1 - “The Sweat of Eloquence”

Summary

Chapter 1 treats the epistolary discourse of the Cappadocians as a simulation of agōn (contest) and as a locus for conspicuous display of aretē (manly virtue). It demonstrates that the Cappadocians staged literary exchanges as athletic and military ventures, enabling them to moderate a discourse on masculinity and to publicize the manhood of themselves and their addressees. The chapter explores how this culture of epistolary exhibition was rooted in the androcentric culture of paideia (education for elite males) and predicated on an ethos of competitive display similar to Second Sophistic oratory. The Cappadocians framed letter writing among intellectuals as an exercise in extreme exertion, one that promoted moral excellence. Unlike portrayals of verbal duels among orators, where winners and losers resulted in a zero-sum outcome, in letter exchanges the Cappadocians promoted character formation for both author and recipient.In orchestrating these exercises in character formation, the Cappadocians cut across religious lines and established themselves as moderators of late-fourth century masculinity.

In 382 Gregory of Nyssa composed an epistle for the Cappadocian sophist Stagirius, who had previously sent a letter asking Gregory, in his capacity as bishop, to order rafters for a house.¹ Stagirius had jested that bishops “are difficult to catch in a net (δυσγρίπισον);” shifty, that is, and difficult to obtain favors from.² Gregory replied with ridicule. He feigned applause for Stagirius, praising him for extracting the phrase of “catching in a net” (γριπίζω) from some “secret sanctuary of Plato.”³ Gregory was mocking him for applying such a fanciful and obscure term.⁴ Gregory then quipped that the art of sophists “consists of levying a toll upon words,” and he indicted such teachers for “putting up their own wisdom as merchandise just as the harvesters of honey do with their honey-combs.”⁵ Gregory was insinuating that Stagirius pandered his craft. Such antics did not authorize him (according to Gregory) to stereotype bishops as shifty.

Gregory continued by accusing Stagirius of “making a parade (ἐμπομπεύων) of your Persian declamations.”⁶ The implication was that Stagirius was writing in an overly theatrical style that many literati associated with eastern decadence.⁷ Gregory completed his response by stating that he had ordered rafters of equal number to the Spartans who fought at Thermopylae – an allusion to the number “300” as chronicled by Herodotus.⁸ The rafters, he stated, were of good length and they “cast a long shadow” (δολιχόσκιος), a Homeric epithet drawn from the Iliad that referred to the powerful spears hurled in combat between Paris and Menelaus.⁹ Thus he countered the sarcasm in Stagirius’ petition by answering that he would fulfill the request with his patronage, which he likened to a weapon. Whereas Stagirius had approached him with flamboyance, Gregory was satisfying the entreaty with a supply of durable materials. And he was equating the provisions to the courage of hoplites at Thermopylae against a larger Persian force.¹⁰ The metaphor issued a contrast to Stagirius’ display of affectation and underscored Gregory’s use of Atticism – a manner of writing that represented the antithesis to Asianism.¹¹ In this exchange, Gregory was one-upping his competitor.

Gregory’s epistle is representative of the performances that he, Basil, and Gregory of Nazianzus scripted in select correspondence. They often deployed allusions and witticisms that resonated within the community of eastern Romans who had been trained in paideia – a curriculum of Greek history, philosophy, and literature that young men were expected to master in order to develop into a cultivated civic leader.¹² Through passages from these readings, authors spoke to fellow pepaideumenoi in a dialogue that exalted their mutual aretē – the manly demeanor embodied by Greek protagonists as far back as the world of Homer.¹³ In the letter above, initially it appears that Gregory is abusing Stagirius. In fact, he was engaging his colleague in a clever exhibition that only certain educated readers could fully comprehend. The transaction was an acknowledgment of their mutual eloquence, education, and status. Speaking through exempla from the heroic past, Gregory was signaling Stagirius’ sophistication and that of other readers who were familiar with the conventions of letter exchange.¹⁴ The premise of this camaraderie was facility in the culture of classical Greece, an arena that cultivated upright men (agathoi). “A noble deed, or a saying worthy of remembrance, or the polities of men who have surpassed (ὑπερπεφυκότων) all their fellows in natural endowments,” as Basil said, “are a treasure house of the soul.”¹⁵ For Basil, the Greek past issued a repository of agathoi through whom he and other educated individuals could define their own deportment. Literary stratagems and references to the great deeds of ancient Greeks, that is, provided a means to uphold an affiliation with fellow pepaideumenoi and to show affinity with valiant Hellenes of other eras.¹⁶

The interchange between Gregory and Stagirius recalled the verbal sparring prevalent in the Second Sophistic (c. 100–250) – an intellectual movement in which public displays of erudition entertained audiences and garnered fame or dishonor depending on the merits of the performance.¹⁷ The encounter thus reenacted the contests of the ancient Greek polis, where years of strenuous mental and physical training singularized civic leaders.¹⁸ Here, athletes and soldiers from the past presented models of aretē for current pepaideumenoi such as Gregory and Stagirius – individuals who required an arena to emulate the courage of their forebears.¹⁹ Epistolary exchange represented one such setting, where the Cappadocians recreated a discourse – with roots in Homeric society – that validated elite males.²⁰ This chapter thus examines epistolary exchange as a recontextualized form of agonism. The Cappadocians framed epistolary discourse, I argue, as an exercise in competition, thus identifying themselves and a select group of correspondents that circulated honor through reenactments of classical performance. In this endeavor, they vied with fellow pepaideumenoi to moderate masculinity. Consequently, these clergy reinforced the habitus – the values, dispositions, and expectations – of a provincial aristocracy that identified itself with cultural and political preeminence in eastern Roman communities.²¹

In encounters such as the one above, the Cappadocians accentuated their own pedagogical heritage – a program that associated eloquence with manhood and moral excellence. As this chapter will show, eloquence was a fortitude born out of late antique pedagogy. On several occasions, the Cappadocians crafted a masculine persona using similar strategies of self-fashioning as found in Second Sophistic orators. Unlike their predecessors, however, the Cappadocians tried to outdo their correspondents in rhetorical imagination, but they did not seek to emasculate them. In the culture of epistolary exhibition, showmanship was about group identity. Emphasis, in fact, was placed on acknowledging a sense of manhood in others; a kind of consensus of dignity that was notably lacking in Second Sophistic oratory, in which “winners” and “losers” were determined on how one individual bested the other in a performance. The Cappadocians, by way of comparison, championed exemplary manhood in their literary rivals. They issued repeated demonstrations of epistolary skill, for example, and they prompted other pepaideumenoi to join them. By excelling in these virtual bouts, which stimulated aretē through simulations of exertion, clergy proved their mettle and registered themselves as heirs of cultural authority in eastern Rome. In spurring authors to showcase their abilities, moreover, the Cappadocians established themselves as arbiters of aretē by praising, rebuking, and evaluating performances. Through each of these endeavors, the Cappadocians were aligning the identity of pro-Nicene clergy with that of the classical Greek male.

Second Sophistic Origins of Agōn

Through the lens of Second Sophistic writers, the Cappadocians observed the contested nature of manhood in ancient Greek literature. Indeed, such authors formed the conduit through which fourth-century literati learned and applied ancient texts to their own time. We cannot know for sure how much access the Cappadocians had to complete manuscripts of Homer, Herodotus, Euripides, Plato, or any other ancient authors.²² Much of the reading of such authors came through teachers whose own intellectual pedigree had acquainted them with Second Sophistic literature and perhaps who had recommended acquiring portions of specific ancient texts. Knowing the reading lists of these writers remains a dubious task, although some resourceful studies have shed light on the collections of authors such as Plutarch, Lucian, Dio Chrysostom, and Aelius Aristides.²³ In a number of cases these writers probably possessed nearly complete texts from some authors, with fragments of others.²⁴ Even though these writers did not usually have complete works at their hands, they often held significant excerpts at their disposal in the form of abridged texts, compendia, and books of rhetorical exercises. As late as the fourth century, pepaideumenoi were still drawing allusions and references from the resources they acquired through traditional oral learning (instructor to pupil). Even Emperor Julian, who enjoyed a substantial library, relied on handbooks and anthologies for many of his quotations.²⁵ In crafting rhetoric, habituation into the culture of paideia had required young men to memorize and use set phrases. Many likely owned abridged books and anthologies that contained these references, but few likely owned complete versions of the works that informed their rhetoric. When in need of help, a trusted friend or mentor would have provided a more probable source of recall.

That is not to say, however, that all collections were limited only to small selections, nor to rhetorical exempla. Erudition was learned through a variety of genres and esteemed authors. An accomplished student would learn eloquence from the orator Demosthenes, but also through Plato, one of the most widely acclaimed prose writers of late antiquity. Some fourth-century literati did have the means to amass significant personal libraries, although their writings might not include quotations or references from them. Libanius, for example, probably had an extensive library, even though his writings reflect only a selection of the texts.²⁶ Nevertheless, discovering a direct line from fourth-century pepaideumenoi, to Second Sophistic authors, to classical writers, is usually impossible. Even tracing the use of Second Sophistic authors in the Cappadocians can be difficult. It was a literary convention for pepaideumenoi often to cite authors without naming them.

Yet these authors played a much more pivotal role than merely passing on the actual written works of the classics. They transmitted passages, and sometimes entire texts, to their fourth-century heirs. But more importantly, fourth-century authors such as the Cappadocians learned from earlier generations of pepaideumenoi how to engage with the canonical ancient writers. In the Second Sophistic, imitation (μίμησις) of classical authors involved maintaining the vitality of a venerated past while also showing discrimination and creativity when applying ideals from its great minds.²⁷ An element of selectivity and innovation was expected rather than mindless repetition.²⁸ More important than knowing the exact texts transmitted from Second Sophistic authors is understanding that their successors similarly applied the writings in order to create value and identity. Morwenna Ludlow’s recent work on the craft of rhetoric is helpful for understanding how fourth-century literati adapted literary techniques from both Second Sophistic and contemporary authors. Ludlow observes that the Cappadocians viewed themselves as members of a community of literary craftsmen in much the same way that other skilled workers considered themselves as part of a group belonging to a workshop.²⁹ These writers learned pedagogical traditions to some extent by interacting with their counterparts, many of whom had studied under teachers from an alternate lineage of teachers, others having labored under the same instructors. Consequently, epistolary writers were introduced to models not only through direct study of the ancients but through collaboration and competition with fellow pepaideumenoi. A synergy based on emulation and adaptation from likeminded authors thus provided the Cappadocians a framework for building their own version of masculinity through the medium of the classics. Because Second Sophistic authors themselves had been ever vigilant about crafting identity in an agōn setting, the Cappadocians found their hermeneutics of the classics especially compelling.

Rhetoric as Weapon

Education in classical rhetoric, however, was not for the faint of heart. Various fourth-century authors recorded the violence associated with schools of grammar, where teachers disciplined young men with beatings and other forms of corporal punishment.³⁰ The militant nature of pedagogy continued into the advanced schools of rhetoric and philosophy, where aggression was manifested in brawls among students and between pupils of rival teachers.³¹ Even when the discord did not erupt into physical blows, schools were pervaded by an underlying spirit of combat. Recounting Basil’s and his own time at Athens, Gregory of Nazianzus described the students as “difficult to restrain” (δυσκάθεκτοι) because of the intense performances of rhetoricians and rivalries between instructors and pupils of different schools.³² Even within one’s own learning community, young men were subjected to force and intimidation by the very classmates that recruited them to their teacher. Gregory relates the initiation of students at Athens – really a form of hazing – where newcomers were verbally assaulted and cowed into submission by more advanced disciples.³³ The student under duress was drawn into an argument and forced to defend himself against the ridicule of his besiegers. In a similar situation, fourth-century sophist and historian Eunapius writes that new arrivals faced “jokes and laughter at their expense” during their initiation into a school.³⁴ A young man’s cleverness and ability to respond to scorn were immediately put to the test. His reaction served as a measure of how he could handle pressure. In such contexts, it is understandable that students would come to view oratory as a form of warfare.

In the andro-charged atmosphere of late-antique instruction, occurrences like this one socialized the youths into a world where erudition was linked to toughness and eloquence derived from conflict. Intellectual content was only one element of an experience that drew the young student out of adolescence. This combative setting was rooted in the conventions of the Second Sophistic, in which the overriding path to respect came through giving mesmerizing oratorical displays. Through public speeches, individual rhetoricians had vied with one another to outdo others in winning arguments, displaying creative wordplay, and otherwise showcasing their talents.³⁵ Extemporaneous speaking and delivering declamations (set speeches) served as two vehicles for advertising one’s masculinity within civic space.³⁶ Consequently, many individuals within this movement conceived of their craft in terms redolent of athleticism and warfare, standard forums of ancient virility. Philostratus, for example, described the eloquence of sophist Polemon of Laodicea (c. 90–144) as “passionate and combative (θερμὴ καὶ ἐναγώνιος)…like the trumpet at the Olympic games.”³⁷ Speaking with gusto was as much physical as it was mental. Polemon is depicted as thinking the same about his talents. He once encountered a gladiator, “dripping with sweat out of sheer terror,” upon which he remarked “You are in as great an agony as though you were going to declaim.”³⁸ Polemon considered the pressure of public discourse as tantamount to a life-and-death battle. Likewise, Philostratus relates how Herodes Atticus, a rhetorician contemporary with Polemon, scoffed at the struggles of boxers, runners, and wrestlers. “Let the athlete who is a runner receive a crown for running faster than a deer or horse,” Herodes says, “and let him who trains for a weightier contest (μέγαν ἆθλον) be crowned for wrestling with a bull or bear, a thing which I do every day.”³⁹ The gladiator and the runner face formidable challenges, Philostratus is showing, but the level of their difficulty pales in comparison to rhetorical combat. In these anecdotes, Philostratus elevates mastery of oratory to the severest form of duress. He issued such statements of hyperbole in order to liken his own skill to the daring of the greatest athletes and soldiers, males from the past who accrued highest honor because of great feats accomplished within both soul and body.

In this constellation of verbal warriors, sophists often likened eloquence to weapons. Polemon, for example, praised his teacher Scopelian’s “power of persuasion as though it were the arms of Achilles.”⁴⁰ On another occasion, when asked his opinion of Polemon’s eloquence, Herodes responded, “The sound of swift-footed horses strikes upon my ears.”⁴¹ Such was his impression of the effect of Polemon’s words that he envisioned the roar of running stallions. In an invective that Herodes launched against freedmen in Athens, moreover, Philostratus says that the sophist “shot forth at them every weapon (κέντρον) that his tongue could command.”⁴² And Aelius Aristides (117–81), one of the most celebrated orators of his day, analogized effective verbal skill to “strong, sound, and firm weapons.”⁴³ These assertions indicated that an effective performer had to master the ability to persuade with words in order to excel and to win fame. Students thus were continually conditioned to think about elocution as a tool infused with masculinity, a means of besting others, meriting honor, and assuming an identity akin to the athletes and warriors of the past. The biographer Plutarch similarly ascribed human qualities to the orations of Demosthenes, calling them “bold” (παρρησία) and “noble” (εὐγένια).⁴⁴ By imbuing Demosthenes’ speech with characterizations befitting a warrior, Plutarch was raising his oral skills to a level on par with the deeds of celebrated soldiers, runners, and wrestlers. In memorizing narratives such as Homer’s epics, moreover, aspiring sophists learned that the most striking speeches came out of the mouths of the most prominent heroes such as Achilles, whose potent words matched his exploits in war.⁴⁵ Under the cumulative militarization of rhetoric, literati came to consider powerful speech as synonymous with manhood.

The Cappadocians and the Second Sophistic

Writers of the Second Sophistic thus remained keenly aware of self-presentation and committed themselves to acquiring a manly persona through verbal performances. In Philostratus and concurrent authors, agōnes of combat and sport were recast as contests of words. About a century after Philostratus completed his Lives of the Sophists, pepaideumenoi continued to use eloquence as an index of status and social authority. In certain circles, that is, verbal performance revealed not only an individual’s command of language, but also his character.⁴⁶ Speaking of his and Basil’s days at Athens, Gregory of Nazianzus commented that young men were obsessed with rhetorical skill. He compared their fascination to the electric atmosphere of a horse race, where the students “leap up, they shout, raise clouds of dust, they drive in their seats, they beat the air.”⁴⁷ The orators-in-training witnessed declamations with the zeal of spectators at the hippodrome. By the late fourth century, horse-racing had become the leading spectator event in athletics. The activity was full of danger and horses, as we saw in the Introduction, were synonymous with contest and warfare. Horse-racing thus served as a suitable metonym for rhetorical performances, where individuals strained for victory. Gregory sets himself and Basil, moreover, in the hysteria of the intellectual competition. “It was important to each of us,” he says “to be the first to master our studies (πρὶν ἐπιστῆναι).”⁴⁸ The friends attempted to outdo each other and subsequently both excelled in study and performance of paideia. They contested not to express dominance over each other, but rather to push each other’s scholarly limits.⁴⁹ Describing such rivalries as physical in nature was useful since identity was tied to both corporeal and noetic superiority, a legacy from ancient Greece. The theme of contention thus formed a backdrop for the way the two future Cappadocian bishops pursued a curriculum that included bodily comportment. In this manner, they followed in the footsteps of Prohaeresius (276–c. 368), one of their teachers at Athens and a leading sophist of the early/mid fourth century.⁵⁰ Under instructors such as Prohaeresius, a Christian and probably a native Cappadocian, Gregory and Basil came to consider eloquence and manhood as outcomes of an agōn.

According to the biographer Eunapius – himself a student of Prohaeresius – his mentor had enjoyed the companionship of a devoted friend Hephaestion, who accompanied him to Athens during their studies in the early 300s. Here they were “rivals for the highest honors of rhetoric.”⁵¹ In an antecedent to Gregory’s depiction of the friendship between Basil and himself, Prohaeresius and Hephaestion pushed each other to succeed in scholarship and performance. The rivalry played only one part in what became a series of agonistic and antagonistic encounters that earned Prohaeresius repute across eastern Rome. Eunapius recounts a contest in which Prohaeresius competed against other candidates to succeed his former teacher as chair of rhetoric in Athens.⁵² The vitriol of the affair was magnified by the fact that the aspiring teachers were already engaged in a tendentious campaign to draw the best and highest number of students to their school.⁵³ Prohaeresius eventually won the position despite facing widespread opposition. Eunapius made reference to the Iliad, insinuating that Prohaeresius’ victory in speaking correlated to the martial prowess of Greek heroes such as Achilles.⁵⁴ Eunapius thus narrated the affair as a military engagement, with Prohaeresius winning because of the superior weapon of his words. Prohaeresius prevails in other contests in the biography, and Eunapius repeatedly uses warlike terminology to denote his victorious declamations: the opposition “stricken by a thunderbolt (σκηπτοῦ πληγέντες);” his adversaries “defeated in a regular pitched battle (μάχη);” and Prohaeresius rising to speak, “like a war-horse summoned to the plain” (ὥσπερ ἵππος εἰς πεδίον κληθείς).⁵⁵ Eunapius elevates Prohaeresius – over his rivals – by characterizing his performance as forceful, as violent. Prohaeresius thus epitomizes the orator-as-warrior persona that informed Basil, Gregory, and through their influence, Gregory of Nyssa, during their rhetorical training. The young men were conditioned to think that verbal acumen was a definitive sign of strength and disposition. Gregory of Nazianzus could later look back at the end of his life and recognize the extremes of this culture, but as he matured into adulthood, he had come to revere the transformative power of words on which his teachers and fellow students had thrived. With Gregory and Basil immersed in an educational culture predominated by sophists such as Prohaeresius, they came to think of eloquence as an issue of war, and a key component of masculinity.

A Third Sophistic?

This absorption with performative masculinity from the first three centuries relates to current discussions about the concept of a “Third Sophistic.”⁵⁶ A number of scholars have applied this term to a revival of classical rhetoric sometime during the fourth century, after many factors had mitigated the role of display oratory in the latter third century.⁵⁷ One school of thought holds that political and social factors – such as the Christianization of the Roman empire – diminished the significance of oral presentations that were based on classical Greek philosophy and erudition.⁵⁸ Enduring standards of elegance continued, this interpretation suggests, in the schools and in the churches, with bishops supplanting the once-venerated sophists as the centerpiece of the civic spaces.⁵⁹ Ancient texts, then, were used as a literary model for the new civic (and sacred) elite, but they no longer dictated social norms. Such explanations, I believe, overstate change in the prevalence and context of rhetorical display in the fourth century.⁶⁰ I am sympathetic to the explanation that shifts occurred, thus changing the impetus for and sources of rhetoric. And the nuances of literary and oral exhibitions demand scrutiny according to chronological, cultural, and religious context. Nevertheless, as a movement distinct from the Second Sophistic, the designation of a Third Sophistic is not an ideal category of analysis for studying the Cappadocians. The main problem involves interpretations that fourth-century Christian pepaideumenoi applied ancient Greek conventions of rhetoric but eschewed the values of pre-Christian Hellenic sources. Such contentions represent too sharp a dichotomy between the textual traditions that informed the Cappadocians. Such renditions also isolate on the Cappadocians’ identity as Christians, without adequately exploring the overlap and congruity between their faith and training in paideia. The correspondence of the Cappadocians demonstrates continuity with Second Sophistic authors both in the focus on self-representation and the thematic content applied to craft that image. These bishops engaged in forming a self-identity among fellow pepaideumenoi that was based on early Greek ideals of manhood. They appear preoccupied with promoting a very similar ideal of struggle that had been in place to validate civic and imperial elites for the better part of the preceding three centuries.

The proposition of a Third Sophistic makes the most sense, I believe, in that exhibitions of aretē, for example, were increasingly re-directed from the zero-sum contests of the first three centuries to a more deliberate preservation of manhood and a collective set of values that certain Christians and non-Christians alike favored. The most significant difference between fourth-century pepaideumenoi and Second Sophistic orators may be in the arena in which classical manhood was primarily established. For the former, contests did not primarily take the form of oral delivery, but rather through participation in an epistolary agōn.⁶¹ Displays of bombast in public gatherings may not have aligned with the overall image the Cappadocians wanted, one of humility and selflessness as expressed in the scriptures.⁶² They relished the give-and-take bravado of manly rivalry, but they generally limited the most conspicuous cases of contention to written transactions with fellow cognoscenti. An epistolary agōn was suitable for a persona of self-assertion because it allowed for showmanship, but only among the select. The verbal duels of the Second Sophistic were less applicable to the image they projected to larger audiences. For these groups, the Cappadocians more often presented themselves as philosophers, chosen by God to guide others through spiritual and theological insight.⁶³ A widespread perception in late antiquity held that philosophers mastered discourse in pursuit of truth, while sophists concerned themselves foremost with reputation.⁶⁴ Composing and exchanging epistles provided a means to engage in an affair of honor among a limited coterie that included sophists, but without parading in a sense of self-involvement that might appear unbecoming for clergy. As they drew on paideia as a mechanism for promoting a certain image, moreover, the Cappadocians were also embracing an ethos of competitive merit upon which they themselves had been raised. Classical authors were not mere wordplay but rather a substantive part of the bishops’ vision for Christian leaders.

Epistolary Performance and Aretē

In a perspective inherited from their intellectual predecessors, fourth-century pepaideumenoi believed that aretē had to be earned and it had to be proven an indefinite number of times. And like declamatory speaking, writing epistles as an exercise in showmanship was a male-centered enterprise that resonated with power.⁶⁵ In letters to educated addressees, the Cappadocians appealed to two timeless truths: first, that great persons are made out of conflict. And second, that ancient Greece provided episodes of agōnes that illustrated authentic manhood. The courage evident in figures from the past, therefore, was to be celebrated and relived in the words and deeds of correspondents. Among company that recalled the Greek past as a crucible of masculinity, the Cappadocians depicted epistolary exchange as bodily duress, similar to how earlier savants had personified public speaking as corporeal labor. The ideal male of ancient Greece had accrued status not only through mental distinction, but also through physical feats. Epistolary composition was imagined, therefore, as a contest along the lines of warfare and athletics. Intellectual and somatic discipline, that is, went hand in hand.

Gregory of Nazianzus, for example, called to mind the “sweat of eloquence” (οἱ τῶν λόγων ἰδρῶτες) when he reminisced to childhood friend Philagrius about their studies in rhetoric at Athens.⁶⁶ Gregory responded to Basil in similar fashion after receiving a letter from him: “Eloquence! Athens! Virtues! The sweat produced by eloquence!”⁶⁷ Gregory was acknowledging their shared education and praising Basil for the epistle, a clear demonstration of Basil’s power with words. The famous rhetorician Libanius similarly praised one of his students, who “on hearing Aeschylus’ remark that in mortals virtues are born from toils…considered sweating over his books (τοὺς περὶ λόγους ἱδρῶτας) more pleasant than carousing.”⁶⁸ For pepaideumenoi, the exacting nature of literary sophistication deemed the intelligentsia worthy of glory, thus reinforcing the social hierarchy. Sweat carried overtones of manhood as it represented the effects of struggle. For athletes, it was a badge of courage, like a warrior shedding blood. It was proof that an individual had been through a taxing experience. The trope of struggle had deep-seated roots in the Greek intellectual sphere, where in mythology certain gods and humans had originated from climactic conflicts.⁶⁹ In Greek consciousness, themes of discord and austerity were associated with monumental events and qualities. In Gorgias Plato indicated that the virtue of a thing – tool, body, soul, or animal – came about through structure and correctness.⁷⁰ The proper use of rhetoric, he insinuated, was attainable only through rigorous testing. Eloquence could be acquired only at much cost. The telos of an individual likewise was dependent on having risen to the challenges that confronted him. As Gregory repeated refrains about sweating and toiling, he was prompting readers to remember the sacrificial nature of their positions.

Illustrations of bodily strain, in particular, conveyed the severity that distinguished agathoi from others. In an epistle from the late 360s or early 370s, about the time of his ordination as bishop, Basil penned his thoughts about rulers and the benefits of education: “If a man has sweated much for eloquence (λόγων ἱδρώσαντος), if he has directed the government of nations and cities…I consider it right and proper that his life be placed before us as an example of virtue (ὑπόδειγμα ἀρετῆς).”⁷¹ Eloquence acquired through toil was authentic, trustworthy. It was fitting to associate such speech with worthy leaders. We will see later, in castigations of theological rivals, that the Cappadocians portrayed another form of eloquence, which was earned at minimal cost, and therefore defective and fake.⁷² For Basil, true fluency of speech involved hardships that qualified a man for the confrontations of public office. His notion of strict pedagogy, “sweating for eloquence” (λόγων ἱδρῶν), corresponded to the theme of severity in his Address to Young Men, a text in which Basil instructed young Christian men on the merits and challenges of studying ancient non-Christian literature.⁷³ Basil stated that the path to excellence was “rough at first and hard to travel, and full of abundant sweat and toil…”⁷⁴ Basil applied a concept from Hesiod, an eighth-century Greek poet, who had famously personified Badness as near to humanity, common, and within easy access. Excellence, he juxtaposed, had been established by the gods as attainable only through intensive labor.⁷⁵

Hesiod’s portrayal of the Good and Bad suggested that moral rectitude comes through exertion. Basil replayed this sentiment as he reminded students of the story of Heracles. This Greek hero, at the same age as these young men now were, had to choose between two roads, one easy (leading to Vice) and one hard (Virtue). Heracles chose the latter, which was full of “countless sweating toils and labors,” but by following it, he became a god.⁷⁶ Basil was recalling Lucian’s elaboration on this notion, when he depicts the honest, masculine orator following a “path, narrow, briery, and rough, promising great thirstiness and sweat,” with the effete sophist taking the road that is “level, flowery, and well-watered.”⁷⁷ The former, that is, pays the price of an exacting regimen that created a person of substance, of authenticity. He earns respect. The latter, lacking resolve, emerges through a succession of luxury and pretension as a “delicate and charming platform-hero.”⁷⁸ Lucian categorizes the unproven orator more or less as an actor. In the ancient world, theatrical performers garnered suspicion because recurrent stereotypes cast them as gender fluid or feminine, as well as deceitful.⁷⁹ They were not to be respected or trusted. Keying off Lucian, Basil deployed this metaphor to distinguish the virile, well-tried man from the womanish, untested figure. He was calling attention to the long-held dichotomy that linked manliness to harshness and femininity to softness. His world of agathoi belonged to individuals who had proven themselves by overcoming tribulations.

Scholarship in the past twenty-five years has emphasized similar correlations between gender and rhetorical training in the ancient world. For Maud Gleason, the regimen that went into succeeding as a speaker was a “calisthenics of manhood,” while Rafaella Cribiore has described paideia as a mental versus physical askēsis. Cribiore cites several references to Libanius talking about pedagogues as “gymnasts of the mind” and “athletes of the logoi.”⁸⁰ Such epithets reflect the literary and compositional exercises of epistolary writers. Years of preparation had earned literati the honor of showing off their superior craft and establishing their inclusion in a community of similar intelligentsia.⁸¹ If training for oral performances enabled Second Sophistic speakers to manifest virility, composing epistles offered occasions for clergy to assert their own literary expertise and to validate their credibility by celebrating epistles from well-versed writers. Sporting imagery underscored the contested setting in which the Cappadocians participated. “For who is such a coward and so unmanly, or so inexperienced in an athlete’s labours, that he is not strengthened for the struggle,” Basil wrote to a colleague. “For you were the first to strip for the noble course of piety.”⁸² In classical Greece, the gymnasium provided the setting for the strict regimen that cultivated athletes and soldiers.⁸³ The prominent place of the gymnasium in the polis testified to its importance to society. It was a place that was unequivocally male, the proving ground for future leaders and combatants. Fourth-century literati could not fight in the ancient battles like a Homeric warrior or pursue victory in an Olympian race.⁸⁴ But through writing and receiving epistles, pepaideumenoi proved their worthiness as successors to former heroes, thus linking themselves with paragons of manhood from a venerated past.⁸⁵ An epistolary agōn, that is, served as their gymnasium and stadium; a crucible of masculinity unsullied by gender fluidity attendant to sites such as the theatre. Textual fluency became a measure of individual excellence, simulating the corporeal splendor attributed to Greek athletes. The aesthetics of eloquence were mimetic and, according to Nazianzen, requiring constant fashioning by “good artists who train their students with lots of demonstrations.”⁸⁶ Pepaideumenoi had to be challenged in order to exercise their manhood to full potential. Authors believed that physical resilience and mental facilities derived from similar regimens. The parallelism came in part from the fixation on athletics and agōn by authors such as Lucian. “The more one draws it [strength] out by exertions (πόνοι),” Lucian wrote, “the more it flows in.”⁸⁷ Metaphors of exertion worked well because writing at the sophisticated level of these individuals presented a struggle both with others and within oneself. The conventions of the epistle made it a most personal form of writing, mimicking the face-to-face interaction of wrestlers and warriors. Like the agōn of warfare and sport, epistolary exchange depended on training, determination, and risk. Fellow literati shared, discussed, and evaluated the texts, thus holding letters up to scrutiny. Above all, composition called for an active role on the part of the writer and demanded that he respond to complex circumstances through a vast repertoire of models while using the encoded language of the elite.

Recurrent Epistolary Composition and Character Formation

An ongoing image of masculinity required diligence and it also depended on constant self-fashioning. The element of perpetual contest was a trope rooted in Second Sophistic emphasis on early Greek exhibitions of aretē. The nature of epistolary agōn among fourth-century pepaideumenoi likewise involved repeated demonstrations of ability. Orators of the preceding centuries had periodically declaimed, mediated, and otherwise delivered public speeches to nurture and prove their superior deportment. Sophists of the first three centuries called to mind the intellectual setting of the ancient polis, where the ritualized exchange of words formed a cornerstone of reciprocity between companions. Classical Athens, for example, was pervaded by images of men facing each other while engaging in combat, music, and sports.⁸⁸ The ubiquity of the theme of struggle prompted the citizen male to remember that he would reach his telos as an agathos – the brave and upright leader – only by challenging others. Authors such as Plutarch, moreover, correlated the “virtues of character” to the “virtues of habit.”⁸⁹ Excellence of character, that is, was achieved through recurrent performance. And although silence could signify self-control in certain settings, within the traditional realm of civic life, vocal performance formed the core of leadership ability in a pepaideumenos.⁹⁰ With few exceptions, refusal to engage in verbal confrontations (or later, in written exchanges) was damning to anyone striving for aretē.⁹¹ Such acts of evasion showed temerity, and perhaps most importantly, unwillingness to hone one’s skill and advertise his own manhood. The Cappadocians framed epistolary exchange among literati in a similar way, as an ongoing exercise in fashioning self-identity. “Wells become better for being used,” Basil told one correspondent. “At no time cease writing us and urging us to write.”⁹² The entreaty couched a medical theory, by famed physician Galen (130–210), that muscles (“wells”) of the human body grow stronger when exerted regularly.⁹³ Basil’s premise was consistent with Galen’s view that exercising the human body contributed to an overall high level of health and rational conduct. Basil considered the symbiosis of body and intellect as relevant to his point here: that mental acumen improves when literati correspond often. Productions of eloquence, of manhood, would reinforce aretē, and consistently remind an agathos of his purpose.

The mutual performances of letter writing reminded correspondents that their lineage of masculinity stretched deep into the past. With the pressing business that many administrators faced, the Cappadocians sustained their own sense of aretē by inviting others to join the agōn. Basil once received a letter from a colleague who was “discontented with the care of public business.”⁹⁴ Libanius similarly told a governor, “I assumed that you’d no longer be so reliable writing as a result of your office and the inundation of business.”⁹⁵ In both cases, Basil and Libanius used opportunities to interact with the correspondents, thereby sustaining self-assurance among them and also attesting to their own aretē. Like Libanius, the Cappadocians networked with a wide array of literati, both Christian and non-Christian, to establish conventions for their idealized agathos. Such analogies alerted well-educated readers to the lessons to be drawn from studies that may have been neglected. Literati were challenged to return to a nostalgic past from where they might draw on their cumulative wisdom and take up the pen.

Correspondence was verbal gamesmanship, moreover, a contest that stirred authors to engage their talents rooted in a lifetime of study and practice. It became a commonplace, in fact, to demand further letters from a fellow pepaideumenos. After receiving a letter from Libanius, Nyssen responded by insinuating that Libanius planned to stop corresponding: “Since even with farmers…approval of the labours they have already performed is a great incentive to further labours (τὴν προθυμίαν τὸ τῶν πονηθέντων)…on this account write so that we may stir you to write back.”⁹⁶ Gregory was pleading with Libanius to pick up the pen. The exchange of letters here is like a ritual dance, with Gregory imploring Libanius to keep up the competition. It was through opportunities like this, after all, that Gregory could hone his own aretē and signify his manhood. In this way letter writing provided an arena that was instrumental to socializing aristocratic men even while it allowed for self-presentation. Nazianzen once told his cousin Amphilochius that his letter “implanted in my soul a harmonious lyre…with your countless writings (μυριάκις γράφων).”⁹⁷ Amphilochius’ recurring correspondence, Gregory says, exerted a cumulative effect on him. The lyre was an instrument mastered as part of paideia, and it was associated with Homeric Greek warriors, as for instance, in the god Apollo. Gregory was asserting that Amphilochius had tested him and reminded him of his own aretē. Gregory honored his cousin through encomiastic verse, thereby reciprocating Amphilochius’ mental efforts and brandishing his own prowess. Interchanges such as this one allowed authors the opportunity of self-presentation. They provided a recipient an opportunity to project a self-directed identity by showing off his dexterity in a way that might otherwise appear as self-praise.

Oratorical performances of the Second Sophistic often have been characterized as a zero-sum game, with only winners and losers.⁹⁸ As such, they were antagonistic encounters. The Cappadocians and other fourth-century writers, by contrast, imagined correspondence as a continual working out of mutual aretē. For instance, Gregory of Nazianzus prodded Eudoxius,⁹⁹ a Christian teacher of rhetoric from Cappadocia, by boasting “Let me conquer (νικῶ) you with friendly letters.”¹⁰⁰ Gregory seemingly evokes an encounter of contention and triumph over Eudoxius, and he imbues the exchange with overtones of opposition. He clarifies the spirit of his sparring, however, by saying “I wouldn’t make a show of myself…if I didn’t regard your friendship as a great thing.”¹⁰¹ His bravado, that is, constitutes an affirmation of his and Eudoxius’ friendship (philia). Such expressions of friendship pervaded epistolary agōnes, thus providing a mechanism for cultivating aretē in participants. For Aristotle, demonstrations of aretē provided the cornerstone of philia – specifically as an association of agathoi. Repeated acts of aretē, applying this model, ushered a constant benefit to a friend and reminded him of the foundations of their camaraderie.¹⁰² And like mutual bestowals of honor among friends in the Homeric epics, letter exchange confirmed the bond while also crediting the status of each party.¹⁰³ Gregory approached Eudoxius with a similar understanding of friendship. “It is necessary to prod you to write,” Gregory says, “as one does a colt with a strap.”¹⁰⁴ He likened Eudoxius to a stallion that had been prepared for battle, a subject of ancient manuals by historian Xenophon here used as an analogy of the power pepaideumenoi achieved through mutual rhetorical exercises.¹⁰⁵ Gregory was provoking Eudoxius as part of a joint quest for virtuosity, not as a castigator but as an ally.

The zeal for struggle was based on a distinction between two forms of strife, a notion established in Hesiod’s Works and Days.¹⁰⁶ One kind of struggle caused enmity and warfare, a concept obtained in our modern sense of antagonism. The other made individuals efficient, hard-working, and led to prosperity, a notion embedded in agonistic practices. In the latter, the clash between participants made each stronger. This mutually beneficial gamesmanship had once formed the core of the athletic festivals that honored the gods. Approaches to rhetoric in ancient Greece, as Debra Hawhee argues, often were undergirded by such Greek athletic concepts of competition.¹⁰⁷ Individuals raised in paideia had been trained in the art of eloquence: to recognize it; to compose it; and to prize it. Having participated in rigorous exercises, pepaideumenoi were equipped to write ornate epistles and to share with others the virtues of the ancients. But these skills were meant to be put on display and had to be practiced regularly. Thus, agonistic rhetoric often was adumbrated by metaphors of questing. Libanius, for example, explained to an imperial official, “I’m hunting (θηρεύω) for friendship through a letter…in order that a man who is a gentleman (καλὸς καγαθός) should not elude me.”¹⁰⁸ Libanius’ pursuit of philia called forth the reader’s own chasing after aretē, the cornerstone of epistolary agōn. An image of hunting posed an activity consistent with the development of young men in paideia.¹⁰⁹ And here, the trophy achieved from the hunt included both virtue and noble companionship. Towards the end of his life, in the mid 380s, Nazianzen similarly signified camaraderie with Timothy, perhaps a young man he planned to ordain into the priesthood: “I’ve always been a noble hunter (τῶν καλῶν θηρευτής) of noble qualities,” Gregory told him. “I discovered your eloquence,” Gregory continued, “with my own eloquence.”¹¹⁰ Nazianzen affiliated himself with the young man through the language of combat, with the chase after eloquence representing the mutual disposition that he perceived in Timothy. On another occasion, Nazianzen staged martial-like behavior, inciting the aforementioned Eudoxius to “tame your great wrath, Achilles, and once again set your stylus, that ashen spear of yours, in motion for me.”¹¹¹ Gregory deployed imagery and epithets from the Iliad that recalled heroic behavior: the discipline of a warrior to control his anger; and the incentive to take up arms at the appropriate occasion. Gregory exhorted Eudoxius to take up his own weapon, his pen, and to weather the contest of written exhibition.

Agōn and Group Identity among Pro-Nicenes

As the Cappadocians generated epistolary contests, they were reinforcing an identity that cut across religious lines. These letter exchanges activated a code of behavior that correlated the spirit of competition with the integrity and wisdom to guide; assets often emphasized in non-Christian sources. Thus, the Cappadocians are notable for activating their group identity as pepaideumenoi with many non-Christian correspondents. But the Cappadocians also expected fellow pro-Nicene Christians to excel in the agōn; as an indication that Trinitarian believers embodied the true, masculine version of Christianity. In a letter to native Cappadocian and Christian Philagrius (same as above), Basil called on him to send many letters, writing at every pretext, because he composed “from a pure tongue” (ἀπὸ γλῶττης κεκθαρμένης) and he was “one of those refined by his speech” (οἱ τὸν λόγον χαρίεντες).¹¹² Basil urged him to write because his letters exemplified his manhood. His style of composition, “pure” and “refined,” showed that he was above the theatricality of those sophists who craved popular appeal.¹¹³ In other words, he needed no validation. He was sure of himself and a speaker of truth. In one of his later letters, Basil likewise urged the Christian catechumen Nectarius “to maintain a continuous correspondence with us by letter.”¹¹⁴ Nectarius had emerged from the eastern Roman provincial aristocracy, and may already have been serving as Praetor of Constantinople.¹¹⁵ Basil rejoiced that “from childhood [Nectarius] was known to us for his noble qualities” and had now gained fame for “practicing every manner of virtue (παντοίας ἀρετῆς).”¹¹⁶ Acknowledgments of such literary skill and requests for more epistles advanced a dialogue among Christian pepaideumenoi to reinforce this element of manhood in thought and practice. These were oft-repeated literary tropes of praise, but the adulation served a purpose for clergy. The exercises forced Christian literati to think about continual engagement with fellow agathoi as a moral code to inform their manner as imperial, provincial, and civic church leaders. This dialogue imprinted on the minds of Christian pepaideumenoi patterns of self-assertion, boldness, and forceful speech.

While treating epistolary agōn as an expression of group membership, the Cappadocians included friends and family in these configurations of identity. Philagrius was one such person.¹¹⁷ Philagrius had been a close friend of Nazianzen’s younger brother Caesarius (c. 331–68) before the latter died unexpectedly. After Caesarius’ death, Gregory of Nazianzus took a significant interest in Philagrius’ development, perhaps as a way of honoring his deceased sibling. Gregory and Philagrius, who had studied together as youths, exchanged a series of epistles in the many years following Caesarius’ passing. In one of these, Gregory recalled the delights of their student days in Athens: “the cities, the lectures, the table, the poverty, ‘the things proper to the lovely time of life,’ as Homer says, whether games or studies, the sweat of eloquence, the teachers we had in common…”¹¹⁸ Gregory was recalling an experience when, as unproven pedagogues, the two had labored to acquire virtue. Although the training had been demanding, both could reflect on an experience that enabled them to discern truth and gave them the ability to defend their beliefs and actions. Gregory pressed Philagrius to keep alive the days of his studies in Greek literature and philosophy, directing him to “Do me the honor of composing a letter.”¹¹⁹ Gregory was calling him to action. Philagrius was enjoined to take up his instrument of writing and to apply it as an operation of his virtue. Gregory was activating the memory of their shared intellectual past because he wanted Philagrius to maintain the aptitudes that had made him prominent. In reviving this program from adolescence, Gregory was normalizing a rhetoric of competition for his fellow believer.

Arbiters of Eloquence

In spurring other authors to showcase their literary workmanship, the Cappadocians contributed to their own status by issuing judgments of style from a position of proven ability. They were attempting to confirm their place in a hierarchy of savants by challenging others to put forward their best work. They were showing judiciousness as they summoned others to compose, again and again excelling in the literary agōn even as they were enjoining others to participate. And they were resourceful, drawing on a litany of rhetorical devices and incorporating classical themes and references. They exhibited their own talents and then they praised others, directing them to compose while later commenting on the elements of their craft. This rhetoric of arbitrating among correspondents placed them in roles as cultural moderators.

A case in point appears in Nazianzen’s correspondence with his grandnephew Nicobulus (the younger), grandson of Gregory’s sister Gorgonia.¹²⁰ In the early 380s, retired after having now served two decades as a priest, Gregory sent Nicobulus a letter that offered guidelines for writing epistles.¹²¹ Gregory advised him to use highly stylized language sparingly so that the words would not come across as unnatural. Gregory was discouraging him from adopting Asianic wordplay, a form associated with affectation and emotion.¹²² Gregory prescribed use of more reserved verse and he advised Nicobulus to craft with “beauty, adornment, and polish”¹²³ through the use of “adages and proverbs and sayings, as well as of jokes and riddles.”¹²⁴ These were elements that ancient theorists had advocated in order to make the author come across as erudite, yet conversational and at ease.¹²⁵ The ideal epistle would reflect a sense of apparent effortlessness of action, an indication that the author was a naturally gifted writer and speaker whose words came easily.¹²⁶ His eloquence, that is, should appear innate. It would also reflect an ability to draw on ancient authors and their wisdom in a demonstration of imaginative application.

Gregory sent other letters to Nicobulus, including one in which he answered the young man’s request for a collection of his epistles. Gregory complied by sending copies of his letters to his grandnephew. He stated that the missives were bound together by a sash, “designed not for love but for eloquence.”¹²⁷ He shows his cleverness by differentiating the band holding together his assemblage of letters against a sash used by Aphrodite in the Iliad to seduce men through magical charms and sweet talk.¹²⁸ Here Gregory puts Nicobulus to the test, challenging him to interpret this allusion from the Homeric epic. Gregory was staking claim to a manly persona and passing it on to his protégé. He was teaching that speech was multivalent and indicative of a person’s essence. He advised Nicobulus on the purpose of performance, defining it not as a matter of indulgence, but as an assertion of forcefulness.¹²⁹ The manly writer, in the same way as the manly orator, was expected to present himself in a manner that set him apart from those who were garrulous. Gregory characterized his own style as “instructive in maxims and precepts whenever possible,” a feature apparent throughout his correspondence that showed his affinity for the ancients.¹³⁰ He augmented his collection of epistles by including in the gift his compilation of Basil’s letters.¹³¹ The two sets of letter collections – his own and Basil’s – provided a model for the young Christian pepaideumenos.

Recent scholarship has shown that authors also sometimes gathered and organized their epistles in order to shape a personal identity.¹³² As Brad Storin has shown, this is exactly what Nazianzen did when sending his and Basil’s epistles to Nicobulus. In this case, Gregory intended to fashion himself as dynamic, eloquent, and closely allied to the now deceased Basil. The collection also created an epistolary biography for Basil and redounded to his literary merits.¹³³ As a recent recipient, Nicobulus could lay claim to distinction as a literatus; as could his associates, who would be helping him decode style and allusions within the texts.¹³⁴ All were participating in a contest to show off their scholarship. The cumulative outcome was that in addition to providing archetypes for letter writing, Gregory was also delivering to his grandnephew a mechanism of socialization. From this literary treasure, Nicobulus could follow his grand-uncle’s career and discover the temperament that enabled him to thrive in a host of identities.

Neil McLynn contends, moreover, that Gregory sometimes paired letters from Basil with one or two of his own.¹³⁵ McLynn’s point is that Gregory “answered” Basil’s responses on a variety of issues with his own remedies, thus casting Gregory as favorable by comparison. Another purpose to this strategy, I would argue, is that by placing letters in apposition to each other, Gregory framed the dialogues specifically as agōnes, as competitions between two preeminent colleagues. It was a point not to be lost on the young student. Basil’s demeanor as priest, patron, and litterateur, through his letters, worked alongside that of Gregory to model the aretē that Gregory was trying to make known to Nicobulus. Gregory used the two sets of missives to create a profile of a Christian pepaideumenos. He was showing how well-studied Christian authors write and act. Finally Gregory asked Nicobulus to compensate him by giving back “the very act of writing as well as the profit that you glean from what I write here.”¹³⁶ Nicobulus was commanded to show reciprocity by contributing to the epistolary dialogue, where he could prove his own merits and carve out his own persona. Gregory was affording his nephew the opportunity to improve as a writer, and in so doing to advance as an author. He was acculturating him into a select social milieu by urging him to join the agōn.

Gregory showed equal command as he corresponded with more seasoned pepaideumenoi, such as Nicobulus’ teachers. In about 383 Gregory intervened in a dispute between the rhetorician Stagirius (see beginning of chapter) and Stagirius’ rival, the Cappadocian teacher Eustochius. The two were competing to mentor Nicobulus.¹³⁷ Eustochius believed that Gregory had encouraged Nicobulus, who was studying with Eustochius at the time, to approach Stagirius about working under his tutelage. Acquiring promising students meant prestige and income for teachers, and so Eustochius may have been denouncing Gregory’s alleged interference. Responding to Eustochius, Gregory first acknowledged the artistry and frankness of his letter: “O Odysseus, how fiercely you strike me down (με καθίκεο)…discharging your sophisms (κατασοφιστεύω) against me.”¹³⁸ Eustochius is designated a Greek warrior, who has engaged Gregory in verbal display. The banter, as Gregory portrayed it, assumes the manner of a military affair. And Gregory ultimately one-ups his friend by assuming the role of Agamemnon, who in the Iliad served as a voice of reason and calm against the impetuous and bellicose Odysseus (here played by Eustochius).¹³⁹ After acknowledging Eustochius’ skill, Gregory employed his own spirited address by trying to play peacemaker between Eustochius and himself and between Eustochius and Stagirius. He chastises Eustochius for abusing his talents as when calling Stagirius a “Telchine” – in Greek mythology, one of the original inhabitants of Rhodes who used magic for harmful purposes. “Engaging in the giving and taking of head butts (κυρíσσω),” Gregory scolded, “is totally contentious and inappropriate.”¹⁴⁰ Here again, Gregory depicts the discourse as violent in order to highlight his colleague’s disposition. In this chastisement, Gregory monitors and rectifies Eustochius for not carrying himself as an agathos should. He is demonstrating his acute discernment of elite demeanor. Gregory then cited an admonition from the Iliad to give great discretion to whatever word you speak.¹⁴¹ Gregory took advantage of the dispute to play the role as instructor of an instructor. In the same letter, Gregory praised, rebuked, and educated Eustochius. The interplay was a form of gamesmanship, with Gregory speaking a code that Eustochius understood. The epistle was meant to ease the tensions between the three parties, and through it Gregory enhanced his own image as pedagogue.

Gregory took the same approach on a separate occasion in a letter to Stagirius. The rhetorician had incurred an unspecified misfortune that Gregory had addressed in another letter.¹⁴² Stagirius had replied, presumably explaining his reaction to Gregory’s letter. After examining the missive, Gregory composed yet another response, commending Stagirius for overcoming adverse circumstances.¹⁴³ “You valiantly (γενναίως) rose up to the altercation like quite the sophist.”¹⁴⁴ Gregory then deployed a synkrisis (a rhetorical device), comparing Stagirius to Achilles’ horses Balios and Xanthos in the Iliad following the death of Patroclus, Achilles’ beloved companion.¹⁴⁵ After having been brought to tears by the demise of their master’s comrade, the steeds were emboldened by Zeus, who breathed might into them so that they returned to battle. “You lifted up your head and shook off the dust,” Gregory proclaimed.¹⁴⁶ He was crediting Stagirius for overcoming the hardship, a behavior befitting a nobleman. Gregory was also suggesting that his own counsel had contributed to Stagirius’ gallantry. Subsequently Gregory urged Stagirius to “desire the plains, the weapons, and exhibitions;” that is to return to his career of teaching, writing, and speaking.¹⁴⁷ Gregory now comes across as counselor and exhorter. He has elevated himself to the place of mentor for the accomplished rhetorician. Gregory charges Stagirius to “act like a man (ἀνδρίζου), and practice philosophy against the suffering” and he emphasizes that “judging sailors from the shoreline is no great feat.”¹⁴⁸ It was time for Stagirius to return to action, to play his role as instructor of young men; not from the sidelines, but as a contender. Gregory cast himself as an experienced combatant who had endured hardship and could thus speak as a reliable source. Moreover, Gregory inserted himself into the narrative by playing the same role as Zeus in the Iliad. Whereas the latter had breathed resilience into Achilles’ horses, now Gregory was doing the same to Stagirius. This parallelism was sure to have registered with Stagirius and to give a sense of Gregory’s self-assurance.

On some occasions, the Cappadocians also solicited addressees to write by inscribing them into the Homeric or classical past. Late in the 380s, for instance, Nyssen crafted an epistle for Eupatrius, a scholasticus (a legal official in the imperial service) and a native of Pontus or Cappadocia. Gregory assumed the identity of Laertes (King of Ithaca in the Odyssey), as he compared Eupatrius and his father to Odysseus and Telemachus (the son and grandson of Laertes).¹⁴⁹ “You and your wholly admirable father honored me, as they did Laertes,” Gregory wrote, “contending in friendly rivalry for the first prize (φιλοφροσύνη περὶ τῶν πρωτείων διαγωνίζεςθε) in showing us respect and kindness, pelting me with letters…”¹⁵⁰ Gregory respected Eupatrius and his father in this characterization of them as brave warriors. The pair had competed for a “prize” based on who had sent the most excellent and numerous epistles to Gregory. Gregory likened their missives to projectiles used in battle, here equating their correspondence to the victory that Odysseus (as Eupatrius’ father) and Telemachus (as Eupatrius) won, using spears, over Penelope’s suitors. The father-son duo had proven their mettle, and thus Gregory recasts them as earlier Greek heroes. Nyssen continued to heap praise: “I shall be a judge favourable to both of you, awarding to you the first prize (πρωτεῖα) against your father, and the same to your father against me.”¹⁵¹ Here Gregory assumes the position of critic, adjudicating the skills and labors of his correspondents, and acknowledging them both as victors. He finalizes his gratitude by admiring Eupatrius’ writing style: “But you, by entertaining us in youthful fashion with your brisk and sprightly language shall restore youth to our old age.”¹⁵² Gregory declares his appreciation for the multiple epistles he received. Even as he extols Eupatrius and his father, he portrays them as attempting to outdo each other, thus further acknowledging them as virtuous. And as Gregory recognizes the merits of his colleagues, his position as Laertes – great warrior and sire to Telemachus and Odysseus – reminds readers that he has right to make judgment. By creating an imaginative narrative, Gregory recognizes their mutual commitment to an economy of honor grounded in Homer’s Odyssey. He signals that he shares in their knowledge of noble Greeks from antiquity. And by equating father and son with these paragons of manhood, he recognizes his addressees as descended from their pedigree. It is a lineage that he, too, can claim through his success in the agōn.

In the world of late antique paideia, the Cappadocians deemed eloquence an extension of manhood. So, by sustaining an image as judges of literary style, they cast themselves as arbiters of aretē. Similar tropes of authority informed the discourse on both epistolary agōn and elite male bearing. Nazianzen, for example, adopted the place of referee over provincial administrators and eminent intellectuals. In 382 he expressed his support of Olympius, a Christian governor of Cappadocia: “I have confidence in you…” Gregory stated. “For intelligence (σύνεσις) and manliness (ἀνδρεία) guide your office…”¹⁵³ Gregory appraised Olympius’ rule and subsequently certified the comportment in his fellow Cappadocian. In correspondence among elites, social hierarchies were based partly on the execution of language. Gregory was sanctioned to assess a man of high rank because his elocution identified him as a man whose opinion counted. Gregory also praised the attributes of Eudoxius (same as above), who secured his standing, according to Nazianzen, by avoiding the unsavory features of vile wordsmiths who lack sophistication. Gregory approved that his colleague did not have the “repulsive voice” (φωνὴ μιαρά) or “vulgarity” (ἀγοραῖος) of social climbers who ultimately betray their baseness.¹⁵⁴ Gregory contrasted Eudoxius with Greek poet Aristophanes’ parody of a sausage-seller who was made into a demagogue; a man lacking all the requisite qualities of a just political leader.¹⁵⁵ Here Gregory affirmed Eudoxius’ high birth, a mark often associated with noblemen against the inadequacies of social climbers. Because of Eudoxius’ background of financial and social security, he was not slave to fame, riches, and political power, obsessions that indicated an absence of discipline and pedigree.¹⁵⁶ In commendations such as this, Gregory garnered respect as an accomplished critic of noble demeanor. He recognized and articulated the qualities of Eudoxius that distinguished him from less admirable sophists. Thus, Gregory acquitted himself as a connoisseur of virtue.

Managing Masculinity: Exhortations to “Play the Man”

In the preceding letter, Gregory issued an injunction that moored aretē specifically to its masculine affiliation. He admonished Eudoxius “Let’s become men (ἄνδρες γενώμεθα).”¹⁵⁷ All of the characteristics that dignified Eudoxius appear to be subsumed in this dictum. The maxim, which was probably taught in early pedagogy, also recurred in Basil’s letters. For instance, Basil exhorted a Christian soldier, probably an officer “to play the man, and be strong.”¹⁵⁸ The counsel held multiple meanings here: to fight valiantly; to serve as a model of discipline for those under him; and to remain faithful to God during the ugliness of combat. Basil used the same phrasing when writing to Amphilochius of Iconium after his consecration as bishop in 374, enjoining him to “play the man” (ἀνδρίζου) and to act as “a wise helmsman (κυβερνήτης) who has assumed the command of a ship.”¹⁵⁹ Basil had supported his friend’s election to the episcopacy and here he proffered the words of a mentor. The admonishment to “be men” came from the battle-charged atmosphere of the Iliad, where, for example, the Greek hero Ajax and King Nestor exhorted soldiers to stand their ground in battle.¹⁶⁰ “Be men, my friends,” Ajax urged the Greeks, “and show some shame.”¹⁶¹ Ajax, in this account, shows intrepidity as he rouses the men to action. The Athenian commander Themistocles, likewise, exhorted the Spartan commander Eurybiades to “be a brave man” (ἀνὴρ ἀγαθός) by engaging the Persian fleet at Salamis during the Second Persian War.¹⁶² To have avoided the conflict here would have proven the Spartans cowards. Basil also is using martial imagery when he correlates Amphilochius’ responsibility to “assuming command of a ship.” As overseer of the church at Iconium, Basil was stating, Amphilochius would be responsible for steering the congregation clear of the “winds of heresy” and “briny and bitter waves of error.”¹⁶³ The spiritual and civic duties in the office of bishop demanded the same poise as the master of a seagoing vessel. Basil stressed the point to Amphilochius, while speaking with the latitude of a veteran warrior.

In late antique epistolography, authors reserved the phrases “play the man” or “be a man” specifically for exhorting fellow men to act according to the conventions of the elite male. In other literary and theological works, the Cappadocians accentuated aretē in female family members. But they did not urge women – even saintly figures – to “be a man.” As we will see in later chapters, for example, Macrina was not expected to behave according to the conventions of noble manhood. It would have been unseemly to prompt her to act outside her physical nature. So, although Macrina does, in fact, demonstrate aretē through her actions, her behavior exceeds societal standards, thus making her even more noteworthy. The epistolary forum of aretē, however, was a predominantly male space, with less allowance for gender fluidity. In this context, Gregory and Basil issued the charge “be men” as a reminder of expectations for agathoi, both individual and collective.

Basil and Nazianzen also called to mind the ideal of Greek heroes as they reprised such analogies of fearless warriors. Their use of this trope issued especial weight because it resonated with two features most pepaideumenoi treasured: a sense of hypermasculinity; and harkening back to an age that, seemingly, witnessed manhood in its purest form. In her investigation of ancient Greek theatre, Karen Bassi makes a convincing case that such longings for an imagined ideal age colored the tastes of audiences in classical Athens. Bassi observed that depictions of collective masculinity were modeled after the individual actions of a hero or “best man” (ἄριστοζ ἀνήρ). Such evidence anticipated and informed later conceptions of manhood as an abstract ethical quality.¹⁶⁴ Fourth-century pepaideumenoi were following their predecessors in self-identifying with the past. Both looked back to classical Athens, where citizens valorized the warrior age of the Homeric epics. The elite masculine ethos, “being men,” was best captured in ancient scenes of heroism, episodes that stimulated self-awareness of the elevated place of a singular community.¹⁶⁵

The Cappadocians impressed this expectation onto fourth-century pro-Nicene literati, thus underscoring a self-assurance resonant with nobility and courage. In a letter to Adamantius, a Christian priest, Gregory accentuated such martial-like valor by likening his correspondent to Cynegirus and Callimachus – Athenian generals at the Battle of Marathon.¹⁶⁶ Adamantius, we learn, had requested tablets that contained the text of Herodotus’ Histories. Gregory told him that studying these courageous Greeks suited him because of his “longstanding intimacy” (παλαιά συνήθεια) with them.¹⁶⁷ Adamantius was perpetuating the excellence of the Greek commanders’ fortitude by inspiring confidence in followers and providing stability for his church. Gregory cast him as an Athenian commander, emboldening congregants by standing up to Persia, the invading force at Marathon. Persia, the historical enemy of Greece, symbolized softness, laxity, and indulgence in the church and community. In other words, Gregory personified Adamantius as a source of surety and spiritual exactitude for his congregants. Employing the Herodotean binary between the hardened rigor of “western” Greece and the soft luxuriousness of feminized “eastern” Persia, Gregory applied this moral categorization to accentuate aretē in a fellow clergyman.

Nazianzen likewise emphasized mutual aretē in his correspondence with Ablabius, a teacher of rhetoric who converted to Christianity later in life. “You speak impressively (σοβαρός), hold a strong gaze (μέγα βλέπειν),” Gregory said, “and walk proudly and loftily (βαδίζειν ὑψηλὸν καὶ μετέωρον).”¹⁶⁸ These attributes, Gregory reminded him, befit the resolve of Miltiades, Cynegirus, Callimachus, and Lamachus, four Athenian generals, three of whom led troops at the Battle of Marathon.¹⁶⁹ Gregory was cueing readers to recall the ideal persona of manly orators based on Second Sophistic tropes. The picture of Ablabius was one of a virile speaker: projecting a strong voice; playing an active role through his gaze, rather than taking on a passive presence; and showing confidence through his gait and posture. Gregory also was associating Ablabius’ verbal aretē (his rhetoric) with military heroics of a definitive period in Attic history, when Greece – as the civilized world – was battling the forces of tyranny and barbarism. The oblique juxtaposition between the commanders of Greece and their unnamed Persian counterparts reinforced the manly persona that Gregory was putting on display. It was an enduring practice in Greek rhetoric to delineate something by setting it against its antithesis. Gregory deploys this strategy as another part of the cumulative image he was constructing. In both references to Persia, moreover, Gregory was also alluding to heresy as a danger to the church. As we will see later in other genres, Gregory portrayed non-Nicene theologians as effeminate. It was incumbent on a Christian agathos to gain the confidence of fellow pepaideumenoi by taking on an unmistakably masculine posture. Gregory makes Ablabius out to be one such individual.

The Cappadocians also evaluated the elegance of their educated colleagues as a way of enhancing their own image as literati. Because sophistication was aligned with masculinity, arbitrating literary dexterity translated into measuring virility. They situated themselves as analysts of other pepaideumenoi, as experts at defining standards of aretē. An agōn was a contest to establish and affirm the credentials of elite males. At stake was justification to specify exactly how to act like a man. The Cappadocians attempted to certify themselves as paragons of aretē as they delineated elements of virtuous conduct among correspondents. By calibrating paideia as an aspect of episcopal office, the Cappadocians positioned pro-Nicene clergy to attain credibility among fellow provincial officials. Success also aligned one with a course of ideal maleness that stretched back indefinitely into the Greek past. They inherited this veneration for the historical male from preceding generations of eastern Romans and adopted it as part of their own identity.

The Cappadocians thus re-inscribed the heritage of agōn, subsequently integrating the ideals of classical manhood into the collective consciousness of the church and identifying them within the pro-Nicene episcopacy. Through epistolary exhibitions, the Cappadocians promoted a masculine persona that harked back to the heroes of an idealized Greek past. By compelling pepaideumenoi to compose letters, and by holding up certain values embedded in Greek lore, they were forging a convergence of clerical authority and masculinity. The association of eloquence with manhood derived from their years of training in paideia: from the volatile atmosphere of studies in Athens; from the example of teachers such as Prohaeresius; from the curriculum and oratorical contests of the Second Sophistic that informed their conceptions of agonistic rivalry; to the exertions through which they composed letters. Unlike the antagonistic backdrop of oratory, however, the Cappadocians used correspondence with fellow pepaideumenoi to exalt mutual aretē. They prompted others to write, judged on style, and celebrated letters with the same spirit that characterized alliances between colleagues in ancient Greece. Having been prompted to exhibit ideals of manliness, correspondents were expected to uphold standards expected of noble men: sacrifice, courage, charity, patronage, justice, and clemency.

While refashioning aretē that was visible in figures from ancient Greek literature, the Cappadocians upheld attributes that complemented the character of bishops outlined in scriptures, such as the emphasis on temperance (νηφάλιος) and self-control (σώφρων) in I Timothy and Titus.¹⁷⁰ In doing so, they made it clear that the classical male ideal aligned with pro-Nicene visions of church guidance. When Nazianzen wrote to his cousin Amphilochius, bishop of Iconium, in 373, he commended him for his direction of the church there. “The command of Your Inimitable Virtue is not barbarian,” Gregory says, “but Greek and even Christian.”¹⁷¹ Acknowledging the two cultural traditions that formed Amphilochius’ intellectual and social makeup, Gregory converged the two as preconditions of an effective leader. Neither Gregory nor the other Cappadocians consistently publicized to laity so specific a vision of a church hierarchy that reoriented aretē as a condition of the pro-Nicene episcopacy. In communications to the larger church body, in fact, the Cappadocians ushered caution about values external to scriptural teachings. But here, for a restricted readership, Gregory prompts his cousin (and other readers) to understand the subtle message: that the qualities of the classical male applied to a Christian hierarch. Greek and Christian together contravene that which is barbaric, meaning that a civilized state is both Greek and orthodox (pro-Nicene). As bishops moderating epistolary contests, the Cappadocians established themselves as part of an “insider’s game” among the intellectual elite. And in inciting other Christian pepaideumenoi to show off their literary skills as an agōn, the Cappadocians normalized aretē as a virtue of their episcopal office.

The Cappadocians used correspondence as the primary medium to cultivate a masculine identity because letter writing signified strength. While Second Sophistic pepaideumenoi had depended on oral performances to assert identity, many speakers had been accused of compromising their manhood by going too far with theatricality, pandering to crowds in order to curry favor. By the late fourth century, ambivalence about such sophists remained a commonplace; so much so that pepaideumenoi went to great lengths to justify their rhetoric as a medium for expressing philosophy.¹⁷² They were not merely entertaining that is. Letter writing helped to maintain an image as a self-directed individual, not a crowd pleaser, because the primary audiences were also conversant in the standards of aretē. It was not a setting of the indiscriminate masses. It was a forum where no one could successfully masquerade as a man. The epistolary arena was a sacred space for virtuous men. No pretenders were allowed.

Composing epistles for fellow literati, the Cappadocians called to mind their own adolescence and young adult lives, where they had struggled to gain command of eloquence. They prompted addressees to do the same. These compositions kept alive a past that resonated with stability and power. Expertise in crafting these texts indicated superior discipline and knowledge of what made for effective leadership. For generations of eastern Roman leaders, Greek language, literature, history, and philosophy had informed and validated legitimate authorities. Imperial and civic leaders, teachers, aspiring young pepaideumenoi, and novice priests – the individuals who read these letters – would find in the Cappadocians an acute awareness of the masculine ethos that underpinned eastern Rome. The Cappadocians were attempting to conserve the culture of paideia, which had preserved symmetry between Roman and local rule for centuries. A limited class – defined by birth, education, and most importantly, competitive trials – provided the foundation for brokering relations across the empire. With their widespread correspondence among literati, the Cappadocians set themselves at the forefront of this social and political reality. Their correspondents could see in pro-Nicene episcopal leadership a comparable version of the archetypical agathos. The Cappadocians shared with fellow provincial aristocrats a sense of duty to develop and place agathoi into positions of civic authority. In doing so, they may have played a missional role by drawing non-Christians to the pro-Nicene fellowship. By playing the part of the classical male, the Cappadocians offered a version of Christian leadership that appealed to individuals who longed for continuity with the Greek heritage of eastern Rome. Because fellow pepaideumenoi had been trained in the same general curriculum, there was a confidence that they would uphold the values embedded in higher Greek culture. Participating in epistolary agōnes allowed the Cappadocians to interact seamlessly with pepaideumenoi, both non-Christian and Christian, and to correlate such conceptions of manhood with clerical office. They were cultivating provincial leaders and claiming the conventions of gender in paideia for the church.