consider three different forms of the ascetic movement that flourished at roughly the same time that the political situation changed for Christians. Finally, the theological controversy known as the Origenist controversy, which was fought at the end of the fourth century and included several figures who are also important for the Pelagian controversy such as Rufinus of Aquileia and Jerome, will be reviewed.

Part I: History

Chapter 1

The Political, Ascetic, and Theological Contexts

The Political Context: The Christianization of the Roman Empire in the Fourth Century

Beginning with the Emperor Nero ( 54 – 68 ), who blamed Christians ¹ for a fire that tore through the city of Rome in 64, Roman authorities sporadically persecuted the followers of Jesus for almost 250 years. ² One of the most severe of these persecutions, which became known as the Great Persecution, began during the reign of Diocletian (284–305), ³ who also is known for reorganizing the political leadership of the Empire into the Tetrarchy (Diocletian was the Augustus of the East, Galerius was the Caesar of the East, Maximian was the Augustus of the West, and Constantius, the father of Constantine, was the Caesar of the West) in 293. The Great Persecution began after Diocletian and Galerius partook in an animal sacrifice at Antioch in 299 that failed. The priests had slaughtered an animal, and the soothsayer (haruspex) inspected the animal’s entrails for divine messages, but found nothing. The priests slaughtered more animals, but these, too, produced nothing. They concluded that the Christians in Diocletian’s entourage had made the sign of the cross during the sacrifice, causing it to be inefficacious. Or, as the Christian apologist Lactantius (c. 240–c. 320), who earlier had been hired by Diocletian to be the chair of Latin rhetoric in Nicomedia, ⁴ would describe it, the demons were chased away, and the holy rites interrupted. ⁵ When a final sacrifice was made after the Christian interlopers were expelled, the gods were appeased. Diocletian also sent letters to the military that they, too, must sacrifice, and if any soldiers refused to do so, they must leave the army. ⁶ In the fall of 302, Diocletian was again in Antioch, and again made a sacrifice to the gods prior to conducting official business. A certain deacon named Romanus was scandalized by seeing so many people in the pagan temples there. He interrupted the sacrifice at court in protest, and denounced them all as worshipping demons. Diocletian had him arrested, and Romanus was sentenced to be burned to death. But, Diocletian decided to have his tongue cut out of his mouth instead. Romanus was executed the following year after the persecution of Christians officially began. ⁷

Diocletian consulted Galerius about how to handle the Christian population. Galerius strongly pressured Diocletian to begin a formal persecution. Although Diocletian was initially hesitant, he issued the first of four edicts on Terminalia, February 23, 303, the feast of the pagan god Terminus. This first Edict, although severe, did not execute any Christians, as it was clear to the Roman authorities by now that killing them only made the Christian community stronger. Instead, it targeted Christian property and rights. Churches were ordered to be destroyed, as well as homes that contained any church assets, which first were seized for the imperial treasury. Christians could not lawfully assemble, Scripture and liturgical texts were confiscated and burned, Christians who were public officials lost their jobs, and Christian aristocrats lost legal privileges (specifically, they could not be plaintiffs in court cases dealing with theft of property, adultery, or physical injury). Anyone who went to court was required to sacrifice to the gods before they were permitted to speak, which effectively banned all Christians. Christian slaves could not be manumitted, and those former Christian slaves who had been manumitted were required to return to slavery. This Edict, however, did not require Christians to offer a universal animal sacrifice.⁸ On the morning of the first day the Edict was issued, the church at Nicomedia, which was visible from the imperial palace, was pillaged, Scripture was burned, and the building was destroyed. The decree was painted onto a wooden board, and placed at the center of the city. A certain Christian named Euethius ripped it down and tore it to pieces. Unsurprisingly, he was arrested, and burned to death that day.⁹ In response, Christians of that town set fire to the imperial palace twice within fifteen days, destroying Diocletian’s bedroom in the devastation.¹⁰

A second Edict was issued during the summer of 303. This time, the state took aim at Christian leaders by imprisoning all clergy. The prisons in the East, however, were incapable of holding so many people. A third Edict, therefore, was issued in November that allowed the clergy to go free—if they first were to sacrifice. The final Edict, promulgated a few months later at the beginning of 304, required all citizens, regardless of age or gender, to sacrifice. Anyone refusing to do so could be imprisoned or executed. This resulted in a general persecution.¹¹

A little more than a year later, on May 1, 305, Diocletian, at a parade surrounded by the military in Nicomedia, stunned the Roman world by being the first Emperor to abdicate, and retiring to Split in Dalmatia. He told his troops that he was tired and needed rest, but, more importantly, he had come to the conclusion that emperors should have term limits. He also convinced Maximian to abdicate as well. Constantius replaced Maximian as the Augustus of the West, and Galerius replaced Diocletian as the Augustus of the East. Severus and Maximin Daia were appointed Caesars, while Constantine was passed over to the surprise of many.¹²

Galerius continued the campaign against Christians until he was on his death bed. Lactantius described Galerius’s final days with more than a hint of schadenfreude. Among other vivid details, he said that

God struck him [Galerius] with an incurable plague. A malignant ulcer formed itself low down in his secret parts, and spread by degrees. The physicians attempted to eradicate it, and healed up the place affected. But the sore, after having been skinned over, broke out again; a vein burst, and the blood flowed in such quantity as to endanger his life. The blood, however, was stopped, although with difficulty. The physicians had to undertake their operations anew, and at length they cicatrized the wound. In consequence of some slight motion of his body, Galerius received a hurt, and the blood streamed more abundantly than before. He grew emaciated, pallid, and feeble, and the bleeding then stanched. The ulcer began to be insensible to the remedies applied, and a gangrene seized all the neighbouring parts. It diffused itself the wider the more the corrupted flesh was cut away, and everything employed as the means of cure served but to aggravate the disease.¹³

On April 30, 311 (almost six years to the day after Diocletian’s abdication), Galerius wrote a letter to the provinces, and had it posted in Nicomedia, that allowed Christians the right to assemble, and freed those in prisons and those who had been sentenced to work in mines, because he finally concluded that Christianity could not be eliminated. He also asked Christians to pray for both him and the Empire. But, he did not take any measures to have the property that had been confiscated from them returned.¹⁴

The Great Persecution may have come to an end officially, but troubles for the Christians were not over. Almost immediately after Galerius died, Maximin Daia wrote to governors telling them to ignore previous edicts that persecuted Christians, but he did not formally tolerate Christians either. Although he did not issue any new edicts beginning another campaign against Christians, six months later, on November 26, 311, he had Peter, the bishop of Alexandria, arrested and executed, and on January 7, 312 he personally tried a Christian scholar named Lucian, and had him put to death. He forbade Christians from gathering in cemeteries to honor the martyrs, and gave pagan priests the authority to arrest any Christians who refused to sacrifice to the gods. Like Galerius, however, Maximin Daia stopped his informal persecution in late 312, just months before his own death in 313.¹⁵

The situation for Christians radically changed after Constantine became an Augustus. On his deathbed in York before he died of natural causes on July 25, 306, Constantius declared that Constantine, who was thirty-four or thirty-five years old at the time, would be his successor, a decision that was immediately supported by Constantius’s army—but was not immediately embraced by Galerius.¹⁶ A few years later on October 28, 312, Constantine defeated his political rival, Maxentius, at a battle outside of Rome, at which Maxentius drowned in the Tiber near the Milvian bridge.¹⁷

Prior to the battle, Constantine had some sort of experience that was recounted (with important differences) by two men who knew him: Lactantius¹⁸ (who was a tutor to Constantine’s son Crispus),¹⁹ and Eusebius of Caesarea²⁰ (who claims that he heard the story directly from Constantine).²¹ According to Lactantius, Constantine was (anonymously) commanded in a dream (in quiete) prior to the battle to place the heavenly sign of God (coeleste signum Dei) on the shields of his soldiers. He described this sign as "the [Greek] letter X [Chi], with a perpendicular line drawn through it and turned round thus at the top, being the cipher of Christ."²²

Eusebius tells the story differently. He says that Constantine was praying to the Christian God, and asked God to reveal himself to him, and to assist him in the upcoming battle. Around noon, Constantine saw with his eyes a sign (signum, epiphaneia)—as did his entire army—the trophy of a cross of light in the heavens, above the sun, and bearing the inscription ‘Conquer by This.’²³ He did not understand what it meant, but that night, while he was sleeping, Jesus appeared to him with the same sign, and told him that he must make a likeness of that sign which he had seen in the heavens, and to use it as a safeguard in all engagements with his enemies.²⁴ The next day, he commanded his craftsmen to build the standard that became known as the labarum.²⁵ At the top of the staff, which was covered with gold, was a wreath of gold and precious stones. Inside it were two intersecting Greek letters Χ (Chi) and Ρ (Rho), which indicate the first two letters of the word Christ (Christos, Χριστός). This symbol—which had not been used previously by Christians, but became widely used through the centuries—later was placed on Constantine’s helmet, and it was on his helmet on a coin issued in 315. Beneath the letters on the labarum was a portrait of Constantine and his children. Hanging from the cross–bar was a square cloth that also was embroidered with gold and precious stones.²⁶

A few months later, in February 313, Constantine and Licinius (now the Augustus of the East) met in Milan during Licinius’s wedding celebration. There, they agreed on an imperial policy concerning all religions. On June 15 of the same year, Licinius, now back in Nicomedia, published a letter in Latin signed by both Augusti announcing this policy, and a slightly different Greek version was published in Caesarea shortly afterwards. This policy has become known as the Edict of Milan since the ecclesiastical historian Caesar Baronius (1538–1607) named it so, although it was not an edict, and it was not issued from Milan. This policy is important for several reasons. First, it allowed Christians to practice their religion without molestation by the state (although Licinius later would start his own persecution of Christians in the East before Constantine defeated him in 324 to become the sole ruler of the Empire).²⁷ Second, it made the Roman Empire the first state in western civilization to permit all of its citizens to worship any deity. The emperors did not grant this out of a proto–Jeffersonian belief in the separation of church and state.²⁸ Rather, they demanded that everyone pray to their own god or gods for the safety and security of the emperors, and for the good of the empire. Third, any property that was taken from Christians during the recent persecutions must be returned immediately to the Christian communities. Those pagans who owned the property must return it without expecting compensation.²⁹

Both of these events, Constantine’s experience before defeating Maxentius, and this new religious policy, have led many to claim that Constantine was the first Christian emperor. Although this claim is not entirely incorrect, the reality is much more complicated. Constantine’s conversion to Christianity, as many like to call it, is similar to Paul’s experience, I would argue. Paul’s dramatic encounter with the risen Christ on the road to Damascus, as told by Luke (Acts 9: 1–31), is widely known. Paul’s own description of it, however, is often overlooked. He tells us that after God revealed his Son to him, Paul did not immediately consult with anyone about the meaning of his experience, and he did not seek out those who knew Jesus during his ministry. Rather, he went to Arabia, and then returned to Damascus for three years before he went to Jerusalem to meet with Cephas for fifteen days (Gal 1:13–24). Both Paul and Constantine experienced something profound, but they both needed years to process the meaning of their experiences.³⁰ Constantine’s religiosity, then, should not be crammed into twenty-first century assumptions and categories about religious conversion and identity.

There is much evidence to indicate that he did not become a Christian overnight to the exclusion of his pagan background. Only gradually did Christian symbols appear on his coins. Pagan symbols, and images of the Unconquered Sun (Sol Invictus), remained on his coins (and official documents) until sometime between 318 and 321. Constantine also received pagan honors from the city of Athens; he took pagan statues from around the East to decorate his new capital; he paid for a pagan priest to travel to Egypt to see the pagan sites there; he remained the pontifex maximus of Roman paganism; he allowed pagan temples to remain open; most disturbingly of all, he executed his own wife, Fausta, and his own son, Crispus.³¹

The most important fact that should give us pause before describing Constantine as the first Christian emperor is that he was not baptized until his deathbed in 337. When he finally was baptized, it was at the hands of Eusebius of Nicomedia. Current academic and popular discussions love to debate questions of identity, and, although Avery Dulles has insightfully described the different ways that Christian identity and membership can be conceived,³² it should be safe to say that the minimum requirement to be a Christian (and therefore to be a Christian emperor) is baptism. Constantine, it must be noted, was not the only person in Late Antiquity to postpone baptism until the end of his life.³³ It was a common practice at that time to delay it.³⁴ Augustine’s mother Monica, for example, arranged to have Augustine baptized as a child when he became ill, but, when he recovered, it was postponed on the assumption that, if I died, Augustine later would write as a bishop, I would be sure to soil myself; and after that solemn washing the guilt would be greater and more dangerous if I then defiled myself with sins.³⁵

Scholars have offered a variety of reasons why Constantine may have chosen to postpone his baptism. Some scholars, like Henry Chadwick, James O’Donnell, and John Meyendorff have assumed that Constantine, like Monica for Augustine, was fearful that his post-baptismal sins might jeopardize his soul—especially, Chadwick said, if one’s duty as an official included torture and execution of criminals.³⁶ Hugo Rahner, however, believed that his baptismal deferment was not only out of religious conviction, but for political expediency,³⁷ presumably so that he would not offend and alienate any pagan citizens. Regardless of the reasons why he chose not to be baptized, Constantine spent his entire reign as emperor outside of Christianity, despite the fact that he liked to call himself a common bishop.³⁸

Even though he was not baptized until the end of his life, Constantine supported the church in many ways throughout his reign. He recalled those Christians who had been sent into exile, liberated those who had been imprisoned, and allowed Christians to join the military again.³⁹ He outlawed crucifixion as a form of punishment.⁴⁰ Private divination became illegal, although public divination remained legal. If a haruspex were caught divining in a home, he would be buried alive; the person who requested his services would forfeit his property, and be sent into exile to an island.⁴¹ Constantine decreed that no Christians should be in slavery to a Jew, and that the Jew must pay a fine after the slave is manumitted.⁴² He gave money to pay for fifty copies of Bible to be made, which he insisted on inspecting when they were completed.⁴³ Constantine became the first emperor to call an ecclesiastical council when, in August 314, bishops met at Arles in an attempt to resolve the Donatist schism in Africa.⁴⁴ In 316, he disallowed facial branding of those who were sent to work in the mines, or who were gladiators, because humans are created in the image and likeness of God (Gen 1:26–7). They only may be tattooed on their ankles or hands.⁴⁵ Clergy were exempt from all civic duties,⁴⁶ and from paying taxes. Bishops received permission to adjudicate civil legal cases in 318.⁴⁷ In 320, Constantine reversed inheritance law on the books since the reign of Augustus that penalized those who were unmarried, or who did not have children.⁴⁸ Also, any child who had chosen the ascetic life could make a will before the age of puberty.⁴⁹ These two laws were enacted to protect those men and women who chose the ascetic life because of their ardent love of philosophy.⁵⁰ In 321 and again in 325, Constantine declared that any manumission of a slave by a clergyman that happened in a church was legally binding.⁵¹ Also starting in 321, he banned the courts from hearing cases on Sundays (except cases manumitting slaves), and he insisted that only work done on farms that day is permitted.⁵² He called the Council of Nicaea in 325—which has become known as the first ecumenical council—to address the controversy over the thought of Arius, who claimed that the Father and the Son are not consubstantial.⁵³ He banned all gladiatorial games,⁵⁴ and it is possible that he banned pagan sacrifice, but scholars disagree on this.⁵⁵

Probably the most important way that Constantine (and his mother Helena) showed his favor for Christianity was through the building of churches.⁵⁶ His motivation for erecting them, undoubtedly, were manifold. Like almost every other ruler throughout time, he wanted to demonstrate to the world his political and financial might. Building projects are always excellent avenues for self-aggrandizement. But, he also seems to have had genuinely pious reasons for doing so. His most important building projects were erected in Jerusalem and Rome. The first church he constructed, for example, has been called the Basilica Constantiniana, Basilica Salvatoris, and San Giovanni in Laterano. It was built at the top of the Caelian Hill in Rome. Constantine may have conceived of the idea for it shortly after he defeated Maxentius, but it took several years for it to be completed. Unlike St. Peter’s basilica, this church, which is the seat of the bishop of Rome, was not built on the site of a Christian shrine, but had been one of Maxentius’s military camps. It could accommodate approximately three thousand people, and was one of the largest buildings in Rome at the time.⁵⁷ The structure as it stands today shows no traces of what it would have looked like in the fourth century.

After Constantine died and was buried in a tomb flanked by cenotaphs of the twelve apostles, power passed to his three sons (Constantine II, Constantius II, and Constans) until his son Constantius,⁵⁸ a committed Arian, took sole control in 353.⁵⁹ When he died, Julian (361–363), the so-called Apostate, sent the Christian world into a panic. Julian, Constantine’s nephew, had been raised as a Christian. He was baptized, grew up learning the Bible and theology, and became a lector in the church in Nicomedia. He also received a Roman education. After the age of seven, Julian was tutored by a certain Mardonius, who possibly was a eunuch, possibly a Goth, possibly a slave, and possibly a Christian. Mardonius was an important mentor for Julian, and taught him many of the Greek pagan authors, such as Homer and Hesiod.⁶⁰

The circumstances and reasons for Julian’s abandonment of Christianity, and his turn towards paganism, are not entirely clear. Although he publicly professed Christianity as shown by his presence at the celebration of the Feast of the Epiphany in Gaul in 360 or 361,⁶¹ Julian had secretly become a pagan in Ephesus around the age of twenty, in 350 or 351, through the influence of a Neoplatonic philosopher named Maximus. He kept his new religious identity private for ten years until shortly before he became the emperor when he wrote two letters while Constantius was still alive—one to Maximus and another to the Athenians—that suggest that Julian already was worshipping the gods publicly, and that he had already reopened pagan temples in Greece after he became a Caesar in 355, which also was the first thing he did when he became the emperor.⁶²

For the first five months of 362, Julian issued a variety of laws that would radically change the relationship between the state and Christians, whom he called Galileans to emphasize his belief that they were not truly Romans.⁶³ On January 17, he capped the maximum number of Christians allowed to practice law at Rome to thirty.⁶⁴ On February 9, he recalled all bishops—including Athanasius of Alexandria, Hilary of Poitiers, and a number of Donatist bishops—who had been sent into exile because of intra-Christian fighting.⁶⁵ He probably did so because he felt that Christianity could not survive the squabbling of its own leaders.⁶⁶ The following month, on March 13, Christian clergy lost all of the privileges they had enjoyed since the time of Constantine.⁶⁷ His infamous law, enacted on June 17, 362, prohibited Christian students from attending public schools to learn Greek literature, and to prohibit Christian teachers from teaching grammar, rhetoric, and philosophy. Any teacher, he said, who taught a subject (philosophy) that he did not believe to be true must be morally bankrupt, and should not be allowed to shape the minds of young people. In response, Apollinaris of Laodicea (who later would get himself into trouble for a deficient Christology), and his father, rewrote the Torah in hexameter verse, and the four Gospels and New Testament letters as Socratic dialogues, to ensure that Christian students were exposed to classical literary forms.⁶⁸ Julian also prohibited Christians from holding any office at court, from being judges or magistrates, and from being governors of the provinces, because, he said, Christians were not willing to sentence anyone to death due to their aversion to capital punishment.⁶⁹ Although Julian instituted these new laws harming Christians, he did not initiate another violent persecution against them, because he knew how powerful martyrs were for the Christian community.⁷⁰

In addition to these new laws, a number of events happened during Julian’s reign that impacted Christians. Both Julian and provincial governors exacted immense fines against Christians who refused to sacrifice to the gods.⁷¹ Three Christians, Macedonius, Theodulus, and Tatian, for example, were executed for refusing to sacrifice as punishment for having destroyed the statues of pagan gods in the reopened temple of Merum. Amachius, the Governor of Phrygia who ordered the temple to be reopened, tortured them, and, as the ecclesiastical historian Socrates tells it, Amachius at last laid them on gridirons under which a fire was placed, and thus slew them. But even in this last extremity they gave the most heroic proofs of fortitude, addressing the ruthless governor thus: ‘If you wish to eat broiled flesh, Amachius, turn us on the other side also, lest we should appear but half cooked to your taste.’⁷² Another important event that revealed Julian’s attitude towards Christians was the death of George, the Arian bishop of Alexandria, at the end of December 361. After Christians there paraded some human skulls through the streets that they had found while transforming a pagan temple into a church, pagans killed George and other Christians. Julian responded by castigating the pagans in a letter, but, other than that, took no action against them.⁷³ He also ordered Bishop Eleusius of Cyzicus to rebuild the Novatian church that his predecessor had destroyed.⁷⁴

The most provocative of all of his efforts to undermine Christianity was his attempt to rebuild the Jewish temple in Jerusalem, which had been destroyed in the year 70. A genuine admiration for Judaism may have prompted him to undertake such a massive building project, because of the importance it historically placed on the cult of sacrifice,⁷⁵ as well as a common hostility⁷⁶ towards Christians that they both shared. It is also likely that he wanted to rebuild it in order to disprove the claim that Jesus had made that not a single stone of the temple would be left on top of another stone (Matt 24:2).⁷⁷ Unsurprisingly, the Jews did not entirely embrace the idea—despite the fact that Julian had remitted their taxes to the state—because they expected the temple to be rebuilt with the arrival of the Messiah.⁷⁸ Julian, to be sure, was not the Messiah.

Not long after Alypius, the former governor of Britain who had been put in charge of the project, began its construction in March 363, the project came to a halt. Modern scholars usually offer natural explanations for what happened: W.H.C. Frend, for example, said that workers hit hidden gas deposits that exploded,⁷⁹ and G.W. Bowersock has claimed that either an earthquake or sabotage caused the work to be abandoned.⁸⁰ The ecclesiastical historians Socrates and Sozomen attributed it to supernatural explanations, claiming that first an earthquake scattered the stones of the old foundation of the Temple, then a fire consumed the workmen’s tools, and the next night, after a great number of Jews had assembled to witness these miracles, the sign of the cross appeared on the clothing of all of the workmen.⁸¹ Regardless of what exactly happened, the foundation of the temple wasn’t even laid before the entire endeavor fell apart.

After Julian died in 363 at the beginning of his campaign against the Persians when a spear pierced his abdomen, the army first tried to proclaim the pagan Salutius emperor, but, when he refused, they turned to the Christian Jovian, who accepted.⁸² Every emperor after Jovian until the collapse of the Roman Empire was Christian. The most important Christian emperor after Constantine was the Spaniard Theodosius I (379–392 as Emperor of the East, and 392–395 as sole Emperor), whom Hugo Rahner said brought to term what Constantine had begun.⁸³ Stephen Williams and Gerard Friell said that Theodosius, along with the Council of Nicaea, can be considered as the historic founder of the established Catholic church.⁸⁴

In February 380, not long after becoming emperor, Theodosius decreed a new law, Cunctos populous, in Thessalonica that required all citizens to become Christians in the tradition that was taught by Peter to the Romans at the beginning of the church, and currently was taught by bishops Damasus of Rome and Peter of Alexandria. This tradition, which is the only one that truly may be called Catholic, professes the Nicene trinitarian formula. Anyone who holds theological opinions contrary to this must be despised, considered heretics, and handed over to the state for punishment. This new law, which has been called a momentous document that inaugurated a new age,⁸⁵ and one of the most significant documents in European history,⁸⁶ was not an attack on pagans, but was intended to bring unity to Christianity.⁸⁷

Shortly after this law was put into place, Theodosius became deathly ill. He summoned Bishop Acholius to his bedside in Thessalonica so that he could be baptized. Before he would receive the sacrament from him, Theodosius questioned him about his confessional identity. Once Acholius reassured him that he professed a Nicene theology, Theodosius allowed him to proceed. He recovered his health within a few days, however, and he ascribed his miraculous recovery to the graces he received at baptism. He was the first emperor baptized towards the start of his rule, rather than the end.⁸⁸

That fall, when Theodosius arrived in Constantinople, he began a crackdown on Arian clergy. Demophilus, the Arian bishop of Constantinople, was ousted (as were other Arian bishops throughout the East), and Gregory of Nazianzus was put in his place. Theodosius issued another law directed at the Eunomians, the Photinians, and the Manichaeans for good measure. He also called a council—which met in Constantinople in 381 that has become known as the second ecumenical council—that tried to end the Christian infighting that had persisted even after the Council of Nicaea. This council, too, did not end the conflict. Yet another law, in July 381, officially sacked all Arian clergy, and listed specific bishops for major cities (except Antioch) with whom presbyters and deacons must be in communion. The Arians resisted as well as they could, but to little avail. In January 386, for example, Justina—an Arian and the mother of Valentinian II, the young emperor of the West—convinced her son to pass a law giving Arians the right to worship. She also insisted that Ambrose, the bishop of Milan, give the Basilica Portiana to the Arians for their use. Ambrose and his congregation (including Monica)⁸⁹ locked themselves inside it to stage a sit–in. Justina, without any options save violence, relented.⁹⁰

Initially, Theodosius’s focus on what he considered to be Christian heretics meant that he had little interest in pagans. But, on February 24, 391, he issued the first of four laws that would radically reshape the empire. This law, Nemo se hostiis polluat, prohibited sacrifice to the gods, including state sacrifices. It prohibited anyone from entering pagan temples, or worshipping graven images. Anyone with means caught breaking this law would be fined a significant amount of gold. The second law, on June 9 of the same year, prohibited Christians from converting to (or back to) paganism, on the pain of the loss of certain legal rights. The third law, on June 16, echoed the first law against sacrifice, but it specifically targeted Egypt, and the pagan temples in Alexandria. These laws, especially the third law, initiated an outbreak of violence against pagans and their temples, including at Petraea, Areopolis, Canopus, Heliopolis, Gaza, and Gaul. Most significantly, the Serapaeum, the Alexandrian temple dedicated to the god Serapis, was destroyed. After fighting erupted between Christians and pagans in the streets, the pagans took refuge in the Serapaeum, holding several Christians hostage, and then killing them. Theodosius said that, because the Christian dead had been martyred, the pagans should be forgiven. But, there could be no forgiveness for their idolatry. Hearing this, Theophilus, the bishop of Alexandria whom we will discuss in detail later, and the Alexandrian Christians looted and destroyed the temple. The fourth law, not issued until November 8, 392, declared that all sacrifice and divination were punishable by death, and any pagan ritual accoutrements were prohibited.⁹¹

These four laws completed an almost ninety-year arc that began with Christianity’s future in jeopardy because of Diocletian’s Great Persecution, and ended with its future fully entwined with state power. This new political reality shaped the way the Pelagian controversy concluded, because the state played a small yet significant role in its outcome. As will be discussed in detail later, the Emperor Honorius twice intervened against the Pelagians when, in 418, he condemned Pelagius and Caelestius and banished them from the city of Rome—despite the fact that Pelagius was not in the city at that time—and, the following year, banished them from the provinces. Julian of Eclanum, who was sent into exile after he and a number of other Italian bishops refused to sign Pope Zosimus’s Tractoria condemning the Pelagians in 418, invited the state to get involved when he wrote to a certain Valerius, a military official at the imperial court in Ravenna, asking him to assign impartial judges to adjudicate their case. In 425, furthermore, Theodosius II and Valentinian III insisted that all bishops in Gaul prove their orthodoxy against the Pelagians to Bishop Patroclus of Arles. Theodosius later banished those Pelagians who were in Constantinople in 429. These governmental actions sealed the fate of the Pelagians in a more definitive way than ecclesiastical condemnations alone would have done.

The Ascetic Context: The Rise of Christian Renunciation

Another important part of the landscape of the fourth and fifth centuries that comprised the context of the Pelagian controversy was the Christian ascetic movement. The exact origins of asceticism are unclear, but examples of renunciation can be traced back to the Bible.⁹² In the Old Testament, for example, the Nazarites took vows abstaining from all products from grapes, to wear their hair long, and to abstain from contact with a corpse (Num 6:1–8).⁹³ In the New Testament, John the Baptist wore clothes made of camel’s hair, ate locusts and wild honey, and preached in the desert of Judea (Matt 3:1–12).⁹⁴ In post-biblical Christianity, evidence shows that ascetics began to appear in the deserts of Egypt and Palestine by the end of the third century,⁹⁵ spread to Syria and Cappadocia, and was thriving around the Roman world by 400.⁹⁶

It is not known who these renunciants were. At first, these ascetics were hermits, but organized communities—which has become the standard form until today—quickly began to appear.⁹⁷ Most of them were lay Christians,⁹⁸ and most did not come from the elite classes of the empire.⁹⁹ Scholars disagree about their education level. Henry Chadwick called them fairly simple folk,¹⁰⁰ but C. H. Lawrence and Samuel Robinson have argued that many of them maintained letter correspondences, and many were involved in intellectual pursuits. Origen of Alexandria, for example, was read widely in the Egyptian desert.¹⁰¹ Scholars also disagree why they abandoned social norms. One possibility is that fugitives had fled to the desert during the Decian persecution (250–251), and decided to remain there after the persecution ended.¹⁰² Another possibility is that, after Constantine began to favor Christianity, the bloody martyrdom of the saints was replaced by a bloodless martyrdom of the ascetics. As R.A. Markus succinctly described this possibility: the emotional energies previously absorbed by the duty to rise to the demands made on a persecuted Church were largely re-directed towards disciplined ascetic living.¹⁰³ In other words, the internal self-persecution of the ascetics took over from the external persecution of the martyrs by the pre-Constantinian state. A third possible reason, also arising from the change in the Christian political reality, was that many Christians desired a more rigorous life in response to a perceived softening of the Christian moral fiber.¹⁰⁴ The most satisfactory reason (while not ignoring the social, psychological, economic, and political factors), however, is that ascetics came to believe that this pursuit of perfection was the necessary precondition to achieve union with God through prayer.¹⁰⁵

Although asceticism spread all over the Mediterranean world, it was Egyptian asceticism, both in its eremitic and cenobitic manifestations, that captured the imaginations of Christians in the fourth and early fifth centuries,¹⁰⁶ mostly because of the Vita Antonii, the hagiography Athanasius of Alexandria wrote about Antony of Egypt. Athanasius (c. 295–373) was ordained the bishop of Alexandria in 328.¹⁰⁷ Because of his battles with the Arians, who refused to accept the Creed of the Council of Nicaea that claimed that the Father and the Son are consubstantial, Athanasius was sent into exile five times.¹⁰⁸ During his third exile (355–362), Athanasius wrote the Vita Antonii, which immediately had a transformative effect on the entire Christian world.¹⁰⁹ At the height of his existential crisis in 386, for example, Augustine would recall that, although neither he nor his friend Alypius had heard of Antony at that point, Antony’s holiness already had been broadcast widely throughout the East and the West.¹¹⁰

Antony (251–356) was born to moderately affluent Christian parents in Egypt. As a child, he hated school, but as an obedient son he dutifully went to school, and also to church.¹¹¹ When he was about eighteen to twenty years old, he became responsible for his sister after their parents died. Less than six months later, he was walking to church and pondering how the apostles had abandoned everything to follow Jesus, and how, in the Acts of the Apostles, many sold all of their possessions for the sake of the community (2:45). Entering the church, he heard the Gospel of Matthew proclaimed that if you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven (19:21). Antony understood that God was speaking directly to him through this passage, so he immediately left and gave away his money and possessions (leaving some for his sister).¹¹² Soon afterwards, he once again heard Matthew proclaimed that he should not be anxious about his life (6:25–34), so he began to imitate the life of an old man he knew who had been a renunciant since he was a child.

From the edge of his village where he now lived, Antony would seek out any wisemen he could find. He began to do manual labor, bought bread to eat with the money that he earned, and donated the rest of his earnings.¹¹³ He often would stay awake all night, would drink only water, would eat only one meal after sundown, would fast for four days at a time, and would sleep on a matt on the floor.¹¹⁴ This life, however, was not intense enough for him, so he moved farther away from the village, and asked a friend to lock him in a tomb where he could battle the devil in spiritual warfare.¹¹⁵ In 269 when he was about thirty-five years old,¹¹⁶ he decided that the tomb still did not satisfy his zeal, so he set off for the wilderness where he discovered an abandoned fortress on a mountain where he sequestered himself. He never left the fortress, nor received anyone who came to see him.¹¹⁷ Antony lived in seclusion there for twenty years. Only after some friends of his, and others who desired to emulate him, dismantled the door did he finally emerge from his solitude. Rather than appearing emaciated from lack of nutrition, or obese from lack of movement, he looked exactly as he did two decades earlier. Through him, God healed many sufferers of physical disease, purged those possessed by demons, and gave Antony the gift of eloquence despite his earlier dislike of education. His example and eloquence convinced so many to imitate his life that, as Athanasius said, the desert was made a city by monks.¹¹⁸

He was ashamed of the needs of his body, so he would not eat any more than what he needed. When he would eat a meal, he often would leave the other monks because he was fearful that he would blush if others saw him eating. He focused all of his attention on the soul, rather than the body, and offered advice to those who would listen that they should not allow the soul to be corrupted by the desires of the body. The body should always be in service to the soul, not the other way around.¹¹⁹ His own attempts to master his body included constant fasting, and wearing clothes inside out with the hair turned towards his skin. He never bathed with water, and refused to wash his feet, nor dip them in water unless it was a necessity. No one ever saw him without clothes on until he died and was buried.¹²⁰ Even though he never wrote a regula, never took any formal vows, never required anyone else to take any vows, nor established a common form of worship, Antony’s way of life became a model for those who came after him.¹²¹

When Maximin Daia waged his informal persecution, he sent many Christians to the mines and prisons. According to Athanasius, Antony and other desert hermits went to Alexandria in hopes of becoming martyrs, but Antony did not hand himself over to the authorities. Rather, he tended to those who suffered at the hands of the state, and accompanied those who were sent to their deaths by a judge. The judge, seeing Antony’s willingness to die, ordered him and all of the other monks out of the city. The others thought it would be best to go into hiding, but the next day Antony defiantly stood at the front of the court, once again inspiring others to a life of renunciation.¹²²

When the persecution had ended in late 312, he returned to the desert. But, life there had become too crowded with people, and the temptation of the sin of pride too great, so he intended to retreat even more deeply into the marshes of the upper Thebaid where no one knew him. While waiting on the banks of the Nile for a boat, he heard a voice tell him to go to the inner mountain instead, because he would not be able to find the solitude that he sought if he did not. He traveled with some Saracens for three days and three nights, because they knew the way to it. Arriving, he found a hill with clear water at the base, and wild date palms.¹²³ He lived there for the rest of his life, rarely leaving his seclusion, and dying at the age of 105 years old.¹²⁴

Pachomius (c. 290–347) was the second great figure of fourth-century asceticism, because he was the founder of Egyptian cenobitic monasticism.¹²⁵ Our knowledge of him is sketchy, as the sources who wrote about him did not have any personal relationship with him.¹²⁶ Palladius described him as a man of the kind who live rightly, and exceedingly kind and brotherly,¹²⁷ while Gennadius called him a man endowed with apostolic grace both in teaching and performing miracles.¹²⁸ Philip Rousseau, Pachomius’s biographer, described him as a man of caution and doubt, yet ready to experiment and to adapt to circumstance and personality. He was humble and generous. Above all he was a shrewd judge of character, and able to mold without tyranny those who trusted him.¹²⁹

Pachomius was born to pagan parents in the Thebaid. He was drafted into the army about the age of twenty by Maximin Daia, in 312 or 313, to fight in the civil war with Licinius. One night, he and his fellow soldiers had sheltered in a prison at Luxor. Christians came to the prison with food. Pachomius had never heard of Christians, and did not understand the root of their generosity. When he inquired, he was told that they were followers of the Son of God, and that their charity extended to all people, not just to other Christians. He was shaken to his core when he heard this, and he found a quiet spot in the prison where he prayed, and pledged himself to God for the rest of his life. A few months later, he was out of the army and returned to the village of Chenoboscia in the Thebaid asking to be baptized. Just before his baptism, he had a vision in which dew fell from heaven, dripped into his hand as honey, and spilled onto the earth. A voice told him that this adumbrated his future. For the next three years following his baptism, he lived a simple life in the community, but then began a life of renunciation. He sought out the hermit Palamon to be his mentor, who (like many spiritual masters often did) tried to discourage Pachomius by describing the rigors of his diet, fasts, vigils, and prayer. But, this did not deter him. Like other solitaries in the mode of Antony, Pachomius learned the arduous patterns of the life of the hermits.

A voice spoke to him one day in a vision when he came across the abandoned village of Tabennesis while he was collecting wood. The voice told him to establish a monastery on that spot where many others could come and join him. Palamon helped Pachomius build a cell there, but he died shortly afterwards. Pachomius’s older brother, John, soon joined him, but they disagreed on how big the monastery should be, John favoring a smaller community, Pachomius favoring a larger one. John died not long afterwards, and Pachomius’s community gradually began to grow. In 320, he had another vision. At the instigation of his sister, he established a community of women, where she would become the superior. After his own community had grown beyond one hundred monks, he founded another monastery at Phbow just a few miles away from Tabennesis where, in 337, he moved his headquarters. As the communities continued to grow, he continued to found new locations. Palladius reports that, by the end of the fourth century, the different communities may have reached a combined seven thousand monks.¹³⁰

The physical structures of the communities that he established vaguely resemble what we think of today as typical of a monastery. A wall surrounded the entire compound that contained multiple buildings, including a space for worship, a refectory, a kitchen, an infirmary, a lodge for visitors, and a bakery. The monks lived in cells in houses limited to twenty to forty monks. Early in the life of the community, each individual would have his own cell. They would not be allowed to visit each other’s cells, because the cell was the most important place monks would pray. As the community developed over time, as many as three monks came to inhabit one cell. Each house was under the direction of a headmaster (praepositus), who was the spiritual director and primary educator of the entire house, and the entire compound would be headed by a superior. Monks may have been grouped together in a house based on a particular skill set that they all shared, although this is not entirely certain.¹³¹

The daily cycle for the monks was strictly regimented. At daybreak, a gong would signal the beginning of morning prayer in the communal worship space. The monks would go to their designated spaces to listen to the Bible proclaimed, meditate silently, and recite the Our Father. While listening to the Bible, monks silently worked, and penances for infractions against the community’s regula also were done. After the morning prayer, the monks would return to their cells where they then would be told what labor they would do that day. The monks participated in a variety of types of work, including gardening, basket weaving, matt making, rope making, tailoring, blacksmithing, woodworking, bread making, husbanding, cloth making, and shoe making, to name a just a few. Throughout the day, scriptural recitation, meditation, and discussion about the texts would accompany the work of the monks. During the middle of the day, the main meal, consisting mainly of bread and cooked vegetables, would be eaten silently in the refectory. In the evening, a lighter meal would be eaten, and communal prayer would be held. In each house afterwards, the monks would say more prayers before going to bed.