Toward a New Reconstruction

Abstract

Several times in the previous chapters, this study has mentioned the work of Richard Burgess and his reevaluation of the reconstruction of Joseph Bidez. Burgess argues that Bidez actually combined two different works. One of these, dubbed by Burgess the Continuatio Antiochiensis Eusebii, is the focus of that historian’s analysis and will be the theme of the first part of the present chapter. Though Burgess believes that the Continuatio is not a part of any non-Nicene historiographical tradition, a closer reading strongly suggests that Bidez’s belief that the fragments were by an “Arian” remains correct. Furthermore, internal evidence even allows us to propose the identity of the author of Burgess’ Continuatio.

Several times in the previous chapters, this study has mentioned the work of Richard Burgess and his reevaluation of the reconstruction of Joseph Bidez. Burgess argues that Bidez actually combined two different works. One of these, dubbed by Burgess the Continuatio Antiochiensis Eusebii, is the focus of that historian’s analysis and will be the theme of the first part of the present chapter. Though Burgess believes that the Continuatio is not a part of any non-Nicene historiographical tradition, a closer reading strongly suggests that Bidez’s belief that the fragments were by an “Arian” remains correct. Furthermore, internal evidence even allows us to propose the identity of the author of Burgess’ Continuatio.

If the Lost Arian History is actually more than one independent work, what can be said about those fragments not in Burgess’ proposed Continuatio? The second and third parts of this chapter tackle this question and put together the arguments offered in the preceding four chapters into a coherent picture. While definitive conclusions remain unattainable because of our insufficient evidence, this study attempts to provide a tentative understanding of how the various fragments relate to one another and what the original parts of the Lost Arian History comprised. It is hoped that these proposed connections, though provisional, will foster further conversation and insights regarding these sources’ relationships with one another.

1 The Continuatio Antiochiensis Eusebii

Much of the following discussion first appeared as the independent article “Eusebius of Emesa and the Continuatio Antiochiensis Eusebii.” Copyright © 2013 Cambridge University Press. This article first appeared in Journal of Ecclesiastical History Volume 66 Number 3 (2015), pages 471–87. Those parts of the argument that remain unchanged are reprinted here with permission. Peter van Nuffelen has disagreed with the conclusions presented there (and, with minor modifications, here) in van Nuffelen, “What happened after Eusebius?”, 166 n. 32. It seems his critique of my argument is ultimately rooted in a methodological disagreement. While I have tremendous respect for van Nuffelen’s work, I simply disagree with his decision to restrict our study of fragments (and their potential relationships) to those we can identify according to his limited criteria. Furthermore, I believe there is benefit in proposing connections between anonymous works and potential authors. Such theories encourage us to revisit the sources with new eyes and may lead to greater insights in the future, even if an given theory may never be able to be proved definitively.

Richard Burgess’ Studies in Eusebian and Post-Eusebian Chronography alters significantly the work of Joseph Bidez by arguing convincingly that some of Bidez’s fragments actually belong to a hitherto unknown Antiochene continuation of the Chronicle of Eusebius of Caesarea.¹ Burgess maintains, contrary to Bidez’s theory, that many of the passages pertaining to the years prior to 350 have their source in an Antiochene document, which he calls the Continuatio Antiochiensis Eusebii. His careful linguistic analysis and reconstruction are persuasive. For example, he notices a striking difference among the excerpts collected by Bidez, developed in Appendix 1’s commentary on fragment (24).² Until 350, the fragments seem to possess a chronological framework; after that year the dating for some fragments becomes less precise and reflects more a narrative style than the style of a chronicle.³ In a similar fashion, explicitly non-Nicene attitudes surface predominately after the year 350.⁴ Burgess argues that these later fragments reflect a second, “Arian” narrative source.⁵ He also asserts that the proposed Continuatio did not share the non-Nicene perspective apparent in the remainder of Bidez’s fragments.⁶ This claim, coupled with his observations regarding the chronicle’s frequent emphasis on Antioch and detailed knowledge of the emperor Constantius and secular affairs, shapes his conclusion that the chronicle came from the hand of a pro-Nicene layman living in Syria.⁷ Burgess further notes that the source’s “ordinary and sometimes clumsy Greek” suggests that the author had received some education but had not mastered the highest levels of rhetoric, a detail that he believes fits well with his depiction of a layman as the author.⁸

The case for Burgess’ pro-Nicene layman relies in part upon the epithet “the chaste” (ὅ ἁγνός) that the chronicle attaches to Leontius, a non-Nicene bishop of Antioch. Leontius had castrated himself to dispel rumors of an illicit relationship with a consecrated virgin.⁹ Since Athanasius had earlier mentioned this mutilation to humiliate his theological foe, Burgess associates Athanasius’ epithet of “eunuch” (ὁ ἀπόκοπος) with the word “chaste” used in the Antiochene continuation.¹⁰ This argument appears forced when Burgess insinuates that “chaste” could be a “sarcastic swipe” at Leontius.¹¹ He admits the word “gives no real indication” of the author’s theology but then argues that the term “does suggest that he [the author] did not approve of Leontius.”¹² This suggestion has no clear foundation in the source itself. The idea that the epithet “the chaste” can be read as showing disfavor seems to contradict the value that Christians placed upon sexual self-restraint. A more text-based interpretation suggests that the phrase “Leontius the chaste” was praise, for there is no intrinsic reason to think otherwise.

Nor should one dismiss the text’s admiration for Leontius as one who preserved the “true faith” (τῆς ἀληθοῦς πίστεως).¹³ Burgess avoids this obvious evidence against his theory by minimizing the importance of such high acclaim for a visibly non-Nicene figure. However, such words as “true faith” have meaning, especially in a world torn asunder by religious battles over correct terminology. As the theological crisis of the fourth century demonstrates, words and even single characters within words mattered to contemporaries and shaped theological factions.

Burgess’ assumptions regarding Constantine, who receives favorable treatment at the hands of the continuation’s author, should also be subject to reconsideration. He writes, “The positive epithets applied to Constantine strongly suggest that the author was not an Arian, though his acceptance of Gregory of Alexandria and the Arian successors of Eustathius of Antioch shows that he was no radical homoousian either.”¹⁴ It is true that the Heterousian historian Philostorgius did not embrace the memory of Constantine without criticism. In Philostorgius’ history, the reader finds a negative view of the emperor who, among other faults, executed members of the imperial family.¹⁵ Burgess evidently assumes that those who were against Nicene theology shared Philostorgius’ hostility, but this would include those who enjoyed the favor of Constantine’s son Constantius. Such a situation is unlikely. Burgess provides no further evidence, nor does he discuss the praise for Constantine by Eusebius of Caesarea, whose sympathies toward Arius’ position are well-known. Burgess’ observation that the fragments never use an epithet for Constantius and mention Constantine frequently is interesting but hardly suggestive of a theological position.¹⁶

He also stresses the lack of polemics within the chronicle as evidence in favor of a pro-Nicene author. Burgess remarks that the irenic tone of the work suggests a Nicene author who had not adopted an extreme position regarding the theological struggles.¹⁷ As has already been noted, by the year 350 the Homoousian position was reeling from severe setbacks. Council after council had gone against its adherents, the high-profile Athanasius had already suffered exile and would suffer it again, and the emperor Constantius, who often resided in Antioch during this period, had embraced a contrary theology. This situation would seem to imply an inauspicious moment in which to write a pro-Nicene chronicle. Hans Brennecke’s suggestion that pro-Nicene authors were too beleaguered during this period to compose historical works seems plausible; their efforts would more likely have been directed toward a defense of their theology.¹⁸ Indeed, given Constantius’ presence in Antioch, the neutral tone of the Continuatio is just as likely to imply confidence in a secure, and presumed triumphant, non-Nicene position.

Finally, Burgess declares that Jerome would never have incorporated a heretical author into his own chronicle given “Jerome’s viciously anti-Arian stance.”¹⁹ This observation raises the question of Jerome’s relationship to Eusebius of Caesarea, but Burgess attempts to resolve this by stating that the latter’s religious beliefs were not obvious in his Chronicle.²⁰ Yet this same ambiguity confronts the reader of the Antiochene continuation as reconstructed by Burgess. The fact that the modern historian must employ various inferences in order to discern a pro-Nicene theological position reveals that the issue is not as simple as proposed. Burgess’ own arguments do not allow him to reject the possibility that Jerome used a moderate “Arian” source, much as he had done with the Chronicle of Eusebius of Caesarea. There is even reason to suspect that, contrary to Burgess’ suggestion, Jerome did not hesitate to use heterodox writings when it suited his purposes.

Jerome’s De viris illustribus can serve as an example. Jerome wrote this work in 392 as a response to a request that he compose a list of famous Christian authors using the genre of illustrious lives.²¹ The introduction tells his audience not only that many Christians have contributed works worthy of note but also that he has worked diligently to list these various titles within a single volume.²² Jerome’s design is to refute the pagan contention that Christianity lacked intellectual vigor, and it would seem the ideal forum for the irascible hermit to include only those authors whom he admired or with whom he agreed. Yet this is far from the reality, for he includes authors with whom he had strong personal disagreements, such as Ambrose of Milan.²³ Perhaps more surprising is his addition of not only theologically ambiguous figures like Eusebius of Caesarea but also notorious heresiarchs like the Heterousian Eunomius.²⁴

This observation does not directly refute Burgess’ claim that Jerome would never have used an “Arian” source. It is one thing to list authors and their works, another to incorporate their writings into one’s own endeavors. Nonetheless, it does demonstrate that Jerome could curb his “viciously anti-Arian stance” in order to suit his needs. Jerome apparently felt that the advantage of listing as many Christian intellectuals as possible outweighed the dangers of including men with whose theology he vehemently disagreed.²⁵ Since he acted in such a fashion in regard to his De viris, the possibility exists that Jerome did likewise when using the Continuatio Antiochiensis Eusebii, particularly because Jerome himself noted the haste with which he wrote his own chronicle.²⁶ This speed implies the use of other sources, and Jerome may have accepted more readily a non-Nicene work that assisted his own, especially if there were few other options.²⁷ In addition, it follows that Jerome would most likely mention the author of this Antiochene continuation in his De viris since he had used that source in the composition of his own chronicle just a few years earlier.²⁸ Nonetheless, there is no author mentioned by Jerome who fits the hypothetical character indicated by Burgess: A pro-Nicene, lay Antiochene.²⁹

A figure whom Jerome does include is Eusebius of Emesa.³⁰ Jerome’s own testimony reveals that Eusebius composed works of an historical nature that were popular reading among some.³¹ Furthermore, Burgess’ arguments in favor of a pro-Nicene layman actually describe the bishop of Emesa quite well.

The brief surviving biographical material related to Eusebius of Emesa can be found chiefly in the fifth-century Ecclesiastical Histories of Socrates and Sozomen, both of whom drew upon an encomium written by Eusebius’ fellow-bishop, George of Laodicea.³² Eusebius came from a noble family in Edessa and received his religious education from Eusebius of Caesarea. His growing reputation for sanctity included the performance of miraculous works, and he eventually received the episcopal rank in 341. The “Arian” bishop Eusebius of Nicomedia, who performed the consecration, entreated the new bishop to accept the see of Alexandria, but the latter refused since he correctly thought many people would resent any bishop other than Athanasius. Ultimately, the new prelate received as his charge the Syrian city of Emesa (modern Homs). His efforts and even residence in his see, however, came to an end through the people’s suspicions regarding his study of the stars and alleged Sabellianism.³³ He retreated to Antioch, where he enjoyed the favor of Constantius II and participated in at least one of the emperor’s military campaigns against the Persians. Eusebius died and was buried in the environs of Antioch in the 350s.³⁴ The concise biographical note in Jerome’s De viris adds that Eusebius wrote prolifically—including commentaries on books of Sacred Scripture—and that his preaching was admired and imitated by many.³⁵

Unfortunately, little of this corpus remains extant, but what has survived provides an image of a man who desired to remain aloof from the contemporary turmoil within the Christian Church.³⁶ Eusebius’ surviving sermons offer a wealth of instances in which the bishop was careful to distinguish himself from the various sides of the “Arian controversy”: Rather than explicitly denouncing Nicaea, he called for unity among the different Christian parties.³⁷

Several examples will suffice to give a general picture of Eusebius as one who avoided party polemics and proffered a potential solution to the divisions.³⁸ Once while preaching he conveyed succinctly his program of a purely Scriptural articulation of Christology—a position at variance with both Athanasius’ stance and the predominant Homoiousian position.³⁹ The bishop of Emesa nonetheless carefully refrained from openly blaming specific individuals even when he addressed the controversy: In one sermon, he demonstrated a generally negative attitude toward all the curious who exceeded the bounds of Sacred Scripture when discussing the relationship between the Father and the Son, implicitly criticizing the majority of those involved in the debate.⁴⁰ Eusebius also refused to use a clear opportunity in his sermon Adversus Sabellium to attack proponents of Nicaea, for adherents to that council were often associated with the Sabellian heresy by their opponents. Instead, he censured all who claimed to know more than Scripture contains, a critique that included many who condemned Athanasius and his theological sympathizers.⁴¹

His sermon De Filio, in particular, presents many moments in which he explicitly rejected the opportunity, or even necessity, of debate. Such a habit of contention, he implied, turned the Church of God into a circus.⁴² The charity of God was supposed to be Christians’ model, and yet, he complained, lawsuits and fights had taken root.⁴³ The bishop then carefully noted the limits of human understanding and distinguished the proper way to express disagreements, all the while emphasizing that he would willingly accept fraternal correction in regard to his own theology.⁴⁴ In this context, one can better understand Eusebius’ description of himself in another public forum as one who emphatically abstained from contention: The bishop’s “Et non contendo!” manifested his refusal to engage in personal, party-driven polemics even when he confronted the controversial theological questions of his day.⁴⁵

It could be argued that these reflections imply that Eusebius of Emesa embraced the Homoian theology associated with Acacius of Caesarea. Acacius’ position, ultimately championed by Constantius shortly before his death in early 361, rejected the troublesome “essence” terminology in favor of Scriptural language. Since this is what Eusebius himself advocated in his sermons, a link between Acacius (or some other Homoian figure) and Eusebius might appear as a possible touchstone for the latter’s Scripture-based Christology. Yet a facile association fails to consider the nuances of Eusebius’ position, which on some points stands closer to Athanasius than to any non-Nicene prelate.⁴⁶ Moreover, the Homoian position gained predominance only in the years after Eusebius’ death.⁴⁷ As Robert Winn has demonstrated, Eusebius enjoyed friendly relations with key figures of the Homoiousian persuasion throughout his life.⁴⁸ That George of Laodicea, a prominent Homoiousian and enemy of the Homoian Acacius, composed the deceased bishop’s encomium further implies that Eusebius was not involved with the nascent Homoian party but retained positive relations with Homoiousians, despite his apparent distance on a theological level.⁴⁹

Eusebius’ respected status among the members of the episcopate throughout his life is obvious. His studies under the learned and famous Eusebius of Caesarea, his being the preferred candidate for the see of Alexandria, and his reputation for miracles no doubt distinguished him. His activity, furthermore, extended beyond spiritual concerns, for his position of respect in the church hierarchy was complemented by his position close to the emperor. The information preserved by the ecclesiastical historians highlights Eusebius’ access to the imperial court, presumably at least during the military campaigns he accompanied. Such secular interests bring to mind Burgess’ arguments that the Continuatio was probably by a pro-Nicene layman. If Eusebius could, as bishop, be involved in military campaigns, is it not possible that he wrote a chronicle that included many secular details?

As an intimate of the emperor, his knowledge of the wider imperial world and military affairs would naturally be a part of his vision. Furthermore, Eusebius’ apparent polemical neutrality coincides with the non-controversial nature noticed by Burgess regarding his proposed Antiochene chronicle. Eusebius’ long sojourns in Antioch would have allowed him to write with familiarity about that city and its events. The praise of Leontius and acceptance of Gregory—who became bishop of Alexandria after Eusebius himself had refused that honor in 341—also fit well with the bishop’s biography.

There are even personal touches that indicate a connection between the bishop and the Continuatio. Certain entries from Burgess’ reconstruction, for example, mention stars in some detail, an apparent interest of the author’s that calls to mind the fascination with the heavens exhibited by Eusebius of Emesa.⁵⁰ Nor is this a minor detail: It was this very interest of Eusebius that led to his departure from his see. Emesa was known for its solar cult, and, though he as its bishop explicitly condemned astrology in his sermons, Eusebius could not suppress his evident interest in the heavenly bodies and expressed it in his preaching.⁵¹ Apparently, this characteristic aroused suspicion in the Christian community of Emesa and led to Eusebius’ withdrawal to Antioch. It is not surprising, therefore, that traces of this enthusiasm could be reflected in the bishop’s other writings, such as the Continuatio.

The connection between the stargazing of Eusebius and that in the Continuatio contains more than a few coincidences. As Appendix 1 discusses, fragment (12a) of Burgess’ reconstruction mentions a star, “smoking greatly as from a furnace” (καπνίζων σϕόδρα ὡς ἀπὸ καμίνου), that appeared in Antioch from the third to the fifth hour.⁵² Burgess identifies this star as a comet that appeared on 16 February 336.⁵³ Given the confused description and lack of details, traits not common among the entries Burgess identifies, Burgess further asserts that the author of the Continuatio was not present in Antioch at that time.⁵⁴ Such a circumstance would explain the apparent lack of precise dating and even the mistake in the record if Theophanes’ AM 5826 is an accurate representation of the original entry’s chronology.

This conjectural absence coincides with the time when Eusebius of Emesa was away from Antioch. Eusebius left the city sometime after the deposition of Eustathius of Antioch only to be again present by the Dedication Council of 341.⁵⁵ According to both Socrates and Sozomen, he left the city in order to avoid ordination there and instead embraced the study of philosophy in Alexandria.⁵⁶ Unfortunately, it is unknown when Eustathius suffered the loss of his bishopric.⁵⁷ To make matters more complicated, there were two short-lived bishops who held the position for an undetermined time before it eventually came to Flaccillus, the bishop at the time of the Dedication Council. Winn, building on others, suggests that Eusebius may have been a candidate for the episcopacy of Antioch during one of these vacancies and fled in order to avoid that fate.⁵⁸

The last detailed reference to Antioch and its environs involved a famine that broke out in 332.⁵⁹ From that point until 341 the chronicle, as reconstructed by Burgess, departed from its typical Antiochene focus and included only one entry—the confused record of the “smoking star”—involving that city. If this relative silence is evidence for Eusebius of Emesa’s absence, it is possible that his residence elsewhere may have begun shortly after 332 and may have lasted until the Dedication Council itself.⁶⁰ Eusebius, at the very least, was absent from Antioch for some time and would not have had firsthand knowledge from the city at that time.

This proposed Eusebian authorship also explains how it was that certain, otherwise unimportant, figures received mention in the Continuatio. Burgess’ theory of a pro-Nicene layman as the author makes it difficult to account for the inclusion of two minor church clerics: As Appendix 1 notes, both the existence and the success of Zenobius, who built the Martyr’s Shrine in Jerusalem, and Eustathius, a locally renowned presbyter from Constantinople, come to us primarily through the notices associated with the Continuatio.⁶¹ The author’s knowledge of Eustathius and Zenobius is striking since both of these figures are otherwise unattested. Burgess suggests that these two disparate figures met the author of the history at some later time while they traveled through Antioch. This, he argues, would explain how it is that the unknown historian, whose knowledge of Constantinople and its affairs is otherwise limited, could praise someone like Eustathius who achieved only local fame.⁶² Burgess dates this hypothetical meeting to the year 336 or later, because he uses the “smoking star” above to emphasize his hypothetical layman-author’s absence from Antioch.⁶³ This would explain how the author came to interact with figures not associated with Antioch.

Yet Eusebius of Emesa’s presence in Alexandria explains even more conveniently how it was that these two men found a place in the Continuatio. Eusebius may have journeyed to Jerusalem during his absence from Antioch in order to be present at the dedication of this Martyrs’ Shrine and thus interacted there with these clerics. By 341 Eusebius of Emesa had associated with and gained the trust of Eusebius of Nicomedia, who by then was the bishop of Constantinople. It is possible that Eusebius of Emesa in the midst of his travels outside Antioch grew to know locally prominent figures from Constantinople, such as Eustathius, who may have accompanied Eusebius of Nicomedia during the latter’s journeys throughout the Levant and elsewhere during the 330s.

This theory gains strength from the realization that the last specific entry concerning events in Alexandria involved the rise to the episcopacy of Gregory in 339.⁶⁴ Burgess suggests that “whatever episcopal source” the author had employed ended with Gregory’s elevation.⁶⁵ While this may be so, it is even simpler to propose that Eusebius of Emesa returned to Antioch after the rise of Gregory and perhaps in conjunction with the impending Dedication Council. This would neatly explain both the return of an Antiochene focus to the chronicle in 341 and the dearth of Alexandrian material beginning at that same time.

Even Burgess’ observations regarding the language of the chronicle are germane. Burgess notes that the Greek employed is superior to the spoken Koine but not indicative of the highest education.⁶⁶ The bishop of Emesa apparently learned Greek as his second language after Syriac, and it is easy to understand how his style could fall short of the most polished Greek prose.⁶⁷ Nor is Burgess’ description of the chronicle’s language as “ordinary and sometimes clumsy” incompatible with the fact that Eusebius was an orator.⁶⁸ The genre of a chronicle, with its abbreviated statements, is far from that of a didactic or persuasive sermon, and there have been many who can preach well but whose writings are not of the same quality. Also, Burgess himself notes that the author of the continuation emulated the writing style of Eusebius of Caesarea, the very man who taught the future bishop of Emesa.⁶⁹

There remains the suggestion that the secular material implies a lay author. It is true that much of the reconstruction’s information is focused on temporal affairs. Except for a passing reference to the expulsion of Arius by Alexander of Alexandria and the summoning of the ecumenical council of Nicaea, the Continuatio’s author avoids even indirect mention of the strife then dominating the Christian hierarchy.⁷⁰ Where one may expect to see records of councils and episcopal depositions, one encounters instead a presentation in which earthquakes seemingly alternate with military operations or details about foreign lands.

If the theory is correct that Eusebius of Emesa was the chronicle’s author, the question remains why a bishop would write of such things while avoiding affairs presumably closer to his heart. First, it is important to remember that the fragments presented by Burgess are a reconstruction; perhaps data concerned more exclusively with the church have since been lost. One can easily imagine a scenario in which later pro-Nicene authors excised non-Nicene (or even insufficiently “anti-Arian”) material from their accounts. Even if this is not so and the Continuatio’s secular bent is indicative of the entire work, it does not follow that its author was not Eusebius, let alone not a cleric. The material preserved in the two ecclesiastical histories of Socrates and Sozomen demonstrates that Eusebius of Emesa had a keen mind for things not commonly associated with his duties as a bishop. His stargazing and his presence on at least one military campaign reveal a man whose life encompassed many interests and whose experience involved far more than the world of ecclesiastical disputes.

It would not be surprising if this ecclesiastical discord, from which Eusebius distanced himself in his extant sermons, had been treated in a similar fashion in his chronicle. The very nature of the chronicle’s fact-driven genre may have led Eusebius to avoid the entire issue as much as he could. In his preaching, Eusebius hesitated to name individuals involved in the contemporary theological strife, even as he rebuked in general those who sought their understanding outside the bounds of Scripture. The distinction between a generic condemnation and individual censure would be more difficult to maintain in the context of specific facts concerning councils, disputes, and depositions. The self-consciously irenic Eusebius might have decided to avoid a potentially polemically charged situation by ignoring the developments subsequent to the Council of Nicaea.

Rather than focusing on the turmoil and division in the church, he offered a vision of solidarity within the empire by demonstrating its power and identity vis-à-vis its often-hostile neighbors. Eusebius’ own participation in at least one campaign presumably influenced this decision to describe imperial affairs in such a fashion. In a parallel manner, the bishop preached on the duty of the community to support its members and to avoid threats posed by those who did not share their faith.⁷¹ Perhaps the bishop’s chronicle sought to encourage this unity by reminding his listeners and readers that the real threat came not so much from their fellow Christians as from those outside either their shared Christian faith or political borders. The Continuatio’s frequent praise of Constantine as a promoter of Christianity and victor over his enemies hints, too, that in the author’s mind religious peace and imperial stability were inextricably associated.⁷²

The frequency of non-religious data in the Continuatio is not a convincing argument that a cleric did not write it.⁷³ Eusebius’ life and interests provide an obvious context in which such a choice of material would be natural. There is also the possibility that personal friendship or esteem for Constantius II—perhaps consciously modeled on the prior relationship between Eusebius’ teacher Eusebius of Caesarea and Constantine in the 330s—guided the composition of the chronicle. Sozomen, for example, informs us that the diocese of Emesa, despite its small size and recent date, received special notice in Constantius’ church-building efforts.⁷⁴ The fact that its church was singled out by Sozomen for its particular beauty may reflect its imperial patron’s personal regard, a regard perhaps reflected and reciprocated in the content of the Continuatio.

Burgess’ last great objection to non-Nicene authorship relied on Jerome’s obvious disdain for heretics, which presumably would have checked his use of an “Arian” chronicle. Jerome’s own testimony informs us that many emulated and diligently read Eusebius of Emesa’s works.⁷⁵ What the saint does not tell us, however, is that he himself is among them: In his On Galatians Jerome depended, in part, on the commentary penned by Eusebius.⁷⁶ Other evidence demonstrates that the hermit was well versed in Eusebius’ exegetical writings and methodology, though he often disagreed with the position taken by the bishop.⁷⁷

There is also the odd presence of Eusebius of Emesa within the Chronicon of Jerome.⁷⁸ The very fact that Eusebius is included among the entries is difficult to explain. He was, after all, not a prominent polemicist and apparently shunned controversy, as when he refused the prestigious see of Alexandria. A possible answer can be found in examples left by two other educated churchmen. Jerome dedicates the concluding section to himself in his De viris and Eusebius of Caesarea dominates the tenth book of his Ecclesiastical History with his own sermon. Consequently, it should be no surprise if Eusebius of Emesa mentioned his own efforts at the end of his chronicle.⁷⁹ Alternatively, it may be that this portion of the Continuatio actually belongs to a continuation of that chronicle; in this case, a second author might have paid homage to his predecessor by mentioning Eusebius of Emesa at the onset of his own work.⁸⁰

Either way, Jerome may have grudgingly included this reference because of the fact that Eusebius was too well-known for him to omit.⁸¹ Jerome, who could be hesitant in giving proper attribution to others, may have simply decided to blacken Eusebius’ character in this entry as a way of disassociating himself from one of his main sources.⁸² In support of this notion is the evidence from De viris that the saint masked his dependence upon others and even claimed to have read sources to which he had no access.⁸³ One last detail that strengthens this argument is Jerome’s own testimony mentioned above that Eusebius composed works of an historical nature that became popular reading among some.⁸⁴

Thanks to Richard Burgess’ research, the passages collected by Bidez are now known to derive from at least two different sources. Burgess dismisses the idea that an “Arian” wrote the Antiochene continuation because he assumes that Jerome would never use such a source. As has been shown, however, this claim is far from conclusive. Other evidence suggests not only that the chronicle was by a non-Nicene hand but also that that hand belonged to Eusebius of Emesa.⁸⁵

2 A Lost Antiochene Martyrology?

Richard Burgess’ work has revolutionized the study of the Lost Arian History even as it has stimulated questions about the fragments not included in the proposed Continuatio: Can these remaining fragments inform us of another non-Nicene source, and, if so, what is the nature of this “second” Lost Arian History? A review of Appendix 1 reveals that the awareness of events in Antioch and evidence of a non-Nicene perspective remain pronounced among the fragments not incorporated into Burgess’ reconstructed Continuatio. There is, nonetheless, definitely a shift in nature between those fragments of the Continuatio and, for example, the content conveyed by fragment (24) from the Paschal Chronicle. Most of the fragments prior to (24) convey information in a pithy manner reminiscent of chronicles; after it, one encounters a series of fragments that departs from the relatively detached style of the Continuatio. Fragments (1), (2), (24), (25), (31), (33), (33a–h), (34), (34a), (34b), (35), (36), (36a–e), and possibly (37) and (37a) seem to share this discursive style, Antiochene focus, and non-Nicene perspective and may be part of a single source, a “second” Lost Arian History.⁸⁶

These fragments construct a narrative that ultimately introduces the sufferings inflicted upon the Christian communities during the reign of Julian the Apostate. Just as Eusebius of Caesarea’s earlier The Martyrs of Palestine had provided an intimate glimpse into the deaths of those who confessed Christ, fragments (33)–(36) present the fates of several individuals, both persecuted and persecutor. The most gripping and informed descriptions, unsurprisingly, refer to those in and around Antioch and may have their origin in the author’s own experience or in the oral reports of eyewitnesses.⁸⁷ This apparent focus may indicate that this second lost work was a collection of martyrs’ passions.⁸⁸ Such a theory coincides well with both Dufourcq’s observations regarding X and Hanns Brennecke’s suspicion that some of Bidez’s fragments belonged to a martyrology.⁸⁹

Fragment (1) supports the interpretation that these fragments formed a martyrology. Though its appearance in the Paschal Chronicle is far removed chronologically from the fourth-century persecution, fragment (1)’s content is relevant: It consists of a quotation—perhaps an excerpt from a sermon—from the bishop Leontius, who is praising the Antiochene martyr Babylas for his third-century witness before the emperor. Appendix 1’s study of fragment (1) highlights the Paschal Chronicle’s two accounts regarding the death of Babylas. The second derives from John Malalas, but its first account, fragment (1), has an unknown origin. Indeed, the introduction to Leontius’ quotation implies that this information originally belonged in a very different context, and it is entirely possible that the Paschal Chronicler (or an intermediary source) wrenched this fragment from its original chronological framework and inserted it among the events of the third century.

Fragment (24), meanwhile, begins with praise for the episcopacy of Leontius and the miraculous deeds of his clergy. This shared admiration for Leontius—both fragment (1) and (24) refer to him as “blessed”—indicates a common theological perspective and also implies that the two may share a common origin. Perhaps the inclusion of Babylas and the quotation from Leontius reflect the author’s intent to provide his account of the fourth-century martyrs with a wider perspective. When one considers how Eusebius of Caesarea eventually incorporated The Martyrs of Palestine into the context of his Ecclesiastical History, it does not seem unreasonable to propose that the author of this possible martyrology desired to place his own account within a larger context that included more than simply the reign of Julian itself. The inclusion of Leontius’ quotation supports this theory: It seems fitting that an account describing events in Antioch include the martyred Babylas, especially since that saint’s relics played a prominent role during Julian’s stay at Antioch.⁹⁰ In a similar manner, the praise for Constantius and the description of his piety (and his subsequent military successes), which are found in a number of the fragments of this proposed second lost history, contrast dramatically with the reign of his successor: Maybe the unknown author inserted events preceding Julian’s persecution as a way to highlight the success of Christianity under a good emperor while demonstrating the havoc that an evil one caused.

Furthermore, Albert Dufourcq believes that the Artemii Passio most likely had an original passion account, the aforementioned X, that informed our extant versions of Artemius’ hagiography.⁹¹ In these later renditions, Artemius’ death is linked to the witness of another martyr, the Antiochene priest Eugenius.⁹² The question arises whether this martyred Eugenius is the same as the Eugenius highlighted in fragment (24) for his miraculous conversion of a Jew.⁹³ Hanns Brennecke believes that such a connection cannot be made with confidence, and yet there are reasons for suspecting that these Eugenii are one and the same.⁹⁴ The snake-eating Eugenius was a figure of some prominence: Not only was he impressive in his choice of diet, but also he alone is named of the three companions whom the soon-to-be converted Jew encountered. Furthermore, his name is accompanied by the epithet “the most reverend” (εὐλαβέστατος ἀνήρ). Such emphasis upon this individual may be the narrative’s foreshadowing of his future glory as a martyr during the rule of Julian.

Joseph Bidez’s suggestion that the Lost Arian History informed a number of martyr accounts also supports the argument in favor of a martyrology.⁹⁵ Brennecke’s lengthy study of various related martyr stories likewise suggests that it was a non-Nicene tradition that produced the most important (and perhaps the only) written record for the martyrs for this era.⁹⁶ In Brennecke’s opinion, the text of the Paschal Chronicle represents an epitome of the original martyrology, a martyrology that, at least indirectly, became the foundation of subsequent pro-Nicene hagiography.⁹⁷ Brennecke postulates that the use of the Lost Arian History, evident in many different pro-Nicene works, bespeaks the lack of a pro-Nicene literary tradition regarding this persecution.⁹⁸ This claim seems logical: It was unlikely that a pro-Nicene faction sought to record the triumphs of the martyrs even as a hostile imperial policy continued under the reign of Valens. It is worth noting that this second lost history, unlike the Continuatio by the non-aggressive Homoiousian Eusebius of Emesa, was probably written by a Homoian Christian. The sympathy for Constantius, who embraced the Homoian position in the years following Eusebius’ death, and the probable composition either during Valens’ reign or shortly thereafter make this likely.⁹⁹

Furthermore, Brennecke suggests that the transformation of the imperial position to a pro-Nicene platform under Theodosius effected a parallel shift in the martyrs under Julian.¹⁰⁰ Though bereft of its own account of this persecution, the now ascendant pro-Nicene community could embrace as its own the victims of Julian’s persecution. This shift may explain, for example, how it is that Theodoret’s Ecclesiastical History includes among his description of martyrs for the Christian faith the heroism of Euzoius, who can likely be identified as the Homoian bishop of Antioch.¹⁰¹ Brennecke also notes that devotion to various martyrs, such as Juventinus and Maximinus, probably arose during the reign of Valens and received the sanction of the imperial Homoian theology.¹⁰² These heroes against paganism obviously found a wide basis of support within the fragmented Antiochene community, and it may be that a work that recorded their glories became a common source for both Nicene and “Arian” authors. That the pro-Nicene community ultimately embraced these individuals as their own, as is evident in the fifth-century historians, supports Brennecke’s theory.

Nonetheless, though fragments (33) through (36) pertain directly to the anti-Christian violence during Julian’s reign, the previous fragments do not necessarily reflect any connection to a proposed martyrology. Fragment (24), for example, begins with the story of an Antiochene cleric who converted a Jew, and it continues with material, such as the siege of Nisibis, that has no apparent connection to the martyrs of Julian’s reign.¹⁰³ That this material derives from a non-Nicene perspective is suggested by its praise for both the non-Nicene Leontius and Constantius, but there appears to be no particular reason to believe that the original source was more akin to Eusebius’ Martyrs of Palestine than to his Ecclesiastical History. Why should this unknown source be considered a martyrology rather than an ecclesiastical history? There is no conclusive answer. Based on the limited evidence available and Brennecke’s arguments above, this study argues that the original source probably focused on the various martyrs and included other material to supplement that narrative. However, one should remember that the description of this source as a “martyrology” is tentative and that the author may have envisioned his source as an ecclesiastical history in the same vein as, or even as a continuation of, the Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius.¹⁰⁴ Such a distinction appears beyond our current ability to make, and, for this study’s purpose, the question whether the author wrote primarily to describe the martyrs of Julian’s reign or whether he wrote a general history that apparently focused on those martyrs does not matter as much as the realization that these sections from Bidez’s reconstruction do not appear to belong with the other fragments and form an independent source.

The passion accounts mentioned by Bidez unfortunately include layers of hagiographical embellishment that make the process of discerning the original text (and whether that text relates to the Lost Arian History) a study in itself.¹⁰⁵ To make the situation even more daunting, an article by David Woods indirectly suggests that details from this lost martyrology may actually inform martyr accounts that purport to describe persecutions of other eras.¹⁰⁶ Just as Chap. 6 notes that the complex issues surrounding George Cedrenus’ Compendium of Histories must await further scholarship, so, too, the (perhaps fruitless) effort to uncover any possible traces of the original text of the Lost Arian History among these hagiographies is the focus of a different project.

Interestingly, despite the possibility of this connection with the martyrologies, the fragmentary evidence that has survived places more emphasis on the punishment of the persecutors. Whereas the sufferings of Artemius, the virgins of Gaza, and others remain more or less detailed, the depiction of apostates in Antioch and their ultimate agony receives dramatic focus. Brennecke has already drawn attention to this “anti-pagan furor” (extremer antiheidnischer Furor) evident in the fragments.¹⁰⁷ His suggestion that this is peculiar to “Arian” writings may touch upon a truth, though one not necessarily rooted in theology as much as in the underlying purpose of the martyrology. As will be discussed in this study’s Conclusion, it is possible that this martyrology may have been an attempt to win Theodosius to the cause of the till-then triumphant non-Nicene Christian position.¹⁰⁸ The graphic depiction of those who betrayed their Christian faith and supported Julian may have been a not-so-subtle warning to the new emperor to align his religious beliefs correctly, that is with the non-Nicene leadership, or suffer the divine consequences.

There is one other aspect that can be explored regarding this proposed lost martyrology. Brennecke’s idea that the Paschal Chronicle used an epitome is a plausible conjecture, but one still needs to account for this Antiochene source’s very presence in the Constantinopolitan Paschal Chronicle. The Paschal Chronicler was probably not an industrious researcher, as Chap. 2 illustrates. How was it that a Syrian martyrology came to Constantinople and from there entered the texts of the Paschal Chronicle and, presumably, Theophylact’s Martyrion?¹⁰⁹

The answer to this question may come from Artemius. Regardless of whether one believes that Artemius died in Antioch, his relics did not remain in that city.¹¹⁰ At some point before the sixth century, the relics of Artemius attracted the attention of people in Constantinople and they were brought to rest in a church of that city.¹¹¹ By this point, the fame of Artemius’ miracles had preceded him, and it is entirely possible that the (epitomized?) text that described Artemius’ triumph over Julian arrived in Constantinople before the relics and perhaps even encouraged devotion to the saint. It may also be that a copy of the text accompanied the relics themselves during their journey to Constantinople. This account of the non-Nicene martyrs’ suffering could now, decades after the “Arian” crisis had subsided, be incorporated into a number of orthodox sources which, like the Paschal Chronicle, inadvertently came to echo a non-Nicene perspective in the midst of their own narratives.

3 A Continuation of the Continuatio

Fragments (24b), (24c), (24e), (24g), (24h), (25b), (26), (26a), (26b), (27), (27a), (28), (28a), (28b), (28c), (28d), (29), (29a), (30), (30a), (32), (32a), (32b), (35a) and the various parallels associated with (38)–(42) and (44)–(48) reveal a closer affinity to the chronicle style exhibited by Richard Burgess’ Continuatio than they do to the fragments described above as a martyrology.¹¹² Whereas the fragments identified in Sect. 2 offer the reader an intimate and visceral account of events, these retain the concise, annual format associated with chronicles like Burgess’ Continuatio. The Antiochene emphasis remains.¹¹³ The author’s theological loyalties remain non-Nicene and are probably Homoian.¹¹⁴

Conclusive evidence is admittedly wanting, but it is possible that these fragments represent a continuation of the chronicle identified by Burgess. In fact, the idea of a “Continuation of the Continuatio” coupled with the observations regarding the Continuatio’s probable authorship by Eusebius of Emesa raises questions regarding the content of the Continuatio. Roger Scott’s study, for example, suggests that the denial of Constantine’s “Arian” baptism in Theophanes’ Chronicle under AM 5828 (AD 335/36) may indicate that the Lost Arian History included information regarding Constantine’s baptism at the hands of Eusebius of Nicomedia.¹¹⁵ The likely connection between Eusebius of Emesa and Eusebius of Nicomedia has already been described in Sect. 1 of this chapter, so the idea that Eusebius of Emesa included the detail that Eusebius of Nicomedia baptized Constantine should not be surprising. Nor would this contradict the arguments that Eusebius of Emesa avoided polemics: The emphasis of his original entry most likely was upon the baptism of Constantine rather than the minister of the sacrament. Meanwhile, other material, such as fragments (21b) and some parallels of fragment (24), may actually be a part of the Continuation rather than of the Continuatio itself.¹¹⁶ Fragment (23), for example, is unique for its first-person presentation and its hostility toward those pagans who merely pretended to convert. Such an attitude may reveal a different author.¹¹⁷

This theory may explain an intriguing aspect of the Lost Arian History. After fragment (37) the witness of the Paschal Chronicle disappears, and it is tempting to associate the later material, that is fragments (37)–(48) with a Syrian transmission. Thus, the Continuation of the Continuatio would remain a regional source, based in Antioch, and incorporated solely by the Syrian tradition represented by Theophanes/George Syncellus, the Chron. misc., Michael the Syrian, and the Chron. 1234. Nonetheless, there is reason to believe that a chronicle did work its way into the account of the Paschal Chronicle since fragments (25)–(30) and their parallels demonstrate a connection between the Paschal Chronicle, Theophanes, and the Chron. misc.¹¹⁸ It is possible that the manuscript that traveled to Constantinople became damaged or was incomplete. It is also possible that the Continuation represents several different editions, akin to what Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History underwent, and that the final edition, which ended around Valens’ death, was completed after an earlier edition had been sent to Constantinople. In this case, perhaps the Paschal Chronicler was working from this earlier edition and did not have access to the later one that evidently informed the Syrian authors.

At this point, it may be well to return to Burgess’ argument that Socrates may have used the Continuatio.¹¹⁹ Chapter 4 purposely left the issue of Socrates’ incorporation of the Lost Arian History open-ended since it was necessary first to make the distinction between the Continuatio, the proposed martyrology, and this theoretical Continuation of the Continuatio. No evidence links Socrates’ Ecclesiastical History with the martyrology fragments of Sect. 2, but both Burgess and van Nuffelen believe that Socrates did use the Continuatio. Van Nuffelen draws attention to the parallels among Socrates, Jerome, and the Paschal Chronicle.¹²⁰ Most important for our purposes is the connection that van Nuffelen suggests between Socrates and an unknown source that informs the Paschal Chronicle: Both are the only two witnesses for the detail that Constantius II received baptism from the non-Nicene Euzoius.¹²¹ The Paschal Chronicle is not dependent upon Socrates at this point, but its material, Bidez’s fragment (32), has parallels with both Theophanes’ fragment (32a) and the Chron. misc.’s fragment (32b). Van Nuffelen ultimately concludes that Socrates employed not only the Continuatio but also a chronicle that extended from c. 350–375.¹²² Such a source is uncannily close to the years indicated by the fragments for the continuation of the Continuatio, and one can also remove the doubtful last entries—which have no parallel with the sources associated with the Lost Arian History—and still make a tentative connection between Socrates and the Paschal Chronicle. Could it be that Socrates included elements of a non-Nicene chronicle in his Ecclesiastical History? If so, then it would follow that both the Continuatio and Continuation of the Continuatio traveled to Constantinople, where first Socrates and then the Paschal Chronicler employed them. Unfortunately, it is impossible to know for certain, though the arguments make it appear likely that Socrates did know of Eusebius of Emesa’s Continuatio and its Continuation in some fashion.

Before concluding, we should turn to the rival explanation offered by van Nuffelen in his article “Considérations sur l’anonyme homéen.” Van Nuffelen laments that other historians have adopted Bidez’s “maximalist” approach to identifying potential connections with the Lost Arian History and have failed to assess critically his methodology and conclusions.¹²³ In contrast, van Nuffelen limits evidence for “Arian” material to those parallels that exist between Theophanes and the Paschal Chronicle and he maintains that other parallels can be explained without recourse to the Lost Arian History. This position would exclude a number of Bidez’s fragments from the corpus of Lost Arian material and presents an obvious divergence from the approach taken here. He concludes his article with “a plea for a rigorist method” (un plaidoyer pour une méthod rigoureuse) and a conservative, solely textual approach when proposing a potential fragment. This study, in contrast, has been more in line with the “maximalist” method taken by Bidez, Brennecke, and others. It seems that such an approach, when presented with the appropriate caveats, can only contribute to academic dialogue by encouraging further discussion and insights. Bidez’s thesis presents us with a striking example of how a “maximalist” approach can inspire greater insights, even if later studies ultimately, fundamentally challenge the original hypothesis. Van Nuffelen’s desire to curb such explorations could impoverish future discourse and undermine theories that, while in and of themselves are open to criticism, nonetheless lead to universally recognized gains thanks to the dialogue they engender.

4 Conclusion

Now that we have identified the three works that comprised Bidez’s original fragments, tracing their relationships with one another and how it was that hints of these sources came to be associated with chronicles and histories that span three languages and eight centuries remains.

Jerome is our earliest witness to the Continuatio Antiochiensis of Eusebius of Emesa, but it is uncertain whether his Chronicon also incorporated the Continuation of the Continuatio. There is nothing fantastic in the belief that he used an updated version of the Continuatio. Indeed, the notice regarding Eusebius of Emesa in the Chronicon may prove decisive. If one interprets this not as a final entry written by Eusebius himself but as the first entry by the continuing author, it becomes evidence in favor of Jerome’s use of the Continuation of the Continuatio. It is possible that Jerome relied upon the Continuation and thus much of his Chronicon’s contemporary material derives from this unacknowledged source. However, it is also possible that he used the Continuatio alone and was unaware of any further continuation of that chronicle. What makes the question difficult is that Jerome’s own experience, or that of eyewitnesses he consulted, may be shaping his entries the closer we approach the year he composed the chronicle. Our evidence is inconclusive either way, but the more one considers the entry about Eusebius of Emesa, the more likely it seems that a second author inserted this. From what little is known about Eusebius, it seems that he would have shied away from such self-indulgent prominence within an otherwise-balanced chronicle. His sermons and evident piety do not imply the hubris that one associates with such polemical figures as Jerome who did do something similar as evidenced in his last chapter of the De viris. This is why, despite the paucity of evidence, this study favors the theory that a continuator inserted the statement about Eusebius and that Jerome had access to the Continuation of the Continuatio and referenced it for the later entries of his Chronicon.

Independent of Jerome’s use (or lack thereof) of the Continuation, other sources appear to have incorporated that chronicle’s material.¹²⁴ Perhaps the most economical way of describing the relationships between the Chronicle of Theophanes/George Syncellus, the Chron. misc., Michael the Syrian’s Chronicle, and the Chron. 1234 is to claim that Jacob of Edessa incorporated the Continuation of the Continuatio. As hinted in Chap. 2, it seems quite likely that Jacob of Edessa, who enjoyed access to a wide variety of sources and had the required linguistic skill and interest, translated the Greek chronicle into Syriac. From that entry point into Syrian historiography, it becomes relatively easy to trace a hypothetical schema of relationships. Perhaps Theophilus of Edessa used Jacob’s popular translation; thus, when George Syncellus came to gather his materials for what would become Theophanes’ Chronicle, he may have encountered fragments of the Continuatio and its Continuation through the mediation of Theophilus and Jacob. However, in the case of George/Theophanes, it is also possible that the fragments in their Chronicle derived from Greek sources George gathered while in Constantinople.

The other Syrians incorporated their fragments of the Continuation of the Continuatio in indirect ways.¹²⁵ Michael the Syrian drew heavily on Theophanes, while the Chron. misc., as Chap. 2 notes, appears to have used Jacob of Edessa.¹²⁶ The source for the Chron. 1234 is more difficult to identify. Its witness is so brief that it could have drawn on Theophanes or a source who had consulted Theophanes, but it is difficult to argue with confidence for one or the other.

This may describe the relations among the Syrian sources, but the Constantinopolitan witnesses that is, the Paschal Chronicle and Socrates’ Ecclesiastical History, remain.¹²⁷ The former is perhaps best explained by a later work that combined the Continuatio, its Continuation, and the Lost Arian Martyrology, an idea elaborated below. Socrates’ potential participation is more difficult to trace. The lack of fragments from the Lost Martyrology and of many parallels found in the other sources that used the chronicle suggests that Socrates’ access to the Continuatio and/or the Continuation of the Continuatio came through an intermediary. If van Nuffelen’s arguments regarding Socrates’ use of four chronicles are correct, it may be that one of these—for example, his proposed chronicle from 350 to 375—actually served as an intermediary for the Continuation.¹²⁸ This may explain why Socrates has certain parallels to both the Continuatio and its Continuation. One thing is certain: Socrates did not incorporate the Lost Arian Martyrology, and it seems probable that the source he was using did not combine these various lost sources and may represent an early migration of the Continuatio and/or the Continuation of the Continuatio to Constantinople.

In contrast to Socrates, who appears to have used only a chronicle, the other sources incorporated both the Continuation of the Continuatio and the Lost Martyrology. Philostorgius, Theophanes, and the Paschal Chronicle offer traces of fragments from both sources. Still others, namely Theodoret, Theophylact, and Sozomen (probably through Gelasius), may have used only the Martyrology.¹²⁹ Though such a situation offers yet another layer of complexity, several things seem likely. First, Theodoret and Sozomen (through Gelasius) probably consulted the Lost Martyrology independently of any chronicle tradition. The relative proximity of Gelasius/Sozomen and Theodoret, both chronologically and geographically, would appear as a reasonable explanation for how it was they knew of and incorporated this text. Both historians would naturally gravitate to tales of the heroism of their co-religionists and draw from it without any apparent interest in its contemporary Continuatio or the Continuation. Perhaps a chronicle’s pithy information and emphasis on chronology was comparatively unattractive to them, especially since, at least in the case of Theodoret, proper chronology often fell victim to his pedagogical message. While it is possible that Theodoret drew on Gelasius and/or Philostorgius rather than the original Lost Arian Martyrology, the inclusion of a certain Euzoius, probably the same as the Homoian bishop of Antioch, may indicate that Theodoret had direct access to the original text. Nor should this surprise us, for Theodoret’s Ecclesiastical History had as its specific purpose to win support for the Syrian church during the fifth-century crisis; he could easily have adopted a non-Nicene text that nonetheless sang the praises of Syrian martyrs.¹³⁰

For the others, Occam’s razor leads us to suggest that at some point these different Antiochene, “Arian” histories were incorporated into a collection or compilation. The idea of a collection seems the simplest way to account for what would otherwise be at least two independent transmissions of non-Nicene Antiochene histories. As noted above in regard to the Lost Arian Martyrology, perhaps the journey of this hypothetical collection occurred in connection with the relics of Artemius. Conversely, perhaps the text itself spread devotion to the martyr in Constantinople and paved the way for the desire for his relics to reside in that city. This hypothetical collection would conveniently explain, for example, how it was that the Paschal Chronicler, despite his lack of industry, came to incorporate both. It may even be that Philostorgius, during his travels in Syria, first collected the works together himself and returned with this collection for his own Ecclesiastical History. In fact, there is reason to believe that Philostorgius may have also used Gelasius. His parallels with fragments (45) and (48) suggest a source that was hostile to Valens and which would be unlikely to derive from the Continuation of the Continuatio.¹³¹ Either he himself inserted these comments or he drew them from a source that disagreed with that emperor.

It may be that it was this compilation that George Syncellus consulted in preparation for what would become Theophanes’ Chronicle.¹³² While it is possible that he encountered the original text in Palestine (and through Theophilus of Edessa’s Chronicle), his access to the libraries of Constantinople and our certainty that these sources existed in that city in some form make a plausible explanation for how it was that Theophanes came to have much of the same material as the Paschal Chronicle. Theophylact, too, probably consulted this Constantinopolitan version and drew from it the parallels with the Lost Martyrology evident in his own Martyrion.

Even if the collection theory is accepted, many questions remain. The temptation to identify an author or a compiler is compelling, especially since it appears that we can reasonably suggest that the Continuatio was written by Eusebius of Emesa. While there is no figure who may be linked either to the Continuation of the Continuatio or to the Lost Arian Martyrology as plausibly as Eusebius of Emesa is to the Continuatio, it may be that a tentative association can be made between these works and another individual mentioned by Jerome.

Given the rapid decline of “Arian” influence within the empire after the Council of Constantinople in 381, it is probable that the Lost Martyrology and the Continuation were composed very soon after 378.¹³³ For the same reasons that made it unlikely for a pro-Nicene author to write a history during the troubled decades of the mid-fourth century, it appears unlikely that an “Arian” would choose to write a depressing account of the decline of his doctrine. Even Philostorgius, for all his apocalyptic pessimism, evidently wrote with some prospect of influencing his present situation.¹³⁴

If one allows for a composition date near 378, there is the possibility that the author of either the Arian Martyrology or the Continuation (or both) can be identified: The historian would most likely have been an adult during the reign of Julian and thus able to remember events of that reign and the time of Constantius.¹³⁵ Jerome’s De viris may again hold a clue, for, in addition to Jerome’s own claim to have sought out diligently various writings (and the possibility that he used both the Continuatio and its Continuation), his own aspirations as a historian make it likely that he would know of such a popular martyrology and would even be familiar with the educated circle from which it arose.¹³⁶ Nonetheless, it appears that Jerome suppressed some works of authors whom he did not like, and this “Arian” author could be among them.¹³⁷

One external reason to believe that the historian wrote before 390—and hence could be included in Jerome’s De viris—has its origin in the ecclesiastical history of Gelasius of Caesarea. According to Photius’ entry in his Bibliotheca, Cyril of Jerusalem, Gelasius’ uncle, pressured his younger relative to compose an ecclesiastical history.¹³⁸ The implications of this fact become clearer when one considers that Cyril desired to advance the see of Jerusalem.¹³⁹ Intimately involved in this struggle was the see of Caesarea, which at the time technically served as Jerusalem’s metropolitan. The history between these two sees had frequently been one of tension, with the latter claiming precedence and authority over Jerusalem through the canons of Nicaea.¹⁴⁰ However, the bishops of Jerusalem, considering their see’s obvious importance in church history, chafed under this subjugation and sought to promote their own status.

Cyril must have rejoiced to have his younger relation Gelasius firmly in power at Caesarea, especially since his immediate predecessor, Euzoius, had seized the diocese from 376–379 despite Gelasius’ prior claim.¹⁴¹ Very little is known regarding Euzoius, a non-Nicene bishop, but Jerome’s De viris does provide a brief description. It is worth recounting here in full:

Euzoius was taught as a young man with Gregory, the bishop of Nazianzus, at Caesarea by Thespesius, and afterwards, as the bishop of that same city, he tried, with much labor, to restore the already-damaged library of parchments collected by Origen and Pamphilus. At last, he was driven from the church while Theodosius reigned. His various and many writings, which are easily known, are in circulation.¹⁴²

Euzoius, a man of learning and apparently a prolific writer, could have had the skill and the resources necessary to compose either the Lost Arian Martyrology or the Continuation of the Continuatio, or both. At the very least, he would be a qualified candidate for one who may have combined the texts into the hypothetical collection. He apparently embraced the Homoian creed, gained power during the reign of the Homoian Valens, and lost it only upon the rise of Theodosius I and the Council of Constantinople. Given his circumstances as a successor of Eusebius of Caesarea, the ambition to compose his own ecclesiastical history could have inspired him to put to good use the library that he helped preserve. Furthermore, his predecessor and friend, Acacius, was intimately associated with the rise of the Homoian position and enjoyed the favor of both Constantius and Valens. Euzoius would thus have been ideally situated to have information about ecclesiastical events. This would place Cyril’s desire for Gelasius to compose his own ecclesiastical history within a more significant context. Gelasius’ effort may have been an attempt to replace the “Arian” history of Euzoius, his rival as bishop of Caesarea, with one that was pro-Nicene and, possibly, pro-Jerusalem.

There are, of course, potential difficulties regarding this identification of the author with Euzoius. First of all, there is no apparent antagonism toward Jerusalem in the extant fragments, nor is the see of Caesarea prominent. Perhaps the bishop of Caesarea, who did not chafe under a metropolitan, simply concerned himself with writing a general narrative. Related to this is the Antiochene focus among our fragments. There is no apparent reason to link Euzoius of Caesarea with the city of Antioch, though the frequent imperial presence in that city may be enough to explain why Euzoius or others eager to maintain the emperor’s favor would be familiar with events in that region. Furthermore, Euzoius need not have been a native of Caesarea. Jerome mentions his and Gregory of Nazianzus’ education under Thespesius at Caesarea in the same breath; Gregory traveled for some distance for such an education, and it is possible that Euzoius did likewise. One other thought concerns the uncommon name of Euzoius. The only other figure from this era who shared that name was Euzoius of Antioch, though he hailed from Alexandria and did not begin to act as bishop of Antioch until 361.

Another potential obstacle is dismissed readily: Jerome does not mention any historical works by Euzoius. As 7.1 demonstrates, the saint could omit many details in his brief biographies that were certainly relevant. It is obvious that in his tendentious account of Euzoius Jerome is reluctant to reveal too many details. He was undoubtedly familiar with Euzoius’ works, given his own proximity and visits to Caesarea, and they were too popular and well-known for Jerome to avoid entirely.¹⁴³ Nonetheless, he turns this familiarity into a pretense to evade further description. Maybe his own designs to compose an ecclesiastical history gave him reasons to hide a potential resource and to snub an author he considered heretical.¹⁴⁴ If we assume that Jerome included the author of the lost martyrology in his De viris, Euzoius stands out due to his access to the library of Caesarea, evident concern for its contents, and “his various and many writings.”

If this was the case, Euzoius could certainly have composed a history after his deposition, but it is also possible that he wrote (or more probably finished) the work in the time between Valens’ death and the Council of Constantinople in 381. He may have hoped to influence events, especially since Theodosius allowed representatives from the various sects to state their case before him.¹⁴⁵ Since Antioch had a long imperial history, perhaps Euzoius sought to win favor by focusing upon it.

Any identification of the author of the fragments of the Lost Arian History—the Continuatio, the Continuation of the Continuatio, and the Lost Arian Martyrology—must be hypothetical. Nonetheless, sometimes the evidence, like that for Eusebius of Emesa, moves beyond the realm of speculation and becomes persuasive. Indeed, it was this speculative process that first led Joseph Bidez to reconstruct a lost “Arian” chronicle from several sources. Although Bidez’s work has been subjected to revision—most notably that proposed by Burgess’ study—it continues to inspire important conversations that deepen our knowledge of the fourth-century historiography. It is this desire to further our understanding of this important period that inclines us to consider writers whose biographies allow a possible connection to the proposed martyrology and chronicle. The identification of Euzoius of Caesarea as the author (or compiler) of either the Continuation or the Lost Martyrology (or both) is tentative, but we owe to the memory of historians who have gone before us at least an attempt to identify them.