Power-Discourse and Identity in John Chrysostom's De Sacerdotio

Religion &Theology Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 brill.nl/rt

The Priestly Body: Power-Discourse and Identity in John Chrysostom’s De Sacerdotio

Chris L. de Wet1 Department of New Testament and Early Christian Studies, University of South Africa, P.O. Box 392, UNISA 0003, Republic of South Africa [email protected]

Abstract This paper approaches John Chrysostom’sDe Sacerdotio from the perspective of body/power/ identity. It identifies five power-discourses active in the text. Firstly, the discourse of hierarchy is present. The office of the priest ranks with the angels. Secondly, the priest is represented as disciplinarian and psychagogue, an enforcer of state and ecclesiastical policy in the process of making docile bodies. In the third instance, much attention is given to the disruptive others – those people who complicate the life and duty of the priest. Fourthly, the notion of andronormativity and normality is discussed, since gender is an important feature in De Sacerdotio. Finally, the relevance and effect of the priest as orator is extrapolated. The study concludes by asking how these discourses also shape the way Chrysostom thinks about himself and the sacerdotal office.

Keywords John Chrysostom, priesthood, body, power, identity, De Sacerdotio, Michel Foucault

I know my own soul, how feeble and puny it is. I know the magnitude of this ministry, and the great diﬃculty of the work. For more stormy billows vex the soul of the priest than the gales which disturb the sea. – John Chrysostom, De Sacerdotio 3.8

1 This article is part of a larger project on the dynamics of body/power/identity in some selected writings of John Chrysostom. I would like to thank my colleagues at the Department of New Testament and Early Christian Studies, UNISA, for their valuable insights, especially the input of Gerhard van den Heever, Johannes Vorster and Pieter Botha. I am also very grateful to Jennifer Glancy for reading the text and providing some important insights, and also to Pauline and John Allen, from whom I received commentary both from a scholar of Chrysostom (Pau- line) and a philosopher (John).

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1. Approaching Power in De Sacerdotio

Contrary to the oft-supposed one-dimensionality and binary form of power dynamics, Michel Foucault has described the dynamics of power as a complex ﬂow and set of relations between diﬀerent social groups – a network running through society.2 It is not merely something that is held by one dominant group and desired by those on the other side of domination. Its dynamics are complex and subject to change depending on time and circumstance. Approaching the inner workings of power in ancient texts/artefacts is therefore a pursuit that must be done with caution, especially when the trajectory or lens through which power is understood and critiqued is a post-modern one, such as that of Foucault. Taking cognisance of this caveat, this study aims to view the dynamics of power discourse, and its relation to identity formation, in John Chrysostom’s monumental De Sacerdotio3 through a Foucaultian paradigm.4 A disclaimer: the reliance on the method and axioms of Foucault serve its part in a wider project of writing a cultural history of late antiquity. Recon- structing and redescribing late antiquity should not merely be a process of repeating what some ancient authors said, mix in some history and grammar, and voila – instant history. Such conceptual cake-baking may only lead to misinformation. It must be understood that what is known about ancient history is part of a myriad of scholarly constructs based on limited evidence and very little “facts”. Rereading late antiquity requires an awareness of the constructivism apparent in the study of ancient history, but also a creative, inter-disciplinary engagement with the texts and artefacts.5 In working with

2 M. Foucault, Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews & Other Writings 1972–1977 (C. Gordon (ed.); New York: Pantheon, 1980), 198–99. 3 References to this text are based on the book, chapter/section and line divisions as found in the critical edition of the Greek text by A.-M. Malingrey, Sur le Sacerdoce: Dialogue et homélie (Sources Chrétiennes 272; Paris: Cerf). Translations are taken from the Nicene, Post-Nicene Fathers: First Series: St. Chrysostom: On the Priesthood, Ascetic Treatises, Select Homilies and Letters, Homilies on the Statues (Vol. 9; P. Schaff (trans.); New York: Cosimo, 2007 [1886–1889]). 4 The focus of this paper will be on De Sacerdotio. Other writings of Chrysostom (and other late ancient Christian authors) will be mentioned only in the footnotes. This is due to the fact that power-discourses often operate with different dynamics in different genres. The dynamics of power-discourse in the homilies are quite different than those, for instance, in a treatise like De Sacerdotio. The provenance of the homilies is notoriously difficult and complex (cf. W. Mayer, The Homilies of St. John Chrysostom. Provenance: Reshaping the Foundations (Orientalia Christiana Analecta; Rome: Institutum Patristicum Orientalium Studiorum, 2005)), so when the homilies are referred to, the references do not necessarily point to a direct influence, but rather attempt to show a wider comparative trend in Chrysostom’s thought in the years of his ministry. Comparing aspects of power in De Sacerdotio with those in other genres, like the homilies, should be done with caution. 5 H. White, Tropics of Discourse (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1978), 51–100.

Downloaded from Brill.com09/29/2021 06:09:03PM via free access C.L. de Wet / Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 353 such texts and artefacts, I argue, an informed, controlled and regulated eisege- sis is necessary (“true”, objective exegesis is a logical impossibility). The modern scholar may and does bring his or her own views into the text in a responsible manner leading to critical engagement. Hence the daring enterprise of reading Chrysostom, as informed by Foucault, here from my own context on the southern tip of Africa. Power and identity formation are inseparable. Early in his work, Foucault demonstrated that the subject, or the self, is not free but a production of power-discourses and scripted by various social forces.6 People craft and/or negotiate their identities as “subjects” in the context of institutions, experi- ences and doctrines that inexorably exert inﬂuence on the process of subject- formation and subject-embodiment. Furthermore, this process is inevitably discursive, and there exists a cyclical ﬂow between discursive formations (i.e. objects of knowledge) and the formation of the subject within their embodied temporal and spatial positions.7 Discursive formations therefore produce individuals/bodies, who in turn, construct their reality by means of interpretation of the very objects of knowledge that shaped them.8 How is this applicable to the case in point? To answer this question, some historical questions regarding De Sacerdotio need to be asked. According to an ancient biographer of Chrysostom it was written during the period of his diaconate between 381–386 CE (Socrates, Hist. Eccl. 6.3),9 which is also accepted quite recently by Liebeschuetz.10 The vivid and experiential descriptions of the priesthood in De Sacerdotio makes such a proposition unlikely, and recent editors (Nairn, Malingrey) of the text opt for a date between 388– 390 CE.11 Since Chrysostom was ordained as a priest in Antioch during 386 CE,12 he writes De Sacerdotio from a perspective of experience, to which the document itself attests. It was also probably one of his more popular

6 M. Foucault, The History of Sexuality: The Care of the Self (Vol. 3; R. Hurley (trans.); New York: Random House, 1986), 37–68; P. Veyne, Foucault: His Thought, His Character (J. Lloyd (trans.); Cambridge: Polity, 2010), 5–15. 7 M. Foucault, The Archaeology of Knowledge & The Discourse on Language (A. M. Sheridan Smith (trans.); London: Tavistock, 1972), 31–39. 8 Foucault, Archaeology of Knowledge, 21–78; cf. G. Danaher, T. Schirato, and J. Webb, Understanding Foucault (London: Sage, 2000), 116–31. 9 J. Quasten, Patrology: The Golden Age of Patristic Literature (Vol. 3; Westminster: Christian Classics, 1990), 459. 10 J. H. W. G. Liebeschuetz, Ambrose and John Chrysostom: Clerics between Desert and Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 168–69. 11 H. R. Drobner, The Fathers of the Church: A Comprehensive Introduction (Peabody: Hen- drickson, 2007), 333–34; J. N. D. Kelly, Golden Mouth: The Story of John Chrysostom – Ascetic, Preacher, Bishop (New York: Cornell University Press, 1995), 83–84. 12 W. Mayer and P. Allen, John Chrysostom (The Early Church Fathers; London: Routledge, 1999), 5–11.

Downloaded from Brill.com09/29/2021 06:09:03PM via free access 354 C.L. de Wet / Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 writings, as Jerome admits to reading it himself, but does not elaborate on it (De Vir. Ill. 129).13 De Sacerdotio is presented as a dialogue between Chrysostom and a man named Basil, whose precise identity cannot be determined. The dialogue is masterfully constructed by Chrysostom as an apology as to why he initially fled from being ordained to the priesthood. He interprets this event in the past from his perspective, now, as a priest in Antioch. In this treatise, Chrysostom writes a detailed account of the nature of the priesthood. This discursive production of the priest in late antiquity, as an object of knowledge, is subtly interwoven with Chrysostom’s own identity as priest. The text is butone perspective of what it means to be a priest, but it provides an interesting glimpse into the Chrysostomian imaginaire of the sacerdotal rank within Antiochene society. But more than this, it entertains the reader with a veiled self-description of the author, or at least, what he possibly wanted the public to think of him (i.e. a type of public-relations manifesto). In De Sacerdotio, Chrysostom is as much shaping his own identity as he is producing a discursive formation of the priesthood. The mechanisms through which individuals shape their identities (more specifically, their bodily selves), according to Foucault,14 are called “technologies of the self”. These technologies of the self still function and find expression within the regime of power and its subsequent discursive formations. The agenda of this study is then, firstly, to examine how Chrysostom produces his version of the priesthood, and secondly, how it influences his own self-understanding as a priestly body. The Chrysostomian version of the priesthood, as a discursive formation, consists of discourses, which are acts of language (i.e. ideas, statements and even performances) that individuals use to make sense of and “see” reality.15 The prime intellectual prey of this study is these power-discourses in De Sacerdotio as conceptual facets of the priesthood according to Chrysostom. The conclusion of the study will delineate how these power-discourses are related to and influence the technologies of the (priestly) self as embodied by Chrysostom (at least, as he presents himself in De Sacerdotio). The fruit of this study is that it will display the subtle power- interplay between Chrysostom’s construction of the priesthood and the understanding and production of his own identity, and provide us with an

13 Chrysostom’s De Sacerdotio is most likely inﬂuenced by Gregory Nazianzus’ second oration entitled De Fuga. 14 M. Foucault, “Technologies of the Self,” in Technologies of the Self: A Seminar with Michel Foucault (L. H. Martin, H. Gutman, and P. H. Hutton (eds.); Boston: University of Massachu- setts Press, 1988), 23–31. 15 Foucault, Archaeology of Knowledge, 21–39.

Downloaded from Brill.com09/29/2021 06:09:03PM via free access C.L. de Wet / Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 355 interesting Foucaultian glimpse into the life and thought, and more importantly, corporeal experience, of a late ancient Mediterranean priest.

2. Dominant Power-Discourses in De Sacerdotio

The power-discourses inDe Sacerdotio are interrelated and form a conceptual web of power-ﬂows and dynamics. It must also be noted that discursive formations are shaped not only by the discourses present in their production, but also by what is omitted and by subtexts behind the discourses.16 It would, however, not be possible to list all the omissions in the discursive formation of the priesthood, but relevant exclusions will be highlighted as they relate to the discourse under discussion. The following power-discourses are present and functional in De Sacerdotio:

2.1 Beyond Archangels and Emperors: Hierarchy and the Priesthood

The most common discourse of power occurs when a discursive field produces a hierarchy. Hierarchies provide a basis and rationale for the control, regulation and management of bodies within a context, but also provide the body within the hierarchy with an identity. The priest, as a role in the field of religious activity, functions within a set hierarchy. But in De Sacerdotio the hierarchy is complex. The complexity of the hierarchy is manifested in its ambiguity. Chrysostom does not place the rank of priest in relation to other official ranks in the church, but rather links it with angelic ranks in heaven (De Sacr. 3.4.1–50).17 The nature of this hierarchy is therefore not practical or organizational. Its rhetoric is aimed at the social status-elevation and

16 Foucault, Archaeology of Knowledge, 21–78. 17 This concept is also present in Gregory Nazianzus’De Fuga (Or. 2) 73 (cf. De Bap. [Or. 40] 26; H. Dörries, “Erneuerung des Kirchlichen Amts im Vierten Jahrhundert: Die Schrift De Sacerdotio des Johannes Chrysostomus und Ihre Vorlage, die Oratio de Fuga Sua des Gregor von Nazianz,” in Bleibendes Im Wandel der Kirchengeschichte: Kirchenhistorische Studien (B. Moeller and G. Ruhbach (eds.); Tübingen: Mohr, 1973), 1–46; M. Lochbrunner, Über das Priestertum: Historische und Systematische Untersuchung zum Priesterbild des Johannes Chrysostomus (Hereditas; Bonn: Borengässer, 1993)). The high ranking of the priesthood is probably also a result of the high Christology present in late ancient theology. Cyril of Jerusalem, for example, states (Cat. 11.1): “He is the true Christ; not having risen by advancement from among men to the priesthood, but ever having the dignity of the priesthood from the Father” (NPNF; cf. also Ambrose, Ep. 21.13). Chrysostom explains this extensively in his commentary on Christ as high priest in Hebrews (cf. especially: Hom. in Ep. Heb. 8.1–6, 12.1–5). In the light of these premises, the election of the priest is supposed to be divine, and not secular as it appears to be (cf. Hom. in Ep. I Tim. 5.1).

Downloaded from Brill.com09/29/2021 06:09:03PM via free access 356 C.L. de Wet / Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 purity-aﬃrmations of the priest. These angelosomatic descriptions are at home in late antique discussions of the monks who inhabited the areas outside of the cities. The monks are often understood to be in a prelapsarian, Edenic state that closely resembles the status of angels.18 Chrysostom’s own sacerdotal body has been rewritten in angelosomatic vernacular during his retreat to the foot- hills of Silpios. He returned with severe health problems from living the ascetic life, especially his stomach.19 Furthermore, another grouping of people is given angelic status – the poor, who live like angels due to the disciplinary and pedagogical nature of poverty.20 The links between the priest, monks and the poor, regarding their angelosomatic status, is part of the evidence of a new shift in late antiquity from a classical civilization based on patronage to one built on a binary polarisation between rich and poor (in the Bourdieuian sense, currents of a new habitus being formed). The aforementioned status does not only serve a social function, according to Chrysostom, but also a liturgical function. This angelic status is necessary for the transubstantiation of the eucharist (De Sacr. 3.5.1–37; 6.4.34–88). Whilst their social status is concerned with the management of human bodies in the Christian community located in the sinful πόλις,21 their liturgical status is concerned with the control, regulation and management of the mystical body of Christ present during the rite of the eucharist.22 The priest becomes the mediator between the divine and the human realm, which is on the one hand a spectacular event, and on the other, one that bears enormous responsi-

18 Chrysostom, Hom. in Matt. 68.3; this notion of angelic bodies with priests, bishops and monks would develop even more in the following centuries; cf. K. A. Smith, “An Angel’s Power in a Bishop’s Body: the Making of the Cult of Aubert of Avranches at Mont-Saint-Michel,” Journal of Medieval History 29, no. 4 (2003): 347–360; L. L. Coon, Dark Age Bodies: Gender and Monastic Practice in the Early Medieval West (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010). 19 Like the apostle Paul, Chrysostom can also “boast of beatings” from his monastic life outside of Antioch. For an excellent analysis of Paul’s boasting of beatings in 2 Cor. 11:23–25, cf. J. A. Glancy, Corporal Knowledge: Early Christian Bodies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 24–47. 20 Chrysostom, Hom. in Matt. 90.3. 21 P. R. L. Brown, The Body and Society: Men, Women & Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), 305–22. 22 Interestingly enough Chrysostom also notes that partaking in the “mysteries”, that is, the eucharist, is also an equalizer among the priest and the congregants, and is based on an liturgical symbiosis and synergy with regard to prayer and other ritual-movements (cf. Hom. in II Cor. 18.3, 20.3; Hom. in Matt. 50.3). Furthermore, the validity and sacrality of the eucharist and baptism is also not tainted if the lifestyle of the priest is not in order (Hom. in Ep. I Cor. 8.2). In yet another homily, Chrysostom urges his audience to honour the priest since this will ease his work and strengthen his relationship with the individual members (Hom. in Jo. 86.4). A delicate social and relational balance between the priest and his congregants is therefore crucial.

Downloaded from Brill.com09/29/2021 06:09:03PM via free access C.L. de Wet / Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 357 bility (De Sacr. 3.5.1–37). Angels are also seen as mediators between the divine and earthly realms. Rapp23 follows the argument of Quasten24 that it is probably an anti-Arian statement to emphasize the great divide between the divine and the human realms.25 The great authority of the priest is that he is the mediator of divine power. This is also why the priest needs to be pure as an angel, and his authority, according to Chrysostom, even supersedes the authority of the archangels. There is however a subtext behind this discourse. The priest is in fact a body “out-of-place” in this earthly dispensation. The hegemony of the priest is only matched by his extraneousity. Both of these attributes, however, lure the envi- ous eyes of society (De Sacr. 3.5.27–30, 5.6.9–41). Envy (φθόνος) was seen as a burning fever by Chrysostom, something that dominates the whole self, engulfs all possibilities for a virtuous life and is detrimental (and even physi- cally dangerous) to members of society.26 The social danger that this ranking seems to attract is all the more reason for the priest to strategically plan and construct his public image and mobility. The threat of paranoia is ever-present, since plotting against priests was common (De Sacr. 3.10.227–268). The ﬁnal and most important aspect of this ranking (with its own complex subtext) is its political implications. The priest had many important secular functions in the new Christian Imperium. Priests and bishops had to act as judges in episcopal courts (episcopale iudicium), with cases often being referred from municipal courts.27 The secular duties of the priesthood are one of the reasons Chrysostom provides to Basil for not wanting to enter into the ministry. Not only does it consume much time, but again, places the life of the priest in danger (De Sacr. 3.14.1–38). The authority and privilege of the priest in secular matters should not be understated. The Christianizing of state institutions and functions was no triﬂe matter. This discourse is part of a larger phenomenon in late antiquity that illustrates what Fowden, in his Empire to Commonwealth,28 calls the fragmentation of late ancient political hegemonies,

23 C. Rapp, Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity: The Nature of Christian Leadership in an Age of Transition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 46. 24 J. Quasten, “Mysterium Tremendum: Eucharistische Frömmigkeitsauﬀassungen des Vierten Jahrhunderts,” in Vom Christlichen Mysterium: Gesammelte Arbeiten zum Gedächtnis von Odo Casel OSB (A. Mayer, J. Quasten, and B. Neunheuser (eds.); Dusseldorf, 1951), 66–75. 25 Quasten, “Mysterium Tremendum,” 66–75. 26 C. L. De Wet, “John Chrysostom on Envy,” Studia Patristica 47 (2010): 255–60. 27 Rapp, Holy Bishops, 243; P. G. Alves de Sousa, El Sacerdocio Ministerial en los Libros de Sacerdotio de San Juan Crisóstomo (Pamplona: Ediciones Universidad de Navarra, 1975), 180– 221. 28 G. Fowden, Empire to Commonwealth: Consequences of Monotheism in Late Antiquity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993).

Downloaded from Brill.com09/29/2021 06:09:03PM via free access 358 C.L. de Wet / Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 which resulted in the power of state being transferred to monotheistic religious institutions.29 According to Chrysostom, the practices for selection of priests and their ordination were quite corrupt and even violent, carried out in the same spirit as state politics (De Sacr. 4.2.11–48). He remarks that the common criteria for selecting priests was not based on their spiritual knowledge or gifting, but whether they come from an illustrious family, and/or have an abundance of wealth (De Sacr. 3.11.1–23). In her analysis of the influence of political and economic categories in the appointment of eastern clergy, Hueb- ner30 convincingly demonstrates how “under the table” money exchanges were often done in order to purchase posts. The other problem is that many priests in smaller congregations did not earn enough to make a decent living, and had to take on secular professions for the sake of alimoniae causa or “to make a living”.31 Huebner quotes the following from a speech of Constantius from 343 CE:32 The Emperor Constantius greets the clergy: According to the sanction which you are said to have obtained previously, no person shall obligate you and your slaves to the new tax payments, but you shall enjoy exemption. Further- more, you shall not be required to receive quartered persons, and if any of you, for the sake of livelihood, should wish to conduct business, they shall possess immunity. This practice would continue well into the sixth century. It demonstrates that power-discourses in the discursive field of religion were connected to the fields of politics and economy, and the ambiguity of this network of discursive fields would make an attempt to distinguish between “sacred” and “secular” nearly impossible. Even Chrysostom would later, in his years as bishop of Constanti- nople, confront the imperial family over religious matters.33 Stephens34 has shown that Chrysostom had an elaborate political philosophy very early in his

29 N. Lenski, “Introduction: Power and Religion on the Frontier of Late Antiquity,” in The Power of Religion in Late Antiquity (A. Cain and N. Lenski (eds.); Surrey: Ashgate, 2009), 5. 30 S. R. Huebner, “Currencies of Power: The Venality of Oﬃces in the Later Roman Empire,” in The Power of Religion in Late Antiquity (A. Cain and N. Lenski (eds.); Surrey: Ashgate, 2009), 167–80. 31 Huebner, “Currencies of Power,” 172. 32 Alves de Sousa, El Sacerdocio Ministerial, 180–221. 33 K. Bosinis, Johannes Chrysostomus über das Imperium Romanum: Studie zum Politischen Denken der Alten Kirche (Cambridge: Mandelbachtal, 2005), 5–19. 34 J. Stephens, “Religion and Power in the Early Thought of John Chrysostom,” in The Power of Religion in Late Antiquity (A. Cain and N. Lenski (eds.); Surrey: Ashgate, 2009), 181–88; J. Stephens, Ecclesiastical and Imperial Authority in the Writings of John Chrysostom: A Rein- terpretation of His Political Philosophy (Ph.D. Diss.; Santa Barbara: University of California, 2001).

Downloaded from Brill.com09/29/2021 06:09:03PM via free access C.L. de Wet / Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 359 career,35 and always found himself deeply involved with imperial matters with the belief that the authority of the bishop superseded that of the emperor.36 He was not content with the influence of state affairs in ecclesiastical duties, and states (De Sacr. 3.11.66–76): Now I formerly used to deride secular rulers, because in the distribution of their honours they are not guided by considerations of moral excellence, but of wealth, and seniority, and human distinction; but when I heard that this kind of folly had forced its way into our affairs also, I no longer regarded their conduct as so atrocious. For what wonder is it that worldly men, who love the praise of the multitude, and do everything for the sake of gain, should commit these sins, when those who affect at least to be free from all these influences are in no way better disposed than they, but although engaged in a contest for heavenly things, act as if the question submitted for decision was one which concerns acres of land, or something else of that kind . . .?37 Chrysostom is negative of wealth, seniority and patronage in the selection, ordination and maintenance of the priest. Patronage is especially considered a problem for Chrysostom, especially when the priest needs to perform his duties (De Sacr. 3.14.1–38). Despite the shift from classical civic values of patronage to a society based on generosity to the poor,38 patronage was still quite functional in late antique society, especially among Christians of the

35 S. K. Black, Paideia, Power and Episcopacy: John Chrysostom and the Formation of the Late Antique Bishop (Ph.D. Diss.; Berkeley: Graduate Theological Union, 2005), 95–106; I. Sandwell, Religious Identity in Late Antiquity: Jews, Greeks and Christians in Antioch (Cam- bridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 128; S. C. Kessler, “Kirche und Staat in Leben und Werk des Johannes Chrysostomus: Ein Väter der Kirche im Spannungsfeld Zwischen Ekklesialer und Politischer Macht,” in Väter der Kirche: Ekklesiales Denken von den Anfängen bis in die Neuzeit (J. Arnold, R. Berndt, and R. M. W. Stammberger (eds.); Paderborn: Schöningh, 2004), 257–82. 36 Chrysostom especially refers to the social and political inﬂuence of the priest in state matters and matters relating directly to the emperor in his homilies on the statues, in which the successful mediation of the priest (Flavian) on behalf of the city is praised (Hom. Stat. 21.1–8; also in a more general sense, cf. Hom. in Ep. I Tim. 7.1). The priest is pictured here as patron and guardian of the city. 37 ᾿Εγὼ δὲ πρότερον τῶν ἔξωθεν ἀρχόντων κατεγέλων ὅτι τὰς τῶν τιμῶν διανομὰς οὐκ ἀπὸ τῆς ἀρετῆς τῆς ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς, ἀλλ’ ἀπὸ χρημάτων καὶ πλήθους ἐτῶν καὶ ἀνθρωπίνης ποιοῦνται προστασίας· ἐπεὶ δὲ ἤκουσα ὅτι αὕτη ἡ ἀλογία καὶ εἰς τὰ ἡμέτερα εἰσεκώμασεν, οὐκέτι ὁμοίως ἐποιούμην τὸ πρᾶγμα δεινόν. Τί γὰρ θαυμαστὸν ἀνθρώπους βιωτικοὺς καὶ δόξης τῆς παρὰ τῶν πολλῶν ἐρῶντας καὶ χρημάτων ἕνεκα πάντα πράττοντας ἁμαρτάνειν τοιαῦτα, ὅπου γε οἱ πάντων ἀπηλλάχθαι προσποιούμενοι τούτων οὐδὲν ἄμεινον ἐκείνων διάκεινται, ἀλλ’ ὑπὲρ τῶν οὐρανίων τὸν ἀγῶνα ἔχοντες ὡς περὶ πλέθρων γῆς ἢ ἑτέρου τινὸς τοιούτου τῆς βουλῆς αὐτοῖς προκειμένης, ἁπλῶς ἀνθρώπους ἀγελαίους λαβόντες ἐφιστᾶσι . . . ; [SC 272; De Sacr. 3.11.66–76]. 38 E. Patlagean, Pauvreté économique et pauvreté sociale à Byzance: 4e – 7e siècles (Paris: Mou- ton, 1977); P. R. L. Brown, Poverty and Leadership in the Later Roman Empire (London: Univer- sity Press of New England, 2002), 1–11.

Downloaded from Brill.com09/29/2021 06:09:03PM via free access 360 C.L. de Wet / Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 senatorial class, well into the fifth and sixth centuries CE.39 The priest should heed not to favour any of the flock for his own benefit, which, in the light of some priests’ financial insecurity, may have been a viable prospect. This could also be another reason for the strong reaction against patronage by late ancient clergy. With such inappropriate, “secular” fissures present in the social image of the priest, Chrysostom’s intention with the angelic hierarchy becomes all too clear. The angelic ranking of priest is a desperate attempt at removing, or rhetorically “purifying”, the priest-rank from political defilement; whether a utopian vicissitude or an anachronistic vampirisation of Old Testament priest- ideology, the publicity stunt aims to set the office apart as a holy profession. But despite the power inherent in such a position of political authority, the priest is also subject to judgement from many angles. In the first instance, priests will be judged more harshly by God. Chrysostom is especially bothered by Hebrews 13:17: “Obey your leaders and submit to them, for they are keep- ing watch over your souls, as those who will have to give an account” (De Sacr. 3.14.72–81, 6.1.1–31). Punishment for ill-management of Christian bodies is severe, and the priest will pay with his blood/life (cf. Ezek. 33:6, in De Sacr. 6.1.14–31). But the priest is not only under the strict judgement of God, but is also judged by the public gaze as if he truly is an angel (De Sacr. 3.10.227– 268). We now move to the issue of surveillance/the gaze next in this study, since it stands at the very centre of power and identity interplays.40

2.2 The Priest as Disciplinarian and Psychagogue

The status and authority granted by this hierarchy (including its inappropriate political aﬃliations) makes the priest a legitimate and eﬀective force of state/ church governmentality. According to Foucault,41 governmentality concerns the state’s role in subject formation and population control – also known as biopolitics. Although it is clear from the discussion above that the priest is extensively shaped by state discourses, the priest is also used by the state to shape the laity.

39 K. Cooper, “Poverty, Obligation and Inheritance: Roman Heiresses and the Varieties of Senatorial Christianity in Fifth-Century Rome,” in Religion, Dynasty, and Patronage in Early Christian Rome, 300–900 (K. Cooper and J. Hillner (eds.); Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 165–89. 40 Bosinis, Johannes Chrysostomus über das Imperium Romanum, 5–19. 41 M. Foucault, “25 January 1978,” in Security, Territory and Population: Lectures at the Collège de France 1977–1978 (M. Senellart (ed.); G. Burchell (trans.); New York: Picador, 2007), 55–86.

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It is in this instance that one especially sees a culture of surveillance and observation being perpetuated in this age of early Christian history. Chrysos- tom states (De Sacr. 2.4.29–36): “The pastor has need of much discretion, and of a myriad eyes to observe on every side the habit of the soul . . . It is the duty of the priest to leave none of these things [sinful habits] unexamined, but, after a thorough inquiry into all of them, apply such remedies as he has appo- sitely to each case.”42 The duty of the priest, on the one hand, is to produce docile and productive bodies for the sake of the state/church and on the other, correct “delinquent” behaviour by applying various technologies to his dis- posal. In De Sacerdotio the metaphor that is by far most common is of a medical nature (De Sacr. 1.7.1–72, 2.3.42–74, 3.14.56–81, 4.2.1–3.47, 6.4.79–83), and the rhetoricity of these medical metaphors is signiﬁcant. The priest becomes both an authority of knowledge (an “author”, in the Foucaultian sense) and a judge of normalcy and delinquency. Like a physician, a priest must also apply various intrusive measures to correct behaviour. The corrective apparatus of the priest is scripture De( Sacr. 4.3.1–47). The scriptures provide the priest with a body of knowledge on which he may base his criteria of resemblance and social fashioning. This idea of a “scriptural economy” and “scriptural apparatus” that “colonizes” the human voice originates from De Certeau,43 and provides a framework of technologies useful to the priest’s coercive somatography. These technologies applied to individuals may be described as “quiet coercion”. It is not by means of violence but “soft power” that priestly biopolitics are practiced. Of course, sometimes psychical violence was also used. The priest represents the gaze of the state/church and determines normalcy and delinquency, not unlike the modern day psychologist or psychiatrist.44 The aim is to script, regulate and control bodies, making them docile and productive, and also to “rehabilitate” delinquent bodies back into Christian society. The counter-discourse in this

42 Διὰ τοῦτο πολλῆς δεῖ τῆς συνέσεως τῷ ποιμένι καὶ μυρίων ὀφθαλμῶν πρὸς τὸ περισκοπεῖν πάντοθεν τὴν τῆς ψυχῆς ἕξιν. ῞Ωσπερ γὰρ εἰς ἀπόνοιαν αἴρονται πολλοὶ καὶ εἰς ἀπόγνωσιν τῆς ἑαυτῶν καταπίπτουσι σωτηρίας, ἀπὸ τοῦ μὴ δυνηθῆναι πικρῶν ἀνασχέσθαι φαρμάκων, οὕτως εἰσί τινες οἳ διὰ τὸ μὴ δοῦναι τιμωρίαν τῶν ἁμαρτημάτων ἀντίρροπον εἰς ὀλιγωρίαν ἐκτρέπονται καὶ πολλῷ γίνονται χείρους καὶ πρὸς τὸ μείζονα ἁμαρτάνειν προάγονται. Χρὴ τοίνυν μηδὲν τούτων ἀνεξέταστον ἀφεῖναι, ἀλλὰ πάντα διερευνησάμενον ἀκριβῶς καταλλήλως τὰ παρ’ ἑαυτοῦ προσάγειν τὸν ἱερωμένον ἵνα μὴ μάταιος αὐτῷ γίνηται ἡ σπουδή. [SC 272; De Sacr. 2.4.29–39]. 43 M. De Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life (S. Rendall (trans.); Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984), 131–53; cf. W. Braun, “Rhetoric, Rhetoricality and Discourse Perfor- mances,” in Rhetoric and Reality in Early Christianities (W. Braun (ed.); Ontario: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2005), 3. 44 M. Foucault, Discipline & Punish: The Birth of the Prison (A. Sheridan (trans.); New York: Random House, 1977), 135–94.

Downloaded from Brill.com09/29/2021 06:09:03PM via free access 362 C.L. de Wet / Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 instance is embodied in the sinful πόλις.45 The discursive formation of delinquency is informed by those vices of the city, especially the sexual vices. Chris- tians need to adopt new technologies for perfecting the self, such as prayer, modesty, fasting and study in order to safeguard them from taint of the vile urban metropolis. The priest “prescribes” and manages these spiritual medica- tions from a point of authoritative observation (De Sacr. 4.2.1–3.47). Thus the bodies of the Christians are “rewritten” to adopt new modes of speech and behaviour. It is also evident in the many military metaphors in the text (De Sacr. 2.3.5–31, 3.10.69–75, 3.10.269–281, 4.2.48–59, 4.4.1–83, 6.12.121– 13.70) that this somatography practiced by the priest always served as a polemic against the πόλις (which may be classiﬁed as μισόπολις) and the disruptive others (which will be discussed below). The corrective measures, or punishment, implemented by this sacerdotal somatographer is presented as psychagogy, the spiritual training of the soul (De Sacr. 4.2.1–3.47).46 One can see the relation between discipline, punishment and training or exercise. This spiritual training is also pedagogical; an education of bodies primarily by means of preaching and on occasion, personal teaching sessions. Foucault47 pointed out the discursive continuity between institutions such as prisons, schools, workhouses and hospitals regarding observation and disciplinary practices in the formation and reformation of bodies. The notion of the church as a spiritual school is very common in Chrysostom’s thought.48 Maxwell49 notes that some of the most popular metaphors in Chrysostom’s rhetoric – namely medical, military, athletic, and nautical – are all instructive.50 But the most potent metaphor Chrysostom uses is that of the family. He states (De Sacr. 3.6.40–41): “For God has bestowed a power on priests greater than that of our natural parents.”51 The reason for this is that natural parents are concerned with natural aspects of child-rearing, while priests prepare their “children” for heaven. The priest assumes the greatest

45 Brown, Body and Society, 312–17; A. Monaci Castagno, “Paideia Classica ed Esercizio Pastorale nel IV Secolo,” Rivista di Storia e Letteratura Religiosa 26 (1990): 429–59. 46 This psychagogy is often described with medical metaphors by Chrysostom. Psychagogy is in essence a deathly struggle between body and soul, especially during the initiation phase, in which the role of priest as “spiritual physician” is paramount (Catech. Illum. 1.1). 47 Foucault, Birth of the Prison, 136–40. 48 Cf. Hom. in Matt. 17.7; Hom. in I Cor. 29.6; J. L. Maxwell, Christianization and Com- munication in Late Antiquity: John Chrysostom and His Congregation in Antioch (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 89. 49 Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 89. 50 Cf. D. Rylaarsdam, The Adaptability of Divine Pedagogy: Sunkatabasis in the Theology and Rhetoric of John Chrysostom (Ph.D. Diss.; South Bend: University of Notre Dame, 2000). 51 . . . μείζονα τοῖς ἱερεῦσιν ἔδωκε δύναμιν τῶν φυσικῶν γονέων ὁ Θεός. . . [SC 272; De Sacr. 3.6.40–41].

Downloaded from Brill.com09/29/2021 06:09:03PM via free access C.L. de Wet / Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 363 potestas in the ancient world, namely that of the spiritual paterfamilias.52 Fathers had to educate and punish children, shape docile bodies, and maintain order and normality within his sphere of power. The priest as spiritualpaterfamilias had an even greater responsibility, namely psychagogy. If the priest manages these bodies irresponsibly or hatefully, the consequences would be dire (De Sacr. 6.1.1–31). There are also dividing practices present in this discourse. Excommunication was always a real threat, but more importantly, bodies resisting this spiritual domestication and scripting, the deviants and delinquents, are stigmatically classiﬁed, named and grouped with the disruptive others.

2.3 Disruptive Others

It has been pointed out that the strong presence of military metaphors, and the rhetoric of resistance, adds to the polemical nature of De Sacerdotio. The disruptive others in the text are rhetorically constructed to demonstrate that the priest, and all he represents, is both the hero and protagonist. There are multiple enemies, and their wiles are complex (De Sacr. 4.4.1–8): This warfare is manifold, and is engaged with a great variety of enemies; neither do all these use the same weapons, nor do they practice the same method of attack; and he who has to join battle with all, needs to know the artiﬁces of all, and be at once both archer and slinger, captain and general, in the ranks and in command, on foot and on horseback, in sea-ﬁght and in siege.53 The discourse of disruptive others is very important in the relationship between power and identity. The dominant discourses are not merely the new guaran- tors of power. The development of these discourses, and the “truth” they produce, is always the result of power struggles in which they have conquered other discourses and dominant forms of knowledge. Both Nietzsche54 and Foucault55 agree that, in most cases, where there is “meaning” and an accom- panying dominant discourse, one can trace the battles and violence that pro- duced it. The function of a tactics of struggle is to claim a universal truth. Without the disruptive other, dominant discourses of meaning would have no

52 Cf. Chrysostom, Hom. in Ep. I Tim. 6.1. 53 Καὶ δεῖ τὸν μέλλοντα τὴν πρὸς πάντας ἀναδέχεσθαι μάχην τὰς ἁπάντων εἰδέναι τέχνας καὶ τὸν αὐτὸν τοξότην τε εἶναι καὶ σφενδονιστὴν καὶ ταξίαρχον καὶ λοχαγὸν καὶ στρατιώτην καὶ στρατηγὸν καὶ πεζὸν καὶ ἱππέα καὶ ναυμάχην καὶ τειχομάχη. [SC 272; De Sacr. 4.4.1–8]. 54 F. Nietzsche, The Gay Science (W. Kaufmann (trans.); New York: Random House, 1974), 74. 55 Foucault, Power/Knowledge, 104.

Downloaded from Brill.com09/29/2021 06:09:03PM via free access 364 C.L. de Wet / Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 value. It is not surprising then that shortly after the quote above, Chrysostom starts talking about heretics and other opposing religious groups. The sectionDe Sacerdotio 4.4.1–83 applies for this discussion, since it is the most elaborate formulation of the disruptive others in the entire work, exhib- iting numerous impressive and especially efficacious rhetorical strategies. One of the most effective rhetorical and coercive tactics in legitimating a dominant discourse is genealogy. By arguing that the discourse you are representing is historically original and superior, with an authoritative source from whence it sprung, one creates a fortified position of strength that is difficult to oppose.56 It assumes a teleological view of history, and utilizes insider/outsider language. Chrysostom, on the one hand, demonstrates throughout the entire writing that his dominant discourse is divinely sanctioned. This was especially visible in his angelic hierarchy discussed above. But his opponents also have an origin, but the nature of this origin is diabolical. The opposing heterodoxies are in fact the manifold arts of Satan. This practice of invective, based on blame (ψόγος, vituperatio), is aimed at shaming the opponent and defaming their character.57 The character of the heretics is also the character of Satan. This argument would be highly efficient in the ancient world where genealogy was the basis for one’s honour or shame. If one has a noble birth (εὐγένεια), honour is automatically awarded. But this principle also works on the level of dominant discourses and institutions. The historical origin or “birth” of the dominant discourse is noble, while that of the disruptive others is disreputable and evil. The Jews, Greeks and Manicheans are listed by Chrysostom in this instance, but it applies to all the others he would mention. The next rhetorical strategy Chrysostom uses is that of theological moderation (σωφροσύνη), which was also quite common in ancient invective.58 The heretics are commonly discerned by over-emphasizing one aspect of scripture or doctrine at the cost of another. He remarks that the doctrines of Valentinus and Marcion entirely exclude the Pentateuch, while the Jews observe this, but do not under- stand its annulment with the new covenant. The “Church of God” (exactly as he states it, take note of the dominant genealogical language) has avoided both extremes and taken the golden mean. The complexity of naming is also discussed in this section by Chrysostom. Naming is central to the production of identity and subjectivity. Chrysostom as priest acts as the authoritative observer in De Sacerdotio, and as a dominant judge of normality. The rhetorical strategies mentioned above, along with many other strategies, are utilized throughout the entire treatise as technologies of classifying, analysing and

56 Danaher, Schirato, and Webb, Understanding Foucault, 98. 57 J. W. Knust, Abandoned to Lust: Sexual Slander & Ancient Christianity (New York: Colum- bia University Press, 2006), 19–20. 58 Knust, Abandoned to Lust, 32–33.

Downloaded from Brill.com09/29/2021 06:09:03PM via free access C.L. de Wet / Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 365 normalising. The authoritative gaze of the priest determined who is disruptive, and thus delinquent. The process of normalising and abnormalising takes place most commonly through naming – that is, accepting certain names and denying others. It logically assumes dividing practices – orthodox vs. heterodox, God vs. the devil, heaven vs. hell, man vs. woman, etc. The problem Chrysostom is faced with is the fact that some delinquents (heterodox) have assumed the name of the normal ones (orthodox). Both the “true Church of God” and the Sabellians and Arians are called “Christians”. Thus the priest must be a diligent and careful examiner to determine whether a “Christian” resembles what is considered normal by the dominant orthodoxy.59 One can consider the priest a penetrative, quasi-phallic symbol of church/state governmentality. But it gets even more complex since some of the most disruptive people are the orthodox Christians themselves.60 Utilising a nautical metaphor, Chrysostom states (De Sacr. 3.11.97–98, 129–132): “They who belong to Christ destroy the property of Christ more than enemies and adversar- ies . . . In fact it is just as if some pilot had pirates sailing with him in his ship, perpetually plotting every hour against him, and the sailors, and marines.”61 The corrupt people of the church pose much greater dangers for the priest than those outside (this was also demonstrated in the discourse on hierarchy above). The priest must not only be a master of surveillance of doctrine, but also of character and be vigilant of possible ecclesiastical mutiny. The teaching and preaching of the priest must therefore be sound and persuasive, as corrective disciplinary technologies, since both the distrustful orthodox Christians, as well as the heretics, would be present in the service.62 Heresy is ameliorated through corrective educa-tion, according to Chrysostom, an excellent example of quiet coercion and normalisation.63 The importance of oratory will be discussed in more detail below at 2.5.

59 Ambrose also notes the similarities between what he terms “Jews and heathens” and the Arians (Ep. 21.13; cf. Liebeschuetz, Ambrose and John Chrysostom, 57–96, for a detailed discussion of Ambrose, as preacher and cleric, compared to Chrysostom). 60 In another homily, Chrysostom mentions that Christians should be willing to obey the priest, but those who have been reproved by the priest ignites an opposition and hatred within his very own ﬂock, making the duties of the priest within the church quite tricky and hazardous (Hom. in Ep. I Thess. 10.1). Moreover, the danger of schism lurks around every corner, especially with regard to doctrine and preaching (Hom. in Eph. 11). 61 . . . Οἱ τοῦ Χριστοῦ τὰ τοῦ Χριστοῦ διαφθείρουσιν ἐχθρῶν καὶ πολεμίων μᾶλλον. . . ἕως ἂν ἢ τούτους ἐκβάλωσιν ἢ τοὺς αὑτῶν εἰσαγάγωσιν, καὶ γίνεται παραπλήσιον οἷον ἂν εἴ τις κυβερνήτης ἔνδον ἐν τῇ νηῒ τῇ πλεούσῃ πειρατὰς ἔχοι συμπλέοντας καὶ αὐτῷ καὶ τοῖς ναύταις καὶ τοῖς ἐπιβάταις συνεχῶς καὶ καθ’ ἑκάστην ἐπιβουλεύοντας ὥραν. [SC 272; De Sacr. 3.11.97–98, 128–132]. 62 Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 84–86. 63 For a discussion of this problem, cf. R. Lim, Public Disputation, Power and Social Order in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), 219–31.

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The discourse of determining normality and abnormality, and the management and regulation of such bodies, by means of surveillance is the golden thread that runs through the entire document. It now brings us to the issue of andronormativity, gender and normality in De Sacerdotio.

2.4 Andronormativity and Normality

It has been evident in the course of this study so far that the priest is a manager, disciplinarian and regulator of bodies. One cannot speak of bodies without speaking of gender, and the discourse of gender and andronormativity is very prominent in De Sacerdotio.64 Being a judge of normality, the priest also functions within the wider patriarchal epoch of late ancient Mediterranean society, with its own dominant views related to gender and normality. Parker65 has demonstrated that ancient Roman views of sexual normality and abnormality were based on penetrability and impenetrability, activity and passivity. “Normal” females had to be passive, while “normal” males had to be active. This was how sexuality was understood. Foucault,66 however, is correct in stat- ing that sexuality is not about sex, but more about society – it shapes society and is also shaped by dominant discourses in society. The fundamental statement of the discursive formation of the priesthood is based on gender and sexuality – only men can become priests. The priesthood is further described by its relation to female bodies. Female bodies are excluded from service in the priesthood due to divine law (De Sacr. 3.9.31–39) and due to nature. Again Chrysostom utilizes heavy rhetorical artillery. The rhetoric of naturalization is very eﬀective in persuasion. (The problem, of course, is that there is no such thing as “natural”- naturalness is shaped and informed by dominant discourses of power and knowledge.) As mentioned, it assumes the social and cultural subsets of what was considered normal and abnormal. Chrysostom’s rhetoric of naturalization assumes it is “natural” or normal that a woman/wife should be submissive/passive to her father/husband, and obviously “unnatural” to have the opposite. Since the priest is also paterfamilias, it applies to an even greater extent here. But it also relates to the divine law. If a line of social behaviour is congruent with the ordo naturalis, it is therefore equal to the ordo Dei.

64 For a more detailed description of male/female relations with regard to androcentric surveillance, cf. B. Leyerle, “John Chrysostom on the Gaze,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 1, no. 2 (1993): 159–74. 65 H. N. Parker, “The Teratogenic Grid,” inRoman Sexualities (J. P. Hallett and M. B. Skinner (eds.); Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), 47–65. 66 M. Foucault, The History of Sexuality: An Introduction (Vol. 1; R. Hurley (trans.); New York: Random House, 1978), 75–103.

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It also leaves the patriarchal gender roles in Mediterranean society undis- turbed. In the case of Chrysostom’s argument in De Sacerdotio, the rhetorical expression of nature rather refers to socio-religious codes which are regarded as God’s law, present since creation, because culture seeks to create borders to regulate behaviour – and provide divine authority as its key for stability. Douglas67 states: As a community reaches for cultural homogeneity, it begins to signpost the major moments of choice with dangers. The signs say that certain kinds of behaviour are very dangerous. That means that the community has reached some . . . consensus in condemning the behaviour. The signpost in this case is that women, by nature, need to be submissive to men. The danger with regard to the priest and women would be the active social positions taken by Christian women – especially patrons and socialites – which are a transgression of God’s law and sacerdotal authority. This leads to Chrysostom’s next rhetorical strategy, which is essentially related to the first. By going against nature, one also goes against the will and law of God. Since the woman does not follow proper prescribed behaviour, she goes against nature – which is also aimed against the commands of God or Christian codes of social behaviour (especially the Pauline haustafeln).68 In an article on the construction of the category of “woman” in late antiquity, Clark69 makes the following observation: . . . [W]omen’s subjection to men as a “natural” phenomenon (i.e., instituted from the time of creation, by God’s command), is . . . a common theme . . . The primary consistency in these appeals to “nature” lies in the use of the topos as a controlling device for sex and gender issues. The topos of the woman is that of natural subjection to the paterfamilias. The use of the rhetoric of naturalization and the law of God also makes it difficult, nearly impossible, to oppose this argument. By opposing the priest, one opposes the apostles and indeed God himself. The relationship between the priest and female bodies is therefore described with the rhetoric of struggle. Contrary to being an aid to the priest, female bodies are in most instances dangerous stumbling blocks and the priest needs to be adept at efficient

67 M. Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (New York: Routledge, 1984), 27. 68 Liebeschuetz, Ambrose and John Chrysostom, 177–78; C. L. De Wet, “Husbands, Wives and the Haustafeln in John Chrysostom’s Homilia in Epistulam ad Ephesios 20,” Acta Patristica et Byzantina 21, no. 2 (2010): 51–62. 69 E. A. Clark, “Ideology, History and the Construction of ‘Woman’ in Late Ancient Christi- anity,” in A Feminist Companion to Patristic Literature (A.-J. Levine and M. M. Robbins (eds.); London: T&T Clark, 2008), 111.

Downloaded from Brill.com09/29/2021 06:09:03PM via free access 368 C.L. de Wet / Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 biopolitics, especially with regard to observation, surveillance and discipline.70 The priest is therefore also, what I term, a somagogue – a manager, shaper and disciplinarian of bodies. Three types of female bodies are to be managed with special care: female patrons, widows and virgins. Osiek71 has shown the prominence of female patrons in early Christianity. It was not an uncommon phenomenon. Furthermore, Cooper72 insists that the power and authority of some of these women were quite substantial. Chrysostom is weary of this power, and states (De Sacr. 3.9.30–45): . . . [T]o please women they [some priests] often do many things which it is well not to mention. The divine law indeed has excluded women from the ministry, but they endeavour to thrust themselves into it; and since they can eﬀect nothing of themselves, they do all through the agency of others; and they have become invested with so much power that they can appoint or eject priests at their will: things in fact are turned upside down, and the pro- verbial saying may be seen realized – the ruled lead the rulers, and would that it were men who do this instead of women, who have not received a commis- sion to teach. Why do I say teach? For the blessed Paul did not allow them even to speak in the church. But I have heard someone say that they have obtained such a large privilege of free speech, as even to rebuke the prelates of the churches, and censure them more severely than masters do their own domestics.73 This travesty Chrysostom mentions is no doubt a reference to female patrons who abuse their powers and parrhesia. As he remarks, “the ruled now becomes the rulers” (. . . τοὺς ἄρχοντας ἄγουσιν οἱ ἀρχόμενοι . . .), the social and cultural world is turned upside-down. Those who should be passive are now active. In Chrysostom’s eyes, the management of these female bodies is one of the most diﬃcult tasks for the priest, and he must never allow his body to be controlled and regulated by passive bodies. It is especially the inexperienced priests, or

70 Leyerle, “John Chrysostom on the Gaze,” 159–74. 71 C. Osiek, “The Patronage of Women in Early Christianity,” inA Feminist Companion to Patristic Literature (A.-J. Levine and M. M. Robbins (eds.); London: T&T Clark, 2008), 173–92. 72 Cooper, “Poverty, Obligation and Inheritance,” 165–89. 73 . . . ὡς καὶ εἰς γυναικῶν ἀρέσκειαν πράττειν πολλὰ πολλάκις ἃ μηδὲ εἰπεῖν καλόν. ῾Ο μὲν γὰρ θεῖος νόμος αὐτὰς ταύτης ἐξέωσε τῆς λειτουργίας, ἐκεῖναι δὲ ἑαυτὰς ἰσωθεῖν βιάζονται· καὶ ἐπειδὴ δι’ ἑαυτῶν ἰσχύουσιν οὐδέν, δι’ ἑτέρων ἅπαντα πράττουσι καὶ τοσαύτην περιβέβληνται δύναμιν ὡς τῶν ἱερέων καὶ ἐγκρίνειν καὶ ἐκβάλλειν οὓς ἂν θέλωσι· καὶ τὰ ἄνω κάτω – τοῦτο δὴ τὸ τῆς παροιμίας λεγόμενον ἔστιν ἰδεῖν – τοὺς ἄρχοντας ἄγουσιν οἱ ἀρχόμενοι, καὶ εἴθε μὲν ἄνδρες, ἀλλ’ αἷς οὐδὲ διδάσκειν ἐπιτέτραπται. Τί λέγω διδάσκειν; Οὐδὲ λαλεῖν μὲν οὖν αὐταῖς ἐν ἐκκλησίᾳ συνεχώρησεν ὁ μακάριος Παῦλος. ᾿Εγὼ δέ τινος ἤκουσα λέγοντος ὅτι καὶ τοσαύτης αὑταῖς μετέδωκαν παρρησίας ὡς καὶ ἐπιτιμᾶν τοῖς τῶν ᾿Εκκλησιῶν προεστῶσι καὶ καθάπτεσθαι πικρότερον ἐκείνων ἢ τῶν ἰδίων οἰκετῶν οἱ δεσπόται. Καὶ μή μέ τις οἰέσθω πάντας ταῖς εἰρημέναις. [SC 272; De Sacr. 3.9.30–45].

Downloaded from Brill.com09/29/2021 06:09:03PM via free access C.L. de Wet / Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 369 those who are guilty of having vainglory (κενοδόξια), that are susceptible to this danger. He uses the nautical metaphor of the Sirens, who call on these priests, as if they were sailors, and cause them to be shipwrecked. The priest is made a docile, servantile body by the dominant, active female body. There were of course female patrons that were honoured by the church, and indeed by Chrysostom himself. Since women could not become priests, becoming docile patron bodies would be the next best thing. A good example here is Olympias, a female patron very close to Chrysostom.74 It is therefore not the patron herself that is the problem, but those who abuse power and take on active social roles in dominating priestly bodies. The second category of bodies to be managed is the widows De( Sacr. 3.12.1–112). The widows have the ability to be troublesome bodies, but their role in the church is not underplayed. Walsh75 has illustrated that widows were considered as exemplary ﬁgures to be mimicked by other Christians. In some instances, Chrysostom even places their status above the status of monks and virgins.76 The ideal was that widows would become patrons of the church if they had the ﬁnancial means. Chrysostom’s own mother was a widow who did not remarry, and his almost Oedipal sentiments are made clear in the begin- ning of the writing (De Sacr. 1.2.30–99). It is the impoverished widows that cause trouble, according to Chrysostom, and they need to be managed with the same strict stewardship as money – especially since both are related. Finally, the bodies of virgins need to be managed (De Sacr. 3.13.1–89). The concept of virginity (παρθένια) was a complex one in late antiquity, with a very intricate set of social rules for behaviour in private and public.77 The virgin was the prime symbol of chastity, which was inseparable from virtue in the case of women since their bodies were considered “intact”.78 This intactness was not merely related to sex and sexuality. Winslow79 has argued that the sanctity of women in De Sacerdotio was determined by their “denial of sexuality”. This, of course, is impossible since even abstaining from sex does not

74 E. A. Clark, “Patrons, not Priests: Gender and Power in Late Antiquity,” Gender & His- tory 2 (1990): 253–73. 75 E. M. Walsh, Overcoming Gender: Virgins, Widows and Barren Women in the Writings of St John Chrysostom, 386–397 (Ph.D. Diss., Washington: Catholic University of America, 1994), 255–60. 76 E. M. Walsh, “Wealthy and Impoverished Widows in the Writings of St John Chrysos- tom,” in Wealth and Poverty in Early Church and Society (S. R. Holman (ed.); Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008), 181. 77 V. Burrus, Saving Shame: Martyrs, Saints and Other Abject Subjects (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008), 91–92. 78 Glancy, Corporal Knowledge, 64, 109–10. 79 D. F. Winslow, “Priesthood and Sexuality in the Post-Nicene Fathers,” Saint Luke’s Journal of Theology 18, no. 4 (1975): 352–65.

Downloaded from Brill.com09/29/2021 06:09:03PM via free access 370 C.L. de Wet / Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 nullify sexuality, which is inevitably intertwined with power-structures in society. Even the issue of abstinence is not a simple one regarding virgins. Braun80 has convincingly argued that virgins should not be classified solely by the category of sexual abstinence or lack of sexual experience. Virginity should be understood as a complex and strategical social location, a discursive formation in itself. They are signs and symptoms of imperial power-structures and politics. It is true that during the later centuries of Christianity, celibacy would become a defining mark of distinction,81 but the political subtext would always be present. In this same line of reasoning, Clark82 convincingly notes that virginity and πολιτεία were related (sexuality possesses its own unique politics), especially with Chrysostom. The virgins are symbols of the inviolability and impenetrability of the church/state. They are the untouchables. But these intact bodies are also fragile according to Chrysostom. Their bodies were to be handled with care since they are highly volatile. Their status is also described as being angelic by Chrysostom and the status of their bodies is in fact supercorporeal. As paterfamilias, the priest needs to care for the virgins as if they are daughters. This corporeal care and management comes mainly in the form of confinement. This confinement protects and divides these intact bodies from possible defilement – it is the opposite of what one would find in the asylum, in which bodies are divided, separated and confined from society for the protection of society.83 Here, it is rather protection from society. This limitation of tactile and visual knowledge pertaining to the bodies of virgins also points to their mysteriousness. Confinement and mystery have always been good bed- fellows, and the confinement and hiddenness of virgins is also indicative of the mysterious nature of the church. The mobility of these virgin bodies is to be limited in the strictest sense and the rule of observation and surveillance applies here to the utmost – she is to be under the gaze of no men except the priest. As with most mysteries in the church (for instance, the sacraments), the priest is sole somagogue. In this instance, it is even a risky endeavour on the part of the priest. The priest must always accompany the virgin in public as the lictores of the Vestal virgins.84 Whilst impoverished widows are by neces- sity public figures, virgins must be in the private. The virgins are brides of

80 W. Braun, “Virgins, Eunuchs, Empire,” Acta Patristica et Byzantina 21, no. 2 (2010): 19–38. 81 Braun, “Virgins, Eunuchs, Empire,” 20; Brown, Body and Society. 82 E. A. Clark, Jerome, Chrysostom and Friends: Essays and Translations (London: Edwin Mellen, 1974), 1–34; E. A. Clark, “Sexual Politics in the Writings of John Chrysostom,” Angli- can Theological Review 59 (1977): 3–20. 83 M. Foucault, Madness and Civilization (R. Howard (trans.); London: Routledge, 1961), 35–60. 84 Braun, “Virgins, Eunuchs, Empire,” 23.

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Christ and great treasures that need to be protected. Their fragility is also, possibly inadvertently, symbolic of the church/state’s ﬁssures, ﬂaws and vulnera- bilities. Both can only exist in the context of strict technologies of bodily control (physical or political) and surveillance, and its existence is only guar- anteed if these technologies are perpetuated. The priests are the symbolic bodyguards and judges of normality, who represent andronormative ecclesiarchal discourses that are both potent and fragile at the same time.

2.5 Oratory and Sacerdotal Superstars

The final discourse is related to the power of oratory. Chrysostom himself was considered a superstar of the oratory of the Second Sophistic in the late fourth century,85 hence his nickname “golden mouth”. This was due to the high demand for quality sermons in the fourth century, which he himself also notes (De Sacr. 5.8.49–52).86 This was not an easy endeavour, since he also states that the public wants authentic preaching, and responds negatively to hom- ilists using the material of others (De Sacr. 5.1.1–36). He is dissatisfied that the church, and pulpit itself has become like the theatre, it was a show, a spec- taculum. The priests were actors and performers. The glory of becoming such superstars is a temptation the priest needs to avoid. He must be indifferent to the praise of the audience, but still be skilled in the ars rhetorica. It implies that the priest must be a master in persuasion. Preaching becomes a corrective public technology, with the priest providing Christians with a controlled language and rhetoric needed for self-understanding and expression. The nature of the audience was diverse,87 and it was not only limited to “orthodox” Christians. Chrysostom understands the formative power of language and persuasion (as seen in the argument in De Sacr. 5.1–5). Somatogra- phy takes place via language and rhetoric. The subject describes itself with language, and the priest as preacher was responsible for giving the audience a strategic language-set for them to describe themselves and make sense of

85 However, W. A. Maat, A Rhetorical Study of St. John Chrysostom’s De Sacerdotio (Washing- ton: Catholic University of America Press, 1944), 66–82, in his comprehensive study of rhetorical and stylistic ﬁgures and features in De Sacerdotio, has shown that this treatise does not strictly correspond to the style of the Second Sophistic, but that Chrysostom adds his own distinctive character to the rhetoric of the treatise. 86 P. R. L. Brown, Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity (Wisconsin: University of Wisconsin Press, 1992), 74. 87 W. Mayer, “John Chrysostom: Extraordinary Preacher, Ordinary Audience,” in Preacher and Audience: Studies in Early Christian and Byzantine Homiletics (M. B. Cunningham and P. Allen (eds.); Leiden: Brill, 1998), 105–38.

Downloaded from Brill.com09/29/2021 06:09:03PM via free access 372 C.L. de Wet / Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 reality. In this manner bodies are written, and rewritten, and identity is negotiated and recreated.88 The priest had to be a man who made study his priority. According to Chrysostom, it is exactly study and knowledge that sets aside the mediocre orator from the exception. And when knowledge is involved, there is power- discourse involved. Objects of knowledge are, after all, shaped by dominant power structures. The act of preaching was both corrective (pedagogical)89 and propagandistic.90 As Maxwell, in her compelling study Christianization and Communication in Late Antiquity has shown, Christian oratory was especially aimed at shaping the daily life of Christians with practical knowledge.91 Per- suasion took place by what Michel De Certeau92 calls “quotations” of voices, or in Foucaultian terms, citing “the author”.93 Knowledge is powerful and authoritative. By shaping and “writing” this everyday-life power-knowledge into and onto bodies, social and individual identities are shaped according to the rules of normality, and deviants, delinquents and disruptive others are either rehabilitated, or at least identified as being such, and coerced and in some cases isolated and confined.94 These are the main power-discourses present in De Sacerdotio. It is how Chrysostom understands priesthood, and what a priest should look like. But Chrysostom himself is also shaped by these dominant discourses, and we will now conclude with how these discourses influenced Chrysostom’s self- understanding as a priestly body. It must be remembered however that De Sacerdotio is a public document, meaning that it is also what he wants people to think. But the following section aims to at least provide a glimpse into the

88 Sandwell, Religious Identity, 63–73. 89 Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 88–108. 90 D. G. Hunter, “Preaching and Propaganda in Fourth Century Antioch: John Chrysostom’s Homilies on the Statues,” in Preaching in the Patristic Age: Studies in Honor of Walter J. Burghardt, S.J. (D.G. Hunter (ed.); New York: Paulist, 1989), 119–38. 91 Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 118–68. 92 De Certeau, Practice of Everyday Life, 154–64. 93 The “author” (or in Bourdieuian terms, the cultural capital) Chrysostom mostly relies upon in this instance is the apostle Paul. Paul is seen as an example worth mimicking in the arts of rhetoric and knowledge of scripture (cf. R. Staats, “Chrysostomus über die Rhetorik des Apostels Paulus: Makarianische Kontexte zu De Sacerdotio IV, 5–6,” Vigiliae Christianae 46 (1992): 225– 40; M. M. Mitchell, The Heavenly Trumpet: John Chrysostom and the Art of Pauline Interpretation (Hermeneutische Untersuchungen Zur Theologie; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000); C. L. De Wet, “John Chrysostom and Hermeneutics of Resuscitation: A Critical Glimpse Into the Read- ing and Preaching of Pauline Texts in the 4th Century A.D. and Its Implications for Biblical Studies Today,” Ekklesiastikos Pharos 92 (2010): 393–407). 94 Maxwell, Christianization and Communication, 88–117.

Downloaded from Brill.com09/29/2021 06:09:03PM via free access C.L. de Wet / Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 373 life and thinking of a late ancient Christian priest, a public ﬁgure but also a body shaped by various power-discourses.

3. Conclusion: The Priestly Body and Self

How do these dominant discourses of power impact on how Chrysostom understands himself as a priest, or rather, a priestly body? It has been made clear in this study that the self cannot be understood outside of the body – the priestly self is also the priestly body. And although the priest is a somatographer in his own sense, his body is also shaped and “written”. Categories of normality and abnormality also apply to him, and what is clear from De Sacerdotio, although the priest is considered an authority for the surveillance of other bodies in the Christian community, he himself is also the object of surveillance. The rhetoric of surveillance and surveillance-anxiety runs through the document. In the ﬁfth and sixth books of De Sacerdotio Chrysostom gives extended advice for managing publicity and public opinion. The main problem is that since the priest embodies an angelic rank, he is judged by supercorporeal stan- dards with a gaze much more intense than his own (De Sacr. 3.5.27–30, 5.6.9–41).95 In essence, he must be a body-double of Christ.96 According to Chrysostom, he requires symbolic Achillean armour as defence against the envy and maliciousness of those who want to see the priest fail. Chrysostom states (De Sacr. 3.10.190–201): For it is quite impossible for the defects of priests to be concealed, but even triﬂing ones speedily become manifest. So an athlete, as long as he remains at home, and contends with no one, can dissemble his weakness even if it be very great, but when he strips for the contest he is easily detected. And thus for some who live this private and inactive life, their isolation serves as a veil

95 Ambrose problematized this even more regarding the official judgement of priests (Ep. 21.1–4). He states that laypeople should not be placed in the position to judge priests who have erred. The judges must be worthy of ecclesiastical rank. 96 The notion of Christ as the suffering priest (that is, the victim and object of sacrifice) is also present in the thinking of Chrysostom (Hom. in Ep. Heb. 17.1–4; cf. P. Cox Miller, The Corpo- real Imagination: Signifying the Holy in Late Ancient Christianity (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009), 12; A. Houssiau and J.-P. Mondet, Le sacerdote du Christ et de ses serviteurs selon les pères de l’église (Louvain: Centre d’Histoire des Religions, 1990)). The priestly body of Christ, presented as a sacrificial, suffering body, is also mirrored in the body-double of the priest who suffers on earth as a body out-of-place. Even though it was mentioned earlier that the eucharist event equalised priest and layperson, he still considers the priest serving the eucharist as the surrogate body for Christ on earth – it is not the hand of the priest supplying the eucharist, but the hand of Christ himself (Hom. in Matt. 50.3).

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to hide their defects; but when they have been brought into public they are compelled to divest themselves of this mantle of seclusion, and to lay bare their souls to all through their visible movements.97 Publicity is equal to exposure and public nudity, in which every aspect of the priest is observed and scrutinized like an athlete. It also contrasts the natures of the sacerdotal and ascetic lives. Many scandals have occurred from priests not knowing how to manage publicity and how to manage bodies in general. The punishment for improper management of bodies, or somagogy, as delin- eated by Chrysostom from Hebrews 13:17, is severe (De Sacr. 3.14.72–81, 6.1.1–31). But more importantly, he needs to know how to manage his own body. Along with this, there is also another considerable task – the mastering of many technologies of the self, and shaping himself spiritually – that is, autopsychagogy, which cannot be separated from somagogy. Chrysostom makes the important distinction between the priest and the monk (De Sacr. 6.6.1–36). It is in fact easier to be a monk than a priest, mainly due to the private nature of the monastic and ascetic life. He clearly speaks from experience, with detailed descriptions probably from his years at the foot of Mount Silpios. Chrysostom remarks (De Sacr. 6.6.31–36): But if anyone who has devoted himself to whole multitudes, and has been compelled to bear the sins of many, has remained steadfast and firm, guiding his soul in the midst of the storm as if he were in a calm, he is the man to be justly applauded and admired of all, for he has shown sufficient proof of personal manliness.98 This interesting discernment between the priesthood and monastic life should be noted. The priest is responsible for more bodies than the monk. The monk only his own, but the priest must manage a multitude of bodies along with his own. This is then sufficient proof of virtue or “manliness” ἀνδρεία( ) – the monk is not more virtuous or manly than the priest. The mastering of the self was the pinnacle of manliness in late antiquity.99 But here, it seems, by

97 Οὐ γὰρ ἔστι τὰ τῶν ἱερέων κρύπτεσθαι ἐλαττώματα, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὰ μικρότατα ταχέως κατάδηλα γίνεται. Καὶ γὰρ ἀθλητής, ἕως μὲν ἂν οἴκοι μένῃ καὶ μηδενὶ συμπλέκηται, δύναται λανθάνειν, κἂν ἀσθενέστατος ὢν τύχῃ, ὅταν δὲ ἀποδύσηται πρὸς τοὺς ἀγῶνας, ῥᾳδίως ἐλέγχεται· καὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων οἱ μὲν τὸν ἰδιωτικὸν τοῦτον καὶ ἀπράγμονα βιοῦντες βίον ἔχουσι παραπέτασμα τῶν ἰδίων ἁμαρτημάτων τὴν μόνωσιν, εἰς δὲ τὸ μέσον ἀχθέντες καθάπερ ἱμάτιον τὴν ἠρεμίαν ἀποδῦναι ἀναγκάζονται καὶ πᾶσι γυμνὰς ἐπιδεῖξαι τὰς ψυχὰς διὰ τῶν ἔξωθεν κινημάτων. [SC 272; De Sacr. 3.10.190–201]. 98 ᾿Αλλ’ εἴ τις πλήθεσιν ὅλοις ἑαυτὸν ἐκδεδωκὼς καὶ τὰς τῶν πολλῶν φέρειν ἁμαρτίας ἀναγκασθεὶς ἔμεινεν ἀκλινὴς καὶ στερρός, ὥσπερ ἐν γαλήνῃ τῷ χειμῶνι τὴν ψυχὴν διακυβερνῶν, οὗτος κροτεῖσθαι καὶ θαυμάζεσθαι παρὰ πάντων ἂν εἴη δίκαιος· ἱκανῶς γὰρ τῆς οἰκείας ἀνδρείας τὴν δοκιμασίαν ἐπεδείξατο. [SC 272; De Sacr. 6.6.31–36]. 99 Glancy, Corporal Knowledge, 98.

Downloaded from Brill.com09/29/2021 06:09:03PM via free access C.L. de Wet / Religion & Theology 18 (2011) 351–379 375 mastering oneself and others, the manliness of the priest is increased even more. Manliness, in this instance, becomes the currency of somagogy. The priestly body is then both the somagogue/somatographer and the one who is somatographed. The rules of surveillance are harsher, since, firstly, his body is seen as supercorporeal: it is angelic, a body-double and surrogate body100 for Christ on earth, and a virtuous or manly body. Secondly, the priestly body suffers from surveillance-anxiety due to the fact that his management of other bodies should be flawless. He is observed by God in the first instance, but also by ecclesiarchal authorities and by the general public. If one listens to the subtext, one hears Chrysostom’s yearning for the adytum of solitude and confinement (this is also the case in Gregory Nazianzus’ De Fuga), thus the treatise exhibits a potent rhetoric of resistance to the priesthood. It is then not as simple as to conclude that Chrysostom is merely a product of his day, a body trapped within the power-discourses of the late ancient epoch. As seen in his later works, Foucault did not merely believe that the self is totally dominated by social power-networks.101 Transformation, self-knowledge and self-improvement may take place, certainly in a dialogue of struggle, when the self is at least aware of the social power-discourses shaping it. Iden- tity is then re-verbalised and negotiated. The process is an anxious one – once the self is aware of the power-structures and modes of surveillance, reality needs to be re-evaluated. It almost takes place in what is depicted in cartoons on television. Wiley Coyote chases the Road Runner and, without him knowing, runs off a cliff. But he keeps running on air, and is able to do so as long as he does not realize that there is no ground beneath him. Once the realization, “I am running on air!” settles in, he starts falling. In De Sacerdotio, Chrysos- tom has become aware that he was running on air, and now, while he shapes the discursive formation of the priesthood, he negotiates his own identity and self-knowledge, as a priestly body in a rhetoric of resistance. Perhaps Chrysos- tom is attempting to escape from a fixed stereotype or sacerdotal habitus with his rhetoric of resistance, and thereby, as an exercise of limited subjective free- dom, authors and re-authors himself, as a priestly body, in the process. As with the ancient oracle at Delphi, who had a plaque above the entrance with the words γνῶθι σεαυτόν written on it, so Chrysostom warns all prospective priests to “know themselves” before entering the priesthood.

100 This was very common with slaves, as demonstrated by J. A. Glancy Slavery( in Early Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006), 9–38; for a general discussion of slave-bodies from Paul to Augustine, cf. Glancy, Corporal Knowledge, 48–80). Although Chrysostom does not mention it in the treatise, the priest as slave of Christ is not a far-fetched notion from what has been deduced in this study. 101 Danaher, Schirato and Webb, Understanding Foucault, 116–132.

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