INTERDEPARTMENTAL POSTGRADUATE PROGRAMME OF BYZANTINE STUDIES

THE HOLY DOUBLE

IDENTITY, DESIRE AND HOLINESS IN BYZANTINE PASSIONS AND LIVES OF COUPLES

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY DISSERTATION

ANDRIA ANDREOU

2016

ANDRIA ANDREOU

INTERDEPARTMENTAL POSTGRADUATE PROGRAMME OF BYZANTINE STUDIES

THE HOLY DOUBLE

IDENTITY, DESIRE AND HOLINESS IN BYZANTINE PASSIONS AND LIVES OF COUPLES

ANDRIA ANDREOU

A Dissertation Submitted to the University of Cyprus in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of

Philosophy

December 2016

ANDRIA ANDREOU

© Andria Andreou, 2016

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VALIDATION PAGE  Doctoral Candidate: Andria Andreou

Doctoral Thesis Title: The Holy Double: Identity, Desire and Holiness in Byzantine Passions and Lives of Couples

The present Doctoral Dissertation was submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy at the Interdepartmental Postgraduate Programme of Byzantine Studies and was approved on the ... / ... / ...... by the members of the Examination Committee.

Examination Committee:

Research Supervisor:

Stavroula Constantinou Associate Professor of Byzantine Philology University of Cyprus __________________________________

Other Members:

Martin Hinterberger Professor of Byzantine Philology University of Cyprus (internal member) __________________________________ Christian Høgel Professor of Classical Studies University of Southern Denmark (external member) __________________________________ Maria Margaroni Associate Professor of English Literature University of Cyprus (internal member) __________________________________

Anne Alwis Senior Lecturer of Classical Literature University of Kent (external member) __________________________________

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DECLARATION OF DOCTORAL CANDIDATE

The present doctoral dissertation was submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy of the University of Cyprus. It is a product of original work of my own, unless otherwise mentioned through references, notes, or any other statements.

Andria Andreou

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Table of Contents

VALIDATION PAGE ..................................................................................................................... i

DECLARATION OF DOCTORAL CANDIDATE .................................................................... ii

Table of Contents .......................................................................................................................... iii

List of Figures ................................................................................................................................ vi

Περίληψη ...................................................................................................................................... vii

Abstract ........................................................................................................................................ ixx

Acknowledgements ......................................................................................................................... x

Introduction .................................................................................................................................... 1 The Story So Far .......................................................................................................................... 1 Saintly Couples ........................................................................................................................ 100 The Theoretical Approach ......................................................................................................... 14 The Lacanian Approach: The Subject, the Other and the Intersubjective Network .................. 15 The Butlerian Approach: Gender as Performative ..................................................................... 21

Chapter 1 ....................................................................................................................................... 24

Seeing, Hearing and the Making of the Holy: Repentant Prostitutes ..................................... 24 Introduction .............................................................................................................................. 24

The Lacanian Gaze ................................................................................................................ 25 The Lacanian Voice ............................................................................................................... 30

The Gaze and the Voice in the Life of Pelagia (LP) .............................................................. 31 The Gaze ................................................................................................................................ 32

Looking Straightforwardly………..………………………………………….................. 34 Looking Awry…………………….……………………………………………………...35 …and Looking Within a Dream……………………………………................……...….40

The Voice .............................................................................................................................. 42 The Letter That Always Arrives ……………………………………………………..…42 Alienation and Separation……………………………………………………………..…46

The Gaze and the Voice in the Life of Mary of Egypt (LME) ............................................... 48 Introduction ........................................................................................................................... 48 Looking Through the Sharpened Glass and Looking Anamorphotically .............................. 50

Looking Through the Sharpened Glass………………………………………………..…54 Looking Anamorphotically………………………………………………………………57

Killing Voice: Zosimas Redefined .......................................................................................... 61 Between Two Births, Between Two Deaths: Mary of Egypt ................................................ 65 The Gaze and the Voice in the Life of Abraham and Mary (LAM) ...................................... 73

Introduction ........................................................................................................................... 73 Lacking a Dove: Abraham ..................................................................................................... 74

The One Who Doesn’t See………………………………………………………………76 The One Who Sees and Doesn’t Know………………………………………………….81 The One Who Sees and Knows………………………………………………………….83

Lacking a Nest: Mary ............................................................................................................ 85 Before the Sin………………………………………………………………………...….85 After the Sin……………………………………………………………………………...86

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Chapter 2 ....................................................................................................................................... 94

Holy Limbo: Kinship Ties and Divine Love in the Lives of Mothers and Sons ..................... 94 Introduction .............................................................................................................................. 94 Symeon and Martha ................................................................................................................ 97

Donating a Perfect Soul: Martha .......................................................................................... 98 Symeon Between Two Deaths ............................................................................................. 105 Spaces of the Afterlife ......................................................................................................... 112

Why Do the Dead Return?...............................................................................................112 Is There a Degree of Holiness?........................................................................................116

Stephanos and Anna .............................................................................................................. 118 To Give Up What You Love Most: The Three Annas ........................................................ 119 Stephanos Between Two Deaths ......................................................................................... 124

Speaking Gender: Mothers and Sons, Mothers and Daughters ........................................ 133 Theodote and Sons ............................................................................................................... 134 Kyrikos and Iulitta ............................................................................................................... 136 Theodora and Theopiste ...................................................................................................... 137 Pistis, Elpis, Agape and Sophia ........................................................................................... 144

Chapter 3 ..................................................................................................................................... 150

Kinship Trouble: Gender, Hierarchy and Performance in Passions and Lives of Spouses 150 Introduction ............................................................................................................................ 150 Displaced Gender, Kinship in Transit: Lives of Spouses ................................................... 153

Melania and Pinian ............................................................................................................. 154 Andronikos and Athanasia ................................................................................................... 171

Interrogating Boundaries: Passions of Spouses .................................................................. 186 The Texts .............................................................................................................................. 188 A Fairytale Gone Bad? Gender and Marital Problems ...................................................... 190

Galaktion and Episteme……………………………………………………………...…191 Timotheos and Maura…………………………………………………………………..199 Adrianos and Natalia…………………………………………………………………...202

Bodies in Pieces and Specular Wholes ................................................................................ 205 Galaktion and Episteme……………………………………………………...............…207 Timotheos and Maura…………………………………………………………………..212 Adrianos and Natalia……………………………………………………………………218

Beyond Boundaries: Virgin Couples .................................................................................... 227 Introduction ......................................................................................................................... 227 The Texts .............................................................................................................................. 230 The Scene of Marriage ........................................................................................................ 232

Marriage or Virginity?.....................................................................................................232 Julian and Basilissa……………………………........………………………….232 Chrysanthos and Daria…………………...…………….………………………236 Cecilia and Valerian……………...……………………….……………………239

The Marriage Chamber as a Liminal Space……...…………………………………….240 Julian and Basilissa…………………………………………...………………..240 Chrysanthos and Daria……...……………………………………………….…245 Cecilia and Valerian……………...…………………………………………… 247

The Scene of Martyrdom…………………………………………………………………..252 Performing the Martyr………………………………………………………………….252 The Prison as a Liminal Space………………………………………………………….261

The Moment of Death .......................................................................................................... 267 Beyond Narrative Boundaries ............................................................................................. 271

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Conclusion: Seeking the Holy Double .................................................................................... 2755

Appendix ..................................................................................................................................... 280

Bibliography ........................................................................................................................... 28283  

 

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List of Figures  Figure 1 Specular Relation with the Other, in Lacan 2004: 50  ..................................................  18  Figure  2  Lines  of  Light,  in  Lacan  1979:  91,  106  ..........................................................................  26  Figure  3  The  Ambassadors,  The  National  Gallery,  London  ...................................................  32  Figure  4    Lacan's  reading  of  Poe  ........................................................................................................  75  

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Περίληψη  Σκοπός της παρούσας διατριβής είναι να εξετάσει ζεύγη αγίων, όπως αυτά

εμφανίζονται σε Βυζαντινά Μαρτύρια και Βίους από τον πέμπτο μέχρι και τον

ενδέκατο αιώνα. Ο όρος “ζεύγος” περιγράφει δύο πρωταγωνιστές, έναν άνδρα και

μία γυναίκα, των οποίων η αλληλεπίδραση είναι λειτουργικής σημασίας για τη

διαμόρφωση της ταυτότητας του “άγιου”. Λαμβάνοντας ως αφετηρία το γεγονός ότι

μέχρι το παρόν στάδιο δεν έχει επιχειρηθεί μια εις βάθος μελέτη της αλληλεπίδρασης

των πρωταγωνιστών Βυζαντινών αγιολογικών κειμένων, το κύριο επιχείρημα της

παρούσας διατριβής είναι ότι η κατανόηση των υπό εξέταση Μαρτυρίων και Βίων

μπορεί να εμπλουτιστεί αν εξετάσουμε τους άγιους πρωταγωνιστές ως ζεύγη. Το σώμα

της εργασίας αυτής αποτελείται από δεκατέσσερα Μαρτύρια και Βίους, τα οποία

μπορούν να διαιρεθούν σε τρεις κατηγορίες με βάση τον τύπο σχέσης που

παρουσιάζουν: άγνωστοι που συναντώνται σε κάποιο σημείο της αφήγησης, μητέρες

και γιοι, και σύζυγοι. Η δομή της εργασίας είναι βασισμένη στις προαναφερθείσες

κατηγορίες. Χωρίζεται σε τρία κεφάλαια, το καθένα από τα οποία εξετάζει έναν

διαφορετικό τύπο σχέσεων.

Η μεθοδολογία που χρησιμοποιείται για την προσέγγιση των κειμένων είναι

συγκριτική, επιδιώκοντας να φέρει τα κείμενα που αποτελούν κάθε κατηγορία, καθώς

και τις κατηγορίες μεταξύ τους σε έναν εποικοδομητικό διάλογο. Για την ερμηνεία

των τριών τύπων σχέσεων χρησιμοποιούνται ιδέες βασισμένες στην ψυχαναλυτική

σκέψη του Jacques Lacan, καθώς και στη θεωρία της Judith Butler αναφορικά με το

κοινωνικό φύλο. Οι καινοτόμες πτυχές της διατριβής είναι οι εξής: α) η συγκριτική

λογοτεχνική εξέταση κειμένων που είτε δεν έχουν μέχρι σήμερα τύχει ερμηνείας, είτε

δεν έχουν εξεταστεί συνδυαστικά, β) η εισαγωγή του όρου “ζεύγος” στο κριτικό

λεξιλόγιο της Βυζαντινολογίας, και γ) η χρήση της ψυχανάλυσης και των σπουδών

φύλου ως ερμηνευτικών μεθόδων.

Το πρώτο κεφάλαιο εξετάζει πρωταγωνιστές που συναντώνται σε κάποιο σημείο της

αφήγησης. Η συνάντησή τους είναι καθοριστική στη διαμόρφωση της ταυτότητας του

“άγιου”, η οποία βασίζεται στη διάκριση διαφορετικών επιπέδων όρασης και ακοής.

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Το δεύτερο κεφάλαιο χρησιμοποιεί τη θεωρία του Lacan για τη συγγένεια και

εξετάζει τους τρόπους με τους οποίους διαμορφώνεται ο δεσμός μητέρας-γιου σε

σχέση με θέματα όπως το κοινωνικό φύλο και ο βαθμός αγιότητας. Το τρίτο

κεφάλαιο χρησιμοποιεί τη σκέψη του Lacan σε σχέση με τις θεωρίες της Butler για την

διαμόρφωση του φύλου και της συγγένειας ως αναπαράστασης, για να ερμηνεύσει

τους τρόπους με τους οποίους σκηνοθετείται η συζυγική αλληλεπίδραση.

 

 

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Abstract  The aim of the present thesis is to examine holy couples as they appear in Byzantine Greek

Passions and Lives from the fifth to the eleventh century. The term “couple” describes two

protagonists, a male and a female one, whose interaction is instrumental in the construction of

their holy identity. Taking its cue from the fact that so far no substantial examination of the

protagonists’ interrelationships in Byzantine hagiography has been pursued, the main

argument of this thesis is that our understanding of the Passions and Lives in question could be

enriched if we approach the holy protagonists as couples. The corpus of this study consists of

fourteen Passions and Lives, divided into three categories based on the type of relationship the

texts portray: strangers who come together, mothers and sons, and spouses. The structure of

the thesis is based on the aforementioned categories. It is divided into three chapters, each

undertaking the investigation of a different type of coupled relationship.

The methodology used to approach the narratives is comparative in nature, initiating a

constructive dialogue between the texts which constitute each category, and between the

categories between them. In order to examine these relationships, concepts drawn from the

psychoanalytic thinking of Jacques Lacan and the theory of Judith Butler concerning gender

have been applied. The novel aspects of the thesis are: a) the comparative literary examination

of texts that have not been approached before, or have not been examined together, b) the

establishment of the concept of the couple in the critical vocabulary of Byzantine scholarship

and c) the use of psychoanalysis and gender studies as reading practices.

Chapter One undertakes the investigation of two protagonists who meet each other at a certain

narrative point. This encounter is crucial for their formation of their holy identity, which is

based on the distinction between different levels of vision and hearing. Chapter Two employs

Lacan’s theoretical elaboration of kinship and examines the ways the mother-son bond is

formed in relation to issues such as gender and degree of holiness. Combined with Lacan’s

thinking, Butler’s notions of gender and kinship performativity are used in Chapter Three to

approach the ways in which the spousal interaction is staged. ANDRIA ANDREOU

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Acknowledgements  Even though there is in the above a declaration statement saying that this is my own work, the

completion of this thesis would not have been possible without the support, encouragement

and inspiration of a number of people. It is, as Lacan would say, a product of intersubjective

exchange. It is to these people that I now turn to express my deepest gratitude.

My most sincere thanks go of course to my supervisor, Stavroula Constantinou, whose wit,

wisdom and intellectual daring I came to appreciate even more over these six years. Her

unwavering support, inciting critique and continuous guidance made this thesis possible. The

writing of this thesis is greatly owed to the scholarship offered by the Graduate School of the

University of Cyprus to which I am greatly indebted. My deepest gratitude goes also to the

Faculty members and PhD students of the Interdepartmental Programme of Byzantine Studies,

especially to Maria Parani, Panagiotis Agapitos and Martin Hinterberger for their generous

help and advice with bibliography and research.

Throughout these years I have benefited from stimulating discussions with people in and out

of the field of Byzantine Studies. I would like to express my deepest gratitude to Petros Kolas

for his insightful and ingenious comments and for pushing me out of my comfort zone where

needed. My special thanks goes to my brilliant (and crazy) sister, Orestia, whose mathematical

thinking proved invaluable for my “couple equations”. I am particularly grateful to my

coaches, Charis Falas and Angelos Marinakis for all the train-and-talk sessions and for

pushing me to my limits so that as Charis says “to perform better when not training”. Thanks

are also due to Bill Burgwinkle and Miranda Griffin for introducing me to French high theory

and for making me think out of the box.

A number of friends, my extended family, supported me in ways that words cannot describe. I

would like to especially thank Louiza Petrou, Maria-Stella Poyiatzi, Amy-Li Xiaofan, Gary

Swan, Allison St-Brice for their comments, their encouragement, their yelling when needed,

for the coffee-talking-couples times and for their friendship. And of course, to my fabulous

parents Savvas and Lenia for their confidence in me, their support, caring and their infinite

love. They have always been there—my holy double.

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To my extended family

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Introduction

The Story So Far

The aim of this thesis is to examine holy couples in Byzantine Greek Passions and Lives from

the fifth to the eleventh century. My main argument is that there are certain Passions and Lives

in which the holy protagonists’ performances can be better understood through an examination

of their interrelationships as couples.

Since 2010, when I first proposed this project as a PhD thesis, my understanding of

what a “pair” or “couple” means in the context of Byzantine literature and specifically how

such a concept is staged in Byzantine hagiographical narratives has significantly changed.

Back then sorting out the corpus of couples I would study seemed to be a rather

straightforward task. To build a couple you need two protagonists. Shuffling through a vast

array of texts that feature two or more names in the BHG catalogue and spending two years

travelling in Europe in pursuit of my poorly edited protagonists made me realise the bitter

truth: couples are not easily traced or even more perplexingly, couples are everywhere to be

found. In every Passion and Life the protagonist interacts with others in various ways. These

others may be friends, relatives, strangers, they can be male or female and they can support,

impede or even torture our protagonist.1 And even if these others are included in the text’s

rubric side by side with a given protagonist, this does not necessarily mean that they are

protagonists too or that they pair up with this given protagonist so as to form a couple. And

what is more, the authors of hagiographical narratives seem not to talk much (if at all) about

couples in the way we would—that is, using language that immediately makes two

protagonists a unit (“family”, “spouses” etc.) or openly writing about how such relationships

begin, develop and conclude. This fluid context made me realise that what a couple means in

Byzantine Passions and Lives and how two protagonists come to be portrayed in terms of a

couple is a much more complicated matter.

                                                                                                               1 Kyros and John are, for example friends (Passion of Kyros and John, [BHG 469] PG 87, 3677-3689). Gregory of Nyssa is brother and author of the Life of his sister, Macrina. He also appears as one of the characters in the Life he narrates (Life of Macrina [BHG 1012], Maraval 1971, 136-267). Glykeria and Laodikos are at the beginning strangers. When Glykeria is arrested as a Christian and taken to prison she meets Laodikos, her guard,

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Referring to previous scholarship for a definition of the term was not of much help

either, since to my knowledge there is no study that defines what a couple means in

hagiographical narratives. Actually, the literary study of the relationship between two

protagonists has perhaps been one of the most neglected areas of Byzantine production.2 This

fact directly contrasts with the considerable scholarly production devoted to couples in the

West, especially as regards the Old French, Medieval English and German traditions. These

studies bring to focus a broad range of specialised subjects such as sexuality and gender-

identity within marriage (e.g. Burgwinkle 2008; Cazelles 1991; Elliott 1993), homosexuality

(e.g. Boswell 1980; Burgwinkle 2004), kinship and family (e.g. Campbell 2008). But even

when Western literature is concerned, the field is relatively new and is mainly directed to

literary depictions of mother-child and father-son bonds, or to spouses. So far, there is no

comprehensive examination of different kinds of couples. Be that as it may, I am particularly

indebted to a number of studies which, even though in their majority address Western

Medieval literatures or other Byzantine traditions besides Greek, have inspired my thinking of

literary couples and have provided me with novel ways of approaching Medieval literature

using contemporary theory.

A first author whose work has contributed to my understanding of coupled

relationships is Dyan Elliott. I have been particularly aided by two of her studies, Spiritual

Marriage: Sexual Abstinence in Medieval Wedlock (1993) and The Bride of Christ Goes to

Hell: Metaphor and Embodiment in the Lives of Pious Women, 200-1500 (2012). The first

examines a phenomenon that came to be known as “spiritual marriage” and which refers to

spouses who relinquish sexual activity on account of religious devotion and piety.3 Elliott

traces the development of this phenomenon in the West from Late Antiquity to the beginning

of the sixteenth century. Her second study explores the notion of the “bride of Christ” as the

title suggests, and presents its evolution from the third to the sixteenth century in the West.

Both studies have been instrumental for my understanding of chaste couples—which also

appear in the Byzantine tradition and pertain to my research.

                                                                                                               2 Even in genres such as the romance, where one would expect the protagonists to be extensively analysed from a couple’s perspective, such literary concerns usually take up a small part of longer analyses about narrative form or about subjects such as dreams, ideology, allegory, comparison with Western romances or ancient models. See e.g. Agapitos 1991 (narrative form), 1999 (dreams), 2013 (ideology and allegory), Cupane 1974 and 2004 (influence of Western romances), Agapitos 1998 and 2003; Nilsson 2001 (influence of ancient models). 3 On this phenomenon, see especially Elliott 1993 (mainly with regard to the West where spiritual marriage is more often encountered), Hartney 1999 and Leyerle 2001; McGlynn and Moll 1996.

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Another author who is similarly concerned with the phenomenon of “spiritual

marriage” is Claudia Bornholdt. Bornholdt focuses on spiritual marriage in her study Saintly

Spouses: Chaste Marriage in Sacred and Secular Narrative From Medieval Germany, 12th

and 13th Centuries (2012). She is specifically concerned with the twelfth-century German

emperor Henry II, who was canonised as the first virgin king. His wife, Cunegund, was also

canonised about fifty years later. Bornholdt’s main argument is that this canonisation brought

the idea of such chaste marriages in the political realm. Bornholdt considers this development

as the main factor which mapped the beginning of vernacular writing in Medieval Bavaria. In

order to support her argument she considers a variety of hagiographical texts that treat the

issue of chaste marriage. Bornholdt’s work is significant for the purposes of this thesis, as it

underlines the importance of considering coupled relationships and the ways in which, taking

into account this material may advance our understanding not only of literature but of issues

such as cultural history and the development of a literary genre.

In the process of writing this thesis, there appeared Carolyne Larrington’s study

Brothers and Sisters in medieval European Literature (2015). This monograph addresses the

siblinghood bond in an extant corpus of texts from various literary genres in Medieval English

literature.4 Larrington traces the ways in which the siblinghood bond affects the protagonists’

development in various examples and even points to many narratives which unfold based

exclusively on the relationship between siblings. This study constitutes, I believe a remarkable

example of the ways the investigation of bonds between literary characters can provide new

insights into the texts that present these bonds.

The application of contemporary theory as a method of approaching the Medieval

literature has flourished in the recent decades, both in the study of Byzantium and especially in

the study of Western traditions. Three particular studies have enriched my thinking of how to

deal with Byzantine couples: Sarah Kay’s Courtly Contradictions: The Emergence of the

Literary Object in the Twelfth Century (2001), Miranda Griffin’s The Object and the Cause in

the Vulgate Cycle (2005) and Luke Sunderland’s Old French Narrative Cycles: Heroism

Between Ethics and Morality (2010). Kay attempts an investigation of the cultural currents

that gave rise to French courtly literature in the twelfth century through an ingenious pairing

                                                                                                               4 For other studies treating the siblinghood bond in Western Medieval literature see the references included in Larrington 2015: 17-19. See also Griffiths 2008 for siblings in general; Lett 2008 and Réal 2001 on brothers and sisters; Aurell 2010 on familial discord. As Larrington also observes, it is particularly in France that the study of the siblinghood bond in the Medieval world has flourished (Larrington 2015: 1).

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of Jacques Lacan and Julia Kristeva. Griffin’s and Sunderland’s studies use Lacan as a method

of approaching from a literary perspective the Medieval French courtly romances. Although

these authors’ concerns do not lie with hagiography—even though Kay does devote some

chapters to Old French hagiographical works—their interpretations have proved extremely

useful to me in understanding how Lacan can be effectively transposed in a Medieval context.

Although literary analyses of couples in Byzantium are almost practically inexistent, a

rich spectrum of other works provide a solid basis for our understanding of the background

and context in which these couples appear and thus make possible their literary approach.5 I

refer to the broad range of publications that have addressed among others issues of marriage,

canonical law, family, depictions of families in art, hereditary rights.6 These works examine a

variety of specialised topics. What is particularly pertinent to my analysis is that Byzantium is

at core a patriarchal society and the religious and canonical law are more often than not

adjusted to this frame.7 Social relations, therefore, that of couples included, also follow this

sociocultural context. A similar structure is at work as regards the Byzantine hagiographical

literature. I believe that this study offers to this flourishing field. In particular, the study of the

Byzantine culture would be much more adequate and accurate if literary relationships and the

ways these bear on the protagonists’ development are also taken into account.

Turning now to works that specifically focus on Byzantine hagiographical literature, I

have already noted that couples in Byzantine hagiography have not attracted much scholarly

interest. A notable exception to this tendency is Anne Alwis’ recent study Celibate Marriages

in Late Antique and Byzantine Hagiography: The Lives of Saints Julian and Basilissa,

Andronikos and Athanasia, and Galaktion and Episteme (2011). Alwis’ study is also

                                                                                                               5 For a review of studies focused on the literary interpretation of Byzantine hagiography see Høgel 1997; for Byzantine hagiography as literature see Ševčenko 1995 and Rydén 1993. 6 See, for example, the essays included in Brubaker and Tougher 2013. The volume focuses on a large variety of topics that concern the Byzantine family, such as history and evolution in the familial structure (Brubaker 2013; Davies 2013; Ellis 2013; Harlow and Perkin 2013; Kondyli 2013; Ludwig 2013; Southon, Harlow and Callow 2013), violence within the family (Hillner 2013), familial relations as portrayed in autobiographical or historiographical narratives (Neville 2013; Vuolanto 2013), death within the family (Vasileiou 2013), family in hagiographical examples (Constantinou 2013; Howard 2013; Kaplan 2013), the family in specific periods of the Medieval world (Bray 2013; Tougher 2013; El Cheikh 2013) etc. For mothers see Hatlie 2009 and Herrin 1999. For children, see Hennessy 2013. For hereditary rights, see Laiou 2009. For family politics, see Balch and Osiek 2003; Goody 1983; Stafford 1978 (especially as regards the relationship between mothers and sons). For depictions of families in art see, for example, the donor compositions in Teteriatnikov 1993. 7 For the patriarchal structure of the Byzantine society and family, see Clark 1993; Herrin 2013a; Nathan 2000. For the role of women in the family, see Angold 1995, 99-102; Clark 1991; Garland 1988; Herrin 2013a; Talbot 1997, 121-125. For women’s role in Byzantine society in general, see Beaucamp 1990-1992; Herrin 1983; Laiou 1981, 233-241 and 1985. For their legal standing as regards family affairs, see Arjava 1996; Grubbs 1999 and 2002; Wolff 1939.

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concerned with couples who form spiritual marriages, such as those of Bornholdt and Elliott.

Alwis suggests that the three couples in question form “celibate marriages”, since she finds

this term more fitting to describe the phenomenon in the cases she examines. Alwis pursues a

comparative study of the three Byzantine couples mentioned in her title in issues such as the

texts’ literary background and the emotional bonds that partners develop between them. She

brings the three narratives in a dynamic correlation, attempting a comparative approach

between the ways they portray this celibate marriage. This thesis intends to complement

Alwis’ study by treating from a literary perspective a larger corpus of Byzantine couples in

hagiography.

Susan Ashbrook-Harvey’s article “Sacred Bonding: Mothers and Daughters in Early

Christian Hagiography” (1996) provides an overview of mother and daughter portraits in

Syriac hagiographical literature. Although not concerned with Byzantine Greek texts,

Harvey’s study provides us with a brief but targeted investigation of this specific type of

couples in a literature other than Greek but which belongs to the same environment in which

the Byzantine Greek texts were composed. It therefore informs our understanding of what the

case is regarding the literary depiction of couples in the broader Byzantine tradition.

One of the few studies that pursue a literary analysis of Byzantine Passions and Lives

through contemporary theoretical perspectives is Stavroula Constantinou’s Female Corporeal

Performances: Reading the Body in Byzantine Passions and Lives of Holy Women (2005).

Constantinou investigates the protagonists’ performance in Passions and Lives devoted to holy

women. Her approach is based on concepts drawn from the sociological analyses of Erving

Goffman and Judith Butler’s theory about the construction of gender. Constantinou suggests

the subdivision of Passions and Lives using as a criterion the protagonists’ male or female

gender. She argues that the protagonists’ gender invests the narratives with particular

characteristics. This study has been invaluable for my own approach, since what I intend to do

is, as mentioned above, to turn on the couple, which I believe is a special category of

Byzantine hagiographical narratives. In narratives that belong to this category the protagonists

will be shown to arrange their performances according to their male and female gender as

Constantinou has indicated, but in the texts that belong to this particular category one member

of the couple cannot be sufficiently examined without taking into consideration his/her partner

and it is here that the concept of the couple becomes useful.

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This brief exposition shows that, even though there are significant works which

advance the study of some types of couples in Byzantine literature and the theoretical

approach of other Medieval literatures, there is so far no comprehensive study which addresses

the subject of couple in Byzantine hagiography. Nevertheless, the treatment of two

protagonists in certain texts effects narrative changes compared to the way the story would

produce meaning if only one protagonist was involved. These particularities in the treatment

of couples affect both the plot and the narrative form. Investigating protagonists that are part

of a couple separately would thus severely curtail our understanding of such texts. It is this

gap which the present study aims to address.

Given the lack of adequate bibliographical documentation on the subject and the

difficulty of defining the saintly couple, I readjusted my over-ambitious project of examining

the whole corpus of couples in Byzantine hagiographical literature. In particular, I narrowed

down my scope making this thesis one of the first couple-centered approaches in the field.

This approach sponsors the logic that a start for us to develop a picture of couples would be to

probe into how different types of couples are literary depicted. I thus left behind the equally

interesting task of studying the relationships that involve two male protagonists or two female

protagonists or a female protagonist and a eunuch.8 In order to focus on a reasonably coherent

body of material, I shall confine my inquire to relationships that involve a male and a female

                                                                                                               8 I have only found one Passion that belongs to this last compelling category of a female heroine and a eunuch (Passion of Indus [or Indes] and Domna, [BHG 822z]; Koikylides 1907, 60-82). There is also a metaphrastic version of this narrative (Passion of Indus [or Indes] and Domna [metaphrastic version], [BHG 823]; PG 116, 1037-1081). This is a very interesting text from the perspective of gender, since in some instances the eunuch Indes is perceived to be closer to what we would call “male”, while in other cases he resembles more to what the text portrays as “female”. For example, Indes is taught the Holy Scriptures by Domna and he sleeps in the same room with her (Passion of Indes and Domna, p.63.§7-p.63.§8). At some point in the narrative, Domna pretends to be crazy so as to be relieved from her duties as a pagan priestess. She is thus sent, along with Indes to a female monastery (Passion of Indes and Domna, p.65.§11-p.78.§23). In these instances, Indes seems to be considered closer to the “female”: he sleeps in the same room with our protagonist and is sent to a convent as a “nun”. However, Indes is martyred along with other male martyrs, therefore also perceived as part of the “male” team (Passion of Indes and Domna, p.78.§23). I believe that a couple-oriented approach of this narrative could yield interesting results. Nevertheless, since Indes’ gender cannot be understood as either “male” or “female”, I have excluded this narrative from my analysis. For a brief discussion of holy eunuchs see Tougher 2004. For eunuchs in Byzantium see, for example, the essays included in James 1997. For an overview of eunuchs from Late Antiquity to Byzantium and beyond, see Kuefler 2001; Scholz 2001 and all the essays included in Tougher 2002. For the last centuries of the Byzantine empire see especially Gaul 2002. A remarkable case of male protagonists’ interaction is the Life of Xenophon, Maria and their Sons ([BHG 1878]; PG 114, 1014-1043). In this Life the sons are separated from each other during a storm that wrecks their ship and each of them decides to adopt a different spiritual life because he thinks his presumably dead brother would have desired so. Later on they are reunited and also meet again their parents in a touching anagnorismos scene (Boulhol 1996). Therefore, this text unravels based on the emotional bond between the brothers on the one hand, and the brothers and their parents, on the other. It would therefore constitute an interesting task for both an analysis of the sibling bond between brothers and that between brothers and parents.

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protagonist. The reason for making this choice is that gender has proved to be a determining

factor in many areas of Byzantine culture, literature included.9 Examining two protagonists of

different genders in the Lives and Passions in question, gives me the chance to take into

account whether gender diversity affects what is orchestrated and presented as couple in these

texts.

Furthermore, in sorting out my textual corpus, I had to figure out what I understand as

“couple” in the texts I examine (since no definition of the term is yet available). In particular, I

define as couple a unit of two saintly protagonists or two teams of saintly protagonists who

affect each other in their path to holiness in ways portrayed as crucial. That is, if we subtract

one of them, the story cannot be told. Protagonists that form couples are perceived as such in

the texts that concern them. This means that the fact that these saints interact is taken by the

hagiographers as a structural principle in composing their texts. This definition does not, of

course, exhaust the possibilities of the term, since in other contexts and from other

perspectives the “couple” can as well acquire additional dimensions or even a completely

different meaning. The definition I give here inevitably excludes some couples from my

analysis and it is to these categories that I now turn.

Perhaps the most difficult category to tackle while deciding what my textual corpus

would be was strangers who meet at some point in a given Passion or Life and significantly

affect each other’s construction of holiness. The difficult part to cope with was deciding how

exactly to define this “significantly” I refer to, which excludes or includes texts in my

analysis. Without doubt, figuring out a degree of significance is to some extent a subjective

choice. However, the definition I gave in the above is largely based on how the narratives

themselves portray these couples. To make this clearer, I will briefly refer to two texts I have

excluded from my analysis, the Passion of Didymos and Theodora and the Passion of

Hesperos and Zoe.10 Beginning with the latter, the Passion of Hesperos and Zoe is a text I

would expect to include in my thesis, since it involves a couple of married saints (thus a

couple by definition) who undergo martyrdom at the time of the emperor Hadrian. However,

                                                                                                               9 In the last decades the study of gender in Byzantium has been trending. See, for example, the online Dumbarton Oaks bibliography on Byzantine Gender (www.doaks.org/research/byzantine/resources/bibliography-on-gender-in-byzantium). The resource involves studies in all areas of gender, ranging from history, archaeology, history of art and literature. See also the essays included in Bronwen and Garland 2013. Especially for gender in Byzantine hagiography see indicatively Ashbrook-Harvey 1990; Brakke 2003; Burrus 2004; Garland 1988 and Kazhdan 1990. 10 Passion of Didymos and Theodora ([BHG 1742]; AASS April III 63-65); Passion of Hesperos and Zoe ([BHG 746]; AASS Maii I 1680, 739-740).

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studying this narrative made me realise that no interaction between the two spouses is

involved. The text’s focus is on the two spouses as a team of Christians against their non-

Christian torturers who attempt to force them in various ways to deny their faith. No

information is given regarding the protagonists’ in-between relationship and the ways they

affect each other before or during their martyrdom. Didymos and Theodora, on the other hand,

are two protagonists who affect each other’s achievement of holiness, but without becoming a

pair in the narrative. Theodora is a virgin arrested for her Christianity. Didymos is sent by God

disguised as a soldier in the brothel where Theodora is sent by her torturer and helps her

escape. He then suffers martyrdom in her place. Through his action, Didymos spares Theodora

from the danger of losing her virginity and also proves his own devotion to God. However,

with the exception of a short dialogue they have, no relationship is plotted between the two

protagonists. I have thereby, following the definition I gave before, excluded from my analysis

protagonists who do not interact or do not affect each other in a way decisive for the

construction of their holy identity. I take into consideration couples who fulfill both of the

above requirements.

An additional type of coupled relationships I turned to when deciding on my textual

corpus was brothers and sisters. The case with siblings in English literature that Larrington

presents is compelling in inspiring similar interpretations of Byzantine siblings. However,

pending further investigation the case seems to be different at least with brothers and sisters in

Byzantine hagiography. Couples of brothers and sisters most often feature in Passions and

their interaction does not respond to the definition given in the above. More specifically, these

protagonists behave as teams, that is, they perform the same actions and work together not as

two independent characters who interact and affect each other but as a unit of like-minded

protagonists.11 In the rare moments that their actions diverge from each other, it is usually

when the brother urges the sister not to hesitate and to suffer martyrdom first. Otherwise their

in-between relationship is usually not treated, a tendency accentuated by the fact that such

couples usually share the same name. 12 I believe that given this and also considering the fact

that the brother-sister Passions are quite few, treating only the brother-sister bond in

hagiographical narratives is not enough for accurate conclusions to be drawn. I contend that a

proper interpretation of siblinghood would need, like that of Larrington’s, to also take into                                                                                                                11 See, e.g. Paul and Iuliane (Passion of Paul and Iuliane [BHG 964]; Trautmann and Klöstermann 1934, 1-19). 12 See e.g. the Passions of Eulampios and Eulampia ([BHG 616]; AASS Oct. V 1786, 69-78), Zenobios and Zenobia ([BHG 1884]; AASS Oct. XIII 1884, 259-263).

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consideration other Byzantine literary genres. I have thus excluded this category from my

analysis, which focuses exclusively on Passions and Lives.

Another important category excluded by the narrowing down of this thesis’ scope is

the relationship between friends. Friendship bonds are most often depicted in Byzantine

hagiography between protagonists of the same gender. In recent years the theme of friendship

has attracted the attention of Byzantinists. Even if not from the perspective of treating friends

as a couple, many interesting approaches have been presented concerning friends in Byzantine

literature, treating subjects, such as the harmful or beneficial effect of friendship, or how the

topic is treated by a particular Byzantine author.13 In most cases this relationship is laid out in

terms of cooperation and joint effort toward spiritual advancement. A famous pair of friends

who are also protagonists in the same text is Kosmas and Damianos.14 In some texts, the

relationship between two protagonists who share the bond of friendship is not portrayed in

detail, since the emphasis lies with their team effort. For example, the most usual case

concerns friends who are the protagonists of Passions and express their homophonous support

of their Christian orientation against their torturer who usually happens to be their former

boss.15 They are subsequently tortured together and led to death. In other cases, however, the

interaction between two friends is extensively narrated and in many instances it can also

become very intense.16 The study of couples attempted here could offer to this newly

discovered field by opening up yet another channel of approaching friends—through their

behaviour as a couple.

In a similar light, friendships between partners who belong to the same gender appear

in texts devoted to monastic saints or ascetics. I refer to the relationships developed between

nuns or between abbesses and nuns or, in the context of a male monastery, between monks,

and between abbots and monks; or again, in the male-dominated area of the desert, between

                                                                                                               13 See, for example, Constantinou 2011 who examines different forms of friendship portrayed in the Passion of Sergios and Bacchos, as well as the essays included in Classen and Sandidge 2011. See also Hatlie 1999; Mullett 1988 and 1999; Tinnefeld 1973. 14 Passion of Kosmas and Damianos ([BHG 372], Deubner 1907). 15 See, for example the Passion of Sergios and Bacchos (BHG 1624; van den Gheyn 1895, 375-395). 16 An interesting example is Symeon and John in the Life of Symeon the Holy Fool ([BHG 1677]; Festugière 1974: 1-222), whose relation is detailed. In many instances it becomes very emotional. A remarkable episode is presented, for example, when Symeon and John are about to be tonsured. Both Symeon and John were rich young men used to luxurious clothing. The abbot delivers a long speech to each of them separately, informing them about the hardship of the monastic life and giving them advice concerning their future conduct. They are also made aware of the need to change their lifestyle and given cheep clothing. Both Symeon and John shed bitter tears throughout the scene because each is afraid that his partner might forgo the monastic life. Moreover, the hagiographer depicts Symeon as holier than John, a practice which establishes a hierarchy between them.

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desert fathers and their disciples.17 These texts have been rarely studied from a perspective of

how this intersubjective network produces meaning and how these relationships affect the

development of the characters’ holy identities.18 By making a start with protagonists of

different gender, this thesis could set up a frame of reference through which to view same-

gender monastic relations.

Saintly Couples

Given the initial framework established in the above, in this thesis I chose to focus on three

types of relationships in which the interaction of the two protagonists is most prominent and

will thus be most “suitable” as a start for approaching Byzantine couples: strangers who come

together, mothers and sons, and spouses. All three types of relationships studied here respond

to the definition of “couple” given before. They namely involve saintly protagonists who

affect each other in a crucial way in their path to holiness. Moreover, the Passions or Lives

devoted to them rely to a significant degree on their paired interaction as a structural

component of the stories. As will be shown in the following chapters, these types of couples

present distinguishing characteristics, which invite us to examine them as three different

groups. As will, however, also become apparent from the following analysis, each category

could be further divided into subgroups, which again present their own particularities. The

sequence with which I study these relationships is based on the way it makes more sense for

my analysis. Namely, I develop my argument regarding the protagonists’ social interaction

beginning with what we would define as “strangers”, individuals who share no blood or legal

bond whatsoever, but come together at a certain point in the narrative. Subsequently, I proceed

to examine blood relatives, leaving as third and last the socio-legal bond of marriage, which

also proves to be the most multifaceted of the three types of relationships.

                                                                                                               17 For an example of abbess-nun(s) relationship see Irene as nun and her abbess and later on Irene as abbess and her nuns in the Life of Irene of Chrysobalanton ([BHG 952]; Rosenqvist 1986, 2-112). For an example of relationships developed between nuns see the Life of Matrona ([BHG 1221]; AASS Nov. III. 1910, 790-813) and the Life of Eupraxia ([BHG 631]; AASS Mart. II 1668, 727-735). 18 Regarding the relationship between abbesses and nuns from the perspective of their bodily performances see Constantinou 2005, 127-161. For friendships between saintly women in the nunnery see the forthcoming article by Constantinou concerning the Life of Euphraxia. For an overview of the companionship developed between male monks see Krueger 2011. See also Krausmüller 2013 for an examination of monastic communities as a form of alternative family and Talbot 1985 for a comparison of the monastic experience of men and women.

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The first category of relationships, that between strangers, involves individuals who

are not related in any way from the beginning of the story, but meet at some point and

substantially affect each other in their achievement of holiness. Three Lives are examined

here, which have as their protagonists pairs formed by a repentant prostitute and a monk.

These are the following: the Life of Pelagia (BHG 1478; date: 5th c. [Nonnos and Pelagia]), the

Life of Abraham and Mary (BHG 5; date: 5th c. [Abraham and Mary]) and the Life of Mary of

Egypt (BHG 1042; date: 7th c. [Zosimas and Mary of Egypt]).19 Through their encounter these

protagonists recognise that they lack something essential for their spiritual advancement. They

thus reconfigure their identity and they rearrange their performances in order to undo this lack.

In the second category of relationships that concern the bond between saintly mothers

and their sons, three Lives will be examined: the Life of Symeon the Younger (BHG 1689;

date: end of the 6th c.), of whom we also have the Life of his mother, Martha (BHG 1174; date:

after the 7th and before the 9th c. [Symeon and Martha]) and the Life of Stephanos the Younger

(BHG 1666; date: 807 [Stephanos and Anna]). In these Lives the delicate issue dealt with by

the hagiographers refers to the ways in which the emotional bond between a mother and her

child can be, if at all, reconciled with the protagonists’ spiritual bond with God. To better

understand the particularities of this category I will also pursue a comparison of the

aforementioned Lives with Passions and Lives that also have as protagonists mothers and sons

but whose in-between relationships are not invested with importance. I will also briefly

compare the three Lives under investigation with a Life and a Passion, which involve as

protagonists mothers and daughters, in an effort to trace what changes in the kinship bond

when the gender of the child is different.

As already stated, the third category of relationships I shall be concerned with involves

saintly spouses. This is also the largest category, since eight Passions and Lives are examined.

It is a rather logical consequence of the bond it portrays that this category is the largest.

Namely, the first type of relationships presents protagonists who come in contact with each

other for a short period of time. The second type presents protagonists who are related but at

some point the holy sons become emancipated because they leave the care of their parents.

The hagiographers of spouses, on the other hand, describe the interaction of protagonists who

live together and achieve holiness together, that is, they come into contact continuously

                                                                                                               19 Life of Pelagia, Petitmengin 1981; Life of Abraham and Mary, AASS Mart. II 1865, 932-937; Life of Mary of Egypt, PG 87, 3697-3725.

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throughout the plots. These protagonists are what we would call a typical case of couple, since

they are joined together by marriage. Given this context, the hagiographers usually provide

more information about the spouses’ in-between relationship. Consequently, I have detected

more texts from this third type which respond to what I define as “couple”—individuals whose

relationship is narratively functional and whose identity is constructed as shared. I have

decided to examine this type of couples last because the spousal union relates in a way to the

two former types of couples. More specifically, the spousal bond illustrates the joining

together of two individuals previously strangers between them (first type); this joining

together of the two individuals acquires permanence as it implicates the protagonists in a

shared life within the institution of marriage. It is thus raised to a status similar to that of blood

ties (second type).

This category could be further divided into three subgroups, which represent three

different ways of achieving holiness within marriage. The first subgroup involves spouses who

cooperate and reach spiritual excellence together, first in a lay setting and, subsequently, in a

monastic context. These two stages are linked by the spouses’ mutual agreement to leave

worldly affairs behind and become monks or ascetics. This agreement is invested with

importance in all texts considered. Two Lives belong to this subgroup, the Life of Melania the

Younger (BHG 1241; date: after 439 and before 485 [Melania and Pinian]) and the Life of

Andronikos and Athanasia (BHG 123a; date: between the 6th and the 11th c. [Andronikos and

Athanasia]).20

The second subgroup which comes under the spouses relationship is represented in

three Passions: the Passion of Galaktion and Episteme (BHG 665; date: possibly 10th c.

[Galaktion and Episteme]), the Passion of Timotheos and Maura (BHG 1849 [Timotheos and

Maura]) and the Passion of Adrianos and Natalia (BHG 27 [Adrianos and Natalia]).21 These

texts showcase protagonists who construct their own image of totality by viewing and

incorporating the image of their maltreated partners.

The last subgroup is also represented by three Passions: the Passion of Julian and

Basilissa (BHG 970; date: 6th c. [Julian and Basilissa]), the Passion of Chrysanthos and Daria

(BHG 313 [Chrysanthos and Daria]) and the Passion of Cecilia and Valerian (BHG 283c

                                                                                                               20 Gorce 1962: 124-270 and Alwis 2011: 250-268 respectively. 21 AASS Maii I 1680: 741-744, AASS Nov. III 1910: 35-41 and AASS Sept. III 1750: 218-230 respectively.

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[Cecilia and Valerian]).22 The texts included in this third subgroup represent the phenomenon

of “spiritual marriage”. In affirming both virginity and marriage (a union which comes

concomitant with sex), these texts exhibit a concern with undoing boundaries between

concepts that are normally conflicting, such as marriage and virginity. The hagiographers of

the examined Passions appear to exploit the paradox created by the simultaneous affirmation

of these clashing concepts as a means to construct their protagonists’ shared identities.

The three types of relationships which constitute the corpus of this study raise three

particular questions that will form the frame of reference in my analysis. First, the extent to

which the formation of a spiritual self as “sifted” through the grid of another individual (one’s

partner) affects our understanding of concepts, such as “identity”, “sexuality”, “desire” and

“holiness”. Second, all three categories involve profane relations portrayed side by side with

spiritual ones. Byzantine hagiographers, like all writers, compose their texts plotting

relationships that are expected to make sense to the audience they address. The texts in

question portray emotions normally incompatible with religious performance, and which

emotions are the product of intersubjective bonds—such as affection for one’s partner.23 The

hagiographers (and, logically their audience) appear to be aware of the uneasiness that

presenting such bonds may cause. They actually put much effort to tackle this conflict in

various ways and to justify their approach. The second axis of investigation in my analysis

will be, therefore, the examination of the ways in which the paradox or contrariety created by

the simultaneous affirmation of emotional bonds and ascetic ideals is presented, negotiated,

undermined or left in conflict. My third concern will be to explore the outcome of these

protagonists’ interaction or, in other words, to understand if there is a “degree of holiness”

established in the narratives, which places the protagonists in a hierarchical relation and, if

yes, what factors determine this hierarchical positioning.

                                                                                                               22Halkin 1980: 241-296, AASS Oct XI 1864: 469-484 and Halkin 1987: 88-132 respectively. 23 The study of emotions in Byzantine literature is a newly discovered field. See indicatively Hinterberger 2013 on phthonos.

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The Theoretical Approach

This brief exposition makes clear that to adequately understand couples formed by a male and

a female protagonist, two major axes need to be taken into account: the interaction of these

protagonists and how gender affects this interaction and, in consequence, how gender affects

the construction of their holy identity. Referring to “identity” implies two perspectives, the

“self” and the “other”. I use these terms in accord to the perspective of the protagonist I each

time follow. Based on the given protagonist I examine, this protagonist is considered to be the

“self”, while his/her partner is the “other”. Exploring the issues of gender and intersubjective

interaction, which underlie all the aforementioned questions this study is concerned with,

made me turn to two specialised disciplines that share similar preoccupations—psychoanalysis

and gender studies.

In particular, the field of psychoanalysis stresses the continuity of the workings of

human psychosynthesis across time. This discipline also studies the consonance between the

ways interaction with others produces meaning and affects the individual’s identity regardless

of historical period. The field of gender studies, on the other hand, addresses gender as an

attribute which is not straightforwardly taken for granted as an innate characteristic but rather

constitutes an elaborate conceptual architectonics significantly determined by socio-cultural

norms. My specific theoretical points of reference will be Jacques Lacan from psychoanalytic

criticism, while from gender studies I am inspired by the theory developed by Judith Butler. I

shall also draw substantially on Slavoj Žižek, who is one of Lacan’s most influential

commentators.24 Most of his works are written as a supplement to Lacanian concepts,25 while

he also develops many Lacanian notions and exemplifies them through popular culture.

                                                                                                               24 For an introduction to Žižek’s thought and his influence across humanities and social sciences see especially Kay 2003; Wright 1999; Wright and Wright 2012. Kay also includes a list of Žižek’s works, including his interviews (Kay 2003: 184-186). She writes about the thinker from the perspective of a Medievalist, which makes her introduction to his work even more pertinent to the present study. For a first introduction to Žižek, see also Kul-Want 2012. This work is at times very brief and makes many of Žižek’s concepts seem more elusive than they are. However, it also provides some brilliant explanations and commentaries on some of Žižek’s more obscure theoretical elaborations, supplementing them with illustrations. For subjectivity in Žižek’s theory see Johnston 2008. 25 See titles, such as Looking Awry: An Introduction to Jacques Lacan through Popular Culture (Žižek 1992), Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Lacan (But Were Afraid to Ask Hitchcock) (Žižek 1992a) and Enjoy your Symptom! Jacques Lacan in Hollywood and Out (Žižek 2001), “Lacan in Slovenia: An Interview With Slavoj Žižek and Renata Salecl” (Žižek 1991).

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Both Lacan and Butler have been regarded as controversial thinkers not only due to

their radical theories but also because of their style of writing. This is especially prominent in

the case of Lacan. After the heyday of theory in the 1980s, the use of theoretical means drawn

from other disciplines as interpretive modes was “legitimised”. However, every literary critic

who wishes to use Lacan needs almost by norm to include a paragraph like this one, where

s/he justifies his/her choice. The main reason for this “apologetic” stance is that Lacan—as

also many other thinkers associated with French high theory—has been considered outrageous

because of his obscure language.26 It is true that Lacan’s style is challenging and that his use

of exemplars drawn from a huge range of other disciplines is maddening and mind-consuming.

Similar observations could be made for Butler as well. However, a theorist’s personal style

should not be considered a criterion for avoiding his/her work if it can provide useful insights.

For example, Butler’s theory has been effectively applied by Constantinou in her

aforementioned study on female protagonists in Byzantine hagiography and has revealed

aspects of these narratives that would otherwise remain hidden. Likewise, even though

Lacanian psychoanalysis has not been used in the interpretation of Byzantine literature before,

as aforementioned, his theoretical elaborations have proved fruitful in the analysis of Medieval

Western traditions.

Throughout the present thesis, discussion and close readings of Byzantine Passions and

Lives will be interspersed with the discussion and exposition of relevant concepts from Butler

and Lacan. However, in the following two sections I will present the basic frame of each

thinker’s theory in order to facilitate the presentation of my own approach.

The Lacanian Approach: The Subject, the Other and the Intersubjective Network

As far as Lacan’s contribution to my study is concerned, I am particularly interested in the

way he arranges the relations of subjects to other objects or subjects as part of an

intersubjective network, and also in his argument that the subjects function as such because of

their positions in this network of exchange.27

                                                                                                               26 In this respect, see selectively Brennan 1993; Fink 1995: xiv; Fradenburg 1998; Hogan and Pandit 1990; Kay 2000: 6 and 2001: 26-27; Labbie 2006; Roudinesco 1997; Scala 2002. 27 Indeed, the practice of capturing concepts in topological mappings is not foreign to Byzantine worldview. Concepts which may be portrayed in spatial terms involve time, morality (good=Paradise, evil=Hell), or even gender (man=head, woman=rest of the body). For this latter concept see also Constantinou 2015a.

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To understand the relations formed within Lacan’s intersubjective network, it is

important to define first what the terms “subject” and “other” mean for Lacan. In order to

explain what he means by referring to a “subject”, Lacan takes as his starting point the

definition of René Descartes, given in his equation “cogito ergo sum” (“I think, therefore I

am”). This is a subject of certainty about his existence and thought. By way of contrast, the

Lacanian subject is not a subject of certainty. At the time of this subject’s encounter with a

certain other subject within the intersubjective network, his sense of reality recedes. The

Lacanian subject is a subject of suffering, of a need for identity, of questioning of his being, a

subject in the process of becoming. The Cartesian and the Lacanian subjects are, consequently

diverse in that the latter’s certainty is to be found within the intersubjective network that

constructs his relation to another subject and aids his understanding of himself and his desires.

The mutual dependence of subjects on the relations they form within this network of exchange

derives from the constitution of the physiological human organism as the product of

interaction between three orders: the Symbolic, the Imaginary and the Real (Lacan 1979: 29-

52, 123-135; Soler 1995: 40-42).28

The Symbolic is the domain of language, differentiation, social institutions, law-

making and gender intelligibility. In Lacan’s thought, the living being is made up of two

elements. The subject is for Lacan that element of self which partakes in the Symbolic and is,

therefore subject, to social laws and institutions. This first element also involves the

Imaginary, through which the subject is carrier of ideologies, beliefs and bodily images. The

second element of which the living being is made up in Lacan’s view is the “being”, the

substance—what he defines as jouissance (sexual enjoyment as substance). This belongs to

what is invisible, unconscious and unrepresentable. In order to enter the Symbolic and gain the

name of the “subject”, the individual needs to leave a piece of himself, his bodily particularity

and unrestricted jouissance behind. This is what Lacan describes with the process of

“alienation”, and is presented by Lacan as a “vel of forced choice”, that is, as an inevitable

choice of the type “Your money or your life” (Lacan 1979: 203-215 and 1995; Soler 1995: 45-

49).

                                                                                                               28 I chose to use capital letters to refer to Lacanian concepts when they are used as nouns, in order to separate them from their everyday use and, effectively, to avoid confusion. For a commentary on Lacan’s three orders see Julien 1994 and Walsh 1990; for the Subject and the Other see Assoun 1998.

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The alienated subject is split between the network of the social system and his being as

jouissance.29 It is a subject who fights to answer the question of his being in the only way

possible: by addressing the field of the Other in language. It is, however, as well, a subject of

indeterminacy within the slippage of meaning. Lacan defines the process of alienation as “the

operation of the realisation of the subject in his signifying dependence in the locus of the

Other” (Lacan 1979: 206).30 For Lacan, the subject is the individual inscribed within social

laws, whose images of himself, whose gendered constraints,31 and whose self-knowledge are

filtered through the Other (Lacan 1979: 203-229; Lacan 1953:12-16).

The Imaginary and the Symbolic correspond to what is, or can be, made visible and/or

perceptible—in other words, to what we understand as human mind. The imaginary order is

detailed mainly when Lacan first introduces his concept of the “mirror stage” (Lacan 2006a).

The “mirror stage” describes the moment when a child, who could previously only conceive of

him/herself as a fragmented body (that is, as bodily parts he could actually see), sees himself

in the mirror. At that moment the child identifies himself with this unified image or with the

image of another individual he can actually see as whole. That is, another individual can also

act as the child’s mirror of himself. In this way, the child gains access to himself and

constructs his ego through the image of a unified other, whom the child perceives as his future

anticipated self-image. This image becomes the subject’s (i.e. the child’s in this respect) object

of desire. This imaginary relationship between the subject and another subject involves

mirroring and imitation. The Other serves as the subject’s mirror and incites his desire. Lacan

further elaborates on the mirror stage on various instances, exemplifying his approach with a

scheme (fig.1):

                                                                                                               29 The alienated subject belongs to a long dialectical tradition of reflection between Being and Thought. See indicatively Georg W. F. Hegel’s seminal work The Phenomenology of Mind (Hegel 2003). Other examples of theorists who engaged in the dialectical tradition in various ways and are related to Lacan one way or another are Julia Kristeva (see Maria Margaroni’s comments concerning how Kristeva is implicated in this tradition [Margaroni 2013] and how Kristeva’s split subject differs from that of Lacan [Margaroni and Lechte 2004: 26]), Emmanuel Levinas (see Chanter 1998 for Hegel’s influence on Levinas), and Slavoj Žižek, who brings together in one of his works Kant and Hegel (Žižek 1993). 30 Lacan states in his Seminar I [1953-54]: “The system of the ego isn’t even conceivable without the system […] of the other. The ego has a reference to the other. The ego is constituted in relation to the other. It is its correlative. The level on which the other is experienced locates exactly the level on which, quite literally, the ego exists for the subject” (Lacan 1991: 50). In these terms, the subject’s image of himself is, for Lacan, unable to be formed without the contribution of the other. 31 “The human being has always to learn from scratch from the Other what he has to do as man or as woman” (Lacan 1979: 204).

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Figure 1 Specular Relation with the Other, taken from Lacan 2004: 50

Beginning with the section on the left of the flat mirror, we see a prop with flowers fixed on it,

inside of which there is a vase turned upside down. This is a visual metaphor for the real

image of the self. The flowers represent the essence of the person, whereas the vase can be

seen as the unity of apperception, the thought or image I can never perceive as independent,

because I think/see everything through it. These objects are placed in front of a cylindrical

mirror. If we were to place an observer (e.g. ourselves) in the right upper corner of this half of

the scheme (i.e. above the flat mirror), the vase would appear, by the effect of the spherical

mirror, on the prop and unite the flowers in a “whole” illustrating a totality of the self. If we

introduce a second (this time a flat) mirror, or the Other as our mirror, we move to the right

part of the scheme. What happens with this intervention is that although I, the subject, still

find myself among the flowers (where my essence is located), I now see before me what

always stands behind my back, the effect of the spherical mirror—the totality of myself

(Zupančič 1996: 55-56). This is what happens when the child, in the mirror stage, recognises

in the mirror a unified self, in contrast with the fragmentary body he was able to perceive up to

that point, and constitutes his subjectivity based on this idealised image, an imaginary

wholeness.

However, there is a little trick here since the essence of the subject, what Lacan calls

the objet a (the ultimate desire) is non-specular. It does not generate an image since it denotes

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an empty place, a hole (Lacan 2004: 85-87).32 I cannot see in the mirror what is lacking

because lack does not have an image. Hence, what I, the subject, see in the mirror is actually

the vase on the prop (the effect of the spherical mirror) but without the flowers. This is why

Lacan says that the subject is a “punctiform subject” (Lacan 1979: 83). Thus, the subject

incorporates an ideal, whole image of himself, the specular image, which is also linked to the

function of knowledge: the subject is certain that he is whole and concrete.

One of Lacan’s logical puzzles illustrates very well the subject’s dependence on the

Other in the achievement of his truth (Lacan 1988).33 Three prisoners condemned to death are

put together in a room. The only way out is to follow the rules of a game, which are the

following: each prisoner has a disk fixed on his back, either a black or a white one. There are

in total three white disks and two black. Each prisoner cannot see his own disk, but he can see

the disks of the other two prisoners. They must figure out the colour of their disks without

talking among themselves. The first to walk out the door and logically explain his conclusion

shall be set free. Thus each prisoner first tries to see the other two prisoners’ disks and watches

for their hesitations and movements. If, for example, one of them moves towards the exit, the

other two can infer that he has seen two black disks and that their disks must be black. They,

too, can move towards the door and declare their disks black. If, on the other hand, everyone

hesitates, the first to jump to the conclusion that he probably has a white disk is the one to win

his freedom (Lacan 1988; Laurent 1995: 21-23).

What Lacan’s puzzle shows is that truth, while attained independently by each

individual, has the structure of a collective calculus: it can only be attained through the

other(s). One is obliged to know oneself via others (Lacan 1988). The puzzle of the three

prisoners with always one element (one’s most substantial truth) missing, reflects the status of

this element, which, even though always-already missing, its symbol has to be taken into

account in order for one to define his position in the intersubjective network (Griffin 2005:

23).34 The Other is thus a set of guidelines through which the subject is able to define

                                                                                                               32 For objet a see also Lacan 2001: 18 (where he states that the objet a resembles the Greek term agalma, a semblance of unsurpassable beauty empty of form), Lacan 2007a: 144 (for the objet a as a surplus of discourse); see also Evans 1996: 124-126. 33 This logical problem is also discussed in Griffin 2005: 22-23. 34 Lacan devotes an entire seminar (Seminar XVIII [1970-71]) to argue that truth is not the opposite of appearance, it is rather continuous with appearance and inextricably linked to this intersubjective network (Lacan 2007).

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himself.35 In my analysis, the term “subject” and “other” are used in the Lacanian sense to

describe the members who form the couple in each of the examined texts.

Besides alienation, there exists a second process in Lacan’s topological network,

through which identity and subjectivity are manifested in the field of the Other—

“separation”.36 The process of separation describes the moment at which the subject realises

that something in his being is lacking in the Other and in the system of the Symbolic

altogether (Lacan 1995). This gives rise to the object-cause of desire, what Lacan calls in his

algebra the objet a (Lacan 1979: 213-215). This is the reason why Lacan says that “man’s

desire is the desire of the Other” (Lacan 1979: 38). But the objet a is also the object of psychic

mechanisms called the “drives”, associated with erogenous zones—the human being’s orifices

such as the mouth, the ears, the eyes (Lacan 1979: 149-200).37 The objet a is thus qualified to

communicate desire, but is also linked with a bodily consistency able to inspire horror,

destruction and jouissance. This latter attribute derives from the relation of the objet a to

Lacan’s third order, the Real.

The Real is for Lacan that which stands beyond representation. It exceeds articulation

and knowability, but is nevertheless the underside of what is understood as reality. It is a

source of titillation and revulsion, horror and enjoyment associated with death, lust, madness

and the horrific site of bodily materiality.38 The Real precedes the Symbolic, but also appears

as an effect of it, as the limit of perception that conditions faith in its existence. It is a nothing

that permeates every aspect of reality “as though stuck in the sole of our shoe” (Lacan 1972:

18). Lacan represents it as the hole in the middle of a doughnut, which is a continuation of the

space that surrounds it. Because of the hole the doughnut is a doughnut, even though the hole

is precisely what is not in it; analogously, the Real is what shapes one’s sense of reality, even

though it is excluded from it (Lacan 1994: 31-35, 41-46; Kay 2003: 4). Thus identity and

subjectivity constitute for Lacan an open locus of exchange in which the subject is part of an

Other’s symbolic, real and imaginary horizon.

                                                                                                               35 Lacan uses the Other to refer both to the Symbolic and to an other subject; see in this respect also Simon Gaunt’s comments (Gaunt 1995: 29). Since I find this practice extremely confusing, I use the “Other” to only denote another subject, while I keep consistently the term “Symbolic” to define Lacan’s network of signifiers. 36 For comments on alienation and separation, see Fink 1990; Laurent 1995. 37 Lacan’s notion of the “drive” is exposed in detail in his Seminar XI [1964] quoted above (Lacan 1979). However, he also refers to the drive in other occasions in his previous seminars. See, for example, Lacan 2008: 107-123. 38 For the Real see Žižek 2010.

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In the context of a saint’s Life or Passion the protagonists’ desired object (their objet a)

is Christ, or in other words, union with God. Christ is for saintly protagonists the locus where

both sexuality, and spirituality (divine Bridegroom), as well as threat (Judge) are condensed.

In the paired relationships discussed here, the issue of lack is central in that the protagonists

are missing a fundamental part of their spiritual identity—which prevents them from reaching

their goal. Interestingly, our protagonists are able to realise their lack through their interaction

with the Other in Lacanian parlance, that is, as soon as they establish a paired relationship.

For example, the protagonists in question may commit the sin of pride, like the monk

Zosimas, studied in Chapter One, a devastating mistake for the spirituality of a monk. Another

way the protagonists’ identities are shown to lack is by them being too attached to worldly

affairs. This attachment to the world can acquire four forms: it could mean that the

protagonists are married and wealthy like Melania the Younger and Pinian studied in Chapter

Three; or, that they are too committed to their offspring, like Athanasia studied in Chapter

Three. It could also be manifested as a mother’s need for a specific type of child like Anna

(Chapter Two); or again, it could mean that their chastity, which they had devoted to God, is

endangered, like Julian’s or Cecilia’s (Chapter Three). The protagonists are able to perceive

their lack (if they are unaware of it), or deal with their lack (if they are aware of it) through

their contact with the Other, the other member of the pair. Through such a contact, the

protagonists thus set forth for their object of desire. They are thus able to reconfigure their

spiritual self and to undo their lack.

The Butlerian Approach: Gender as Performative

Butler exposed her theory of the performative dimension of gender mainly in her study

Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (1990).39 In this work, the theorist

challenges the traditional assumption that gender, namely what is normally understood as

“male” or “female” is an innate quality of the human being. To introduce her argument, Butler

reassesses previous scholarship on the subject, among them Lacan’s work. In her view, gender

is the end product of a repeated act. The “doer”, that is the individual who engages in this

repeated act, is constructed through his/her deed (Butler 1990: 195, 198). What is structured as

intelligible gender identity within a given society is, according to Butler, governed by a rigid

                                                                                                               39 She addressed in more detail some aspects of her theory, such as the body or kinship in a number of subsequent works (Butler 1993; 2000; 2010).

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regulatory frame instructed by cultural norms (Butler 1990: 198). The body is instrumental in

the process of gender formation in that it is exactly through its stylization and repeated activity

that the production of the gendered identity becomes possible. The gendered identity, as a

product of this process is, subsequently, in Butler’s view, presented as a natural fact (Butler

1990: xxiv, 45).

Butler’s notion that gender is performative becomes an insightful tool for my analysis

of saintly couples since, in the texts in question, what is understood to be “male” or “female”

is not taken as an unaltered natural attribute. Instead, in the chapters that follow, I will show

that the protagonists need either to “prove” through their actions that they belong to the male

or female gender, or otherwise to defy the gender they are supposed to belong to, and prove

instead that this gender does not apply to them. For some protagonists in question, the notions

“male” and “female” actually become quite blurry. The way the protagonists in the texts under

investigation arrange their gender performance is, as I will attempt to show, essentially

informed by their interaction within the context of the couple. Gender thus becomes a peculiar

form of exchange between the spouses rather than a stable pre-arranged notion.

My purpose, as I hope to have already made clear, is to approach the various types of

relationships portrayed in the Byzantine texts I discuss by using different theoretical concepts

and not a unified theoretical frame. I will try to present these relationships in all their

complexity and to unravel their polyprismatic network of meaning, and not to overshadow this

multiplicity by squeezing the texts under a theoretical umbrella. In other words, my goal is not

to prove the validity of a given theory by applying it, but to critically reflect upon the

Byzantine texts through theoretical preoccupations customized to their medieval environment.

This requires shifting the critical perspective and adopting a new, even contrary one, when

incited by the texts to a different direction. Such a method respects, I believe, the

particularities of these texts. I have thus organised the use of theory in my chapters following

this general principle.

The chapters of this thesis are structured following the three types of relationships

presented before. I have tried to ensure that each chapter may be read as a self-contained

essay. For this purpose, each chapter begins with an introduction to the theoretical concepts

used and it is supplemented with a conclusions section summarising its findings. However,

this is not a collection of essays and there is a cumulative argument running through the

chapters.

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Chapter One studies the Lives of repentant prostitutes by distinguishing different levels

of seeing and hearing based on Lacan’s understanding of these sensory fields. It is divided into

three sections based on different perspectives through which these sensory fields are in various

instances approached by Lacan and Žižek. Chapter Two takes as its starting point Lacan’s

reading of kinship ties in the Sophoclean Antigone. Through this lens, I examine mother and

son relationships. I thereby approach kinship between mothers and sons as a relation that does

not exclude occupying multiple kin positions at once and explore the effects of such a

multifaceted kinship network. Chapter Three moves the focus to Butler’s theoretical

elaborations about kinship and gender. In this chapter I attempt to bring Lacan’s and Butler’s

theory in a constructive dialogue. Butler also attempts a reading of the Sophoclean Antigone,

while reassessing Lacan’s reading of the play. Following the methodological principle earlier

presented, namely that critical perspectives need to be adjusted to the textual environment, I

approach the category of spouses using both Lacan and Butler. I also supplement my

theoretical framework by using Victor Turner’s concept of liminal space (Turner 1969).

Through this frame, I attempt a reading of the three subgroups which come under the category

of spouses. In the Conclusion, I will endeavor to draw the various strands of this thesis

together, and reassess through the findings of each chapter the effect of establishing the

category of couple for our understanding of these narratives.

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Chapter 1 Seeing, Hearing and the Making of the Holy: Repentant Prostitutes

Introduction  Relationships, which are not constituted by blood or otherwise authorised by an institution

(e.g. marriage that is authorised by the law and the church) are perhaps the most difficult to

tackle hermeneutically. They lack the semblance of “natural” or “pre-given” that familial or

other cultural constellations establish for other kinds of ties. This is as much valid in

Byzantine culture as in the modern era. Relationships of this type, however, are in certain

Byzantine hagiographical narratives exploited as structural components of the whole story,

such as the cases examined in this chapter. All three Lives considered here, the Life of Pelagia

(BHG 1478), the Life of Abraham and Mary (BHG 5) and the Life of Mary of Egypt (BHG

1042) treat the stories of three heroines who belong to a type of sainthood defined in

Byzantine scholarship as “repentant prostitutes”.40 Holy protagonists of this type lead a

sexually decadent life and then repent, undergo a stage of harsh penance, and eventually,

achieve holiness because of their penitence. In the three cases examined here, the way these

heroines make the decision to forego their sinful lifestyle is inextricably linked to the

relationship they form with an Other, male, protagonist who appears in their lives and guides

them towards their transformation. Accordingly, the three male protagonists of these Lives are

significantly transformed due to their interaction with these women. This intersubjective

network is thus the kernel around which the stories unfold. For this reason, I consider it

essential to approach these narratives through the coupled relationships the protagonists form.

In an attempt to understand how these narratives’ relationships are shaped and produce

meaning, I detected two interesting parameters which these texts have in common, even if

materialised in different ways; namely, that the stories are structured based on an interplay

between different levels of seeing and hearing, and that all the couples in question lack

something spiritually. In order to reveal these aspects of the three texts I turn to Lacan who

extensively treats the issue of sensory apperception through vision and hearing in some of his

                                                                                                               40 Life of Pelagia, Petitmengin 1981 (hereafter LP); Life of Abraham and Mary, AASS Mart. II 1865, 932-937 (hereafter LAM); Life of Mary of Egypt, PG 87, 3697-3725 (hereafter LME). For the term “repentant prostitute” and the phenomenon in general see Constantinou 2005: 59-60; Gaca 1999; Leotsini 1989; Patlagean 1976; Rouselle 1993; Talbot 1996b: xii-xiii; Ward 1987.

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seminars. Actually, Lacan also makes a distinction between different levels of vision and

hearing.

The Lacanian Gaze

Lacan develops his thought with regard to the different ways of viewing and being viewed

using two concepts, the “look”, i.e. the normal way of viewing, and the “Gaze”, the notion he

is mostly concerned with.41 To grasp Lacan’s concept of the Gaze we need to make a

distinction between the look—that belongs to the field of vision and is associated with visible

images—and the Gaze—that does not belong to the subject’s field of vision and is associated

with the underside of reality and with the fearsome site of bodily materiality that Lacan calls

the Real.42

Lacan’s concept of the Gaze is based on an extended tradition of theoretical

elaborations on vision, in which the theme of the blind man, which begins with Descartes

(1966), is central.43 Descartes elaborates on the figure of the blind man, who is able to

perceive in his own way everything a seeing man sees, even colour (Zupančič 1996: 32-33).44

For Lacan, who takes up this theme in Seminar XI, the close correspondence between

the blind man and the seeing man in Cartesian optics, stems from the fact that this is an optics

of a flat, what he calls “geometral” space, which the blind man can also conceive: We would get him, for example, to finger an object on a certain height, then follow the stretched thread. We could teach him to distinguish, by the sense of touch in his finger-ends, on a surface, a certain configuration that reproduces the mapping of the images—in the same way that we imagine, in pure optics, the variously proportioned and fundamentally homological relations, the correspondence from one point to another in space, which always, in the end, amounts to situating two points on a single thread. (Lacan 1979: 93)

                                                                                                               41 In Lacan’s thought, the Gaze and the Voice are partial objects, that is to say, objects of the drives, of certain erogenous zones, mainly openings of the body (see above, p. 21). The drives are linked to—but not attached to—certain organs. The organ associated with the oral drive is the mouth and the organ associated with the scopic drive is the eye. The Gaze, object of the scopic drive, and the Voice, object of the oral drive, are purely Lacanian concepts added to the list of the Freudian partial objects—breast, faeces, phallus (Salecl and Žižek 1996a: 3; Žižek 1996: 90). On the partial objects see mainly Lacan 2004: 79-80. On various elaborations regarding the partial objects Gaze and Voice see Jaanus 1995, Miller 1989 and the essays included in Salecl and Žižek 1996. 42 See above, pp. 21-22. The look belongs to the order of the Imaginary while the Gaze belongs, in Lacan’s view, to the Real. 43 Alenca Zupančič’s essay “Philosopher’s Blind Man’s Buff” (in Salecl and Žižek 1996: 32-58), which traces the history behind the Lacanian Gaze, is indicative, since it constitutes, to my knowledge, the most detailed and explicit account on the evolution of the concept. The section of my thesis which traces this background is largely based on Zupančič’s essay. 44 The blind man can, for example, achieve this by holding two crossed sticks, which help him perceive sensory impulses (Zupančič 1996: 32-33).

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What we have in Descartes’ optics according to Lacan is, therefore, a point-by-point

correspondence of two unities in space (an image, which is linked to a surface) with the

“geometral” point. However, for Lacan, this does not exhaust the function of the scopic field;

this corresponds to the mapping of space, not sight. He exemplifies his argument using a

scheme of vision made up of two constitutive parts, the “geometral” aspect of vision (on the

left) and the aspect of the Gaze (on the right). In the scopic register the two triangles function

as superimposed (fig.2):

Figure 2 Lines of Light, taken from Lacan 1979: 91-106

In Lacan’s view, there is something that the blind man cannot see and this is exactly what

cannot be seen: the Gaze, that is, the point of light from which I myself am seen, the point that

gives origin to the picture to which I am part, but I cannot see it. Put bluntly, I cannot see

myself seeing, and this reveals my lack to see everything. The Gaze in the field of the visible

presents itself as a stain, a spot, a screen, something blurred that challenges the omnipotence

of my vision. Since the subject is the one who sees through the point of light that draws the

picture, but, simultaneously, he is the one who fails to perceive himself in the picture, the field

of vision is organised around this lack (of the subject to perceive itself in the picture he sees).45

Hence, the geometral dimension includes in vision the aspect of lack, the Gaze that always

elides our grasp. In Lacan’s words: In our relation to things, in so far as this relation is constituted by the way of vision, and ordered in the figures of representation, something slips, passes, is transmitted from stage to stage, and is always to some degree eluded—this is what we call the gaze. (Lacan 1979: 73)

The Gaze is thus situated on the outside of the subject, it is objectal—it is on the side of what

the subject sees and not on the side of the seeing subject—and is usually not perceptible to the

                                                                                                               45 See also the comments of Mladen Dolar on this point (Dolar 1996: 138). For example, Lacan notes, one can see in the mirror his eyes, but not his gaze (Lacan 2004: 37).

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subject because of the fascination that the image of the Other produces. Lacan uses as an

example of this fascination a painting placed in a window frame. I can see the painting, he

says, I can be fascinated by the charm of what is painted on the canvas, but its function is to

erase the Gaze, i.e., to make me forget that I cannot see what can be seen through the window

(Lacan 2004: 89).46

The above exposition makes clear that the look and the Gaze are constitutively

asymmetrical. In Lacan’s words:

In the scopic field, everything is articulated between two terms that act in an antinomic way—on the side of things, there is the gaze, that is to say, things look at me, and yet I see them. This is how one should understand the words, so strongly stressed, in the Gospel, They have eyes that they might not see. That they might not see what? Precisely, that things are looking at them. (Lacan 1979: 109)

This discrepancy is what Lacan defines as the “split between the eye and the gaze”: on the one

hand, there is the “geometral” dimension of vision, that enables me to constitute myself as a

subject. The geometral dimension offers certainty (of vision, of knowledge, of existence) and

thus enables the subject to constitute its subjectivity. For example, I can see my image as

whole in the mirror, nothing is missing; I am certain of my being and identity. On the other

hand, there is the dimension of the Gaze, the stain that throws my illusion of self-

consciousness and self-transparency into doubt and where the “I” turns itself into an object of

scrutiny and reflection.

The split between the eye and the Gaze is, therefore, decisive for the constitution of

subjectivity and for the access to self-knowledge. The two superimposed triangles correspond

to the elaborated scheme of the flowers and the vase that Lacan details with regard to the

“mirror stage”. As long as the subject remains “blind” to the missing object at its very core, to

its objet a,47 i.e., as long as he does not perceive the Gaze which turns him into a picture and

does not confront his fundamental lack, he can think of himself as a totality.

We would thus summarise the discussion of the Gaze in the following way: the Gaze is

distinct from the look and reduces the subject to an object. It is the look of the subject being

                                                                                                               46 An interesting example of the Gaze is brought up by Žižek. In Alfred Hitchock’s films Psycho and The Birds, there is a scene of the heroines approaching an empty house. Hitchock alternates between the subjective view of the house through the heroine’s eyes and the “objective” view of the heroine in motion. This continuous switching generates anxiety because of the uncanny feeling that the mysterious house is returning the subject’s gaze through a position that cannot be subjectivized and thus ultimately the heroine cannot “see it all”, there remains a blind spot, the source of the Gaze that makes her helpless (Žižek 1992: 126; 1996: 90). 47 Lacan’s development of the Gaze as objet a derives from Maurice Merleau-Ponty’s argument that there is a preexisting gaze, a kind of universal all-seer, an imaginary being behind the eternal Gaze (Merleau-Ponty 1968; see also Quinet 1995: 139).

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looked at as an object by himself.48 Thus it is not to see; it is to be (made) seen (Lacan 1979:

67-119). More often than not, the Gaze is invisible to the subject. Lacan says: “You never look

at me from the place from which I see you. Conversely, what I look at is never what I wish to

see” (Lacan 1979: 103). As it is associated with the menacing Real and it takes up the void

space of the objet a, the Gaze, if somehow perceived, is linked to a traumatic self-awareness

that disarms the subject and reduces him to a lack. Hence, to block these traumatic effects, the

Gaze appears in the subject’s field of vision with a screen, whose function is to erase the

legibility of the Gaze. This screen is the object of vision, the Other, who distracts the subject

through the fascination he/she/it exerts from perceiving the Gaze (Lacan 1979: 105-119). Thus

the Other as object is both carrier of the Gaze and its veil.

But what if the Gaze escapes the elusive blind spot and intrudes the field of the visible?

Or, to return to the example of the mirror, what if one could actually see one’s own image

close its eyes or wink (Dolar 1996: 139)? That is to say, what if one could see himself being

looked at by himself?

The method through which the Gaze can be revealed is anamorphosis. Anamorphosis

is an artistic technique that flourished during the Renaissance and Baroque periods, through

which two incompatible perspectives are juxtaposed on the same surface. This effect can be

created either by perspective or a catoptric mirror. Part of the image appears distorted or

unintelligible if viewed normally; in order to restore the blot to legibility, the viewer needs to

move to a specific vantage point or look through a convex mirror. In this case, the part of the

picture painted in the normal (geometral) perspective appears blurred and what previously

appeared as a spot in the picture acquires well-known contours.49

Seeing/perceiving the Gaze is not a comfortable experience. The moment the subject

confronts his lack through becoming the object of the Gaze is the moment of highest anxiety;

it is the moment when, in Žižek’s words, one “meets one’s own death” (1996: 94), i.e. his

identity is dissolved.50 The model that Lacan provides of such a traumatic confrontation with

the Gaze is the moment when Oedipus realises what he has done. When he perceives his

                                                                                                               48 On the objectal status that the subject acquires when confronted with the Gaze, see Žižek’s comments (Žižek 1993: 27). 49 Famous examples of anamorphosis include Leonardo’s Eye (Leonardo da Vinci, c. 1485), or Hans Holbein’s The Ambassadors (discussed below), and the ceiling in the church of St. Ignazio by Andrea Pozzo. On anamorphosis, see selectively: Cole 1992; Collins 1992; Damisch 1987; Da Rosa and D’Acunto 2002; Foister, Roz and Wyld 1997; Kay 2003: 50-51. 50 See also the comments of Ellie Ragland concerning the encounter with the Real in terms of Gaze and Voice (Ragland 1995: 201).

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crime, Oedipus tears his eyes out and throws them on the ground. According to Lacan, such an

example is the classic model of anxiety. Oedipus becomes the object of the Gaze, of his seeing

(without seeing) his own eyes, still staring at him from afar: “It is that an impossible sight

threatens you of your own eyes on the ground” (Lacan 2004: 77, 144-146). For Lacan, this is

Oedipus’ highest moment of self-knowledge. His own eyes were the cause of his downfall. He

wanted to know what had happened, but ended up seeing/knowing something he could not

bear.51 Hence, switching to the modality of the Gaze provides access to the highest forms of

knowledge. According to his logic, one can know more (about oneself) not by looking

straightforwardly, by what the eyes normally show, but by “looking awry”, bypassing the

normal function of the physical eyes.52

                                                                                                               51 Cf. that after this episode Oedipus becomes a seer and is able to see so far ahead as to predict the future destiny of Athens. 52 Lacan brings an additional example, the Buddhist statues, which always have an eye that one cannot describe as either closed or half-closed. This effect is created by the lowered lid, which only allows to pass through a line of the white of the eye and an edge of the pupil. This position of the eye can only be achieved by learning (Lacan 2004: 263).

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The Lacanian Voice

Like the Gaze, the Lacanian Voice is distinct from the normal sound perceived through the

ear. The term is introduced in Seminar III (Lacan 1993), but is in more detail exposed in

Seminar X (Lacan 2004).53 The Voice refers to a sound or speech, articulated or inarticulate,

which has a privileged relation to the Real and, therefore, appears to the hearing subject as

either cruel, incomprehensible, or intruding the barrier that separates his exterior reality and

his interiority.54

As long as perception of the Voice is elided, the subject can unimpeded, construct his

self-identity as a false wholeness. But if the object-Voice appears, it attacks the core of self-

certainty revealing a lack and impelling a traumatic self-awareness. (Lacan 2004: 291).55 Like

the Gaze, the Voice is mediated through an object, e.g. another subject, even though the Other

may not intentionally act as the agent of this imperative awareness of lack: A voice therefore is not assimilated but is incorporated […], it models the locus of our anxiety but […] only after the desire of the Other has taken the form of a commandment. That is why it can play its eminent function of giving to anxiety its resolution, whether it is called guilt or pardon. (Lacan 2004: 319-321)

Consequently, the Voice manifests itself either as a disembodied sound, or as someone’s

speech that disrupts the subject’s reality and it can have a physical effect on the individual.56 It

is, like the Gaze, a kind of foreign body that is mediated through someone or something Other,

only to reach the subject as a piece of violent awareness of consciousness (Lacan 1993: 117-

129, 258-309; 2004: 265-296).

In sum, the Gaze and the Voice are related to “seeing” and hearing a traumatic piece of

oneself through the Other, which deconstructs one’s sense of self or reality and unmasks

                                                                                                               53 For the Lacanian Voice see Žižek 2001: 116-120 and the essays included in Salecl and Žižek 1996. 54 Lacan employs as an example of the Voice an instrument known as the “shofar”, which is mentioned in the biblical books of Exodus (20.16, 20.18) and Chronicles (Lacan 2004: 287). The shofar is used on many ritual occasions. These were studied from a psychoanalytical point of view by Reik 1928. 55The Voice may appear in many forms, for example the dead leaves, the stray voices of psychosis, or in the form of consciousness. In Lacanian terms, consciousness is rendered as the agent of the Superego, the obscene, unwritten, secret law that is incorporated and presented as free will. On the Superego see Lacan 1991: 187-199 and 2006c: 123. For commentaries on the Voice, see in particular Žižek 1999: 268; Salecl and Žižek 1996: 232. 56 Dolar’s essay “The Object Voice” (1996) is a thorough investigation of the philosophical and theological background that gave rise to the Lacanian Voice. She draws examples from as far back as Aristotle and ancient China to demonstrate that the ideology of a special sound, which cannot be exactly pinned down to what is defined as the normal logos and is therefore considered both joyful and threatening, belongs to a long tradition of reflection on levels of hearing. She concludes her account with the Christian philosophical tradition, focusing especially on Augustine and his warnings against “sinning by the ear” and brings to attention the obverse of this “sinful” quality of the Voice, a Voice that sticks to the logos to such a degree, as to acquire the status of the “Voice of God”—again a joyful, but also threatening or judgemental sound (Dolar 1996: 17-24).

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lack.57 Both Gaze and Voice assume great significance in my analysis, as they enable me to

distinguish various levels of vision and hearing in the texts that come under my focus. Thus,

they enable me to explore how in the many instances of seeing and hearing an Other, the

individual who is able to perceive the Gaze and the Voice is reduced to an object, which is

scrutinised and criticised by his/her own self, and then reconfigures his/her identity. These

concepts are also important in that their use reveals a gender-based portrayal in Passions and

Lives that involve couples: Gaze will be shown to be usually associated with looking at and

beyond a woman and gaining self-awareness, while Voice will be revealed to be attached to a

male authority, who somehow commands self-awareness.

Since the Gaze and the Voice can acquire many forms, at times abstract as the above

framework suggests, I have structured this chapter using applied examples of how the Gaze

and the Voice are each time used. More specifically, I begin my examination by providing an

example that Lacan gives of anamorphosis and approach through this example the LP. In the

second section, I turn to Žižek’s reading of the Gaze in Shakespeare and approach through this

lens the LME. In the last section, I turn to Lacan’s reading of Poe in terms of how levels of

seeing are structured and use this framework to approach the LAM.

The Gaze and the Voice in the Life of Pelagia (LP)

The LP is dated to the 5th century (Petitmengin 1981: 15; 1981a: 39). As author and narrator of

the story appears to be a certain James, who is also the deacon of bishop Nonnos, one of the

main protagonists.58 The story begins in Antioch. Nonnos visits the city and delivers a

kerygma to a congregation of bishops after the Sunday liturgy. An actress and prostitute,

Pelagia, interrupts the congregation parading in front of the gathered bishops with her escorts

and causes a strong impression on Nonnos. Pelagia encounters Nonnos a second time when

she accidentally listens to another speech he delivers. This time it is Nonnos who causes an

impression to Pelagia since, because of his speech, the heroine is radically transformed and

she decides to change her way of life. She is baptised and later on goes to the Mount of Olives,

undergoes a harsh repentance enclosed in a cell and ends her life perceived as a eunuch by

                                                                                                               57 For various elaborations regarding the Gaze and the Voice, see the essays included in Salecl and Žižek 1996. 58 On Nonnos and the issue whether he is a historical personality or a fictive persona, see Brock and Ashbrook-Harvey 1987: 40.

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everybody, except for Nonnos. The relation between Nonnos and Pelagia is thus instrumental

for the structuring of the story. The interaction of the two protagonists is constructed in

multiple levels of seeing, hearing, writing and speaking. These levels are revealed to be

gender-specific, consistently linked with the perspective of either the male or the female

protagonist.

The Gaze

One of the most compelling ways in which Lacan explains anamorphosis as a method by

which the Gaze is revealed is by bringing as an example Hans Holbein’s painting The

Ambassadors (fig. 3).59

Figure 3 The Ambassadors, The National Gallery, London

In this painting two incompatible visual practices are juxtaposed. Viewed straight on, the

ambassadors feature prominently in the centre of the portrait, standing stiffened by luxurious

                                                                                                               59 This painting has received many interpretations. For a thorough description of the painting see Holbein (1948) [by Villiers]. For a historical survey, see Hervey 1900. For various elaborations of the painting see Bomford 2004; Ferrier 1977; Kenaan 2002.

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artefacts, the signs of vanitas. In the foreground there appears a floating object, which looks as

a stain in the picture. To see this object clearly the viewer needs to move to the far right and

look back on his left and upwards at the painting. In this way, while the rest of the picture

recedes in blur, the apparent stain is restored to legibility as a scull, the face of death that gazes

right at the viewer and reminds him of his finitude (Lacan 1979: 79-104). The viewer is thus

inscribed in the picture as a stain-like scull. It is this backwards glance that reveals, in Lacan’s

view, the Gaze as objet a and impels the viewer to awareness of consciousness, pointing out

the illusion of what is perceived as “reality” in the face of death.

I would like now to compare this painting in its Lacanian reading, to an episode from

the LP: Τοῦ δὲ ἁγίου πνεύµατος λαλοῦντος διὰ τῶν χειλέων αὐτοῦ πρὸς ὠφέλειαν καὶ σωτηρίαν πάντων τῶν ἀκουόντων, ἰδοὺ ἄφνω παρέρχεται δι’ ἡµῶν ἡ πρώτη τῶν µιµάδων Ἀντιοχείας˙ αὕτη δὲ ἦν καὶ ἡ πρώτη τῶν χορευτριῶν τοῦ ὀρχηστοῦ. Καὶ διέβη καθηµένη εἰς βαδιστὴν µετὰ πολλῆς φαντασίας κεκαλλωπισµένη ὥστε µὴ φαίνεσθαί ἐπ’ αὐτῇ πλὴν χρυσίου καὶ µαργαριτῶν καὶ λίθων τιµίων˙ τὰ δὲ γυµνὰ τῶν ποδῶν αὐτῆς διὰ χρυσίου καὶ µαργαριτῶν περικεκόσµητο˙ καὶ πολλὴ φαντασία τῶν παίδων καὶ τῶν κορασίων τῶν µετ’ αὐτῆς, φορούντων ἱµατισµὸν πολυτελῆ καὶ µανιάκια χρυσᾶ, καὶ τοὺς µὲν αὐτῆς προτρέχοντας, τοὺς δὲ ἐπακολουθοῦντας. Τοῦ δὲ περικειµένου αὐτῇ κόσµου καὶ τοῦ ὡραϊσµοῦ οὐκ ἦν κόρος µάλιστα τοῖς δηµοχαρέσιν ἀνθρώποις. Αὕτη διελθοῦσα δι’ ἡµῶν τὸν ἀέρα ὅλον ἐπλήρωσε τῆς εὐωδίας τοῦ µόσχου καὶ τῶν µύρων τῶν ἐπ’ αὐτῇ. Ταύτην θεασάµενος ὁ χορὸς τῶν ἁγίων ἐπισκόπων οὕτως ἀνακεκαλυµµένῳ προσώπῳ διελθοῦσαν δι’ αὐτῶν καὶ µετὰ τοιαύτης φαντασίας καὶ ἀναιδείας ὡς µηδὲ τὸ πολυτίµητον αὐτῆς θέριστρον περικεῖσθαι περὶ τὴν κεφαλὴν αὐτῆς ἀλλ’ ἐπὶ τῶν ὤµων, ἀπέστρεψαν τὰ πρόσωπα αὐτῶν ὡς ἀπὸ ἁµαρτίας µεγάλης. Ὁ δὲ ἅγιος τοῦ Θεοῦ Νόννος ὁ ἐπίσκοπος τοῖς τῆς διανοίας ὀφθαλµοῖς ἀκριβῶς αὐτῇ προσέσχεν, ὥστε καὶ µετὰ τὸ παρελθεῖν αὐτὴν στραφῆναι καὶ τηρεῖν αὐτὴν. (LP, p.78.§4.21-p.79.§6.41, my emphasis) As the Holy Spirit was speaking through his lips for the benefit and salvation of all who listened, behold all of a sudden the leader of the troop of actors, who was also the leader of the dancers of the orchestra happened to pass by us. And she passed by sitting on a riding donkey adorned with great pomp so that nothing else was visible of her besides gold ornaments, pearls and precious stones. Her naked feet were adorned with gold and pearls. And the pomp of the boys and girls who were with her was also great, as they wore luxurious clothes and golden armbands; and some of them ran before her while others followed her. And there was no satiation of the beautification and the ornaments that covered her, much more for those who enjoyed the commons. As she passed in front of us the scent of her perfumes and of the cosmetics, which covered her, filled the air. Seeing her the chorus of the saintly bishops, as she passed in front of them in this fashion with her face uncovered and with such a pomp and shamelessness so that even her expensive scarf was not wrapped around her head but <thrown> on her shoulders, averted their faces away from her, as though from some great sin. The holy bishop Nonnos, however, observed her carefully with the eyes of his mind, so that even when she had passed, he turned and observed her.60

                                                                                                               60 There exists an English translation of the Syriac version of the Life (Brock and Ashbrook-Harvey 1987: 40-62). There is also an English translation of the scene in Constantinou 2005: 69-70. I have used this translation as a guide in many instances, but since the Greek text is different all translations given here are my own.

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The passage describes Pelagia’s appearance and her unintentional interruption of Nonnos’

speech.61 If we put side-by-side The Ambassadors and Pelagia’s description, there emerge

striking similarities. Pelagia is raised, seated on a higher level than the viewer, in a busy

setting, literally covered by gold and precious stones, with even her naked feet covered with

jewellery. Pelagia is literally displayed as a luxurious artifact—just like The Ambassadors.62

She is carried seated in front of the congregation in a way similar to how the viewer needs to

move in order to look at Holbein’s painting. In Pelagia’s case, it is she as artifact that moves in

front of the viewer. In the above episode, as the emphasised terms also show, it seems that

multiple levels of vision are at play.

Looking Straightforwardly

The straightforward look to Pelagia-the-painting (what Lacan would call the “geometral”

dimension of vision) is represented by the bishops, who only employ their eyes to see her

(θεασάµενος ὁ χορὸς τῶν ἁγίων ἐπισκόπων), but also by the readers or listeners, who are

invited by the hagiographer to look at Pelagia (ἰδοὺ).63 That Pelagia is a subject able to arouse

sexual desire is very well illustrated by the bishops’ turning away their faces, since they regard

her as temptation. It is also designated by the hagiographer’s references to Pelagia’s body,

such as her naked feet, which are covered by jewellery. Hence, both the primary and the

secondary audience are invited to enjoy a titillating spectacle.

However, a closer look shows that Pelagia is not actually revealed naked to the

bystanders–in the way a virgin martyr is revealed and described for example. Even though the

bishops turn away to avoid sinning by looking at Pelagia, and even though the readers or                                                                                                                61 This scene is discussed in Constantinou 2005: 69-75. The author discusses the episode from three perspectives: the perspective of a male character, the perspective of the audience and the perspective of the female protagonist. 62 It is indicative that other holy harlots are referred to in terms of artifacts as well. For example, Eudokia is described as a painting (Life of Eudokia, BHG 604; AASS Mart I. 1668, 875-883). This is a technique also used in the Byzantine romances. For example, Rodamne, in the thirteenth-century “Tale of Livistros and Rodamne” is also referred to in the same terms (Tale of Livistros and Rodamne, Agapitos 2006). Although beyond the scope of this study, I believe a comparative approach of the holy harlots with the heroines of the romances could yield interesting results as to the way beautiful heroines were perceived in Byzantiune literature. 63 Actually, Hermann Usener (1879), who has also provided an edition of the Life has included the authorial intervention “ἂν ἴδοις” before “αὐτῆς προτρέχοντας” (τοὺς µὲν ἂν ἴδοις αὐτῆς προτρέχοντας, in Usener 1879, §.4.line 9). I believe this addition would make much sense here given the ἰδοὺ, through which the hagiographer includes his audience in the scene and the fact that he clearly intends to construct multiple levels of perspectives and vision. The interjection would remind the audience that the scene is a spectacle and it is usually used in episodes that are designed to make an impression to the reader/listener. A phrase of the type “ἂν ἴδοις”, however, is also one of the common phrases to be omitted and left to be inferred. In any case, whether the phrase was part of the original Life or not, the secondary audience is invited within the scene.

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listeners are also invited to look at her, actually nothing is visible of her (or described) besides

her expensive ornaments. Pelagia is rather a concealed absence, as also the terms “µὴ

φαίνεσθαι” (“nothing was visible”) and “περικειµένου αὐτῇ κόσµου” (“the ornaments that

covered her”) indicate. Put crudely, Pelagia is a carefully wrapped void.

It nevertheless seems that it is actually the absence of the body, the wrap that causes

desire: “τοῦ περικειµένου αὐτῇ κόσµου καὶ τοῦ ὡραϊσµοῦ οὐκ ἦν κόρος µάλιστα τοῖς

δηµοχαρέσιν ἀνθρώποις” (there was no satiation of the beautification and the ornaments that

covered her, much more for those who enjoyed the commons). Lacan details the concept of

the veiled object, which causes desire because of the veil, because it excites the imagination as

to what may be behind the veil (Lacan 1994: 156).64 The veiled object may take whatever

form one likes because it is veiled. In the same way, Pelagia acts as a temptation because of

the ornaments that cover her body and excite the imagination as to what may be under this

cover. In this respect, Pelagia is an imaginary wholeness, which, despite the detailed

description, is not captured in narration.65

However, the veil acts also as a screen for the one who sees with his physical eyes.

Namely, the veil prevents the viewer from perceiving the lack that the Gaze embodies, or in

other words, to return the look back to himself (Lacan 1979: 103). Lacan refers to this as the

triumph of the Gaze over the eye. Likewise, looking straightforwardly, the bishops cannot see

beyond what their eyes show them. Lured by Pelagia’s luxurious form, they see nothing but

what the ornaments connote, namely, that she is a rich prostitute.

Looking Awry

Nonnos was from the beginning of the text signalled as a spiritual authority. The first

information given about Nonnos in the text is that he was invited to the gathering of bishops as

the bishop of the monastery of Tabennesiotes. After this reference, an explanatory comment

attributes his position to his virtuous way of life: “διὰ δὲ τὸν ἀνεπίληπτον αὐτοῦ βίον καὶ τὴν

ἐνάρετον αὐτοῦ πολιτείαν κατηξιώθη τῆς τοσαύτης ἀξίας” (LP, p.77.§2.13-14; because of his

perfect way of life and his pious deeds he was held worthy of such a rank). His religious

                                                                                                               64 For a brilliant application of the concept of the veil to approach medieval literature, see Griffin 2005: 73-78. The Lacanian veil is used in Griffin’s study to interpret the Grail as an object continuously sought for by the protagonists of the thirteenth-century prose Vulgate Cycle. However, this object is revealed to be very elusive and cannot be pinned down to any stable form of object. 65 For Lacan’s algebraic designation of these concepts, see Lacan 1998a: 90; see also Kay 2003: 51-58 and Žižek 1997: 171.

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speech has the power of benefitting the soul: “ἠρώτων οἱ ἐπίσκοποι τὸν κύριν Νόννον […]

ὠφεληθῆναι παρ’ αὐτοῦ” (LP, p.78.§4.20-21; the bishops begged lord Nonnos to speak […] so

as to be edified by him). Nonnos is thus perceived as spiritually integral.

It is as a spiritual authority that Nonnos sets out to speak for the company’s

beneficience when he is confronted with the Gaze of the Other. Before reaching its conclusion,

Nonnos’ speech is “substituted” by Pelagia’s appearance. It is she who causes the effect in the

end. Nonnos, in contrast to the bishops, is not just a viewer. He is a careful observer (“ἀκριβῶς

αὐτῇ προσέσχεν”, “τηρεῖν αὐτὴν”; LP, p.79.§7.39-40; “observed her carefully”, “turned and

observed her”). He is thus able to shift his field of vision and look at Pelagia with a fresh pair

of eyes: “τοῖς τῆς διανοίας ὀφθαλµοῖς ἀκριβῶς αὐτῇ προσέσχεν, ὥστε καὶ µετὰ τὸ παρελθεῖν

αὐτὴν στραφῆναι καὶ τηρεῖν αὐτὴν” (LP, p.§7.39-40; observed her carefully with the eyes of

his mind, so that even when she had passed, he turned and observed her).66 Nonnos has

switched to another dimension of vision and by doing that he is able to see beyond what the

geometral perspective allows him to see. Just like the backwards anamorphotic glance that

assigns meaning to the floating scull, Nonnos fixes his mental vision on Pelagia, and turns to

watch her as she passes by. But what does Nonnos see through adopting an anamorphotic

perspective?

What Nonnos is able to perceive is his own inadequate self in front of his spiritual

desire. Just as the face of death that stains the Ambassadors painting, Nonnos glimpses a fierce

image of himself as he realises his lack in relation to his desire for Christ. He is thus, in

accordance to the logic of the Gaze, reduced to shame. One could say that Nonnos actually

reads Lacan very well. Lacan says: “From the moment that this gaze appears, the subject tries

to adapt himself to it, he becomes that punctiform object, that point of vanishing being, with

which the subject confuses his own failure” (Lacan 1979: 83). Nonnos’ strong reaction reveals

his loss of self: Καὶ µετὰ ταῦτα στρέψας τὸ πρόσωπον αὐτοῦ ἔθηκεν ἐπὶ τῶν γονάτων αὐτοῦ καὶ τὸ ἐγχειρίδιον ὃ ἐκράτει ἐν ταῖς ἁγίαις αὐτοῦ χερσὶν καὶ ὅλον τὸν κόλπον αὐτοῦ ἐπλήρωσεν τῶν δακρύων. Καὶ στενάξας µέγα λέγει τοῖς συγκαθηµένοις αὐτῷ ἐπισκόποις˙ “Ὄντως ὑµεῖς οὐκ ἐτέρφθητε τοῦ κάλλους αὐτῆς;” Οἱ δὲ σιωπὴν ἀσκήσαντες οὐδὲν αὐτῷ ἀπεκρίθησαν. Καὶ πάλιν θεὶς τὸ πρόσωπον αὐτοῦ ἐπὶ τῶν γονάτων καὶ µέγα στενάξας καὶ τὸ στῆθος αὐτοῦ τύψας ὅλον τὸ τρίχινον αὐτοῦ ἐπλήρωσεν τῶν δακρύων. Ἔπειτα ἀνανεύσας λέγει τοῖς ἐπισκόποις˙ “Ὄντως ὑµεῖς οὐκ ἐτέρφθητε τοῦ κάλλους αὐτῆς;” Τῶν δὲ µὴ

                                                                                                               66 Cf. also John Chrysostom’s aspect that the eyes of the spirit are able to see things not yet existent (Hom. 10 Gen. 4, PG 53, 86). See also comments in Clark 1979: 4.

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ἀποκρινοµένων εἶπεν ὁ ἁγιώτατος ἐπίσκοπος˙ “Ὄντως ἐγὼ πάνυ ἐτέρφθην καὶ ἠράσθην τοῦ κάλλους αὐτῆς, ὅτι ταύτην ἔχει ὁ Θεὸς προσλαβέσθαι καὶ στῆσαι ἐνώπιον τοῦ φρικτοῦ καὶ φοβεροῦ βήµατος αὐτοῦ κατακρίνουσαν ἡµᾶς καὶ τὴν ἐπισκοπὴν ἡµῶν καὶ τὸν βίον ἡµῶν.” Καὶ λέγει πάλιν τοῖς ἐπισκόποις˙ “Ὡς νοµίζετε, ἀγαπητοί, πόσας ὥρας ἐποίησεν αὕτη ἐν τῷ κοιτῶνι αὐτῆς σµηχοµένη, κοσµουµένη, ὡραϊζοµένη, χριοµένη καὶ µετὰ πολλῆς φιλοστοργίας ἐσοπτριζοµένη, ἵνα µὴ τοῦ προκειµένου σκοποῦ ἀποτύχῃ καὶ ἄµορφος φανῇ τοῖς ἑαυτῆς ἐρασταῖς. Καὶ ταῦτα ἐποίησεν ἴνα ἀνθρώποις ἀρέσῃ τοῖς σήµερον οὖσι καὶ αὔριον οὐκ οὖσιν. Καὶ ἡµεῖς ἔχοντες παστὸν ἐν τοῖς οὐρανοῖς ἀκατάλυτον καὶ µένοντα διὰ παντός, ἔτι δὲ καὶ νυµφίον Ἰησοῦν ἀθάνατον ἀθανασίαν χαριζόµενον τοῖς καλλωπιζοµένοις τὰς ἐντολὰς αὐτοῦ, προῖκα ἔχοντες ἐπουράνιον καὶ πλουσίαν ἥτις εἰκασµῷ οὐχ ὑποβάλλεται ἃ ὀφθαλµὸς οὐκ εἶδεν καὶ οὖς οὐκ ἤκουσεν καὶ ἐπὶ καρδίαν ἀνθρώπου οὐκ ἀνέβη, ἃ ἡτοίµασεν ὁ θεὸς τοῖς ἀγαπῶσιν αὐτόν […], ἐπαγγελίαν ἔχοντες τὸ πρόσωπον ἐκεῖνο τὸ φοβερὸν θεωρεῖν καὶ τὸ ἀµήχανον κάλλος εἰς ὃ τὰ Χερουβὶµ ἀτενίσαι οὐ τολµῶσιν˙ καὶ τοιοῦτον νυµφίον ἔχοντες, οὔτε καλλωπίζοµεν ἑαυτοὺς οὔτε κοσµούµεθα οὔτε ἀποσµήχοµεν τὸν ῥύπον ἀπὸ τῆς ἀθλίας ἡµῶν ψυχῆς, ἀλλ’ ἐάσαµεν αὐτὴν ἐν ἀµελείᾳ κατακεῖσθαι.” Ταῦτα εἰπὼν παρέλαβέν µε καὶ ἀπήλθοµεν ἐν τῷ κελλίῳ. Καὶ ῥίψας ἑαυτὸν εἰς τὸ ἔδαφος καὶ τὸ πρόσωπον αὐτοῦ ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν ἀποκρούων ἔκλαιε λέγων˙ “Ὁ Θεός, ἱλάσθητί µοι τῷ ἁµαρτωλῷ καὶ ἀναξίῳ, ὅτι µιᾶς ἡµέρας καλλωπισµὸς πόρνης ἐνίκησεν τὸν καλλωπισµὸν τῆς ψυχῆς µου ὅλων τῶν ἐτῶν τοῦ βίου µου. Καὶ ποίῳ προσώπῳ ἀτενίσω σοι, ὁ Θεός; ποίοις δὲ λόγοις δικαιωθῶ ἐνώπιόν σου; ἢ τί προφασίσωµαι ἐνώπιόν σου τοῦ θεωροῦντος τὰ κρυπτά µου; Οὐαί µοι τῷ ἁµαρτωλῷ, ὅτι τὴν φλιὰν τοῦ νοεροῦ σου θυσιαστηρίου κατατρίβω µὴ προσφέρων σοι κάλλος ψυχῆς οἷον ἐπιζητεῖς παρ’ ἐµοῦ, ὁ Θεός˙ καὶ τῇ φρικτῇ καὶ φοβερᾷ σου τραπέζῃ παρίσταµαι µὴ κεκαλλωπισµένος πρὸς τὸ θέληµά σου˙ κύριε ὁ Θεός µου, ὁ ἐκ τοῦ µὴ ὄντος εἰς τὸ εἶναι παραγαγὼν τὰ πάντα µεθ’ ὧν καὶ τὴν ἐµὴν ταπείνωσιν καὶ ἀνάξιόν µε ὄντα καταξιώσας δουλεύειν σοι, µή µε ἀπορρίψῃς ἀπὸ τοῦ οὐρανίου σου θυσιαστηρίου˙ µή µε κατακρίνῃ ὁ καλλωπισµὸς τῆς πόρνης ἐνώπιον τοῦ φρικτοῦ καὶ φοβεροῦ σου βήµατος, ὅτι αὔτη διὰ γῆν καὶ σποδὸν πολλῇ σπουδῇ ἐχρήσατο. κἀγὼ τοῦ ἀθανάτου θυσιαστηρίου καταφρονῶν εἰς ἀσέλγειαν ἐµαυτὸν ἐξέδωκα καὶ διὰ τὴν ῥᾳθυµίαν µου γυµνός εἰµι ἀπὸ τοῦ πνευµατικοῦ κόσµου τῶν ἐντολῶν σου. Ἐκείνη γὰρ ἀνθρώποις ἐπηγγείλατο ἀρέσαι καὶ ἠλήθευσεν˙ ἐγὼ δὲ σοὶ τῷ φιλανθρώπῳ Θεῷ ἐπηγγειλάµην ἀρέσαι καὶ ἐψευσάµην˙ διὰ τοῦτο γυµνός εἰµι καὶ ἐπὶ γῆς καὶ ἐν οὐρανοῖς. Λοιπὸν οὐκ ἔστιν µοι ἐλπὶς σωτηρίας ἐξ’ ἔργων, ἀλλ’ ἡ ψυχή µου καὶ ἡ ἐλπίς µου πᾶσα εἰς τὸ πέλαγος τῶν σῶν οἰκτιρµῶν ἀποκρέµαται καὶ εἰς τὸ πλῆθος τῆς εὐσπλαχνίας σου ἐλπίζω σωθῆναι”. (LP, p.79.§7.41-p.82.§13.94, my emphasis) And after that he turned away his face, placed his head on his knees and filled with tears the book he held, and his whole lap. And with a great sigh he said to the bishops who were sitting with him: “Honestly, were you not delighted by her beauty?” They kept silent and did not answer a word. And again he placed his face on his knees and greatly sighed and striking his chest he soaked his entire hairshirt with tears. Then he turned his face up and said to the bishops: “Honestly, were you not delighted by her beauty?” As they were not answering the most holy bishop said to them: “Honestly, I myself was very delighted and I passionately desired her beauty, for God will have her placed before his awful and fearful throne to condemn us and our bishopric and our lives.” And again he said to the bishops: “How many hours do you imagine, my dear ones, did she spend in her boudoir, washing herself, making herself up, anointing herself and looking herself in the mirror with the greatest attention so that she would not fail in her purpose and look ugly to her lovers? And she did all this in order to please men—who are today, but gone tomorrow.

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And we, who have a bridal chamber in heaven that will not pass away, in a place that will last for ever and ever; and we also have Jesus as fiancé, who is immortal and offers immortality to those who adorn themselves in his commands, we have in heaven an inheritance so great that the mind cannot conceive, which no eye has ever seen nor ear heard, nor a human heart has imagined, which God prepared for those who love him […] we have been promised to see that fearful face and the inconceivable beauty on which even the cherubim do not dare to cast eye. And even though we have such a fiancé, we do not beautify or adorn ourselves, nor do we strive to wash away the dirt from our wretched soul, but we have left it lay there in neglect. Having said these, he took me and we went to the cell. And he threw himself on the ground and banging his face on the floor he cried saying: “God, have mercy on me, who I am a sinner and unworthy; for a prostitute’s beautification of one day has defeated the beautification of my soul of all the years of my life. And with what face shall I look upon you, God? With which words should I find justice for myself in your presence? Or what excuse should I find before you, who can see all my secrets? Alas for me the sinner, for I spend my time at the entrance of your mental altar without offering you the beauty of my soul that you ask from me, God. And I stand before your awful and fearful altar having failed to adorn myself according to your will. Lord God, you who bring everything from nothing to being, among which me the wretched one, and even though I am unworthy you deemed me worthy to serve you, do not throw me out from your heavenly altar; let not the beautification of a prostitute condemn me before your awful and fearful altar for she has put up extreme effort for the sake of dirt and ashes. And myself, neglecting your immortal altar, have given myself over to laxity. And because of my idleness I am stripped naked of the spiritual adornments of your commandments. For she promised to please humans and kept her promise; whereas I promised to you the compassionate God, and was proven a liar. For this reason I am naked on the earth and in heavens. Consequently, I have no hope of salvation based on my deeds but my soul and all my hopes hang from your sea of mercy and my hope for salvation lies on the multitude of your compassion”.67

To understand Nonnos’ reaction, it is important to define what exactly is Nonnos’ desire, in

terms of which he discards himself as inadequate. His desire is centered around his divine

Bridegroom, Christ, who could be seen in the light of Lacan’s objet a: Christ can only be

glimpsed at as the constitutive of self and the cause of man’s desire and action (“ὁ Θεός µου, ὁ

ἐκ τοῦ µὴ ὄντος εἰς τὸ εἶναι παραγαγὼν τὰ πάντα µεθ’ ὧν καὶ τὴν ἐµὴν ταπείνωσιν καὶ

ἀνάξιόν µε ὄντα καταξιώσας δουλεύειν σοι” [LP, p.81.§12.81-83]). What the spiritual man

seeks is union with the only “object” that can offer him totality—the divine Bridegroom.

Christ offers both pleasure and fear (“παστὸν ἐν τοῖς οὐρανοῖς” [LP, p.80.§10.61], “νυµφίον”

[LP, p.80.§10.62] and on the other hand “τῇ φρικτῇ καὶ φοβερᾷ σου τραπέζῃ παρίσταµαι”

[LP, p.81.§12.80-81]). Being such, Christ is absent through his presence. His offer cannot be

seen or heard (“ἃ ὀφθαλµὸς οὐκ εἶδεν καὶ οὖς οὐκ ἤκουσεν” [LP, p.80.§10.64-65]). It is

indicative that God’s offer to the souls that desire Him (“τοῖς ἀγαπῶσιν αὐτόν” [LP,                                                                                                                67 There is an English translation of part of this scene in Constantinou 2005: 69-70.

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p.80.§10.65-66]) is represented in negations that apply to the fields of “normal” (i.e.,

geometral) vision and hearing. It is rather the promise that His unspeakable face is to be

enjoyed in a topology very different from that which belongs to the fields of vision and

hearing that defines the spiritual man’s quest in his earthly life (“ἐπαγελίαν ἔχοντες τὸ

πρόσωπον ἐκεῖνο τὸ φοβερὸν θεωρεῖν καὶ τὸ ἀµήχανον κάλλος” [LP, pp.80-81.§10.66-67]).

It is in this context that Nonnos sets the comparison between him and Pelagia. Nonnos

compares himself to Pelagia using similar terms: She beautifies her body, Nonnos does not

beautify his soul; She pleases her lovers, Nonnos does not please his divine lover. The

comparison is thus initiated through the desire that Pelagia causes because of her

beautification.68 This begins as a desire for Pelagia: “Ὄντως ὑµεῖς οὐκ ἐτέρφθητε τοῦ κάλλους

αὐτῆς; […] Ὄντως ἐγὼ πάνυ ἐτέρφθην καὶ ἠράσθην τοῦ κάλλους αὐτῆς” (LP, p.80.§8.49-51).

The causative sencence joined to the latter statement (“ὅτι ταύτην ἔχει ὁ Θεὸς προσλαβέσθαι

καὶ στῆσαι ἐνώπιον τοῦ φρικτοῦ καὶ φοβεροῦ βήµατος αὐτοῦ κατακρίνουσαν ἡµᾶς” [LP,

p.80.§8.51-52]), raises Pelagia to the status of a criminal attorney. Now it is through her, from

the point of view of her that Nonnos perceives his inadequacy in relation to his desire. It is

noteworthy that the only visible part of Pelagia’s body is her uncovered face. Just like the scull

in the Ambassadors, as soon as Nonnos restores her face to legibility, that is, as soon as he

sees through her, his sense of reality recedes. Because of this face, Nonnos will not be able to

see His face; so he hides his own face away in shame.69

Hence, Nonnos gazes at Pelagia and his own lack gazes back at him. His spiritual

identity is undone. Nonnos desires to be desired by God, but his soul is not beautified and he is

thus inadequate (“Οὐαί µοι τῷ ἁµαρτωλῷ, ὅτι τὴν φλιὰν τοῦ νοεροῦ σου θυσιαστηρίου

κατατρίβω µὴ προσφέρων σοι κάλλος ψυχῆς οἷον ἐπιζητεῖς παρ’ ἐµοῦ, ὁ Θεός” [LP,

p.81.§11.77-79]). Nonnos’ traumatic self-awareness is also reflected in spatial terms. At the

beginning of the text Nonnos was presented as spiritually total, head figure in a large gathering

of bishops. This imaginary identification collapses as Nonnos confronts the Gaze. He is thus

withdrawn to a private cell, which becomes more and more enclosed and personal as Nonnos

then moves to the mental sphere of God’s altar and throne. Nonnos is finally captured in-frieze

at this doorset, this threshold—the lintel (φλιάν [LP, p.81.§11.77]) of God’s altar, not being

                                                                                                               68 Cf. Lacan’s formula that “man’s desire is the desire of the other” (Lacan 1979: 38). 69 See the stressed terms in both passages.

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able to be inside or outside because of this self-realisation. The subject is split, in and out of

what separates spiritual salvation from loss.

…and Looking Within a Dream

The episode detailed in the above closes with Nonnos “naked on the earth and in the celestial

sphere, at God’s mercy”. It is at this point that a further level of vision is added: Nonnos

experiences a dream (ὅραµα εἶδον [LP, p.82.§14.98; “I saw a vision”]). This dream stands in

the middle of the text, separating—and joining—the effects that the encounter with Pelagia

has caused upon Nonnos, from the effects Nonnos is about to cause upon Pelagia. This

narrative location coincides with the Byzantine ideology, according to which dreams are

thesholds between reality and imagination, liminal spaces that host the action of both divine

and demonic powers,70 or, in Lacan’s terminology, a sphere somewhere in between the Real

and the Imaginary (Lacan 1979: 58). In this dream Nonnos sees (“εἶδον κατ’ ὄναρ” [LP,

p.82.§14.100; “I saw in a dream”]), which indicates a change of field of vision) a filthy dove

flying around him, while he stands by the altar (“εἰς τὸ κέρας τοῦ θυσιαστηρίου ἕστηκα” [LP,

p.82.§14.100-101; “I was standing beside the horns of the altar”]). This spatial reference is

very important, as it is exactly from this space (“νοερόν θυσιαστήριον” [LP, p.81.§11.77-78;

“mental altar”], “οὐράνιον θυσιαστήριον” [LP, p.81.§12.83-84; heavenly altar]) that Nonnos

was begging a few lines before not to be banished. Hence, this part of the dream directly

evokes Nonnos’ meeting with Pelagia, which had caused him such anxiety. Nonnos reports

that he could not bear the foul smell of this dove (“τὴν δυσωδίαν τοῦ βορβόρου αὐτῆς οὐκ

ἠδυνάµην φέρειν” [LP, p.83.§14.102-103; “I could not bear the stench of her filth”]). Given

that in the previous scene which the dream evokes, what Nonnos could not bear in front of

God’s altar was his own inadequate self, the meaning of this reference is ambiguous: it

denotes both Nonnos and Pelagia, whose expensive fragrances in combination with her sexual

immorality are emitting a spiritual stench.

The dove insists on bothering Nonnos as long as the prayer in the church goes on, and

then it disappears from his eyes. It appears again at the church’s entrance (“προελθόντος µου

τὴν φλιὰν τοῦ οἴκου τοῦ θεοῦ, ἔρχεται πάλιν ἡ αὐτὴ περιστερὰ” [LP, p.83.§15.107-108; “as I

was coming out of the entrance of God’s church, the same dove comes again”]). At this point

                                                                                                               70 For dreams, especially concerning their theory and interpretation in Byzantium, see for example Cox-Miller 1994a: 39-105.

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the dream’s spatial and temporal aesthetics coincide with the narrative point we had just

before the narration of the dream left Nonnos.71 Nonnos was standing in the mental sphere of

God’s altar in a loss of spiritual identity and self, begging for God’s mercy. What is presented

in the dream, therefore, is the answer to his prayer. By grabbing the dove and cleansing it,

Nonnos will have saved himself: “Καὶ ἐκτείνας τὴν χεῖρά µου ἐπίασα αὐτὴν καὶ ἔρριψα αὐτὴν εἰς τὸν λουτῆρα τοῦ ὕδατος ἐν τῇ αὐλῇ τῆς ἐκκλησίας καὶ ἀφῆκεν ἐν τῷ ὕδατι πᾶσαν αὐτῆς τὴν ῥυπαρίαν˙ καὶ οὕτως ἀνῆλθεν ἐκ τοῦ ὕδατος λαµπρὰ ὡσεὶ χιὼν καὶ πετοµένη εἰς ὕψος ἀνήρχετο. Καὶ ἄρας τοὺς ὀφθαλµοὺς ἐθεώρουν αὐτὴν ἕως οὗ ἔδυ ἐξ ὀφθαλµῶν µου”. (LP, p.83.§15.109-113) “And stretching out my arm I grabbed her and threw her in the basin of water found in the courtyard of the church and she left in the water all of her filth. And in this way she came out of the water bright as snow and flew off into the heights above. And turning my eyes to her I was watching her until she disappeared from sight.”

Pelagia, as illustrated in the passage, is an essential part of Nonnos’ own salvation. 72

The dream’s spatial and temporal aesthetics, could be seen in the light of what Lacan

defines as the “time of transformation”. Namely, as the subject experiences a traumatic self-

awareness by addressing his own self and his own history as object, through the Gaze for

example, the subject’s past and future identity converge as they are manifested in a present

utterance. This is Lacan’s future perfect tense, a method of rewriting the past from the present,

in the light of the future. Lacan states: I identify myself in language, but only by losing myself in it as object. What is realised in my history is neither the past definite of what was, since it is no more, nor even the perfect as what has been in what I am, but the future anterior as what I will have been given what I am in the process of becoming. (Lacan 2006: 247)

Lacan’s quite dense statement could be rewritten in the light of Nonnos’ dream in the

following way: Nonnos narrates the dream to our supposed author at a given time, which is, of

course, experienced by him as the present tense of the utterance. What the dream symbolises

is Nonnos’ past encounter with Pelagia that effected his present identity-crisis and his future

salvation of Pelagia (and of himself). All of these tenses converge to what Nonnos will have

been through Pelagia and what Pelagia will have been through Nonnos. Their past and future

                                                                                                               71 See above: “τὴν φλιὰν τοῦ νοεροῦ σου θυσιαστηρίου κατατρίβω µὴ προσφέρων σοι κάλλος ψυχῆς οἷον ἐπιζητεῖς παρ’ ἐµοῦ, ὁ Θεός” (LP, p.81.§11.77-79). 72 This reference of “grabbing” the dove is not, of course, deprived of a certain sexual taint. Zoja Pavlovskis has examined the whole text as an adaptation of a pagan romance (Pavlovskis 1976). Although I do not consider this argument convincing, I believe this article to be a fine example of the fact that the sexual connotations that underlay this text are so apparent as to invite a comparison with the romance genre.

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encounters are condensed in the present of a dream at the moment when a new identity for

both of them is in the process of becoming.

Hence, the dream operates in multiple levels of meaning as a summary of the whole

story—as a stain in the picture that cannot be deciphered by the subject at the moment he

narrates it: “ὅραµα εἶδον καὶ πάνυ τετάραγµαι, ὄτι διακρῖναι αὐτὸ οὐ δύναµαι˙ ἀλλ’ ὁ θεὸς τὸ

αὐτῷ εὐάρεστον καὶ ἡµῖν συµφέρον ποιήσει” (LP, p.82.§14.98-100; “I saw a vision and I am

much perturbed for I cannot decipher it. But God will do what pleases Him and what is best

for us”). The dream was masterfully situated at a narrative turning point as a mise-en-abyme of

the whole story but to decode it one needs to reach the end of the story and retrospectively

reconstruct it. Nonnos’ dream is a future perfect anamorphosis in practice.

The Voice

Following Nonnos’ dream, the narrative perspective switches to Pelagia. After his self-

realisation, Nonnos’ speech acquires qualities that surpass human nature and can cause a

physical effect on the recipient: “Ὃς ἀναστὰς καὶ ἀνοίξας τὸ στόµα αὐτοῦ, οὐκέτι αὐτὸς

ἐλάλει ἀλλ’ ἡ χάρις τοῦ θεοῦ ἡ οἰκοῦσα ἐν αὐτῷ […] περὶ τῆς µελλούσης κρίσεως καὶ

ἀνταποδόσεως καὶ ἀγαθῆς ἐλπίδος τῆς ἀποκειµένης τοῖς ἁγίοις πᾶσιν” (LP, p.84.§17.122-126;

He stood up and opened his mouth and it was not he who spoke, but God’s grace that resided

in him […] concerning the forthcoming Judgement and the allotment and the good hope stored

up for all the saints). Nonnos’ speech has thus a supernatural quality, which could be well

described using Lacan’s concept of the Voice.

The Letter that Always Arrives

In Pelagia’s case, Nonnos’ speech assumes the form of Lacan’s idea that “a letter always

arrives at its destination”. Lacan introduces this notion in an essay which appeared in 1956 and

is entitled “Seminar on the ‘Purloined Letter” (Lacan 2006b: 6-48). This concept describes a

spoken or written message, whose recipient is retroactively extrapolated. That is, a recipient

recognises himself as the addressee of a discourse retroactively determined as a message sent

to him that has now arrived.73 The Voice in this case then, possesses a symbolic quality but,

                                                                                                               73 For Lacan’s concept of the “letter that always arrives at its destination” see his essay “The Purloined Letter”, which was later added as an introduction to Écrits (1966; repr. in English in Muller and Richardson 1988 and Lacan 2006b: 6-48), as well as his Seminar II (Lacan 1988a). Lacan’s essay steamed up a rife critical debate. See,

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being able to deconstruct the subject’s reality and to acquire a supernatural quality, it also cuts

directly to the Real. Pelagia encounters Nonnos as Voice when she finds herself outside the

church where Nonnos preaches:

Καὶ τὸ ξένον τοῦτο καὶ θαυµαστόν, ὅτι οὖσα κατηχουµένη καὶ µηδέποτε ἔννοιαν λαβοῦσα τῶν ἁµαρτιῶν αὐτῆς ἢ εἰσελθοῦσα εἰς ἐκκλησίαν ποτὲ εὐχῆς χάριν, αὕτη τοίνυν τῷ ἁγίῳ ὁµιλοῦντι οὕτως κατηνύγη εἰς τὸν φόβον τοῦ θεοῦ, ὥστε ἀπογνοῦσα ἑαυτῆς ἔκλαιεν, καὶ τοῦ ποταµοῦ τῶν δακρύων αὐτῆς οὐκ ἦν ἀναχαιτισµός. (LP, p.84.§18.131-136) And how strange and marvelous, that even though she had been a catechumen and she had never gained consciousness of her sins or had ever entered a church to pray, she, hearing the saint while speaking, was so much moved to the fear of God, so that she lost herself and she cried, and nothing could stop the flow of her tears.

Pelagia’s reaction to what she hears as a disembodied Voice is much stronger than that of the

other bystanders. She is alienated from herself (“ἀπογνοῦσα ἑαυτῆς”) and gains awareness of

her sinful lifestyle.74 Nonnos’ speech was not addressed specifically at Pelagia (in fact Nonnos

was not even aware that Pelagia was present at the scene) and did not include her sins in it.

The speech concerned the Last Judgement. However, Pelagia receives the speech as a very

personalised message addressed at her. Pelagia hears herself judging herself through hearing

Nonnos; she becomes an object scrutinised and criticised by her own self. Through perceiving

her lack and through realising her lifestyle as an illusion, Pelagia discovers her desire for

Christ. She links the hope reflected in Nonnos’ speech to Nonnos himself, whom she regards

as her saviour. Hence, a relation is established between Pelagia’s emerging desire for Christ

(she desires what Nonnos desires) and Nonnos, whom she regards as able to bring her closer

to her desired object. Nonnos is a Christ-surrogate for Pelagia. As a Christ-surrogate, she

perceives him as being much higher in the hierarchy, that is, much closer to her desired object

than her. Thus, at the point of her encounter with the Voice of the Other, Pelagia enters a

process of transformation.

The medium Pelagia chooses to communicate with her perceived saviour, Nonnos, after

her traumatic self-awareness, is a letter, which assumes the form of what Lacan defines as

“symbolic communication through inversion”. Lacan states in this respect: “Human language

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           for example, the essays included in Muller and Richardson 1988, as well as Žižek 2001: 1-28 and Rabaté 2001: 22. This concept of Lacan is further exploited in the third section of this chapter. 74 The phrase ἀπογνοῦσα ἑαυτῆς could be equally perceived as “became alienated from herself”, as well as “became desperate” (see e.g. lemma “ἀπογιγνώσκω” in Liddel and Scott 1940). While most of the translations pick the second definition (see e.g. the translation of Petitmengin 1981: 28 “désespérant d’elle-même”), I believe that as with numerous instances of ambiguous terms in this Life, the term has both meanings. Pelagia is at his point both desperate and in a loss of her previous identity, which she now regards as foreign to her desires and illusionary.

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would then constitute a kind of communication in which the sender receives his own message

back from the receiver in an inverted form” (Lacan 2006: 246). Pelagia’s letter runs as

follows:

Τῷ ἁγιωτάτῳ ἐπισκόπῳ καὶ µαθητῇ τοῦ Χριστοῦ ἡ ἁµαρτωλὸς καὶ µαθήτρια τοῦ διαβόλου. Ἀκοὴν ἤκουσα περὶ τοῦ θεοῦ ὃν σέβει ὅτι τοὺς οὐρανοὺς ἔκλινεν καὶ κατέβη ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς οὐχ ἕνεκα δικαίων, ἀλλ’ ἵνα σώσῃ ἁµαρτωλούς, καὶ ὅτι τοιοῦτος καὶ τηλικοῦτος ὢν τελώναις καὶ ἁµαρτωλοῖς συνανεκλίθη˙ καὶ ὃν τὰ Χερουβὶµ καὶ τὰ Σεραφὶµ ἀτενίσαι οὐ τολµῶσιν ἁµαρτωλοῖς συνανεστράφη. Καὶ νῦν, δέσποτα, πολλὴν ἁγιωσύνην ἔχεις˙ καὶ γὰρ εἰ καὶ τοῖς σωµατικοῖς ὀφθαλµοῖς οὐκ εἶδες τὸν ποθούµενον Ἰησοῦν, ἀλλὰ γοῦν µετὰ τῆς Σαµαρίτιδος πόρνης ἐπὶ τὸ φρέαρ, ὡς ἐπίστασαι, ἐπαρρησιάσατο˙ ταῦτα γὰρ σοῦ διηγουµένου ἀκήκοα περὶ τοῦ θεοῦ σου. Εἰ οὖν τοιούτου θεοῦ εὐσπλάγχνου καὶ φιλανθρώπου µαθητὴς εἶ, µὴ βδελύξῃ µε διὰ σοῦ ζητοῦσαν σωθῆναι καὶ τῷ ἁγίῳ σου ὀφθῆναι προσώπῳ. (LP, p.84.§20.143-p.85.§21.154) To the most saintly bishop and disciple of Christ, the sinner and disciple of devil. I heard about the God whom you believe in, that he bent down the heavens and came down on the earth not on account of the righteous, but in order to save the sinners and that being of such greatness and magnitude, he nevertheless sat down with tax collectors and sinners. And he, on whom the cherubim and the seraphim do not dare to cast eye, associated with sinners. And now, lord, you have much holiness. For, even though you haven’t seen the desired Christ with your physical eyes, but nevertheless, He spoke with the Samaritan prostitute at the water well, as you know. For this is what I have heard you narrate regarding your God. If, therefore, you are the disciple of such a merciful and compassionate God, do not reject me, who asks to be saved through you, and to see your holy face.

Indeed, what Pelagia sends to Nonnos is actually his own speech. She reports what she had

heard while outside the church: “ταῦτα γὰρ σοῦ διηγουµένου […] ἀκήκοα” (LP,

p.85.§.21.151-152). As analysed in the previous section, Nonnos’ speech aimed at generally

affecting its audience. This speech was received by Pelagia as a very personalised message

addressed to her. Thus, as illustrated in the letter, she identifies herself with the Samaritan

prostitute and at the same time she regards Nonnos as the representative of Christ. She,

therefore, addresses Nonnos by this name: “Τῷ ἁγιωτάτῳ ἐπισκόπῳ καὶ µαθητῇ τοῦ Χριστοῦ”.

But in order for Nonnos to stand up to this name, he has to respond to Pelagia’s request, and

grant her a new identity: “Εἰ οὖν τοιούτου θεοῦ […] µαθητὴς εἶ, µὴ βδελύξῃ µε διὰ σοῦ

ζητοῦσαν σωθῆναι” (LP, p.85.§21.152-154). Pelagia writes Nonnos what the dream had

signaled and what at that point he was unable to decipher. Thus the dialectical relationship that

transforms Pelagia is effected through the Voice and expressed through a letter, which

functions as a carrier and disclaimer of her newly acquired spiritual desire. At this point

Pelagia is an object within her letter—she identifies herself as her letter’s topic, as an

individual in need for a new identity.

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Pelagia’s need for identity caused by her loss of self is again signaled when she meets

Nonnos in person and repeats her request: Δέοµαί σου, δέσποτα, ἐλέησόν µε τὴν ἁµαρτωλόν˙ µίµησαί σου τὸν καθηγητὴν Ἰησοῦν Χριστὸν καὶ ἔκχεον ἐπ’ ἐµὲ τὴν χρηστότητά σου. Μὴ ἀπαξιώσῃς µε τὴν ἀνάξιον ποιῆσαι χριστιανήν. Ἐγὼ γάρ εἰµι, δέσποτα, τὸ πέλαγος τῶν ἁµαρτιῶν˙ ἐγώ εἰµι ἡ ἄβυσσος τῆς ἀνοµίας. Παρακαλῶ οὖν σε, τοῦ ἀληθινοῦ θεοῦ µαθητά, µὴ βδελύξῃ µε τὴν ῥερυπωµένην, ἀλλὰ κάθαρόν µε ἐν τῇ κολυµβήθρᾳ τοῦ ἁγιάσµατος. (LP, p.85.§24.170-176) I beseech you, Lord, have mercy on me the sinner. Imitate your teacher Jesus Christ and pour on me your kindness. Do not turn me away as unworthy, me, who I am unworthy, and make me a Christian. I, lord, am a sea of sins. I am an abyss of evils. I beg you, therefore, disciple of the true God, do not repel me the filthy one, but cleanse me in the basin of your holy water.

What is noteworthy is that Pelagia does not have a name. Up to this point, Pelagia was defined

by the hagiographer either through her profession (e.g. “µιµάς”; LP, p.78.§4.23), or through

her moral quality (e.g. “ἡ περιβόητος ἐν κακοῖς αὕτη γυνή”; LP, p.84.§18.131). Pelagia’s

references to herself are even more abstract: “τὸ πέλαγος τῶν ἁµαρτιῶν”, “ἡ ἄβυσσος τῆς

ἀνοµίας” (LP, p.84.§24.173-174), and later on “Μαργαριτώ” (LP, p.87.§30.215) and “τὸ

κεκοσµηµένον ἐργαστήριον τοῦ διαβόλου” (LP, p.87.§30.216-217). Even her own name,

which we learn in the last third of the text (LP, p.87.§30.214), Pelagia, is abstract: it means

deep sea. This serves to support her function as a concealed absence. Pelagia is/was a

luxurious artefact that covered concepts linked with spiritual destruction. This quality of hers,

however, could be also seen through a different angle. Pelagia very much resembles the purely

sexual, lawless, sinful state of the individual before the laws of the Symbolic are imposed

upon her. Especially with regard to the name, both Lacan (1988a: 169), and later Žižek (1989:

87-102), highlight that the main function of the name is to secure the identity of the subject

over time. Since outside the Symbolic structure there is no such a thing as identity, Pelagia’s

lack of name makes much sense. The heroine used to be the personification of moral

decadence. Pelagia is indeed an individual about to enter the Christian Symbolic, at the

threshold of becoming.

In the meantime, Nonnos has resumed his authoritative function; from the highly

emotional state he was before, he is now a “proper” bishop, who hesitates to admit a prostitute

into the Christian community. It would not be arbitrary to suggest that his transformation

derives from Pelagia’s statement of commitment quoted above, which interpellates Nonnos to

act as his model, Christ. Confronting Nonnos’ hesitation, Pelagia exposes the implications that

his denial would bring upon the bishop:

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“Λόγον ἀποδώσεις ὑπὲρ ἐµοῦ πρὸς τὸν θεὸν καὶ σοὶ ἐπιγράψει τὰς πονηράς µου πράξεις, ἐάν ὑπερθῇ τοῦ φωτισθῆναί µε τὴν ἀσεβῆ· καὶ µὴ εὑρήσεις µερίδα παρὰ κυρίου ἐὰν µὴ ἄρτι ποιήσῃς µε ἀλλοτρίαν τῶν ἔργων µου καὶ τοῦ πεφαυλισµένου µου βίου· ἀρνήσει τὸν θεὸν σου ἐὰν µὴ σήµερόν µε προσαγάγῃς νύµφην Χριστῷ”. (LP, p.86.§26.187-191) “You will have to talk to God on my behalf and he will inscribe all my bad deeds against you if you refrain from baptising me, the impious; and you will not yield any reward from the Lord if you do not make me right now a stranger to my deeds, and to my evil life; you will deny your God if you do not offer me as a bride to Christ this very day”.

Pelagia’s not so elegant threat once again manifests what the dream had signaled; namely,

that, whether he likes it or not, Nonnos is involved in a compulsory dialectical exchange with

Pelagia. His salvation depends on his ability to bring her closer to her desired objet a, Christ.

The above observations are also supported in the letter the city bishop sends to

Nonnos: “Ναὶ πάτερ τίµιε, σοὶ γὰρ ἔµενεν τὸ ἔργον τοῦτο. Οἶδα δὲ ὅτι στόµα θεοῦ εἶ τὸ εἰπόν·

ἐὰν ἐξαγάγῃς τίµιον ἐξ ἀναξίου ὡς στόµα µου ἔσει” (LP, p.86.§28.200-201; “Yes, honourable

father, this event was waiting to be fulfilled by you. And I know that it was God’s mouth that

said: ‘If you bring out something valuable from what is base, you shall be like my own

mouth’”). This statement could be understood as follows: the desired objet a, Christ, who at

some point before the narrative, had formed part of humanity, used his speech to say that if

one brings an individual to the right path of desire, he will be raised to the status of a divine

organ of speech. In other words, if Nonnos grants Pelagia her request, he himself shall come

closer to his object of desire.

Alienation and Separation

Having assumed her spiritual desire and been admitted into the Christian Symbolic, Pelagia,

with the guidance of Nonnos, is stripped of all the signifiers that defined her sinful lifestyle—

money, jewellery, luxurious clothes, food (LP, p.87.§31.224-p.90.§41.289). This serves as a

short alienation stage, which seals Pelagia’s new identity—it is at this exact point that her

name is stated–and during which Pelagia learns how to behave and how to defend herself

against the devil. Now it is the devil and not Nonnos who appears in the story naked and

desperate: “ἔρχεται ὁ διάβολος γυµνός καὶ τὰς χεῖρας ἔχων ἐπὶ τῆς κεφαλῆς” (LP,

p.87.§31.228-229; “here comes the devil naked and having his hands placed on his head”).

Consequently, it appears that through Pelagia’s conversion Nonnos has defeated the devil: “Ὦ

βία ἀπὸ τοῦ κακογῆρου τούτου. Οὐκέτι φέρω τὰς ἐπιβουλάς σου” (LP, p.88.§32.234-235; “O,

violence because of this wicked old man. I cannot bear your plots anymore”). It is Nonnos

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whom the devil perceives as his opponent, and it is to him that he admits defeat. Because of

gaining Pelagia for Christ, Nonnos has defeated Christianity’s biggest opponent.

Following this stage, Pelagia realises that she cannot effectively compensate for her

past just by becoming a member of the Christian community. She thus chooses to undergo

separation; she disappears and undertakes a harsh repentance. The separation stage underlines

Pelagia’s determination to follow her own path as subject of her desire. Nobody knows what

has become of her except for Nonnos. On the day that she is discovered missing, Nonnos tells

her spiritual mother: “Μὴ κλαῖε, ἀλλὰ χαῖρε καὶ ἀγαλλία. Ἡ γὰρ Πελαγία τὴν ἀγαθὴν

ἐξελέξατο µερίδα, ὤσπερ Μαρία τὸ πρότερον” (LP, p.90.§42.291-293; “Do not cry but be

glad and joyful. For Pelagia has chosen the good portion, just as Mary <did> before”). The

link that Pelagia has established between her and the Samaritan before culminates at this

narrative point in Nonnos’ speech. Nonnos has indeed successfully imitated his model, Christ,

and has led this new Mary Magdalene to salvation. Consequently, this reference also works as

an implied praise to the monk who effected the heroine’s transformation.

Pelagia, having removed herself from the dangerous sphere of unrestricted sexual

indulgence, now resides (just like Nonnos at the moment when he gained self-consciousness)

in an enclosed space, in a cell without entrance. She is thus again invisible as she was at the

beginning of the story, covered by her precious jewels and resplendent outfits. This time,

however, this body is not covered by luxury, but is in a way walled alive away from the plot.

She is now known as Pelagios. It is indicative that Pelagia’s physical eyes at this narrative

point are invisible: “οἱ ὀφθαλµοί αὐτῆς ὡς φάραγγες ἐφαίνοντο ὑπὸ τῶν ὁρώντων αὐτήν” (LP,

p.91.§45.312-313; “her eyes looked like tunnels for those who saw her”). While those who

visit her see her with their physical eyes and, like the bishops at the beginning of the story,

they cannot see the truth beyond her, i.e. that Pelagios is actually Pelagia, the heroine herself

has shut her physical eyes to the world, in the same way she shut her body away from the

world. The only way out from her cell is death. And by the time she dies, her body has

acquired supernatural qualities. The discovery of the female nature of what was perceived to

be a eunuch, shocks the bystanders. This body is fringed with unease, enjoyment and hope for

future salvation. Pelagia returns to her previous state as artifact, but this time a spiritual one:

“ἐξήνεγκαν τὸ ἅγιον καὶ ὑπὲρ χρυσίον καὶ λίθον πολὺ τιµιώτερον λείψανον τοῦ ἁγίου˙ καὶ

µετὰ πάσης τιµῆς καὶ φόβου ἅπαντες ἀσπασάµενοι αὐτὸ ἔθηκαν ἐπὶ σκαµνίον” (LP, pp.92-

93.§49.341-344; “they took out her holy and more valuable than gold and precious stones

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body of the saint. And with every honour and fear, after everyone kissed it they laid it on a

bier”). The narration moves cyclically. Pelagia is once again raised on a type of pedestal, once

again exposed to a large crowd, once again in a transitory stage—this time giving her life in

death to gain an eternal spiritual one, united with her desired object. At the beginning of the

text, Nonnos was standing naked in front of his divine lover, not having anything to offer. By

the end of the text it is this precious body that he saved which he, finally offers God.

What the above analysis shows is that this hagiographical narrative could produce fruitful

insights if approached through Lacan’s concepts. The identities of the two protagonists are

deconstructed and reconstructed through mechanisms that could be described in terms of the

Gaze and the Voice. These main concepts branch out to many other tracks, which culminate in

Nonnos’ and Pelagia’s transformations. This interpretive step illustrates that, while the two

protagonists are perceived as two independent characters, their subjectivities are ultimately

linked and one cannot be perceived without the contribution of the other. Furthermore, a

gender-based perspective has shown to be at play in this text, which renders the female

protagonist as carrier of the Gaze and the male protagonist as the manifestation of the Voice.

The Gaze and the Voice in the Life of Mary of Egypt (LME)

Introduction

The LME was probably composed in the 7th century (Kouli 1996: 66). Some scholars argue

that the text has its roots in the Apophthegmata Patrum (Coon 1997: 54). However, this

argument is not generally accepted (Kouli 1996: 66). The manuscript states as its author the

Patriarch Sophronios of Jerusalem (634-638; Kouli 1996: 66). For this reason a branch of

scholars take Sophronios as the author of the seventh-century text (Delehaye 1991: 53;

Delmas 1900-1901: 37 and 1901-1902), while others reject this argument (Beck 1959: 435).

The Life was very popular in both the Eastern and Western traditions. There survive extant

translations of the Greek text in Latin, Old English, Anglo-Saxon, Anglo-Norman, French, ANDRIA ANDREOU

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Welsh and Irish, as well as numerous reworkings of these translations (Poppe and Ross:

1996).75 The Life is also included in the tenth-century Menologion of Symeon Metaphrastes.76

The plot of the Life in question goes as follows. The narrative opens with the

introduction of Zosimas, a monk who lived from a very young age in a Palestinian monastery

and who excelled in virtue both as regards the chastisement of his body (he adopts every form

of ascesis he knew of and even invents new forms, he knits and fasts) and his mind (he spends

his hours studying the Holy Scriptures and chants incessantly). He thus attracts toward him

numerous laymen who seek spiritual instruction. However, Zosimas falls prey to the

temptation of pride and begins to wonder whether he is already perfect in terms of spirituality.

Following this line of thought he also wonders if there exists any other man in the world, who

has spiritually perfected himself to the same degree that he has, and whether there is anything

left for him in this world to benefit his soul more.

Zosimas’ arrogant thoughts are followed by a divine apparition. Through this, Zosimas

is commanded to leave his monastery and seek to reside at another monastery that lies on the

banks of the river Jordan to find out how many other paths to salvation exist. There he leads a

pious and humble life in accordance to the rules of the monastery, and before Lent he exits the

monastery to retreat to the desert. This responds to a custom of the monastery that instructed

the monks to stay in the desert throughout the period of Lent and avoid encounters with

anyone they saw. If they saw another monk approaching, they should part ways, so that they

would devote themselves to God based on their personal strength and without knowledge of

the conduct of the others.77

While in the desert, Zosimas comes across a creature with white hair and blackened

skin that he begins to chase, thinking that he may have something to learn from this encounter.

At some point, the creature speaks and confesses that “it” is a woman, Mary. She asks for

Zosimas’ cloak to cover her naked body and narrates her story to him: she left her house at a

young age and became a prostitute in Alexandria. One day she joined some pilgrims who were

travelling to Jerusalem for the feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross and seduced many of

them. At Jerusalem, she attempted to enter the church of Constantine on Golgotha (Kouli

                                                                                                               75 See for example, Baker 1916: 145; Coon 1997: 84; Kouli 1996: 67-68; Maier 1984;Poppe and Ross 1996; Walker 1972; Walsh-Makris 1989: 68-69; Ward 1987; Wietzorek 1939. 76 For Symeon Metaphrastes, see Høgel 2002. 77 The custom of the monks to retreat into the desert for Lent is supposed to have been introduced into the Palestinian monasteries from Armenia by Euthymius in the fifth-century (Delmas 1900-1901: 39).

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1996: 82, n. 48), but she was repeatedly prevented by an invisible force. This event made her

realise her sinful way of life. She thus promised to the Virgin Mary to repent and managed to

enter the church. Subsequently, she led a life of harsh repentance in the desert for forty-seven

years. After her narration, Mary requests Zosimas to meet her the following year and bring her

the Holy Communion. After Mary receives the sacraments, Zosimas retreats back to his

monastery. On the third year from their acquaintance, Mary is discovered dead by Zosimas.

The monk buries her body and makes her story known.

Looking Through the Sharpened Glass and Looking Anamorphotically

In the LP the split between the eye and the Gaze is exemplified in the discrepancy between

what the bishops see while looking at Pelagia with their physical eyes, and what Nonnos sees

by shifting his perspective to the modality of the Gaze. While the bishops could only see an

inferior and sinful “Other” (thus illustrating the biblical saying “they have eyes that they may

not see”), Nonnos saw his own lack in relation to his desire. In the LME, on the other hand, the

split between the eye and the Gaze is showcased in the visual manifestation of a single

character, the monk Zosimas.

One of the most interesting literary applications of the Gaze is presented by Žižek

(1992: 8-12), who attempts to read in the light of this concept an episode from Shakespeare’s

Richard II (act II, scene II).78 The episode takes place after Richard’s departure on a war

expedition. His departure causes the Queen inexplicable feelings of worry and distress, which

she discusses with her servant, Bushy: Bushy: Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows

Which show like grief itself, but are not so. For sorrow’s eye, glazed with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire to many objects; Like perspectives, which rightly gaz’d upon Show nothing but confusion; ey’d awry Distinguish form.79

Bushy tries to console the Queen but, Žižek observes, his words end up to acquire an

ambivalent meaning. First, he tries to show the Queen that there is no reason to worry by

                                                                                                               78 Lacan also draws examples from Shakespeare’s plays, mainly Hamlet (e.g. Lacan 1981 and 1982; Cavell 1987; Fink 1996). For Shakespeare’s use in phsychoanalytic criticism see Lupton and Reinhard 1993. For general comments on the use of literature see Lacan 1971. 79 Ed. in Wells, Taylor et als. 2006, which is also accessible as an online resource.

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employing the metaphor of a glazed glass surface (which is sorrow) that functions like a

prism, and reflects a multitude of distorted images. Likewise, a view coloured by intense

feelings (sorrow’s eye) distorts reality. Bushy goes on to further clarify his previous statement

by using a second metaphor: “Like perspectives which rightly gaz’d upon/ Show nothing but

confusion; ey’d awry/ Distinguish form”. However, what he effectively says is rather the

opposite of his previous statement. He accomplishes a shift to the logic of anamorphosis,

according to which a detail of a picture, when viewed straightforwardly appears as a

meaningless stain, but as soon as we look at it through an unusual contrivance, it becomes

legible. That is to say, it is only the interested perspective that offers a clear view. Hence,

Žižek notes, Bushy’s statement acquires an ambivalent meaning. Even though Bushy “intends

to say” that the Queen’s perspective is distorted by her sorrow and thus, like the prismatic

reflections of the sharpened glass, she sees reasons to worry where there is none, he actually

states quite the opposite: it is this interested “awry” view that makes the Queen see clearly, a

fact supported by the further development of the plot—the King dies. Hence, Bushy’s

consolatory speech manifests a doubly inscribed perspective: on a first level, reality splits into

“twenty shadows”, that is, the subject’s point of view, loaded with desires and anxieties,

distorts the picture he sees. On a second level, the opposite relation is supported: only the

interested view is able to meet the Gaze, to give distinctive features to that which the eye

cannot see clearly (Žižek 1992: 8-12).

The Lacanian theory is not interested in the factuality of the object of vision, that is, its

“objective reality”, but in the fact that this object carries the Gaze. The Gaze is always

embodied by an object (or another subject)—hence it is on the outside of the seeing subject—

who, by finding itself/himself in this position, acquires the ability to denature the seeing

subject’s sense of identity and reality, leading him to a realm of utmost doubt. The

object/subject that embodies the Gaze, if it appears in the field of the visual, looks like a detail

that does not fit in the picture, that has no meaning—for example, a windmill that rotates

against the direction of the wind.80 As soon as the seeing subject restores this spot to legibility,

in other words, as soon as he views it with an interested perspective, the King dies. Namely,

the rest of the picture which equals the subject’s sense of reality recedes in blur and thus his

identity is shaken.                                                                                                                80 Cf. the scene with Pelagia who “intrudes” the holy congregation and her presence, before we hear about how Nonnos sees her, has absolutely no meaning. On various elaborations regarding the Lacanian Gaze and its relation to popular culture with examples, such as the windmill, are discussed in Žižek 1992.

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Zosimas, one of the protagonists of the LME displays a similar conflicting view as

Bushy, affirming both of Bushy’s metaphors. When he faces Mary, his perspective appears

firstly to respond to a look that traverses a sharpened glass. Namely, his look distorts the

object and he ends up seeing nothing. When he shifts to the modality of the Gaze, however, he

is able to perceive his spiritual lack.

Zosimas used to be a very pious monk, who spent all his life in a monastery in

Palestine. He was exemplary in every task in which a monk should be. He was thereby

honoured with holy apparitions and admired by a multitude of people: πάντα µὲν γὰρ κανόνα παραδεδοµένον ὑπὸ τῶν πρὸς τὴν τοιαύτην αὐτῶν παλαίστραν παιδοτριβησάντων ἐφύλαττεν, πολλὰ δὲ καὶ αὐτὸς προσεπενόησεν οἴκοθεν, ὑποτάξαι ζητῶν τὴν σάρκα τῷ πνεύµατι […]. Καίπερ δὲ οὕτως ἔχων περὶ τὸ πρακτικὸν εἶδος ὁ γέρων, οὐδὲ τῆς µελέτης τῶν θείων Λογίων ποτὲ παρηµέλησεν· ἀλλὰ καὶ κοιταζόµενος, καὶ ἀνιστάµενος, καὶ ἐν χερσὶ κρατῶν τὸ ἐργόχειρον, ὅθεν τὴν τροφὴν ἐπορίζετο. Εἰ δὲ θέλεις µαθεῖν τῆς τροφῆς, ἧς ἐκεῖνος ἐγεύετο, ἓν ἔργον εἶχεν ἐκεῖνος ἀσίγητον, µηδέ ποτε δαπανώµενον, τὸ ψάλλειν διὰ παντὸς, καὶ µελέτην ἀεὶ ποιεῖσθαι τῶν ἱερῶν Λογίων. Πολλάκις γοῦν φασί τινες καὶ θείας ὁράσεως ἀξιοῦσθαι τὸν γέροντα. (LME, p.3700.§2) For he obeyed every rule handed down <to him> by those who had trained him in such a wrestling arena. He also devised on his own many ways by which he sought to subdue the flesh to the spirit […]. And even though the monk was famous for his ascetic practice, yet he never neglected the study of the Holy Scriptures, whether going to sleep or waking up or holding his handiwork, or partaking of food (if one can give the name of food to what he ate). He had one ceaseless task, which never ended, namely to sing psalms continuously and always study the Holy Scriptures. Some also say that the monk was often deemed worthy to receive a divine vision. (Kouli 1996: 71)

The picture drawn of Zosimas in the narrative is, therefore, that of a spiritually robust

personality. In fact, following the prooimion, there appears the formulaic expression “ἐγένετο

τις” (LME, p.3697.§2), which conventionally in saints’ Lives introduces the protagonist saint

himself, or the saints’ parents:81 hence, the impression is given that the commemorated saint is

actually this pious man called Zosimas.82 It would appear, then, that there would be no reason

to discuss Zosimas’ spiritual transformation through another protagonist; in fact, there would

have probably been no room for a second protagonist, had Zosimas not made a mistake:                                                                                                                81 If the latter is the case, the contribution of the parents to the saint’s spiritual advancement is also mentioned. Thus details of how the saint was brought up and what education he/she was given are narrated. See, for example, the Lives of Symeon the Younger and Stephen the Younger discussed in Chapter Two below (pp. 113-114, 129-131). The same is often valid for Passions. In this way begin, for example, the Passions of Galaktion and Episteme and Julian and Basilissa discussed in Chapter Three (pp. 205-208, 249-250). 82 One should, besides, keep in mind that saints’ Lives, especially in the early and middle Byzantine periods, were most probably recited orally (for the tangled matter of the Byzantine hagiographer and his audience see selectively Krueger 2004; Papavarnavas 2016; Rapp 1996, 1998, 2007 and 2015). In an oral recitation, no title would appear on the top of the page to inform the audience of the name of the protagonist in the story to follow, unless the audience was informed with extratextual comments provided by the person in charge to recite the story.

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Μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα παρενωχλήθη, ὡς ἔφασκεν, ὑπό τινων λογισµῶν, ὡς ἅρα τελειούµενος ἐν ἅπασι, τῆς ἑτέρου διδασκαλίας οὐδαµῶς προσδεόµενος· ταῦτα γὰρ, ὡς ἔλεγεν, καθ’ ἑαυτὸν ἐλογίζετο. Ἇράγε ἔστιν ἐν τῇ γῇ µοναχὸς, ὁ δυνάµενος ξένον τι παραδοῦναί µοι, ἢ ὠφελῆσαί µε ἰσχύων, ὅπερ οὐκ οἶδα, οὐδὲ πέπραχα, εἶδος ἀσκήσεως; ἇρα εὐρίσκεται τῶν ἐν τῇ ἐρήµῳ φιλοσοφοῦντων ἀνὴρ ὃς κατὰ πρᾶξιν ἢ θεωρίαν πρωτεύει µου; (LME, p.3700. §3) After that he was disturbed, as he said, by certain thoughts, namely, that he had become perfect in all <practices> and did not need anyone else’s teaching at all. For, as he said, he thought to himself, “Is there a monk on earth who can teach me anything new, or who has the power to help me in any form of ascetic discipline that I do not know or have never practiced? Is there any man among those leading a contemplative life in the desert who surpasses me in ascetic practice or spiritual contemplation?” (Kouli 1996: 72).

Zosimas commits the sin of pride, devastating for the spirituality of a monk.83 This mistake

challenges his spiritual concreteness and institutes a lack in his spiritual identity. It thereby

opens the space of his transformation.

The beginning of the process of Zosimas’ tranformation is indicated by his spatial

movement. A voice, as already mentioned, commands him to leave the monastery in which he

lives from childhood and to seek residence to a monastery near the river Jordan (LME,

p.3700.§3). As Zosimas himself later on comments, he himself had neither the intention nor

the determination to ever leave his cell: “τὸν µηδέποτε προθέµενον ἢ δυνάµενον ἐξελθεῖν τοῦ

κελλίου µου” (LME, p.3709.§16; “who never intended to or was able to leave my cell” [Kouli

1996: 79]). Following his exit from his familiar environment, a second exit takes place, since

Zosimas observes the rule of this second monastery and retreats to the desert for Lent (LME,

p.3704.§9). This physical movement, from a familiar environment to a less familiar

environment (another monastery), culminates to Zosimas eventually finding himself in a

completely foreign environment, the desert, a liminal, transitional space in Byzantine thought.

The desert is traditionally thought to host holy apparitions, to be a place of retreat to many a

pious ascetic, but also the arena of demonic spirits that challenges with temptations those who

fight for their soul. So much has the desert been associated with spiritual transformation in

Byzantine ideology, that the narthex of a church—the place from where the catechumens

participate in liturgy—is thought to be the “desert of the naos”—a transitional sphere from

                                                                                                               83 See for example the comments of David Brakke regarding vainglory (Brakke 2006: 237-238). Brakke at this point comments on Evagrius, Palladius and some of the Apophthegmata and relates vainglory to these authors’ theories concerning demons. See also Geoffrey Harpham’s comments on the ideology of asceticism, especially with regard to the ascetic’s temptations (Harpham 1987: 1-88, esp. pp. 45-66).

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death to life, from sin to salvation.84 The gradual opening up of space exposes Zosimas to the

unknown and hints at the turning point that is about to take place. This is further signalled by

the repetition of a liminal time frame, the Byzantine sixth hour (LME, p.3704.§9; p.3705.§).85

The sixth hour, the middle of the day, is the high point of heat in the desert and also the point

at which the day splits in two. It is noteworthy that Zosimas’ second meeting with Mary also

takes place at a liminal time, a night with a full moon: “πανσέληνος γὰρ ὑπῆρχεν ἡ νύξ”

(LME, p.3721.§35; “for […] there was a full moon that night” [Kouli 1996: 89]). This

narrative device functions in a double way in a text, both literally and as a signal of turning

events about to take place: because there is a full moon, Zosimas can actually see Mary

approaching and witness her walking on the water; but also it adds an atmospheric touch of

uncertainty and presents the approaching Mary as all the more uncanny.

Looking Through the Sharpened Glass

Zosimas encounters Mary at this liminal time, in this liminal space, while he prays. Their

encounter is described in the following way: Ἐν δὲ τὸ ψάλλειν καὶ ὁρᾷν εἰς τὸν οὐρανὸν ἀκαταπαύστῳ ὄµµατι, ὁρᾷ ἐκ δεξιοῦ κλίτους, ἐν ᾧ ἑστὼς τὴν ἕκτην προσηύχετο, ἀποσκίασµα φανὲν ὡς ἀνθρωπίνου σώµατος. Καὶ τὰ πρῶτα µὲν ἐταράττετο, φάσµα δαιµονικὸν ὑποπτεύων ὁρᾷν, καὶ γέγονε σύντροµος· τῷ δὲ σηµείῳ τοῦ σταυροῦ σφραγισάµενος [καὶ τὸν φόβον ἀποσεισάµενος] [ἤδη γὰρ τέλος εἶχεν ἡ εὐχὴ αὐτοῦ], ἐπιστρέψας τὸ ὄµµα, ὁρᾷ τινα κατὰ ἀλήθειαν πρὸς µεσηµβρίαν βαδίζοντα […]. Τοῦτο τοίνυν ὁ Ζωσιµᾶς θεασάµενος, καὶ ὥσπερ ἔνθους ὑφ’ ἡδονῆς γενόµενος, περιχαρὴς τῷ παραδόξῳ θεάµατι, ἤρξατο τρέχειν ἐπ’ ἐκεῖνο τὸ µέρος, ἐφ’ ᾧ καὶ τὸ ὁρώµενον ἔσπευδεν· ἔχαιρε γὰρ χαρὰν ἀνεκλάλητον· οὐδέπω γὰρ ἦν θεασάµενος ἐν ὅλῳ τῳν ἡµερῶν ἐκείνων διαστήµατι ἀνθρωπίνου εἴδους, [ζώου ἢ πετηνοῦ, ἢ χερσαίου µορφὴν ἢ ἀποσκίασµα]. Ἐζήτει γοῦν γνῶναι, τίς καὶ ποταπὸς ὁ ὁρώµενος, ἐλπίζων ὅτι τινῶν µεγάλων θεωρὸς καὶ ἐπόπτης γενήσεται. Ὡς δὲ ἐπέγνω τὸν Ζωσιµᾶν ἐρχόµενον µήκοθεν, ἤρξατο φεύγειν καὶ τρέχειν ἐπὶ τὸ τῆς ἐρήµου ἐνδότερον· ὁ δὲ Ζωσιµᾶς, ὥσπερ τοῦ γήρους ἐπιλαθόµενος, ἔτι δὲ καὶ τὸν κόπον τῆς ὁδοῦ µὴ λογισάµενος, συνέτεινεν ἑαυτὸν καταλαβεῖν τὸ φεῦγον αὐτὸν ἐπειγόµενος. Οὗτος µὲν ἐδίωκε, τὸ δὲ ἐδιώκετο· ἦν δ’ ὁ τοῦ Ζωσιµᾶ δρόµος ὀξύτερος, καὶ κατ’ ὀλίγον ἐγένετο τοῦ φεύγοντος πλησιώτερος. ‘Ως δὲ ἤγγισεν ἤδη, ὥστε καὶ φωνὴν λοιπὸν ἐξακούεσθαι, ἤρξατο κράζειν ὁ Ζωσιµᾶς, καὶ τοιαύτας φωνὰς ἀφιέναι σὺν δάκρυσιν· Τί µε φεύγεις γέροντα καὶ ἁµαρτωλόν; δοῦλε τοῦ ὄντος Θεοῦ, µεῖνόν µε, ὅστις ἂν εἶ, τὸν Θεὸν δι’ ὃν ταύτην τὴν ἔρηµον ᾤκησας· µεῖνόν µε τὸν ἀσθενῆ καὶ ἀνάξιον, τὴν ἐλπίδα ἣν ἔχεις πρὸς τὴν τούτου σου τοῦ καµάτου ἀντίδοσιν· στῆθι καὶ µετάδος εὐχῆς καὶ εὐλογίας τῷ γέροντι, τὸν Θεὸν µὴ βδελυττόµενόν ποτέ τινα. Ταῦτα τοῦ Ζωσιµᾶ σὺν

                                                                                                               84 See Gerov 2006. Even though the article’s focus is monumental art, it includes very useful information of how the Byzantines perceive the space of the desert as well as a list of primary and secondary bibliography on the subject. 85 This responds to 12:00 p.m. in our terms.

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δάκρυσι λέγοντος, γεγόνασιν ἀµφότεροι τρέχοντες ἔν τινι τόπῳ, ἐν ᾧπέρ τις χείµαῤῥος ξηρὸς ἐτετύπωτο· οὔ µοι δοκεῖ ποτε γεινάµενος χείµαῤῥος, (πῶς γὰρ ἐν ἐκείνῃ τῇ γῇ φανήσεται χείµαῤῥος;) ἀλλ’ ὁ τόπος τοιαύτης ἔλαχε θέσεως. Ὡς οὖν κατέλαβον τὸν εἰρηµένον τόπον, τὸ µὲν φεῦγον κατῆλθε καὶ αὖθις ἀνῆλθεν καὶ εἰς τὸ µέρος τὸ ἕτερον, ὁ δὲ Ζωσιµᾶς κεκµηκὼς καὶ µὴ τρέχειν δυνάµενος ἔστη τὸ ἕτερον µέρος τοῦ τόπου χειµαῤῥοειδοῦς, καὶ προσέθηκε τοῖς δάκρυσι δάκρυα καὶ ταῖς οἰµωγαῖς οἰµωγὰς, ὡς πλησίον αὐτοῦ λοιπὸν τοὺς ὀδυρµοὺς ἐξακούεσθαι. Τότε ἐκεῖνον τὸ φεῦγον σῶµα φωνὴν τοιαύτην ἀφίησιν· Ἀββᾶ Ζωσιµᾶ, συγχώρησόν µοι διὰ τὸν Κύριον, οὐ δύναµαι ἐπιστραφῆναι καὶ ὀφθῆναί σοι οὕτως εἰς πρόσωπον· γυνὴ γάρ εἰµι, καὶ γυµνὴ. (LME, p.3705.§10-p.3705.§12)

While he was chanting psalms and looking up to heaven with an alert eye, he saw the shadowy illusion of a human body appear to the right of where he was standing and performing the prayers of the sixth hour. At first he was alarmed, suspecting that he was seeing a demonic phantom, and he shivered with fear. But after he had made the sign of the cross and shaken off his fear (for his prayer had ended), he looked again and saw that in fact someone was walking in a southward direction […]. When Zosimas saw this, he was inspired with pleasure and, filled with joy at that incredible sight, began to run in the direction that this creature he saw was heading. He rejoiced with joy unspeakable, for all those days <of his desert sojourn> he had never seen the shape or shadow of any kind of human being or of any animal, be it winged or terrestrial. So he sought to find out who this creature was and what sort, hoping that he would become the observer or witness of some great marvel. But as soon as <that creature> saw Zosimas coming from afar, it began to flee and run toward the innermost part of the desert. And Zosimas, as if unmindful of his old age and with no thought for his fatigue from his journey, hastened and exerted himself to overtake <this creature> that was running away from him. Thus he was pursuing, while this creature was being pursued. But Zosimas’ pace was quicker, and little by little, he drew nearer to the fleeing <figure>. When he had approached close enough that his voice could be heard, Zosimas started calling out these words tearfully, “Why are you running away from this old and sinful man? O servant of the true God, wait up for me whoever you are, in the name of God, for Whose sake you dwell in this desert. Wait for me, weak and unworthy <as I am>, for the sake of the hope that you expect as reward for these toils of yours. Stop and give to an old man your blessing and benediction, for God never abhors anyone. Zosimas said this with tears in his eyes, while both were running toward a place where a dry steambed had left its traces. I do not think that a torrent ever existed there (for how could a torrent appear in that land?), but the place happened to have such a setting. When they reached the aforementioned place, the fleeing creature descended <into the steambed> and climbed up again on the other bank, while Zosimas, who was exhausted and unable to run <any further>, stood on the opposite bank of the apparent steambed, and shed tears upon tears and <uttered> lamentation upon lamentation, so that his wailing could be heard by anyone in his vicinity. Then that fleeing creature cried out, “Father Zosimas, forgive me in the name of the Lord; I cannot turn toward you and be seen by you face to face, for as you see I am a woman and I am naked […]. (Kouli 1996: 76-77)

Zosimas’ perception of what his eyes show him is quite ambivalent. At first, he thinks that he

sees the shadow of a human-like body: “ἀποσκίασµα φανὲν ὡς ἀνθρωπίνου σώµατος” (LME,

p.3705.§10; “the shadowy illusion of a human body” [Kouli 1996: 76]). The language used to

describe his object of vision indicates that Zosimas is quite uncertain about whether something

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is indeed there and, if yes, what exactly this is. The expression of uncertainty “φανὲν ὡς”

introduces the shadowy body, while, further below, when Zosimas is finally certain that there

is indeed someone there (“ὁρᾷ τινα κατὰ ἀλήθειαν πρὸς µεσηµβρίαν βαδίζοντα”; LME,

p.3705.§10; “<he> saw that in fact someone was walking in a southward direction” [Kouli

1996: 76]), the adverbial phrase “κατὰ ἀλήθειαν” is employed, to create a contrast, thus

further emphasising Zosimas’ previous doubt of the “reality” of what he was seeing.

It seems then, that Zosimas’ first visual contact with Mary corresponds to Žižek’s

reading of Bushy’s first metaphor. Given that the monk had been walking in the desert—an

unfamiliar environment—for twenty days with little food and sleep (LME, p.3704.§9), he was

thus exhausted, in combination with the time of highest blur in the desert (noon), twice

repeated (“ἕκτης” [LME, p.3704.§9], “ἕκτην” [LME, p.3705.§]), Zosimas is not at all sure

whether his eyes trick him or not. He believes that he sees through a sharpened glass. Namely,

that his perspective is distorted and that what he sees is of the order of the “twenty shadows”;

that is, a shadow (cf. “ἀποσκίασµα”) of something which in fact does not exist. Hence,

Zosimas is confronted with a blot. He comes in contact with something in the picture that is

and isn’t there, that does not fit and cannot be incorporated in his visual field. This throws the

certainty of his look off-balance (“γέγονε σύντροµος”; LME, p.3705.§10; “he shivered with

fear” [Kouli 1996: 76]).

At this first stage of seeing then, Zosimas believes that his view may be distorted.

Immediately after, however, he indeed falls into the trap of the “twenty shadows”, since he

resorts to his expectations to solve the disturbance in his visual field and misinterpretes what

he sees: “Καὶ τὰ πρῶτα µὲν ἐταράττετο, φάσµα δαιµονικὸν ὑποπτεύων ὁρᾷν” (LME,

p.3705.§10). He suspects that what he sees—which he previously thought was nothing—is a

demon. His apperception of the object is distorted, in accordance with Žižek’s reading of

Bushy’s first metaphor, by his expectations: demonic apparitions that waged a war of

temptations against spiritual men who dwell in the desert are considered to be a common

phenomenon.86

Thus, up to this point Zosimas uses his physical eyes and sees “through the sharpened

glass”; he misperceives what he sees because he links his visual data to the environment, and

                                                                                                               86 See, for example, the Life of Antony, which is considered as prime model for the writing of many Lives (BHG 160, ed. in Bartelink 1994). For this Life, its form, its influence and a discussion of its protagonist as teacher see the works of Averil Cameron (Cameron 2000), Philip Rousseau (Rousseau 2000) and David Brakke (Brakke 2006: 23-47). On demonic apparitions and their waging wars against the ascetics in the desert see Brakke 2006.

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to what he expects to see (demon) or not to see (no person) there. The last thing that Zosimas

expects to see in the desert is, of course, a woman.

Looking Anamorphotically

It is only when Zosimas finishes his prayer and fixes his vision exclusively on Mary, the

unintelligible spot, that the function of the Gaze takes on its value. In this case, the blurred

object, Mary, is clearly seen but only at the cost of Zosimas’ self-certainty. At this stage,

Zosimas’ visual perception could be interpreted using Žižek’s reading of Bushy’s second

metaphor, the anamorphotic glance. Zosimas shifts his perspective from the whole picture,

that is, his preoccupations in the desert, to the blot in the picture, from the sharpened glass to

anamorphosis, from the passing glance on the object to the glance on the self through the

object. This shift is signaled by two things: first, he withdraws his eyes from the object he had

misidentified to a demon and resorts to an action: he makes the sign of the cross (thence

shifting to his mental/spiritual vision). Then he recasts his look on the object (“ἐπιστρέψας τὸ

ὄµµα” [LME, p.3705.§10]) but this time he adopts, it seems, an interested, investigative view,

full of desire to decipher the object for his spiritual gain (“ἐλπίζων ὅτι τινῶν µεγάλων θεωρὸς

καὶ ἐπόπτης γενήσεται” [LME, p.3705.§10]).

What Zosimas sees upon fixing his interested view on this peculiar object/subject is

described as follows: “γυµνὸν δὲ ἦν τὸ ὁρώµενον, µέλαν τῷ σώµατι, ὡς ἐξ’ ἡλιακῆς φλογὸς

µέλαν γενόµενον, καὶ τρίχας ἔχοντα ἐν τῇ κεφαλῇ [λευκὰς] ὡσεὶ ἔριον, ὀλίγας δὲ καὶ αὐτάς,

ὡς µὴ πλέον τοῦ τραχήλου τοῦ σώµατος καταφέρεσθαι” (LME, p.3705.§10; “What he saw

was a naked figure whose body was black, as if tanned by the scorching of the sun. It had on

its head hair white as wool, and even this was sparse as it did not reach below the neck of its

body” [Kouli 1996: 76]).

Mary’s startling appearance does not fit to the environment of the desert. In fact, she

does not fit to any meaningful category. Mary is a pure flaw in the category of meaning that

cannot be incorporated in Zosimas’ symbolic universe. Like the windmill that rotates against

the direction of the wind, which Žižek mentions as an example of what denatures a situation

and opens the way for the Gaze, it is Mary’s function as an “odd spectacle” (“παραδόξῳ

θεάµατι” [LME, p.3705.§10]) that invites Zosimas’ interested glance. But this time it is clear

that it is not the physical eye that is at work, but something similar to the Gaze in the Lacanian

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sense, since the emphasis lies on Zosimas himself. What Zosimas sees through looking at the

object is a chance to benefit himself, that is, to add to his spirituality: Ἐζήτει γοῦν γνῶναι, τίς καὶ ποταπὸς ὁ ὁρώµενος, ἐλπίζων ὅτι τινῶν µεγάλων θεωρὸς καὶ ἐπόπτης γενήσεται. (LME, p.3705.§10) So he sought to find out who this creature was and what sort, hoping that he would become the observer or witness of some great marvel. (Kouli 1996: 76)

and:

“Τί µε φεύγεις γέροντα καὶ ἁµαρτωλόν; δοῦλε τοῦ ὄντος Θεοῦ, µεῖνόν µε, ὅστις ἂν εἶ, τὸν Θεὸν δι’ ὃν ταύτην τὴν ἔρηµον ᾤκησας· µεῖνόν µε τὸν ἀσθενῆ καὶ ἀνάξιον, τὴν ἐλπίδα ἣν ἔχεις πρὸς τὴν τούτου σου τοῦ καµάτου ἀντίδοσιν”. (LME, p.3705.§11) “Why are you running away from this old and sinful man? O servant of the true God, wait up for me whoever you are, in the name of God, for Whose sake you dwell in this desert. Wait for me, weak and unworthy <as I am>, for the sake of the hope that you expect as reward for these toils of yours”. (Kouli 1996: 76-77)

Zosimas believes that deciphering the object will bring him a spiritual gain. Hence, Zosimas

meets the Gaze and forgets certain characteristics of his identity: he disregards his age and

begins to chase Mary (“ὥσπερ τοῦ γήρους ἐπιλαθόµενος ἔτι δὲ καὶ τὸν κόπον τῆς ὁδοῦ µὴ

λογισάµενος” [LME, p.3705.§11]); he disregards the rule of the monastery, according to which

he was supposed to avoid anyone he encountered throughout his period of retreat. Zosimas’

behaviour could be fruitfully explained through the theory of the Gaze: he is able to perceive

his spiritual lack because he compares himself to this creature (like Nonnos compares himself

to Pelagia) and situates himself as inferior (“Τί µε φεύγεις γέροντα καὶ ἁµαρτωλόν; δοῦλε τοῦ

ὄντος Θεοῦ, µεῖνόν µε, ὅστις ἂν εἶ, τὸν Θεὸν δι’ ὃν ταύτην τὴν ἔρηµον ᾤκησας” [LME,

p.3705.§11]). He thereby believes that this creature can help him fill out his lack.

At this point, it should be reminded that, according to the logic of the Gaze, the

object/subject that carries the Gaze need not be interpreted “rightly” in order to carry out its

function; it is its position as carrier of the Gaze that matters and not the factuality of what is

interpreted. In this respect, it is noteworthy that, when Zosimas perceives the Gaze through

Mary, he actually once again misinterpretes what Mary exactly is: he thinks that, weird as this

creature may be, “it” should be of the order of the “male”. This is what the masculine endings

and pronouns (“δοῦλε”, “ὅστις”) suggest. At this point, however, this misinterpretation does

not matter, since we are at the level of Bushy’s second metaphor; the object has fulfilled its

function: through it, Zosimas’ position as an observer is undermined, and he has become

instead the object under scrutiny—the object that he himself casts as inferior from (and thus in

need to be taught from) this “running body”.

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However, it is at the point when this peculiar object is completely restored to legibility

that Zosimas’ sense of self and identity are most severely challenged. This is the point when

Zosimas hears his name from this “running body” and finds out that “it” is in fact a woman:

“Ἀββᾶ Ζωσιµᾶ, συγχώρησόν µοι διὰ τὸν Κύριον, οὐ δύναµαι ἐπιστραφῆναι καὶ ὀφθῆναί σοι οὕτως εἰς πρόσωπον· γυνὴ γάρ εἰµι, καὶ γυµνὴ” […]. Τότε φρίκη καὶ φρενῶν ἔκστασις ἔλαβε τὸν Ζωσιµᾶν, ὡς ἔλεγεν, ἀκούσαντα τέως ὅτι Ζωσιµᾶν αὐτὸν ἐκάλεσεν ἐξ ὀνόµατος· ὀξὺς γὰρ ὢν ὁ ἀνὴρ καὶ πρὸς τὰ θεῖα σοφώτατος, ἐπέγνω ὅτι οὐκ ἐξ ὀνόµατος ἐκάλεσεν, ὃν οὐδέποτε εἶδε καὶ περὶ οὗ οὐδέποτε ἤκουσεν, εἰ µὴ τῷ προορατικῷ προδήλως χαρίσµατι ἐλαµπρύνετο. (LME, pp.3705-3708.§12) “Father Zosimas, forgive me in the name of the Lord; I cannot turn toward you and be seen by you face to face, for as you see I am a woman and I am naked” […]. Shivering fear and astonishment overwhelmed Zosimas, as he told <us>, when he heard her calling him “Zosimas” by name; for as the man was sharp in mind and most wise in divine matters, he decided that she could not have called by name a man whom she had never seen or heard about, unless she was clearly blessed with the gift of foresight. (Kouli 1996: 76-77)

Zosimas’ reaction upon deciphering the blot “Mary” is the last step on an emotional climax.

At first, he felt fear (“γέγονε σύντροµος” [LME, p.3705.§10]); then, suspecting that he could

learn from “him”, he feels pleasure (“ἔνθους ὑφ’ ἡδονῆς γενόµενος” [LME, p.3705.§10]),

indescribable joy (“ἔχαιρε γὰρ χαρὰν ἀνεκλάλητον” [LME, p.3705.§10]), while, subsequently,

he sheds tears (“φωνὰς ἀφιέναι σὺν δάκρυσιν” [LME, p. 3705.§11]).87 But when he is called

by name in the desert by a woman—who knows his name before he introduces himself and

thence appears to be more spiritual than him—he is at a loss: “φρίκη καὶ φρενῶν ἔκστασις”

(LME, p.3705.§12). He is, in a way, interpellated by this address to a position of inferiority.

His reaction is intensified as he realises that Mary even knows his history: “Ταῦτα τὸν

Ζωσιµᾶν εἰς µείζονα φόβον καὶ ἀγωνίαν ἔβαλε, καὶ σύντροµος ὁ γέρων γενόµενος ἱδρῶτι

περιεῤῥεῖτο καὶ ἔστενε, καὶ τὴν φωνὴν περιεκόπτετο” (LME, p.3708.§13; “Those words cast

Zosimas into greater fear and anxiety, and the monk became terrified and bathed in sweat,

sighed, and was unable to speak clearly” [Kouli 1996: 78]). Zosimas recognises his inferiority

by throwing himself on the ground and begging to receive Mary’s blessing, addressing her as

“spiritual mother”.88

                                                                                                               87 For the high value of tears in Byzantine thought see Alexiou 2002; Brown 1988: 238-239; Hinterberger 2006; Ward 1985: 2. 88 The scene as presented in the LME appears to be a kind of power performance of gender and hierarchy. The two characters “fight” over who is to receive blessing from the other and finally it is the repentant prostitute, who receives blessing from the priest. This episode is one of the reasons that led Hugh Magennis to argue that Ælfric did not include Mary’s account into his Middle English corpus of the Lives of Saints because of the heroine’s transgressive nature (Magennis 1996: 108). While in the Byzantine Greek text Mary appears to be a more transgressive figure, in other versions her profile is altered. For example, in the Scotish renditions, which Simon Lavery compares with the Old English ones, Mary acquires attributes that are normally associated with courtly

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Consequently, Zosimas’ levels of vision seem to correspond to the degree of

knowledge he gains about his own lack. The fact that the Byzantine Greek Life clearly

distinguishes between levels of vision could be further illustrated by a brief comparison

between what Zosimas sees in the examined version and what is reported in its Latin

counterpart.89 In the Byzantine Greek version, the external audience adopts Zosimas’ point of

view; we see what he sees and, as aforementioned, he does not exactly realise what he sees.

Mary is thus at first described using the neutral gender: “γυµνὸν” (LME, p.3705.§11), “τὸ

ὁρώµενον” (LME, p.3705.§11), “µέλαν” [x2] (LME, p.3705.§11), “τρίχας ἔχοντα” (LME,

p.3706.§12), “τὸ φεῦγον” (LME, p.3705.§12), “τὸ φεῦγον σῶµα” (LME, p.3705.§12). She is

then, as aforementioned, mistaken for a man before the sudden discovery that she is a woman.

These stages correspond to Zosimas’ diminishing certainty of self and increasing awareness

about his lack. In the Latin version, on the other hand, there appears an active omniscient

narrator, who explains beforehand that what Zosimas sees is a woman: “Mulier autem erat,

quod videbatur” (Life of Mary of Egypt [Latin], p.58.151-152; It was a woman that he saw

[Stevenson 1996: 85]).90 The link between the external audience and Zosimas is thus in this

version dissolved and his discovery that Mary is a woman has no impact on the external

audience. Hence, the distorted perspective of Zosimas and the interplay between his levels of

vision that we telescopically follow in the Byzantine text is an intentional narrative technique

that maximizes the impact on the external audience by: a) advancing the plot through creating

suspension (we do not know what this creature is) and b) following Zosimas as he describes

his reactions. His expectations of having encountered either a demon or an ascetic father, are

rejected one by one, a development which pushes the monk to realise his lack even more

intensely. Thus, in the Byzantine text the interplay between different levels of vision and

knowledge proves to be an intentional structural component of the story, a teaching tool for

Zosimas (and the external audience through him) to be chastised. This could be further

supported by the prooimion of the LME, which begins with the story of Tovit, a blind man,

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           ladies (Lavery 1996, esp. pp.122-124). I do not intent to engage in a full comparison of Mary’s profile in all the extant versions of the text here. I would like to merely point out the fact that such a comparison would make much sense, since Mary’s quality as a rather unconventional character seems to be perceived and treated differently by the various Byzantine and Western Medieval versions. 89 Life of Mary of Egypt (Latin), Stevenson 1996. 90 Similar to the Latin versions are also the Medieval French and Spanish versions. In these the omniscient narrator also clarifies that this woman is the Egyptian (Life of Mary of Egypt [French, Spanish], Knust 1890). The edition follows a parallel presentation of the French and Spanish text. The respective passages are found on p.331.

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who could nevertheless see God’s contribution to aid his suffering (again, a clear distinction

between levels of vision), and was rewarded with the miraculous restoration of his physical

vision (LME, p.3697.§1). This is directly concurrent with Zosimas’ restoration of mental

vision through the gradual revelation of Mary and, as we shall see, with the revelation of Mary

as story from Zosimas, as his contribution to her memory.

Killing Voice: Zosimas Redefined

We have this far investigated the way in which Zosimas perceives his lack by using the

Lacanian concept of the Gaze, and we observed how this process culminates at the moment

when Zosimas, hearing his name, is invited in the picture as object of reflection.91 In this case

then, unlike the male protagonist, Nonnos, in the LP, the protagonist’s transformation is

manifested both through the Gaze and the Voice, and it is to the object Voice that we shall

now turn.

As aforementioned, the Voice is distinct from the normal speech received through the

ear, as the Gaze is distinct from the geometral aspect of vision. It is a sound that effects a

strong physical impact on the subject, that intrudes him/her as a foreign body and is translated

to a traumatic self-awareness. Mary’s first manifestation as Voice is her address to Zosimas,

which the monk translates as his own lack in relation to his spiritual desire: she (and not he)

knows what cannot be normally known—Zosimas’ name and his past. He is, therefore, lacking

in spiritual terms compared to her, and he perceives this lack because of her. Mary’s second

manifestation as Voice is her incomprehensible prayer, which effects her levitation: “φωνὴ δὲ

αὐτῆς οὐκ ἠκούετο ἔναρθρος” (LME, p.3708.§15; “her voice was not heard to utter articulate

sounds [Kouli 1996: 78]). Zosimas’ reactions at this second stage of hearing are noteworthy.

While he was previously chasing Mary and shouting, he is now immobile, kneeling on the

ground. His main characteristic is, however, his speechlessness: “τὴν φωνὴν περιεκόπτετο”

(LME, p.3708.§13; “<he> was unable to speak clearly” [Kouli 1996: 78]), “διακεκοµµένῳ καὶ

συνεχεῖ τῷ ἄσθµατι” (LME, p.3708.§13; “with gasping and rapid breath” [Kouli 1996: 78]),

                                                                                                               91 Although beyond the scope of this thesis, Žižek (1989) comments upon the function of proper names in Lacan and shows how names can actually fix or even produce the meaning of what they claim to represent. Even though Žižek’s focus is mainly on ideological concepts, one could draw a similar conclusion regarding the monk Zosimas, who is in a way called to produce his own identity after being named by Mary. See also Butler’s work which adds some valuable points to Žižek’s analysis (Butler 1993: 208-211).

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“µηδὲν καθόλου φθεγγόµενος” (LME, p.3708.§15; “without uttering a single word” [Kouli

1996: 79]), “µηδὲν φθέγξασθαι ὅλως τολµῶν” (LME, p.3708.§15; “not daring to utter a word”

[Kouli 1996: 79]). His dissolution of identity is signalled by his loss of Voice. Now we hear

Mary speak, in direct voice.

Mary takes up the role of the narrator and tells her story. She narrates her sinful past

and explains the way she decides to change her life, before detailing her harsh repentance in

the desert. At first sight then, the function of this narration is informative; it is intended to

explain the reasons and the ways in which a woman can end up in the peculiar state that

Zosimas encounters her at this narrative point. Zosimas’ reactions to what he listens to,

however, add a further dimension to the significance of this narration: Ὁ δὲ Ζωσιµᾶς δάκρυσι βρέχων τὸ ἔδαφος, πρὸς αὐτὴν ἀπεκρίνατο· Λέγε διὰ τὸν Κύριον, ὦ µῆτέρ µου, λέγε, καὶ µὴ ἐγκόψῃς τὸν [εἱρµὸν] τῆς τοιαύτης ἐπωφελοῦς διηγήσεως. (LME, p.3712.§20) Then Zosimas, while drenching the ground with his tears, answered her, “Speak, my mother, in the name of the Lord, speak and do not interrupt the flow of such a beneficial narration”. (Kouli 1996: 81)

and Μηδὲν ἐάσῃς, κυρία µου, ὅπερ µὴ ἀναγγείλῃς µοι· ἅπαξ γὰρ εἰς τοῦτο κατεπηρώτησά σε, ἵνα πάντα ἀπαραλείπτως διδάξῃς µε. (LME, p.3716.§27) “Do not hold back, my lady, anything that you might tell me. Indeed I have asked you before to tell me everything without any omission.” (Kouli 1996: 85)

Mary’s narration entails a strong physical impact on Zosimas, a reaction that acquires meaning

only if we consider that through this narration, Zosimas understands something about himself.

Actually, this is exactly what he states in the above passages: full of tears, kneeling on the

ground, he prompts Mary to continue speaking since he considers this narration beneficial

(“ἐπωφελοῦς διηγήσεως” [LME, p.3712.§20]) and a teaching experience (“ἵνα πάντα

ἀπαραλείπτως διδάξῃς µε” [LME, p.3716.§27]).92 The narration could be seen then, as part of

Zosimas’ transformation through the contribution of Mary. As in the case of Pelagia who

listens to Nonnos’ speech, Zosimas’ reception of this narration could be interpreted according

to the logic of the “letter that always arrives at its destination”.

Lacan’s notion of the “letter that always arrives” concerns, as aforementioned, the

addressee of a symbolic demand, who is considered to be retroactively extrapolated and in this

                                                                                                               92 Constantinou notes commenting on this episode that Zosimas represents at this point the implied listeners of the LME. In particular, his reaction determines the way that such an ambivalent narration, overflown with lurid sexual transgressions, should be perceived: as an edifying narrative and not as an enjoyable story. Of course, this does not deprive the narrative from the sexual entertainment it must have provided; rather, it disguises it as a pious narrative and thus legitimises its circulation even in the male monastic cycles (Constantinou 2005: 62-63).

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way a symbolic debt is paid. In other words, priority is given not to the signified, the literal

content of which can change, but to the signifier (the letter), in relation to its addressee, who is

not predetermined but is instead, whoever finds himself in this position (Muller and

Richardson 1988: 42).

In the LME, the symbolic debt is established as pending from the beginning of the text:

Zosimas has sinned and needs to be chastised, thereby to reconfigure his spiritual identity on

the basis of humility. Under this lense, what Mary says in her “letter”, the narration, is not

exactly the same as what Zosimas (and, through him, by extension, the external audience)

hears. By the end of the narration, as can be inferred from the reactions quoted in the above,

Zosimas has established himself as the addressee of a letter, whose message could be

reconstituted as follows: “I had committed the sin of pride and God showed me, through this

story that I listen to, that a woman, who was previously a prostitute, is more adequate than me,

of my object of desire—Christ”. Actually, in the abbreviated Byzantine Greek version of the

Life, Zosimas explicitly states the message he has received: “Δόξα σοι, Χριστὲ ὁ Θεὸς ἡµῶν ὁ

δείξας µε διὰ ταύτης τῆς δούλης σου, πόσον ἀπέχω µέτρον τῆς τελειότητος” (“Glory to You,

Christ, my God, who showed me through this servant of yours how far I am from being

perfect”).93 There is no reason to suppose that Zosimas’ understanding of Mary’s narration in

the extended version should be different from the one explicitly stated in the abbreviated

version. It seems then, that the literal content of Mary’s narration changes according to the one

who finds himself in the position of its addressee. Hence, Zosimas recognises himself as the

addressee of a letter meant to reveal his lack and teach him humility. This explains why the

story is “beneficial” as a “teaching experience”. The same is valid for the external audience:

the letter reaches “us” as a preventive measure against sin and as hope for redemption—even

though “we” are not the original addressees.

Consequently, Zosimas encounters Mary and through a process beginning with the

Gaze and ending with her narration, the letter, he recognises what was always-already his

goal: to be spiritually transformed through Mary. That Zosimas’ “target” was to be found

somewhere in the desert was hinted at by the narrator, when he set out to explain the custom

of retreat to the desert: “Κανὼν δέ τις οὖτος ἐν τῷ µοναστηρίῳ [ἄνωθεν] ἐφυλάττετο, δι’ ὃν,

οἷµαι, Θεὸς καὶ Ζωσιµᾶν εἰς ἐκεῖνο τὸ µοναστήριον ἤγαγεν” (LME, p.3701.§6, my emphasis;

                                                                                                               93 Life of Mary of Egypt (Synaxarion): BHG 1042a, Doukakis 1892, 6-23. The passage quoted above is found on p. 21.

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“The following rule was observed in the monastery from the very beginning, on account of

which rule, I think, God led Zosimas to that <particular> monastery” [Kouli 1996: 74]).

However, it is only after the encounter that Zosimas realises his goal. Zosimas’ quest is a trip

in search for lack, for his own lack in relation to an Other and he is able to perceive this lack

through Mary.94 Hence, after the encounter, Zosimas’ previous quest retroactively assumes as

its goal the moment of this encounter. Zosimas himself states that in the end meeting Mary

proves to be the goal of his God-inspired quest: “πιστεύω […] ὅτι τούτου ἕνεκεν εἰς τὴν

ἔρηµον ταύτην ὡδηγήθην, ὅπως τὰ κατὰ σὲ ποιήσῃ Κύριος κατάδηλα” (LME, p.3709.§16;

“For I believe that <God> […] led me into the desert for this reason, so that the Lord might

make your life manifest” [Kouli 1996: 79]). Besides, Mary is proven in the end to be the only

character to have truly reached perfection—she tells Zosimas that in the Jordan monastery

there were areas in need for improvement. This undermines the role of this second monastery

in Zosimas’ transformation and raises Mary to the position of the only true teacher. Mary as

Zosimas’ goal is also signalled in terms of narrative form, since the encounter happens at a

crucial point, exactly in the middle of the text.

In the same way as the encounter retroactively posits its prehistory, that is, it creates

the impression that the whole point of Zosimas’ story was the encounter per se, it also shapes

Zosimas’ future, which is substantially transfigured. Zosimas’ life is thenceforward shaped by

that very encounter. As soon as Mary is restored to legibility through the Gaze and the Voice,

every other reality for Zosimas recedes in blur. Mary becomes the embodiment of his spiritual

desire, the sublime filler of the empty space of objet a in Lacanian terms, the utmost desirable,

but inaccessible object. The monk thus suffers because he cannot see Mary for a whole year:

“Ἐδυσχαίρενεν δὲ καὶ ἐδυσφόρει τοῦ ἐνιαυτοῦ· ἐννοῶν τὴν περίοδον, µίαν ἐνθέλων τὸν

ἐνιαυτὸν ἡµέραν γενέσθαι ῳς οἷόν τε ἦν” (LME, p.3720.§33; “He was worried and anxious as

he considered the length of one year, wishing if possible that one year would become one day”

[Kouli 1996: 88]). Zosimas’ spiritual desire is described with an erotically charged language,

also witnessed in his view of Mary as prey: “περιάγων πανταχοῦ τὸ βλέµµα ὡς θηρευτὴς

ἐµπειρότατος, εἴπου τὸ γλυκύτατον ζωγρήσειε θήραµα” (LME, p.3724.§37; “turning his gaze

in every direction like a most experienced hunter pursuing a most sweet prey” [Kouli 1996:

                                                                                                               94 Cf. what the supernatural voice tells Zosimas when he is commanded to leave his monastery: “ἵνα γνῷς καὶ αὑτὸς οὖν, πόσαι εἰσι καὶ ἄλλαι πρὸς σωτηρίαν ὁδοὶ” (LME, p.3700.§3; “In order for you to learn how many other ways lead to salvation” [Kouli 1996: 72]). The purpose of this quest is to perceive his lack.

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90]).95 Hence, it is a factually unattractive and scary body that sparks Zosimas’ desire, a body

that is always-already beyond the concept of the body, as will be shown next.

Between Two Births, Between Two Deaths: Mary of Egypt

The above analysis has focussed on the ways in which Zosimas’ spiritual identity is

inextricably interconnected with his encounter with Mary and has underlined the centrality of

this encounter in terms of narrative plot and form. In order for the structure of the pair to have

meaning, however, Zosimas should also be able to contribute to Mary’s identity—a hypothesis

that appears odd, since at the narrative point of the encounter, Mary is already holy: she knows

things she was never told; she levitates while praying; she can instantly travel long distances;

she knows the Psalms while illiterate; she knows Zosimas’ thoughts; she can walk on water.

At first sight then, it appears that the only thing that Zosimas can offer her is to satisfy her

requests for Holy Communion and a proper burial. It is my contention, however, that a

psychoanalytical reading could shed new interpretative light on the importance of Zosimas’

contribution to Mary’s identity.

Mary, as body and as text, is accessible to the external and the internal audience of the

Life only because of Zosimas (Constantinou 2005: 75-76). The narrative itself betrays an acute

awareness of Mary as an object that needs to be revealed; this is suggested both in the

prooimion, where Mary is presented as a holy mystery that needs to be exposed to the

audience (LME, p.3724.§1) and further below explicitly stated by Zosimas: “Σοφία γὰρ

κεκρυµµένη καὶ θησαυρὸς ἀφανὴς, τίς ὠφέλεια ἐπ’ ἀµφοτέροις;” (LME, p.3709.§16;

“Wisdom that is hid and treasure that is hoarded up, what profit is in them both?” [Kouli 1996:

79]). Given this internal focalization, that is to say, that the knowledge of the internal and the

external audience is based on Zosimas’ subjective perspective, I will be arguing that Zosimas’

levels of vision, hearing and perception of the object “Mary” effect a transformation of the

object itself, in such a way that, by the time Zosimas offers Holy Communion and buries

Mary’s body, his actions acquire much importance both as confirmation of her spirituality in

the story, and for ensuring her identity as story.

                                                                                                               95 See also Constantinou’s analysis on Zosimas’ desire (Constantinou 2005: 89). Mary’s body also works as a witness to Zosimas’ own spiritual worthiness, since “divine mysteries are only revealed to those who deserve them”, as he himself states (LME, p.3721.§34).

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In this respect, in order to understand Zosimas’ contribution to Mary, we need once

again to follow her as we “discover” her through his perspective—in the way the internal and

external audience discovers her. So, once again, what does Zosimas see? At first, as mentioned

above, he sees a shadow, then a naked running body. These visual apperceptions are very

important, since Mary is continuously defined as “body” in the narrative: “ὡς ἀνθρωπίνου

σώµατος” (LME, p.3705.§10; “illusion of a human body” [Kouli 1996: 76]), “µέλαν τῷ

σώµατι” (LME, p.3705.§10; “whose body was black” [Kouli 1996: 76]), “τὸ φεῦγον σῶµα”

(LME, p.3705.§12; “the fleeing body”). In contrast to Pelagia, who remains concealed under

her ornaments, Mary is completely exposed. She is a naked body. She is described in detail

but cannot be assigned to any comprehensive category. All of Zosimas’ attempts to cast her

under a meaningful title—shadow, spirit, man-lish, holy father—are thwarted.

Psychoanalytically speaking, Mary is a free-floating signifier, a pure body without meaning,

without a signified. However, she even slips away from the order of the signifier, since she

does not even have a name. We and Zosimas learn her name upon her death, as it is written

next to her corpse (LME, p.3724.§37). Mary is presented as a pure, formal, unstable and empty

structure—awe-inspiring but also horrible, body but also shadow, man-like but also spirit-like.

In other words, she is a pure walking lack—of signification, of transparency, of the category

of meaning altogether.

Actually, this perception of Mary as an empty skin in an intermediary state, is also

shared by other Byzantine writers; it thus appears to be a crucial constitutive component of

Mary’s identity in the Byzantine thought. For example, Manuel Philes writes in an epigram:

“Σκιὰ γὰρ ἦν τὸ σῶµα τῆς Αἰγυπτίας […]/ Ἀπὸ σκιᾶς ἔγραψας ὑλικὸν πάθος” (Manuel Philes,

Carmina I, p.36; “The Egyptian’s body was like a shadow […]/ From a shadow you wrote a

material Passion”).96 Likewise, in Prosouch’s Verses, there appears the following: “Τί τὸ

σκιῶδες, ὃ βλέπω, φρικτόν τέρας;” (Prosouch, Verses: 39.132; “What is this shadowy

<creature> I see, <this> fearsome marvel?”).97 But the most interesting description of her

apperception in the Byzantine thought comes from Maximos Holobolos:

Σῶµα φοροῦσαν ἀκριβῶς λεπτὸν, µέλαν, […] ‘Ορᾷς σὺν αὐτοῖς ἄλλο τι τέρας ξένον, ‘Εστῶσαν αὐτὴν ὥσπερ ἐν µεταιχµίῳ Πόλου τε καὶ γῆς, εἰς µέσον τὸν ἀέρα, Εἰς βάσιν ἀνέδραστον ἐστηριγµένην,

                                                                                                               96 Manuel Philes, Carmina, Miller 1855-1857. 97 Prosouch, Verses, Treu 1893.

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Εἰς στάσιν ἀστήρικτον οὐ κλονουµένην, Ἐκεῖσε µὴ παροῦσαν οἷς σῶµα φέρει, Ἔνθα δ’ ἀποῦσαν οἷς τι µὴ βάρους ἔχει· Μερίζεται γὰρ ἀµερίστως εἰς δύο, Εἰς ἀγγέλων τάξιν καὶ βροτῶν φύσιν, Κατ’ ἀγγέλους βιοῦσα κἂν βροτὸς µένῃ. (Maximos Holobolos, Verses: 28, 37-46)98

She wore an extremely thin, black body, […] And you could see in addition to these another remarkable marvel, She was standing like in the threshold Of heavens and earth, hovering in the air, Supported by a base without any foundation Unmovable in a position without any support Not present there where with those she shares a similar body But absent there from those with whom she has an equal worth. For she splits in two without splitting, In the order of angels and in the nature of humans, Living like an angel even though she stays a human.

All the above writers stress Mary’s shadow-like quality. In Holobolos’ poem, not only is

Mary’s in-between state repeatedly emphasized, but it is also indicated that even this body that

she is, is just a costume: she “wears the body” (“Σῶµα φοροῦσαν”). Mary is, therefore, a body

but also a no-body; a subject emptied of all subjectivity. The definition of Mary as an empty

structure that denotes lack in the Byzantine thought, that inspires horror but also desire,

corresponds to the Lacanian concept of objet a. In fact, as Lynda Coon observes, the

description of Mary’s body resembles that of the eschatological Messiah—who, according to

the argument supported in this thesis—is the primary holder of the position “objet a” for the

saints in question (Coon 1997:85).99

It is through her function as objet a that Mary can invite the Gaze and cause Zosimas’

desire. However, Mary’s in-between state allows us to investigate a further peculiar

characteristic of the LME, which does not appear in the LP. In the latter Life, we observed the

object Voice to be associated with a male authority. This is also the case with the LAM. In the

LME, however, it is Mary who embodies the Voice. This inconsistency could be explained by

the fact that, in contrast to Pelagia and Mary from the LAM, we encounter Mary at this liminal

point, when she is in-between the human and the divine, already holy; besides, her extreme

characteristics betray a substantial erosion between categories such as “male” and “female”.

Mary looks male and performs the role of the ascetic in a space reserved for male holy

                                                                                                               98 Maximos Holobolos, Verses, Miller 1855-1857. 99 See also Patricia Cox Miller’s analysis of Mary’s body from the point of view of the grotesque (Cox Miller 2003).

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performances, even though she turns against her flesh and sexuality in the way female

protagonists do.100

In fact, the erosion of boundaries in terms of gender—but also of the narrative itself—

is very well illustrated in the episode where Mary turns and tells Zosimas who chases her the

following: “οὐ δύναµαι ἐπιστραφῆναι καὶ ὀφθῆναί σοι οὕτως εἰς πρόσωπον· γυνὴ γάρ εἰµι, καὶ γυµνὴ, καθάπερ ὁρᾷς, καὶ τὴν αἰσχύνην τοῦ σώµατός µου ἀπερικάλυπτον ἔχουσα. Ἀλλ’ εἰπερ θέλεις πάντως ἁµαρτωλῷ γυναίῳ χαρίσασθαι µίαν εὐχὴν, ῥίψον µοι τὸ ῥάκος ὃ περιβέβλησαι, ὅπως ἐν αὐτῷ συγκαλύψω τὴν γυναικείαν ἀσθένειαν”. (LME, 3705.§12) “I cannot turn toward you and be seen by you face to face, for as you see I am a woman and I am naked, and I am ashamed to have my body uncovered. But if you are really willing to grant one favour to a sinful woman, throw me the garment that you are wearing, so that with it I may cover my feminine weakness”. (Kouli 1996: 77)

At the moment when Zosimas is, as aforementioned, interpellated to a position of inferiority,

Mary also perceives a lack: she cannot look at Zosimas’ face because she is naked. If we

presume that the highly-educated patriarch Sophronios is the author of this version of the Life,

this lack of Mary is intensified by the loss of textual boundaries: there is an exact phrasal

correspondence between Mary and Nonnos from the LP. Nonnos cannot see Christ’s face

because he stands naked in front of Him (LP, p.79.§7.41-p.82.§13.94). Likewise, Mary

realises that she lacks something, literally (clothes [“γυµνὴ”, LME, p.3705.§12]),

metaphorically (virtue, i.e., like Nonnos, she sees herself as sinful [“ἁµαρτωλῷ γυναίῳ”, LME,

p.3705.§12]) and in terms of gender (she is, as woman, inferior [“τὴν γυναικείαν ἀσθένειαν”,

LME, p.3705.§12]), and, one could add, the authority to gain Voice. Hence, she has to

“borrow” a signifier, Zosimas’ cloak, in order to cover the four aspects of her lack. It is only at

this point, through the authority gained by Zosimas’ cloak—by this costume one could add—

that Mary can speak.101

Mary’s function as objet a makes her an “outlaw” in the Lacanian sense; she is out of

the symbolic order (of community and institutions), even of language, since for forty-seven

                                                                                                               100 This oscillation between “male” and “female” has been noted in other studies and seen from various perspectives. See e.g. Constantinou 2005: 59-89, who explores the transformation of the body of the repentant prostitute, or Cox Miller, who explores the male and female models that Mary of Egypt follows (Cox Miller 2003; see also Cox Miller 1994 and 2004). 101 In Poppe and Ross, there appears a similar observation. In their view, by putting on Zosimas’ cloak, she assumes the monk’s identity too, and she transforms in this way her identity into one of a quasi-male being, and into one who is unwilling to be perceived as an individual with a sexual identity as well (Poppe and Ross 1975: 37). I agree that Zosimas’ cloak gives Mary voice, but I am not convinced that her speech is deprived of sexual connotations, given the content of her narration (her sexual transgressions) and Zosimas’ prompts to continue her narration.

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years she has spoken to no one and, what is more, she does not have a signifier, a name to

represent her. As soon as Mary speaks, we discover how she ended up at this peculiar state.

Through her narration, we learn that Mary wasn’t always an “outlaw”. She was born in

Egypt and fled to Alexandria, where she became a prostitute. One day, she followed some

pilgrims to Jerusalem and was prevented from entering the church and seeing the Holy Cross

by a divine force. The phrasal correspondence between the LME and the LP is again prevalent.

Mary, like Nonnos, could not gain access to Christ and, like Nonnos, she had to remain at the

entrance of the church: “τὴν φλιὰν τῆς θύρας” (LME, p.3713.§22).102 She could not get in and

wouldn’t get out either. Once again, like Nonnos, it is as soon as she sees with the eyes of her

heart (“ἥψατο τῶν ὀφθαλµῶν τῆς καρδίας µου” [LME, p.3713.§23]), or her mind (“τὸ ὄµµα

τῆς διανοίας µου” [LME, p.3717.§29]),103 that is, through a different visual perspective, that

she can perceive the reason for her inhibition—that is, her spiritual lack. This intertextual play,

intentional or unintentional, underlines the importance of adopting a different level of vision to

gain access to one’s self-knowledge, but also puts emphasis in the transformation of Mary

from female to the in-between state in which we encounter her later on.

From the point she succeeds in entering the church, Mary undertakes a harsh

repentance and tortures her flesh to such a degree, that her female characteristics disappear.

Since her vehicle for sin was her flesh, it is this flesh she turns against to, through depriving

herself of food, sleep and company for forty-seven years. But what does she succeed through

this attack on her body? The results of her repentance could be interpreted through the lense of

psychoanalysis. Given that in the Lacanian thought the subject’s sense of self is largely based

on his self-image, which the subject perceives as a concrete totality, one’s identity is severely

challenged as he/she experiences radical bodily transformation: a radical bodily expansion

and/or contraction causes a loss of physical boundaries and entails loss of identity.104 What

Mary attempts to do, seen in this light, is to literally “undo”, to eradicate her previous identity

through a repeated ritual of violence against her self-image. She thus suffers what Lacan

                                                                                                               102 In the LP, Nonnos also has to stay at the entrance of the church in his dream, because of his sins (φλιάν; LP, p.81§11.77). 103 Accordingly, in the LP Nonnos uses his mental vision to perceive his lack (“τοῖς τῆς διανοίας ὀφθαλµοῖς” [LP, p.79.§7.39]). 104 For this subject, see the very comprehensive essay of Richard Feldstein, a Lacanian commentator, who explains the erosion of self-identity caused by radical bodily transformation based on the example of Alice in Wonderland (Feldstein 1995).

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would call a “subjective destitution”:105 she strips herself of all the symbolic signifiers that

define subjectivity, exits the society, enters the desert and suffers in this way a symbolic death.

Mary’s narration to Zosimas and the consequent knowledge he gains about her, causes

her transformation in narrative terms. It is only at this point and because of her narration that

we learn how holy she is; in a way it is only at this moment that this peculiar object

“becomes” holy, since it is also from this point onwards that most of her miraculous

manifestations are acted out. From the position of pure lack, of subjective destitution that we

encounter her, Mary is now in the process of being brought back into the symbolic order as a

sublime figure.106 As Žižek writes about sublimation: This lack that the objet a denotes is brought into the symbolic and assumes positive existence in the shapeless form of the Thing (the impossible-unattainable substance of enjoyment). The sublime object is an everyday object that undergoes a kind of transubstantiation and starts to function in the symbolic economy of the subject, as an embodiment of the impossible Thing, i.e. as materialized Nothingness. This is why the sublime object presents the paradox of an object that is able to subsist only in shadow, in an intermediary, half-born state, as something latent, implicit, evoked: as soon as we try to cast away the shadow to reveal the substance, the object itself dissolves. (Žižek 1992: 83-84)

Likewise, Mary’s empty form assumes, through the knowledge that Zosimas gains, positive

existence as the embodiment of the exemplary repentant who appears to have a body made of

an other, supra-human substance; but were we to subtract these ideological connotations, we

would end up with an unspecified, hairy, horrifying creature—like at the beginning of the

encounter.

Hence, as we follow Zosimas’ perspective and decipher Mary as Gaze and Voice, we

are at the stage of birth of the sublime signifier, since Mary is gradually restored to legibility

and can now produce meaning. Now the terms are reversed: it is Zosimas who desires her

face: “Εἴθε ἦν δυνατὸν ἐντεῦθεν ἀκολουθῆσαί σοι, καὶ βλέπειν διὰ παντὸς τὸ σὸν τίµιον

πρόσωπον” (LME, p.3721.§36). Mary can be said to be fully incorporated in the symbolic

order—in this case the term would refer to the conventional Christian society and law—as

soon as she gets a name: her name is written on the ground, next to her corpse. But then, this                                                                                                                105 This term of Lacan was mainly discussed in his Seminar XV: L'acte psychanalytique (1967-1968), which is still unpublished. However, a lecture given as part of this Seminar, which is known as the “Proposition of 9th October 1967” and which contains much discussion about “subjective destitution”, has received much attention by psychoanalytic scholarship and in this context it has also received many unofficial translations. I refer indicatively to Russel Grigg’s translation (available online from www.londonsociety-nls.org.uk). In terms of commentary on the phrase I would also selectively refer to Žižek 1992: 138-140. 106 For sublimation and its respective position Φ in Lacan’s topology, see Lacan 2008; 1998: 254-255 and 1998a: 90. See also the comments of Žižek 1992a: 7.

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statement is invalidated: Mary is actually never incorporated into the Symbolic, because as

soon as she enters the network, she is removed from the plot. Mary is such a transgressive

figure, both in her previous life (even as a prostitute, she received no payment for her services,

she took as lovers both elderly and younger men, she didn’t even respect the sacredness of

pilgrimage), and in her spiritual life (she is a radical ascetic who invades the male-dominated

sphere of the desert) that she cannot be incorporated into the Byzantine symbolic network.

Hence, she cannot exist as part of the social law and it is for this reason that she never really

occupies the position of the sublime, a position tightly linked to the symbolic order. Mary

fluctuates somewhere in between the lack that the objet a denotes and a process of sublimation

that is never completed.

This autonomous character of Mary is accentuated in light of the Lacanian Voice.

Despite the fact that Mary, as the above analysis suggests, acts as carrier of the Voice, the

Voice acquires a kind of autonomy and doesn’t quite “fit” the body that carries it but in a

sense overspills it. Žižek illustrates this character of the Voice with recourse to film theory and

the notion of voix-acousmatique, mainly exploited by the director Michael Chion.107 The term

refers to a voice without bearer that hovers in some indefinite interspace, since it belongs

neither to diegetic reality, nor to an external vocal accompaniment but is rather “errant”, as a

foreign body and creates a feeling of tension (Žižek 2001: 120).108 This autonomous nature of

Voice could also be exemplified by Mary’s narration to Zosimas. This episode is in a way

detached from the rest of the story in terms of: a) narrative sequence (it is the only one that

disrupts the linear narrative, shifting us to a flashback mode); b) main character (up to that

point the protagonist of the story was Zosimas, now the attention shifts to Mary), and c)

textual boundaries (while Mary narrates her story to Zosimas, this Voice persists beyond the

boundaries of the textual reality, as a kind of “forced” didaskaleia to the external audience of

the Life).

In this light, we could reassess Zosimas’ services to Mary. First, he offers Holy

Communion. This is the only thing that she cannot by herself offer to her spiritual identity,

since she is not a priest. But actually, if we consider Mary as an object in continuous

transformation according to the previous analysis, Zosimas’ offer acquires much importance.

When she receives the Communion, Mary states the following: “Νῦν ἀπολύεις τὴν δούλην                                                                                                                107 See also Jagodzinski 2012 for other examples. 108 For Žižek’s commentaries regarding the voix-acousmatique see especially his study Looking Awry (1992: 126-127) where he discusses George Miller’s film Mad Max II.

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σου, ὦ Δέσποτα, κατὰ τὸ ῥῆµά σου ἐν εἰρήνῃ· ὅτι εἶδον οἱ ὀφθαλµοί µου τὸ σωτήριόν σου”

(LME, p.3721.§35; “Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, according to Thy

word, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation” [Kouli 1996: 90]). Just before her repentance,

Mary could not enter the church and see the Holy Cross: “µὴ στερήσῃς µε τὸ ξύλον ἰδεῖν”

(LME, p.3713.§23; “Do not deprive me of <the opportunity of> seeing the cross” [Kouli 1996:

83]). Next, she could not see Zosimas because she felt naked, literally and spiritually. It is only

at the moment that she receives Holy Communion that she can “see” salvation, that is, her

object of desire, Christ. Consequently, it is only at this moment that her spiritual identity is

completely formed; Mary achieves totality through Zosimas’ offer. This is supported by a

further observation. Mary’s symbolic death, her exit from society, was sealed by her receiving

Holy Communion at the church of the Forerunner before retreating to the desert. Likewise, her

physical expiration, and her transition into the community of the holy ones is sealed, in a way

“legitimised”, by this second Communion.

Zosimas’ last task is to offer Mary a proper burial. In discussing burial, Žižek mentions

that through the funeral rite the dead are inscribed in the text of the symbolic tradition, they

are assured that, in spite of their death, they will continue to live in the memory of the

community (Žižek 1992: 23). A similar conclusion could be drawn in the case of Mary.

Through Zosimas, Mary is not a material body anymore. Rather, she loses her body as she

reaches the end of her earthly life and becomes a name, to be commemorated in every reciting

of her tale. It is noteworthy that Mary announces her name and requests burial through writing

on the ground: “ὁρᾷ πρὸς τῇ κεφαλῇ αὐτῆς ἐκτετυπωµένην γραφὴν ἐν τῇ γῇ, δι’ ἧς ταῦτα

ἐγέγραπτο· Θάψον, ἀββᾶ Ζωσιµᾶ, ἐν τούτῳ τῷ τόπῳ τῆς ταπεινῆς Μαρίας τὸ λείψανον”

(LME, p.3724.§36). The most prominent expression of the symbolic order (the written word)

is also the medium through which Mary communicates her name (that is to say, she gains a

signifier), even though she is never incorporated into the Symbolic as body. Furthermore, by

the time Zosimas reads the writing, it is also the medium through which Mary announces her

past identity (she was Mary, now physically expired) in a repeated atemporal present-future

(she will have been Mary every time the audience reaches the end of her tale). This future

perfect of becoming is the Lacanian time par excellence, which stresses the always-already

missed encounter with the object of desire. Mary is instituted as text and subject at the same

time that she is removed from the tale. Instead of a body we get, through Zosimas, a text.

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To sum up, in her process of transformation Mary could be said to be located as much

as in-between two births as in-between two deaths: her symbolic death causes her birth as

objet a, her physical expiration marks the birth of her sublime name. At this crucial point of

her final transformation, at the time of her extraction from the plot, there is Zosimas to “sign”

with two rituals: a spiritual (he offers Holy Communion and totality of self-image) and a

symbolic (he “makes” her a name).

The above analysis shows that Zosimas’ and Mary’s stories are complementary.

Scholarly study of this text has so far put an emphasis on one protagonist only, in most cases

stressing Zosimas’ contribution to Mary due to his function as a priest.109 However, as this

investigation has shown, the Byzantine Greek text treats both Zosimas and Mary as

protagonists, both in narrative terms (each character occupies half of the text) and in terms of

plot (the stories of both characters are narrated). Namely, the focus is not only on one of the

protagonists with the other protagonist serving as a means to prove the former’s holiness.

Instead, both characters have a story to tell and both characters’ identities are essentially

informed by their in-between encounter.

The Gaze and the Voice in the Life of Abraham and Mary (LAM)

Introduction

The LAM is presumed to have been written in Syriac, most probably in the fifth century and

translated into Byzantine Greek at an early date (Brock and Ashbrook-Harvey 1996: 28-29).

The Life, which has come down to us anonymously, was falsely attributed to the fourth-

century Syrian Saint Ephrem (Brock and Ashbrook-Harvey 1996: 28-29). Now it is generally                                                                                                                109 An indicative example is Coon’s study Sacred Fictions, which provides an interpretation of the Life based on the distinction between asceticism, represented by Mary, and monasticism, represented by Zosimas. Coon arrives to the conclusion that Mary reaffirms the authority of sacred males since, despite her miraculous manifestations, she depends on Zosimas to receive Holy Communion and burial (Coon 1997: 89). Such an interpretation, however, substantially undermines Mary’s contribution to Zosimas’ transformation. An important exception to this tendency of focusing on a single protagonist is Erich Poppe and Bianca Ross’ study The Legend of Mary of Egypt in Medieval Insular Hagiography (1996), which discusses Western versions of the Life and stresses the mutual character of the protagonists’ contribution to each other. For example, on page 129 there appears a comment that could be summarised as follows: in the authors’ view, Zosimas’ and Mary’s encounter results in a mutual fulfillment of two different quests. Mary receives the reward for having undergone such a harsh penance through being revealed to Zosimas by divine will. Her body is offered some final services by the monk, communion and burial. Zosimas, on the other hand, is able to see through Mary the sin he has committed through his pride. Even though Poppe and Ross’ study pursues no in-depth analysis of the relationship between the two protagonists, it is the only one to my knowledge that recognises the mutual dependence of the two characters.

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accepted that the original Life was composed in the mid- or late fifth century and,

consequently, Saint Ephrem cannot have authored it (Brock and Ashbrook-Harvey 1996: 27-

28). The narrative relates the story of Abraham of Quidun, a mid-fourth-century recluse.

Abraham was son of wealthy parents, who escaped his marriage and the life arranged

for him seven days after the wedding ceremony in order to become a recluse. He was

eventually discovered by his parents in the tiny cell he built for himself, but seeing his great

devotion, they decided to leave him in peace instead of forcing him back to the world.

Subsequently, Abraham devoted himself to God and achieved many pious tasks, such as

converting to Christianity a village of pagans. When his brother died, his niece Mary was left

to his care and he became her guardian and teacher. Together they lived in a joined cell until

one day Mary was seduced by a monk and lost her virginity. Following her sinful act, Mary

decided to leave in secret and undertook a life of prostitution at a tavern. Informed of the event

by a dream, Abraham succeeded in locating Mary two years after the event and, disguised as a

soldier, he visited the tavern as a client with the purpose of saving her. Finally, Abraham

succeeded in persuading Mary to follow him and she undertook repentance for the rest of her

life in their joined cell. Both Mary and her uncle reached high spiritual levels, as testified by

the two protagonists’ miracles.

Lacking a Dove: Abraham

Using the concept of the “letter that always arrives at its destination”, Lacan argues that the

circulation of an object of importance among various subjects creates an intersubjective

network among these subjects. This network is determined by different levels of vision or lack

of vision toward the object. The concept of the letter that always arrives was initially inspired

by a short story of Edgar Alan Poe entitled “The Purloined Letter” (Poe 1978). The plot of the

story is the following: A certain letter containing compromising information concerning an

exalted personality—presumably the Queen of France—was stolen from her in her presence.

The robber was the Minister, who skilfully replaced the compromising letter with another one.

The Queen was unable to prevent him because of the King, who was also present at the scene

and was unaware of the letter’s existence. The Parisian Police, on the Queen’s request,

conducted thorough investigations in the Minister’s residence every night for two months,

while the Minister was absent, but nevertheless the effort yielded no result. Desperate, the

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Head of the Police resorts in requesting the help of detective Dupin. Dupin visits the Minister

and finds the letter hidden in plain sight: hanging from a mantelpiece into a division of

pasteboard and rack, disguised as a discarded piece of paper, with its superscription changed

to address the Minister as its recipient. Dupin returns the following day and with an ingenious

plan manages to distract the Minister’s attention, to retrieve the letter and, replacing it with

another, to leave the Minister thinking that he is still in possession of the letter.

In this story, according to Lacan, the determining position is held by a signifier, the

letter, the content of which we never find out but which, nevertheless, by circulating among

three positions, significantly affects the subjects who find themselves in these positions (Lacan

2006b: 10). Lacan plots these relationships as follows (fig.4):110

 

Figure 4 Lacan's reading of Poe

The story splits into two scenes, one “primal”—the stealing of the letter—and one

secondary—the retrieval—followed by a third, extratextual interpretative—the “analytical”

(Lacan 2006b: 7-30).111 In every scene there are three standard positions which the subjects

occupy: a “blind” personage, one who sees but does not perceive and/or does not act—the

unaware “seer”—and one who profits, one who knows and acts—the robber.

In the primal scene the blind personage is represented by the King who, even though

he is present, does not see what is happening before his eyes and whose authority is

challenged by the mere existence of the letter. The unaware seer is the Queen, who witnesses

the robbery but cannot act or bring the matter to the King’s attention, while the Minister is the

                                                                                                               110 The schema is my own. Since Lacan’s writing is at times cryptic, I have found John Muller and William Richardson’s commentary on Lacan’s essay extremely useful in understanding this intersubjective netrwork (Muller and Richardson 1988a: 59-62). 111 As Muller and Richardson note, Lacan plots the third constellation of relationships without explicitly referring to them as “scene” as he does with the first and second set of relationships (Muller and Richardson 1988a: 59).

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one who knows—that the Queen can do nothing about it and that the possession of the letter

gives him power (Lacan 2006: 7-8, 10). In the second scene the Police is the blind instrument

of the Law, whose representatives cannot retrieve the letter, while the Minister is the unaware

seer, who does not see that the letter he so carefully disguised has been detected by Dupin and

who in the end—on the third triangle—falls in complete blindness: he thinks he still has the

letter so he is in a compromising position but cannot see it. Dupin, the orchestrator and robber

of the second triangle is in the position of the unaware seer on the third, since he cannot

perceive the (Lacanian) analysis conducted on him (Lacan 2006b: 10-30).

By circulating among the three positions and recipients, the letter itself changes—

addressed to the Queen, addressed to the Minister, once again addressed to the Minister but

with a completely different content (the one Dupin leaves for him), addressed to “us”—but

this doesn’t matter, since it is the mere circulation and possession of the letter that determines

the dynamics of power among the subjects (Lacan 2006b: 13-30).

It is my contention that Lacan’s reading of Poe could enlighten our interpretation of

Abraham’s course toward spiritual advancement and of the ways he encounters a spiritual lack

and reconfigures his sense of self, since Mary, his Other, occupies a position similar to the

determining letter; her circulation and possession yields and deprives power. Hence,

depending on his “having” or “not having” Mary, Abraham successively occupies the position

of the blind, of the unaware seer and of the robber, until Mary-the-letter finally “arrives at its

destination”.

The One Who Doesn’t See

Just like Nonnos and Zosimas, Abraham is represented in the LAM as a spiritual authority.

This image of authority is mainly constructed in the LAM by making Abraham confront

worldly affairs and then strategically showing him choosing divine affairs instead. First, a

glorious marriage is arranged by his parents, which was aimed at leading Abraham to a

prestigious position in the public sector: “ἐµνηστεύσαντο αὐτῷ ἐκ παιδόθεν, προσδοκῶντες

ἄγεσθαι ἐν ἀξιώµατι” (LAM, p.742.§2; “they formally engaged him from when he was a child,

seeking to lead him to an office”). Even though the arranged marriage is against his will, since

he is preoccupied with divine affairs, he doesn’t reject the union openly. Instead he first

proceeds to the wedding and then he escapes the union (LAM, p.742.§2), thereby bringing to

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the forefront the clashing context between worldly and divine affairs, and flauntingly

subverting the first.

After this event, Abraham becomes a recluse and lives in a cell the entrance of which

he has sealed leaving only a small window open. Thenceforward he leads such an exemplary

lifestyle, as to draw a multitude of people to seek his beneficial company: Ἐφωτίσθη δὲ ἡ διάνοια αὐτοῦ ὑπὸ τῆς χάριτος, καὶ ἦν προκόπτων ἐν τῇ καλλίστῃ αὐτοῦ πολιτείᾳ, ἐγκράτειαν µεγάλην εκτήσατο, ἀγρυπνίαν τε καὶ κλαυθµὸν, ταπεινοφροσύνην καὶ ἀγάπην. Φήµη δὲ διέδραµεν περὶ αὐτοῦ, καὶ πάντες ἀκούσαντες ἤρχοντο πρὸς αὐτὸν, θεάσασθαι αὐτὸν ἅµα καὶ ὠφεληθῆναι. Ἐδόθη γὰρ αὐτῷ λόγος σοφίας καὶ συνέσεως, καὶ ἦν περὶ αὐτοῦ ἀκοή τε καὶ φήµη, καθάπερ φωστὴρ φωτεινός. (LAM, p.742.§3)

And his mind was enlightened by <divine> grace, and he was advancing in his utterly virtuous conduct, and he achieved a great degree of self-control, and sleeplessness and tears and humility and love. And his reputation spread, and everyone who listened were coming to him, in order to see him and at the same time to be edified. For he was given the word of wisdom and prudence, and what was heard and spread about him was that he was like a radiant illuminator.

Abraham is explicitly illustrated as a man who has reached high spiritual levels and is capable

of teaching others. In fact, saving other souls appears to be a quite essential quality of the holy

man in the LAM, as can be inferred from the words of the bishop, who ordains Abraham priest

and sends him to convert the pagans of a nearby village:

“Ἰδοὺ ὧδε καθήµενος, ἑαυτὸν µόνον σώζεις· ἐκεῖ δὲ, διὰ τῆς χάριτος τοῦ Θεοῦ, πολλοὺς ἔχεις σῶσαι, καὶ ἐπιστρέψαι πρὸς τὸν Θεόν. Λόγισαι οὖν παρ’ ἑαυτῷ, ποῖος µισθὸς πλείων, οὗτος ἢ ἐκεῖνος; τὸ σῶσαι ἑαυτὸν µόνον, ἢ τὸ µεθ’ ἑαυτοῦ καὶ πολλοὺς ἑτέρους;” (LAM, p.742.§7)

Look, by sitting here you only save yourself. But there, through God’s grace you will save many and you will return them to God. Therefore think for yourself, which yields greater reward, this or that? Only saving yourself, or saving many others along with you?”112

Saving others not only yields a greater reward in the afterlife, but also seems to be imperative

and a cornerstone for the spiritual identity of a man who is in the position to do so, as will also

be shown further on.

By being sent to the pagan village, Abraham passes from family affairs, which he

previously rejected, to another form of public engagement—that of fathering a community.

With admirable patience, he manages to convert the heathen but, as before, he does not leave

right after he “finishes the job”; rather, he stays in the village for a whole year before he

decides to leave. It is indicative that he leaves exactly out of fear that his involvement may tie

                                                                                                               112 It is noteworthy that the same idea appears in the Life of Symeon the Holy Fool (BHG 1677; Festugière 1974, 1-222). Symeon assumes the role of the holy fool so as to save other souls.

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him to worldly concerns: “φοβηθεὶς µὴ ἀναγκασθῇ ὑπ’ αὐτῶν καταλῦσαι τὸν κανόνα τῆς

ἀσκήσεως αὐτοῦ, καὶ µὴ ἔν τινι τρόπῳ δεσµευθῇ ἡ διάνοια αὐτοῦ εἰς τὴν µέριµναν τῶν γηΐνων

πραγµάτων” (LAM, p.742.§15; because he was afraid that he might be forced by them to

abolish the rule of his ascesis, and lest that his mind be bound in any way to the care of earthly

affairs). Once again, Abraham does indeed engage in worldly affairs and then rejects them,

preserving the “rule of his ascesis unchanged” as is repeatedly stressed in the text.113 Hence,

Abraham’s image as a spiritual authority is formed through a series of spiritual “tests” aimed

at exposing him to a net of possible lacks he may have as a man because of his exposure to

worldly affairs and relations and which, nevertheless, proves not to have.

Abraham’s spiritual concreteness draws the attention of the devil, who attacks him in

several ways: first, he makes Abraham suffer at the pagan village, where he is beaten and

tortured (LAM, p.743.§8-§11, p.744.§18). Second, he impersonates God and attempts to

persuade Abraham that he has become perfect (as is the case with Zosimas), attacking his

humbleness (LAM, p.744.§18-§19). Next, the devil appears with an axe, destroying Abraham’s

cell, in an attempt to distract the hero from his prayer (LAM, p.744.§20), before attempting to

burn his mat (“ψιαθίον”) in an additional effort to interrupt his prayer (LAM, p.744.§20).

Subsequently, he tries to overturn Abraham’s plate and distract him from his food (LAM,

p.744.§21); then he appears escorted with a frightening crowd threatening to throw the

protagonist in a pitch (“βόθρον” [LAM, p.745.§22]). Lastly, he attempts to inspire Abraham

the temptation of cowardice (LAM, p.745.§23).

In every attack, Abraham is shown to overpower his enemy. This further highlights

Abraham’s image as that of a spiritual authority: the text showcases a power display of good

versus evil and Abraham is a worthy representative of God. His spirituality is reflected in the

state of his body. In contrast to other saintly protagonists (mostly female in gender, as, for

example, the three heroines examined in this subchapter), whose body is transformed due to

their harsh ascesis, Abraham’s remains intact: Ἦν δὲ τὸ εἶδος αὐτοῦ ὡσεὶ ἄνθος ῥόδου, καὶ τὸ σῶµα αὐτοῦ οὐχ ὡς ἀπὸ τοιαύτης ἀσκήσεως καταπεπονηµένον, ἀλλὰ συµµέτρῳ τῇ ἕξει καὶ δυνάµει ὑπάρχων, ὡς ὑπὸ χάριτος Θεοῦ κρατούµενος. Ὃς καὶ ἐν τῷ καιρῷ τῆς κοιµήσεως αὐτοῦ οὕτω φαιδρῶς ἦν τῷ προσώπῳ, ὡς ἕξεσθαι αὐτὸν ἡµᾶς γνῶναι τὴν τῶν ἀγγέλων δορυφορίαν. Καὶ ἄλλη δὲ θαυµαστὴ χάρις τοῦ Θεοῦ ἦν ἐν αὐτῷ· ἐν γὰρ τοῖς πεντήκοντα ἔτεσιν τῆς ἀσκήσεως αὐτοῦ, ἅπερ ἐνεδιδύσκετο τρίχινα, οὕτως διαρκῶς ὑπηρέτησαν, ὡς καὶ ἑτέρους καταξιωθῆναι τῶν παλαιοθέντων παρ’ αὐτῷ ὑπουργῆσαι. (LAM, p.745.§24)

                                                                                                               113 LAM, p.743.§15, p.744.§17, p.745.§24, p.748.§41.

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And his countenance was like a rose bloom, while his body was as if not wearied by this kind of ascesis, but was symmetrical in state and strength, since he was filled with God’s grace. Even at the time when he passed away, he had such a bright face that we knew he was guarded by angels. And there was even another admirable grace of God in him. For throughout the fifty years of his ascesis, the hairshirts that he wore served him so sufficiently, that they even served others who were deemed worthy to receive his used clothes.

In fact, as the passage shows, not even his clothes are eroded.114 Abraham’s spiritually robust

personage leads the devil to exclaim: “᾽Ιδοὺ γὰρ, ἐν πᾶσιν ἐνίκησάς µε, καὶ πάσης µου

κατεφρόνησας τῆς δυνάµεως, καταπατήσας µε. Ἀλλ’ εἰ καὶ οὕτως, οὐ µή σου ἀναχωρήσω,

ἕως οὗ νικήσας ταπεινώσω σε” (LAM, p.745.§22; “Look, you have defeated me in everything,

and by trampling me down you showed contempt against all my power. But even so, I will not

depart from you unless I humiliate you by defeating you”). The devil admits to defeat, but

promises not to give up. Abraham may have needed to have paid more attention to the devil’s

threat quoted above, since his enemy decides to turn against him through a weakness that

Abraham does have, Mary, his niece.

Mary is seven years old when her father dies and her uncle Abraham takes her under

his protection (LAM, p.745.§25). The episode that relates Mary’s story takes place in the

middle of the text, with the narrator engaging in an interjection toward his external audience,

interrupting his text to alert for a story of special significance: “Βούλοµαι δὲ, ἀγαπητοὶ

διηγήσασθαι τῇ ὁµονοίᾳ ὑµῶν παράδοξον πρᾶγµα, ὃ ἐποίησεν ἐν τῷ γείρει αὐτοῦ ὁ

Μακάριος· τοῖς γὰρ συνετοῖς καὶ πνευµατικοῖς ὄντως παράδοξόν ἐστιν, καὶ πλῆρες ὠφελείας

καὶ κατανύξεως” (LAM, p.745.§25; “I would like, my dearest, to narrate to your company a

strange thing, which the blessed one performed at his old age. For those who are prudent and

spiritual it is indeed strange and full of edification and contrition”). The episode about to be

narrated is casted as “παράδοξον πρᾶγµα”, a happening with special emphasis attached to it.

Its significance is great, since it is from this episode that those among the audience who are

spiritual and wise are going to be distinguished, as it is they who will consider the story

beneficial. Hence, the episode becomes an evaluation method for the external audience itself.

His relation to Mary is the only worldly affair from which Abraham appears to have

never been completely detached, since up to the end of the story he remains with her as her

                                                                                                               114 In contrast, Mary of Egypt’s clothes, who also undertook a harsh form of ascesis, are so eroded that she needed to borrow Zosimas’ cloak (LME, p.3705.§12).

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“uncle”, “father”, “teacher”, or “lord”.115 And it is through this path that the devil chooses to

attack for his finale: Εἰκοσαετοὺς δὲ χρόνου πληρωθέντος, βλέπων ὁ ἐν δολιότητι κακοῦργος ὄφις ταῖς τοῦ µονήρους βίου ἀρεταῖς ἐπτεροµένην, καὶ τὰ οὐράνια ἀδολεσχοῦσαν, ὡς περιστερὰν ἄσπιλον, τὴν τοῦ Χριστοῦ ἀµνάδα, λαµπροτάτῳ πυρὶ καιόµενος ἐτήκετο, καὶ παρήδρευεν ὅπως αὐτὴν παγιδεύσῃ ὥστε κᾃν οὕτω δυνηθῇ εἰς λύπην καὶ µέριµναν ἐµβαλεῖν τὸν Μακάριον, καὶ τῇ δι’ αὐτοῦ ἀδηµονίᾳ ἀποσπάσῃ τὴν διάνοιαν αὐτοῦ ἀπὸ τοῦ Θεοῦ. (LAM, p.745.§26)

And when twenty years had elapsed, the treacherous and wicked snake, seeing that she grew wings through the virtues of the monastic life and was conquering heavens, like a spotless dove, he was melting by a burning fire for God’s lamb, and he was waiting figuring out how to ensnare her, so that even in this way he would be able to put the blessed one in grief and agony and through his distress he could turn his mind away from God.116

Since he has not been able to directly attack Abraham, the devil turns against his weaker pair-

mate, Mary, and explicitly states that it is Abraham whom he targets through her. Hence,

already from the beginning of the episode and in contrast to the other affairs presented

(Abraham as husband, Abraham as father of a community), Abraham and Mary are presented

as a pair. Attacking Mary is thus the last and most forceful devil effort at the apogee of

Abraham’s spiritual career.

And it is at this point that Abraham occupies the position of the one who does not see

in Lacan’s triangle, that is, of the representative of divine law who should have been more

careful to the machinations of the robber, the devil. Abraham is marked with a spiritual lack,

with his failure to see and perceive what was happening before his eyes—namely, that Mary,

who does see but does not know any better, since she is spiritually weaker (still a “student”), is

seduced by a so-called monk and loses her virginity, thereby becoming a prostitute in another

town. As aforementioned, the bishop’s words to Abraham stress the necessity of saving other

souls if one wishes to yield a great spiritual benefit. Bringing also in mind the repeated

attempts of the devil against Abraham, exposed in such detail in the LAM, Abraham’s lack is

premised on his failure to evaluate the situation and protect the soul he was supposed to guard.

He trusts the superficial image that his physical eyes show him—that Mary is obedient and

that the devil has not appeared for a long time—and fails to see beyond. Abraham becomes

                                                                                                               115 “uncle” (LAM, p.745§25, p.745.§26, p.746§28[x2], p.748.§43), “father” (LAM, p.747.§37[x2], p.747.§38), or “lord” (LAM, p.747.§39). 116 There is an English translation of the Syriac version of the episode in Brock and Ashbrook-Harvey 1996: 27-36.

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blind to the danger even though he is present at the scene and it is only by divine intervention

that he manages to even perceive that something bad has happened.

The One Who Sees and Doesn’t Know

Ἐν δὲ τῷ συµβῆναι αὐτὴν τοῦτο, ἴδεν ἐν ὁράµατι ὁ Μακάριος δράκοντα µέγαν καὶ φοβερὸν τῷ εἴδει, συρίζοντα ἐν ἰσχύϊ, ὃς ἐξηλθὼν ἐκ τοῦ τόπου αὐτοῦ ἐλθὼν ἕως τοῦ κελλίου αὐτοῦ, καὶ εὐρὼν περιστερὰν κατέπιεν αὐτὴν, καὶ πάλιν ὑπέστρεψεν εἰς τὸν τόπον αὐτοῦ. Ἔξυπνος δὲ γενόµενος ὁ Μακάριος, ἐλυπήθη σφόδρα καὶ ἔκλαυσεν λέγων· Μὴ ἆρα διωγµὸν ἐγείρει ὁ σατανᾶς κατὰ τῆς ἁγίας Ἐκκλησίας, καὶ πολλοὺς ἀποστήσει ἀπὸ τῆς πίστεως; ἤ σχίσµα γένηται καὶ αἵρεσις ἐν τῇ τοῦ Θεοῦ Ἐκκλησία; Εὐξάµενος δὲ τῷ Θεῷ εἶπεν· Φιλάνθρωπε, σύ µόνος γινώσκεις τὸ ὅραµα τὸ µέγα τοῦτο. Πάλιν δὲ µετὰ δύο ἡµέρας ἴδεν αὐτὸν τὸν δράκοντα, ἐξελθόντα ἐκ τοῦ τόπου αὐτοῦ, καὶ εἰσελθόντα εἰς τὴν κέλλαν πρὸς αὐτὸν, καὶ θέντα ὑπὸ τοὺς πόδας τοῦ Μακαρίου τὴν κεφαλὴν αὐτοῦ, καὶ διαῤῥαγῆναι· καὶ εὑρεθῆναι τὴν περιστερὰν ἐκείνην ζῶσαν, µὴ ἔχουσαν σπίλον (LAM, p.746.§29)

When this happened to her, the blessed one saw in a vivid dream an enormous dragon, fearful in form, who was hissing loudly, and who coming out of his den he came up to his [Abraham’s] cell, found a dove and devoured it, and again returned back to his den. And the blessed one woke up and was very saddened and cried saying: “Could it be that the Satan launches a persecution against the holy Church and will drive many away from the faith? Or could it be that a schism and heresy will befall upon the Church of God?” And praying to God he said: “Merciful one, you alone are aware of this great vision”. Then again two days later he saw the same dragon coming out of his den and entering his cell toward him, and placing under the feet of the blessed one his head and bursting open. And that dove was found alive and with no stain.

The dream that Abraham sees consists of two parts. A change of field of vision is, as in the

case of Nonnos, clearly indicated “ἴδεν ἐν ὁράµατι” (LAM, p.746.§29; “he saw in a dream”).

In the first section we observed that Nonnos first confronts Pelagia and perceives his spiritual

lack through this encounter, then experiences a dream which confirms that lack. Abraham, on

the other hand, realises that he lacks something literally—Mary—and

metaphorically/spiritually—a soul he was responsible for—after the second part of the dream.

This further testifies to the blindness that characterises his first phase.

While experiencing the dream, Abraham moves to the second position of Lacan’s

triangle, namely that of the unaware seer. In order to better illustrate this, it would be useful to

compare Abraham’s role in his dream to that of Nonnos that has been previously examined. In

contrast to Nonnos, Abraham is not a protagonist in his dream. In fact, he is not even a

character in it. Both men see a dove in their dream, but Nonnos “grabs” the dirty dove and

forcibly cleanses it, having first experienced its foul smell and afterwards its fragrance. On the

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contrary, the only sense that Abraham has access to is that of vision; he is reduced to a mere

passive spectator, who, moreover, cannot exactly understand what is happening. A dragon

comes to his cell, i.e., intrudes his own home, takes the dove—his dove—and leaves, while

Abraham himself does not even exist in the picture. Abraham is just an eye—a blurred eye in

fact—that does not even belong to the “reality” of the dream.

The first part of the dream concludes with Abraham waking up in terror, sorrow and

tears. Abraham functions as a mere spectator, one who can observe that something unpleasant

has happened, that something has been taken from him and he is now lacking, but who yet

remains unaware of the actual event. His function as a mere spectator is further underlined by

his misinterpretation of what the dream signifies: he thinks that it is meant to reveal a schism,

a war against Orthodoxy and fails to perceive that trouble is closer to home. He is still an

unaware seer. Hence, a second divine intervention is deemed imperative, which comes as a

sequel to his first dream; the dream resumes after two days—the time-lapse that Abraham will

need in years before directly confronting his lack—with the same dragon returning and

lowering his head to Abraham’s feet. He bursts open and the stolen dove comes out intact.

As in Nonnos’ case, the dream-sphere represents Abraham’s spatiotemporal zone of

transformation, Lacan’s future perfect of becoming. The dream comes in two parts. The first

indicates his position of blindness and inattention to devil’s machinations, which led to the

loss of the dove—thence his past identity. The latter part signifies his position of vision and

knowledge, his final triumph against his enemy with the retrieval of the dove—thence his

future identity. In short, the dream is a future perfect of becoming, a past-present that marks

the point where the subject is about to be transformed. Indeed, it is at this point that Abraham

first realises his lack. He wakes up again as an effect of the second dream and calls for Mary,

whom he didn’t hear chanting in two days (LAM, p.746.§29). It is only now that he finally

realises his niece is missing and deciphers what had at first appeared as a blot in the picture—

Mary as a dove, as a dove that he gazes and through it his own lack gazes back at him. Put

simply, Abraham meets the Gaze (virtually) and confronts his lack.

That it is ultimately his lack that lacking the dove signifies, and that Abraham will

have to answer for it in the afterlife is repeatedly indicated in the text. Abraham’s own words

just after the dream experience are a case in point: Εὐθέως δὲ ἔξυπνος γενόµενος, ἐκάλεσεν Μαρίαν ἅπαξ καὶ δὶς λέγων. Ἔγειρε, τί ὤκνησας σήµερον δύο ἡµέρας, ἀνοῖξαι τὸ στόµα σου πρὸς δοξολογίαν Θεοῦ; Τῆς δὲ µὴ ἀποκριθείσης (δευτέραν γὰρ ἡµέραν εἶχεν µὴ ἀκούων κατὰ τὸ εἰωθὸς ψαλλούσης

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αὐτῆς) τότε συνῆκεν ὅτι τὸ ὅραµα, ὃ ἴδεν, περὶ αὐτῆς ἐστιν. Και στενάξας ἔκλαυσεν σφοδρῶς, καὶ εἶπεν· Οἴµοι! τὴν ἀµνάδα µου ὁ δεινὸς λύκος ἥρπασεν, καὶ τὸ τέκνον µου αἰχµάλωτον ἐγένετο. Ὑψώσας δὲ τὴν φωνὴν αὐτοῦ εἶπεν· Σωτὴρ τοῦ κόσµου Χριστέ, ἐπίστρεψον τὴν ἀµνάδα σου Μαρίαν εἰς τὴν µάνδραν τῆς ζωῆς, ἵνα µὴ κατέλθῃ τὸ γῆράς µου µετὰ λύπης εἰς ᾅδην. Μηδὲ ὑπερίδῃς τὴν δέησίν µου Κύριε, ἀλλὰ πέµψον τὴν χάριν σου τάχιον, ἵνα ἐκσπάσῃ αὐτὴν ἐκ τοῦ στόµατος τοῦ δράκοντος. (LAM, p.746.§30, my emphasis)

And right away he woke up and called Mary once and twice saying: “Get up, why did you become so lazy and for two days now you did not open your mouth to praise God?” And when she did not answer (as it was the second day he didn’t hear her chanting like she used to) then he realised that the dream he saw was about her. And he sighed and cried bitterly and he said: “Alas, the fierce wolf snatched away my lamb, and my child was taken captive. And raising his voice he said: “Christ, Saviour of the world, return your lamb Mary to the fold of life, so that I won’t go down to Hades full of grief in my old age. Do not turn aside my request, Lord, but send instead your grace at once and deliver her from the dragon’s mouth.”

It is his dove and his lamb that was taken, a soul he was responsible for and this will have an

impact on his mental state and spiritual identity beyond the limits of his earthly life. Mary’s

salvation equals his salvation or else he is convicted to destruction. His past authoritative

function is under siege. His identity is interlocked to that of Mary. Time to take action.

The One Who Sees and Knows

Abraham’s decision to take action and save Mary (and, through her, himself) responds to what

the second part of the dream signals, and is marked by a further shift of the field of vision.

Abraham visits the tavern where Mary is now a prostitute, pretending to be a client (LAM,

p.746.§31). This effects his movement to the third position of the triangle—from a Lacanian

perspective, that of the subject who sees, knows and orchestrates; namely, the robber.

Abraham is determined to return the letter “Mary” to its destination. Therefore, he comes up

with the plan of posing as a client to escape the notice of the tavern-keeper and gain access to

Mary similarly to the way in which Dupin visits the Minister in false pretence, in order to

detect the letter. That it is with a very conscious orchestration that we are dealing is clearly

indicated in the text, since Abraham’s plan is defined as “δραµατουργία” (LAM, p.747.§35;

“orchestration”).

Two years have elapsed since Abraham trusted what his physical eyes showed him—

namely, the absence of the devil and Mary’s obedience—and laid down his guard,

contributing to Mary’s destruction. Two years have passed, since he last saw Mary. When he

confronts her at the tavern, she is in a completely different form: “Καὶ ὡς ἦλθεν καὶ ἴδεν αὐτὴν

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εἰς τὸν καλλωπισµὸν ἐκεῖνον, καὶ τὸ πορνικὸν σχῆµα” (LAM, p.746.§32; And when he came

and saw her in such adornment and dressed up like a prostitute”). However, in contrast to his

previous blindness, this time Abraham adopts the perspective of an interested viewer, who

sees beyond what his eyes show him, like Nonnos the first time he confronts Pelagia. His

interested view is reflected in his reaction even before he confronts Mary: “περιβλέπετο ὧδε

κᾀκεῖ τοῦ ἰδεῖν αὐτήν” (LAM; p.746.§32; “he looked carefully here and there to see her”). He

is anxious to see her. However, it is only at the moment he confronts her “live” that Abraham

completely restores to legibility what the dream had signified and perceives the Gaze in the

sphere of the textual reality, thereby stumbling across his lack—the consequences of his

inattention. Hence, what the tavern-keeper had specified as “πάνυ ὡραία” (LAM, p.746.§32) is

seen by Abraham, who has now shifted to an anamorphotic perspective, as “πορνικὸν σχῆµα”

(LAM, p.746.§32; “harlot’s clothing”). Abraham sees beyond her appearance: this costume

that directly contrasts Mary’s hairshirt (“τρίχινον”) he had last seen her wearing testifies to her

destruction and her destruction in turn signifies his lack. Through the Gaze of the Other

Abraham’s lack gazes back at him. This is reflected in his physical reaction: “σχεδὸν ὅλον

αὐτοῦ τὸ σῶµα, καὶ πᾶσα ἡ ὑπόστασις δάκρυον ἐγένετο” (LAM, p.746.§32; “nearly his whole

body and his entire stature became a tear”). The simile wonderfully captures the impact of the

Gaze: Abraham’s whole body and appearance becomes a tear; he is emptied; he is reduced to a

drop of sorrow, to shame, to lack.

Mary is now the one who is made to occupy the position of the one who sees but

doesn’t know, since God makes sure that she won’t spoil Abraham’s plan by becoming aware

of his true identity (LAM, p.747.§34). The blind subject is now the tavern-keeper, the

representative of the devil, who loses his medium of profit, Mary-the-letter, from under his

nose. Abraham steals Mary and they leave in secret (LAM, p.747.§39).

Hence, after Abraham reveals himself and persuades Mary to repent, he takes his

“letter” and returns home: “ἀνεβίβασεν δὲ αὐτὴν εἰς ἵππον, αὐτὸς δὲ ἧλκεν ἔµπροσθεν αὐτῆς

ἀγαλλόµενος. Καθάπερ ποιµὴν ὅταν εὕρῃ πρόβατον ἀπολωλὸς, αἴρει αὐτὸ ἐπὶ τῶν ὤµων

αὐτοῦ, οὕτως ὁ Μακάριος ἔχαιρε τῇ καρδίᾳ, βαδίζων” (LAM, p.747.§39; “and he sat her down

on a horse while he was walking ahead leading it. Like a shepherd when he finds a sheep that

had gone astray carries it on his shoulders, in the same way the blessed one was rejoicing in

his heart as he was walking”). The passage is indicative, as it very interestingly illustrates the

way the subject (Abraham) takes the signifier of power (Mary) as his possession and leaves.

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Consequently, Abraham corrects his inattention by ensuring that thenceforward the “letter”

(which, so tightly linked to his identity defines the dynamics between him and the devil) won’t

be accessible to anyone: he encloses Mary in the inner cell while himself occupies the outer

one (LAM, p.747.§40). After bringing this ordeal to an end, Abraham is spiritually whole and

his story can conclude.

Lacking a Nest: Mary

We have thus far followed the way in which Abraham’s holy identity, despite his extremely

pious way of life, is rendered interlocked to that of his niece, Mary, and the way in which his

inattention to this link institutes a spiritual lack in his identity. This lack, in turn, has to be

undone through the same path that it is created, namely through the Other—Mary. We turn

now to Mary to investigate her path as she perceives her own lack.

Before the Sin

In conventional cases of repentant prostitutes, the heroines lead a life of immorality and sexual

transgressions before deciding to repent.117 Two indicative examples are the two other

heroines examined in this chapter. The stages that these heroines pass from are roughly the

following: their story begins with their immoral lifestyle, informs us about their (miraculous)

stage of transformation and concludes with their harsh penance, offering us clues about the

holy status they have achieved. In this way, the repentant prostitutes appear to live three lives,

or successive stages in their lives: that of the prostitute, the penitent and the saint

(Constantinou 2005: 63).

Mary from the LAM, on the other hand, follows a rather opposite course at the

beginning, since she leads an exemplary life before losing her virginity to a so-called monk.

The heroine follows the example of her uncle in every spiritual matter; she partakes of little

sleep and wakes up in the middle of the night to pray (LAM, p.745.§25). She is thereby

advancing in virtue, since she observes this lifestyle for twenty years and she has already

reached a state similar to the state which the repentant prostitutes are reported to have reached

after they perform their penance: she is an intact dove (“τὰ οὐράνια ἀδολεσχοῦσαν, ὡς

                                                                                                               117 See, for example, the Life of Eudokia (BHG 604), AASS Mart I. 1668, 875-883; the Life of Taïsia (BHG 1695), Nau 1902. See also Constantinou 2005: 59-89 for a literary analysis of these Lives.

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περιστερὰν ἄσπιλον” [LAM, p.745.§26; “conquering heavens, like a spotless dove”]). This is

the exact state that, according to Nonnos’ dream, Pelagia will have reached after being

cleansed from her sins (“καὶ οὕτως ἀνῆλθεν ἐκ τοῦ ὕδατος <ἡ αὐτὴ περιστερὰ [LP,

p.83.§15.107-108]> λαµπρὰ ὡσεὶ χιὼν” [LP, p.83.§15.112-113; “in this way <this same dove>

came out of the water bright as snow”]). Both heroines are reported to follow an upward

course as doves that fly in the sky. Hence, in contrast to the beginning of a conventional

repentant prostitute’s story, Mary at the beginning of her story is a) virginal and b) virtuous.

At this point Mary is characterised by qualities which signal calmness of soul: “καλλὴν

πολιτείαν” (LAM, p.745.§26; virtuous conduct), “πραότητα” (LAM, p.745.§26; gentleness),

and “πρὸς τὸν Θεὸν ἀγάπην” (LAM, p.745.§26; love of God).

The turning event of this narrative of ascetic devotion and discipline is, as

aforementioned, Mary’s deception by a so-called monk, who visits her uncle supposedly with

the purpose of spiritual guidance; but in reality he seeks a chance to seduce Mary (LAM,

p.745.§27). Indeed, he succeeds in his purpose; Mary exits her enclosed space and loses her

virginity.

After the Sin

Virginity is cherished as a sacred and valuable state in the case of a young woman who

devotes herself to God.118 For example, many a female martyrs are led to martyrdom because

they refuse to sacrifice their virginity to their suitors or torturers.119 Needless to say then, that

Mary losing her virginity after such a pious lifestyle, not to mention losing her virginity to a

monk, must have raised a huge impediment to her spiritual advancement and instituted a lack

in her spiritual identity. Her lack is reported as a fall, the fall of the dove: “ἐκπεσοῦσα τοῦ

µεγέθους” (LAM, p.746.§27; “having fallen from such a height”).120 Mary also understands

her sin as a fall, as a tremendous lack, as reflected in her reaction: Ὡς γὰρ ὑπὸ τοῦ ὄφεως ἀπατηθεῖσα, ἤνοιξε τὴν θύραν τοῦ κελλίου, καὶ ἐξῆλθεν. Ἀπάτῃ δὲ τοῦ πονηροῦ δράκοντος ἐκπεσοῦσα τὸ µέγεθος, καὶ θεοφιλοῦς καὶ

                                                                                                               118 See, for example, the seminal work of Peter Brown (Brown 1988). See also Bernau, Evans and Salih 2003; Brown 1986; Burrus 1987; Bynum 1986; Cameron 1989; Carlson and Weisl 1999; Castelli 1986; Constantinou 2010: 124; Elliott 2012: 9-62; Gorman 2001: 425 and fnn. 29, 30; Wogan-Browne 2001. 119 Such heroines are, for example, Febronia (Passion of Febronia [BHG 659]; Chiesa 1990), Catherine (Passion of Catherine [BHG 30]; Viteau 1897), Marina of Antioch (Passion of Marina of Antioch [BHG 1165]; Usener 1886) and Lucy (Passion of Lucy [BHG 995]; Taibbi 1959). 120 This is again repeated a few lines later in her own words: “πόθεν ἔπεσα;” (LAM; p.746.§28; “wherefrom did I fall?” the phrase does not have a spatial meaning, but expresses remorse in the sense “why/how could I fall from such a height?”).

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καθαρωτάτης παρθενίας, ὥσπερ καὶ τῶν πρωτοπλάστων γευσαµένων τοῦ καρποῦ διέγνωσαν, ὅτι γυµνοί εἰσιν· ὁµοίως καὶ αὕτη µετὰ τὸ πρᾶξαι τὴν ἁµαρτίαν, ἐξέστη τῇ διανοίᾳ τῷ τῆς ἀπογνώσεως ζοφερῳ σκότει. (LAM, p.746.§28, my emphasis).121

As she was deceived by the serpent, she opened the door of the cell and came out. And on account of the treacherous dragon’s deceit having fallen from such a height and from the god-loving and pure state of virginity, just like Adam and Eve having tasted the fruit realised they were naked, in the same way, after committing the sin, she lost her mind due to the gloomy darkness of desperation.

The event of Mary having being deceived by the devil and sacrificed her virginity is presented

in terms of (non-)vision, as darkness—in short, as her blinding. This directly contrasts the

moment when other repentant prostitutes become aware of their sins and decide to repent,

which is recounted as “seeing”. For example, in the case of Mary of Egypt, we come across

the following representation: “Ἤψατο τῶν ὀφθαλµῶν τῆς καρδίας µου λόγος σωτήριος”

([LME, p.3713.§23; “a salutary speech touched the eyes of my heart”]). Both the phrase

quoted from the LME and the above passage from the LAM, refer to the moment when the

heroines realise they have sinned. But in the case of Mary of Egypt this responds to the

opening up of her mental eyes; by contrast, this second Mary’s mental vision becomes

impaired due to the lack instituted by sin: the one proceeds from a sinful identity to a reformed

lifestyle, the other falls from virtue to sin.

Mary’s lack is also reflected in terms of clothing. In contrast to Abraham’s hairshirt,

which, as noted above, is not even worn out by his strict ascesis but remains intact as a witness

to his spiritual concreteness and also serves other ascetes after his death, Mary’s hairshirt is

destroyed in a violent way: she tears it apart (“περιεσχήσατο τὸν χυτῶνα αὐτῆς τὸν τρίχινον”,

LAM, p.746.§27; “she torn her hairshirt into pieces”). Owing to her radical change of state, she

is not worthy of this piece of clothing; so she changes to clothes that suit her sin, those of a

prostitute (“ἀλλάξασα τὸ σχῆµα αὐτῆς, ἔστη ἐν πανδοχείῳ”, LAM, p.746.§28; “changing her

clothes, she established herself in a low-tavern”).

Due to the sin that Mary commits, she loses her desired object, Christ: “Ποῦ ἡ

νουθεσία του Θείου µου; ποῦ ἡ διδασκαλία τοῦ ἑταίρου αὐτοῦ Ἐφραίµ; Ὅτε ἔλεγέν µοι,

πρόσχε σεαυτὴν, καὶ διατήρησόν σου τὴν ψυχὴν τῷ ἀφθάρτῳ καὶ ἀθανάτῳ νυµφίῳ ἄσπιλον· ὁ

γὰρ νυµφίος σου ἅγιός ἐστιν καὶ ζηλοτής” (LAM, p.746.§28; “What has become of my uncle’s

instruction? What has become of the teaching of his fellow-ascetic Ephrem? When he was

telling me ‘watch over yourself and preserve your soul spotless for the incorruptible and                                                                                                                121 It is indicative that this whole passage is absent from the Syriac version translated by Ashbrook-Harvey, but it is instrumental in how the Byzantine Greek text orchestrates the female protagonist’s profile.

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immortal Bridegroom; for your Bridegroom is holy and jealous’”). The passage reflects her

desire to become a “bride of Christ” before her sin.122 Her loss of the object effected her

transformation from the calm and peaceful state she acquired before her sin, to a kind of

maenad. Mary reaches a state similar to madness (“ἐξέστη τῇ διανοίᾳ” [LAM, p.746.§27]),

tears her clothes apart (LAM, p.746.§27), beats her chest and face (“ἔτυπτεν τὸ στῆθος αὐτῆς

καὶ τὸ πρόσωπον” [746.27]), and desires to die (“ἤθελεν ἐαυτὴν ἀποπνίξαι” [LAM,

p.746.§27]). She is completely certain that she has no hope for salvation and therefore decides

to become a prostitute: “Κρεῖττον ἀπελθεῖν µε µᾶλλον, ὅπου οὐδείς ἐστιν ὁ γινώσκων µε·

ἐπειδὴ καθάπαξ ἀπέθανον, καὶ οὐκ ἔτι µοί ἐστιν ἐλπὶς σωτηρίας. Ἀναστᾶσα δὲ παραχρῆµα,

ἀπῆλθεν εἰς ἑτέραν πόλιν, καὶ ἀλλάξασα τὸ σχῆµα αὐτῆς, ἔστη ἐν πανδοχείῳ” (LAM,

p.746.§28; “It is better for me to go to some place where no one knows me. For I have died

once and for all and there is no hope of salvation for me. And she got up straightaway and she

went into another town and changing her clothes, she established herself in a low-tavern).

Therefore, in contrast to Pelagia and Mary of Egypt, whose relocation after they

become aware of their sins comes concomitant with their achievement of an admirable identity

(the first encloses herself in a cell in another city, the latter retreats in the desert), this Mary’s

does not. Pelagia and Mary of Egypt undertake a harsh repentance after their self-awareness,

that is, they offer their body to death in order to gain life after their physical expiration. By

contrast, Mary in this Life violently exits her place of reclusion proclaiming her symbolic

death: Ἔλεγεν γὰρ ἐν ἑαυτῇ κλαίουσα· Ἐγὼ λοιπὸν τέθνηκα, καὶ ἀπώλεσα τὰς ἡµέρας µου, τὸν τῆς ἀσκήσεώς µου καὶ ἐγκρατείας καρπὸν, καὶ τὸν τῶν δακρύων πόνον· τὸν Θεὸν παρώξυνα, καὶ ἐµαυτὴν ἀπέκτεινα, καὶ τὸν ὅσιόν µου θεῖον εἰς πικροτάτην λύπην ἐνέβαλλον, καὶ χλεύη τοῦ διαβόλου ἐγενόµην. Τί ἔτι λοιπὸν ἐγὼ ζῶ ἡ ἀθλία; (LAM, p.746.§28)

And she was crying and saying: “I am dead from now on, and I lost all the days of my life, and the fruits of my ascesis and of my abstinence, and the labour of my tears. I have rebelled against God and I have brought death upon myself and imposed the most bitter grief upon my uncle and I became the laughingstock of the devil. So why should I live anymore the wretched one?”

Mary feels already dead and decides to offer her body ceaselessly to clients in an incessant

spiritual death. The other two heroines offer their body in repentance in order to undo their

lack and reclaim an intact body, whereas this Mary decides to repeat her traumatic moment

several times, offering death to gain death.

                                                                                                               122 For the evolution of this concept throughout the Middle Ages, see Elliott 2012.

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At this point then, Mary’s treatment of her body (and through this her soul) is a pure

repetition of death. In contrast to the other two heroines, who “gain” a name after they become

aware of their sins at the end of their story (Pelagia [LP, p.87§30.214], Mary of Egypt [LME,

p.3724.§36]), this Mary does have a name, but it is a discarded name; it now refers to a

prostitute known by this name at a tavern (LAM, p.746.§32). However, after her act Mary

disappears from the plot and appears again as body and name only when Abraham comes to

her rescue at the tavern. This is the stage when she will, through him, confront her lack and

decide to repent. She thus has to become Mary again.

In contrast to Pelagia and Mary of Egypt, Mary in the LAM does not confront the

Other—and, through the Other, her lack—accidentally. This Mary has given up hope and

consciously avoids confronting her lack; instead, as aforementioned, she passively engages in

a life of spiritual death. Her passivity is reflected in the words of the tavern-keeper: “Κυρία

Μαρία, διετῆ χρόνον ἔχεις, καὶ οὐδέποτε σου ἤκουσα στεναγµὸν ἢ λόγον τοιοῦτον” (LAM,

p.746.§34; “Lady Mary, you have been here for two years and I have never heard you sigh or

speak like this”). Mary does not protest to anything concerning her present state. She thus

indeed avoids perceiving her lack and the consequences of it. But eventually, she has to do so

because her lack entails, as the previous analysis has shown, Abraham’s spiritual destruction

as well and, after all, as we have seen “the letter always arrives at its destination”. Hence,

Mary is “forced” to confront the Other.

The Other comes to her as a stranger, careful not to betray that he is not a stranger—as

repeatedly noted in the text.123 Even the divine contributes to the concealment of Abraham’s

identity: “Ἀλλ᾽ὁ µόνος φιλάνθρωπος καὶ πάνσοφος Θεὸς οὕτως ᾠκονόµησεν τοῦ µὴ

ἐπιγνῶναι αὐτὸν, ἵνα µὴ φοβηθεῖσα ἀποδράσῃ” (LAM, p.747.§34; but the only compassionate

and most wise God arranged it in such a way so that she does not recognise him lest she

escapes out of fear). As the passage also shows, the whole episode is described as an effort to

“capture” a “prey”, the undisciplined subject who has yet to confront her lack and who

compromises in this way the spirituality of her pair-mate. As an Other, a client, Abraham

instructs Mary to lock the door, grabs her by the hand and reveals his face:

                                                                                                               123  An   indicative   example   is   the   narrator’s   comment   on   Abraham’s   attitude   while   in   disguise:   “τῇ  φιλοσοφίᾳ  καὶ  ἐγκρατείᾳ,  ὥσπερ  ἐν  ἀδύτοις,  κατέστειλεν  ἑαυτὸν  ἐν  τῇ  καρδίᾳ  αὐτοῦ,  ὑπὲρ  τοῦ  μὴ  νοῆσαι  αὐτὴν  καὶ  ἀποφυγεῖν”  (LAM,  p.746.§32;  “but  with  his  wisdom  and  self-­‐control,  he  represses  his  emotions  in  his  heart,  in  the  innermost  parts,  lest  she  takes  notice  and  runs  away”).  

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Τῆς δὲ ἐγγισάσης, ἐκράτησεν αὐτὴν ὡς µὴ δύνασθαι αὐτὴν ἀποδράσαι, καὶ ἐπάρας τὸ καµαλαύκιον ἀπὸ τῆς κεφαλῆς αὐτοῦ, καὶ σύνδακρυς γενόµενος εἶπεν πρὸς αὐτήν· Τέκνον µου Μαρία, οὐ γινώσκεις µε; οὐκ ἐγώ εἰµι ὁ πατήρ σου Ἀβράµιος; Τέκνον, οὐ γνωρίζεις µε; Οὐκ ἐγώ εἰµι ὁ ἀναθρέψας σε; Τί σοι ἐγένετο; Πού τὸ σχῆµα τὸ ἀγγελικὸν, ὅπερ ἔσχες; ποῦ τὰ δάκρυα; ποῦ ἡ ἀγρυπνία, ἡ µετὰ πόνου ψυχῆς καὶ καρδίας συντετριµµένης, ποῦ ἡ χαµοκοιτία καὶ ἡ συνεχὴς γονυκλισία; Πῶς ἀπὸ τὸ ὕψος τοῦ οὐρανοῦ εἰς τοῦτο τῆς ἀπωλείας βάραθρον κατηνέχθης; Διατὶ οὐκ ἀνήγγειλάς µοι, ὅτι καταιγὶς ἅδου κατήντησέν σοι, κἀγώ ἂν µετὰ τοῦ ἀγαπητοῦ Ἐφραὶµ ἐβόησα πρὸς τὸν δυνάµενον σώζειν ἐκ θανάτου; Διατὶ τὸ καθόλου ἀπογνοῦσα παρέδωκας ἑαυτὴν τῷ διαβόλῳ; Διατὶ ἐγκατέλιπές µε, καὶ εἰς ἀφόρητον λύπην κατήγαγές µε; Τίς γὰρ ἐν ἀνθρώποις ἀναµάρτητος, εἰ µὴ εἷς ὁ Θεός.

Ἡ δὲ ἐκπλαγεῖσα ἀπηνεώθη, µὴ δυναµένη διᾶραι πρόσωπον· ἀλλ’ ἔµεινεν ὥσπερ λίθος ἄνους εἰς τὰς χεῖρας αὐτοῦ, αἰσχύνῃ τε καὶ φόβῳ κρατηθεῖσα. Ὁ δὲ Μακάριος ἐπέµενεν κράζων µετὰ δακρύων αὐτῇ· Οὐ λαλεῖς µοι, τέκνον µου Μαρία; Οὐκ διὰ σὲ ὀδυνόµενος ἦλθον ἐνταῦθα; Ἐγὼ ἀπολογοῦµαι τῷ Θεῷ ὑπὲρ σοῦ ἐν τῇ ἡµέρᾳ τῆς κρίσεως. Ἐγὼ µετανοῶ ὑπὲρ τῆς ἁµαρτίας σου ταύτης. Μέχρι δὲ µεσονυκτίου οὕτως παρεκάλει αὐτὴν καὶ ἐνουθέτει. (LAM, p.747.§37-§38)

And as she approached, he grasped her firmly so that she could not escape, and removing his helmet from his head and becoming full of tears he said to her: “My child, Mary, don’t you recognise me? Am I not Abraham, your father? Child don’t you know who I am? Am I not the one who raised you? What happened to you? Where is the angelic garb that you had? Where are the tears? Where are the vigils that you kept with a suffering soul and a shattered heart? Where is your bed on the ground and your incessant kneeling? How did you sunk from the celestial height to the pit of destruction? Why didn’t you tell me that a storm from Hades hit you, and me together with my dearest Ephrem would cry out to the one who is able to save from death? Why did you desert me and you brought me down to unbearable grief? Who among humans is without sins if not only one, God.

And stunned, she petrified and she could not turn her face up. But she stayed there like a soulless stone conquered by shame and fear. But the blessed one kept shouting at her in tears: “Won’t you speak to me my child, Mary? Is it not because I was in pain for you that I came here? I will answer on your behalf to God on the day of Judgement. I will be the one who does penance for this sin of yours.” And up until midnight he was begging her and admonishing her.

As the scene of revelation shows,124 Abraham uncovers his face, but what Mary confronts is

actually not the Gaze—as we would expect through the sudden revelation—but the Voice, an

embodied Voice, since the revelation is spoken: “ἐγώ εἰµι ὁ πατήρ σου Ἀβράµιος” (LAM,

p.747.§37; “I’m I not your father Abraham”). This spoken revelation is packed with a

bombardment of questions that again speak her lack to her. Mary has to forcibly experience

this lack through the Voice of the Other. The fact that Mary experiences a lack and not only

surprise at the revelation is illustrated in her reaction: “Ἡ δὲ ἐκπλαγεῖσα ἀπηνεώθη, µὴ

δυναµένη διᾶραι πρόσωπον· ἀλλ’ ἔµεινεν ὥσπερ λίθος ἄνους εἰς τὰς χεῖρας αὐτοῦ, αἰσχύνῃ τε

καὶ φόβῳ κρατηθεῖσα” (LAM, p.747.§38; “And stunned, she petrified and she could not turn                                                                                                                124 For revelations in Byzantine hagiography see Boulhol 1996.

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her face up. But she stayed there like a soulless stone conquered by shame and fear”). Her

surprise is followed by shame, fear and the hiding of her face. Her state reveals her loss of

self: she is a stone without mind, surrendered in Abraham’s hands. She later on explains this

reaction as the recognition of her lack compared to a) Abraham and b) her desire: Ἡ δὲ λαβοῦσα µικρὰν παῤῥησίαν, ἔφη πρὸς αὐτὸν λέγουσα· Εἰ εἰς σε ἀτενίζειν οὐ δύναµαι διὰ τὴν αἰσχύνην τοῦ προσώπου µου, πῶς ἐπικαλέσωµαι τὸ ἄχραντον ὄνοµα τοῦ Θεοῦ µου, ὅτι ἐν τῇ ἀκαθαρσίᾳ τοῦ βορβόρου ἐµιάνθην; Λέγει πρὸς αὐτὴν ὁ Μακάριος· Ἐπ’ ἐµὲ ἡ ἁµαρτία σου, ὦ τέκνον· ἐκ τῶν χειρῶν µου ὁ Θεὸς ἐκζητήσει τὴν ἁµαρτίαν σου ταύτην· µόνον σὺ ἄκουσόν µου, καὶ δεῦρο, ἀπέλθωµεν εἰς τὸν τόπον ἡµῶν. (LAM, p.747.§38)

And when she plucked up a little bit of courage, she spoke to him saying: “I cannot bring myself to look upon you because of the shame of my face; how can I call the immaculate name of my God, when I have befouled myself in the dirt of mud?” And the blessed one said to her: “Your sin is upon me, my child; God will require this sin of yours at my hands. Just listen to me and let’s return to our dwelling.”

As can be inferred from the passage, it takes Abraham’s contribution, that is, his promise that

he is going to assume her lack in order for Mary to concede to undertake repentance. After this

promise Mary resumes and re-assumes the desire for Christ she had previously given up. From

this point onward, Mary remains enclosed in the inner cell undertaking a harsh repentance and

chastising her flesh (LAM, p.747.§40). Her past transgressions require irrefutable proof of the

holy status she eventually achieves, the cures she performs (LAM, p.747.§40).

The analysis of Mary’s course toward self-awareness has shown that her salvation is

inextricably linked to Abraham’s contribution. Mary differs from the two other heroines

examined in this subchapter in that her confrontation with the void she institutes between

herself and her desired object, Christ, comes as a forced choice. Mary, who has given up and

gives her body to spiritual death, has been forced to meet her lack and re-assume her desire

through the Voice of the Other. Her words explicitly state her recognition of her debt to

Abraham:

“Προσπίπτω δὲ καὶ παρακαλῶ τὴν σὴν ὁσιότητα, καὶ καταφιλῶ τὰ ἴχνη σου τὰ ἅγια, ὅτι οὕτως ἐσπλαγχνίσθης εἰς ἐµὲ, καὶ ἦλθες ἐνταῦθα ἵνα ἐκσπάσῃς µε ἐκ τῆς τοῦ διαβόλου παγίδος”. Καὶ θήκασα τὴν κεφαλὴν αὐτῆς ἐπὶ τοὺς πόδας αὐτοῦ, ἔκλαυσεν ὅλην τὴν νύκτα λέγουσα· “Τί ἀνταποδώσω σοι περὶ πάντων τούτων, Δέσποτά µου”; (LAM, p.747.§39)

“I fall at your feet and supplicate your holy person and I kiss your holy feet because you felt so much compassion for me, and you came here to spare me from the devil’s entrapment”. And placing her head on his feet she cried all night saying: “how could I repay you for all this, my lord?”

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From “uncle” and “father”, by the end of the story Abraham has graduated to being Mary’s

lord (“Δέσποτά µου”), underlining their hierarchical relation. Consequently, the fierce dragon

of Abraham’s dream indeed bows his head to Abraham, but so does the dove, which returns in

discipline to its nest, bright clean and able to testify to its salvation—and through it, to

Abraham’s glory.

The concept of the pair, which shifts attention from a single protagonist to the interaction of

two, has thus proven useful in identifying the ways in which two protagonists who perform in

the same text affect each other and reach in this way totality. Moreover, the synthesis of the

psychoanalytical concepts employed as a reading practice, has helped us pinpoint the pair-

based treatment of the protagonists that is at work in all three texts. Also this reading has

enabled us to recognise certain gender-based parameters, which structure the protagonists’

performance. Specifically, the concept of the Gaze has provided aid to our interpretation of the

different levels of seeing in the texts, and has been seen to be usually associated with a male-

seeing subject, who is transformed through a female-seen “object”. The analysis has also

shown that in all three stories the turning events are marked by a dream or vision and the

process of looking within it. In the LP and in the LAM the dreams stand in the middle of the

texts and condense the past lack and the future concreteness of the protagonists’ holy identities

even though at that given moment they cannot be decoded. In the LME the encounter of

Zosimas with Mary is presented to the reader or listener in the form of the monk doubting

whether what he sees is real or a dream induced by the devil. Thus levels of seeing are

perceived in the three Lives as narrative pillars of the textual construct.

The concept of the Voice has accordingly proven useful in identifying different types

of hearing in the texts, and in understanding how a (usually) female-hearing subject is

spiritually bettered through a (usually) male-heard “object”. The object-cause of desire, the

objet a, has helped us illustrate how the protagonist who is each time in the process of

transformation assumes a (spiritual) desire, beginning as desire for the Other and ending as

desire through the Other. We have seen that these gender-based treatments are challenged in

the case of Mary of Egypt, because of her already-achieved holiness. We have also observed

that, despite their repentance, all three holy harlots are finally removed from the plot. Pelagia

and Mary of Abraham remain in an enclosed space—a tiny cell—while Mary dies as soon as

she receives Communion. We could thereby conclude that these pure bodies have a last act of

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repentance to perform: to be extracted from the story itself. The network of the story is

resistant to these exceptionally transgressive bodies, at the same time that it glorifies them.

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Chapter 2 Holy Limbo: Kinship Ties and Divine Love in the Lives of Mothers and Sons

Introduction

A second category that naturally falls into the scope of this study is the one that deals with

bonds constituted by kinship. A particular group of narratives that appears in Byzantine

hagiography is the Lives in which protagonists are saintly boys. These boys exhibit saintly

qualities from a very young age and lead a God-pleasing lifestyle from early on. Saintly boys

are doubtlessly not emancipated in the way adult saints are free to act at will and make their

own choices. Therefore, a decisive role in the way these boys’ holy career begins and develops

is played by their legal guardian. In the texts that interest us, these legal guardians are the

mothers. In the case of two pairs this bond acquires special importance. These are Martha and

Symeon the Younger, and Anna and Stephanos the Younger.125

The narratives in which protagonists are mothers and sons problematise a particular

issue that arises because of their relationship, namely the question whether earthly kinship and

divine love can be somehow reconciliated or if they are a mutually exclusive pair of concepts.

A characteristic phrase that Symeon the Younger exclaims when he is only two years old

neatly encapsulates the matter that lies at the heart of these narratives: “Ἔχω πατέρα καὶ οὐκ

ἔχω πατέρα, ἔχω µητέρα καὶ οὐκ ἔχω µητέρα” (LSymY, p.7.§5.6-7; “I have a father and I do

not have a father, I have a mother and I do not have a mother”).126 Symeon’s words bring to

the forefront the trouble that arises when earthly kinship is confronted with divine kinship and

becomes complicated. A further noteworthy example of this statement comes from the LM,

which begins in the following way: Ὅσοι τῆς µακαρίας καὶ ἀπεράντου ζωῆς ἐπιθυµοῦσι τὸ ψαλµικὸν ἐκεῖνο λόγιον µελέτην ἔχουσι διὰ παντὸς τὸ φάσκον⋅ “Συνέτισον µε, Κύριε, καὶ µαθήσοµαι τὰς ἐντολάς σου”, καὶ αὖθις⋅ “Δίδαξόν µε τοῦ ποιεῖν τὸ θέληµά σου”, οὐδαµῶς ἐπιστρεφόµενοι πρὸς τὰς βιωτικὰς φροντίδας, οὐδὲ θολῶσαι τὴν ψυχὴν ἀνεχόµενοι ταῖς ἀνωφελέσι µερίµναις”. (LM, p.253.§1.1-6)

                                                                                                               125 Martha and Symeon the Younger: Life of Symeon Stylites the Younger (BHG 1689), van den Den (ed.) 1962-1970 (hereafter LSymY) and Life of Martha (BHG 1174), van den Den 1962-1970 (hereafter LM). Anna and Stephanos the Younger: Life of Stephanos the Younger (BHG 1666), Auzépy 1997 (hereafter LStephY). 126 There is also a French translation of the LSymY (van den Den 1962-1970 II: 1-248).

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Those who desire the blessed and infinite life have always in their mind that saying in the form of psalm which says: “Make me understand, Lord, and I will learn your commandments”, and again: “Teach me how to do what you desire”, without turning toward the affairs of life, or allowing the soul to become hazy by useless cares”.

As shown in the passage, earthly affairs are clearly perceived as an impediment to a life of

devotion to God and, therefore, to the reward of a “peaceful eternal life”. Being tied to the

cares of the world, one of them being the care of a mother for her child, makes it difficult to

gain salvation.127 But what happens in cases such as the Lives considered in this chapter,

which also celebrate the bond between a mother and her son?

In particular, both texts explored in this chapter are peppered with an awareness of the

theoretical contrast between earthly affairs—kinship among them—and divine affairs and deal

with them in interesting ways. To approach such matters of tangled kinship I thought it would

be useful to turn to a field whose main object of study is exactly complications pertinent to

kinship ties. I specifically refer to psychoanalytic theory. Social order and kinship ties are

thought in traditional psychoanalytic discourse to be formed through limits imposed on sexual

behaviour, with the main restrictive kernel being the incest taboo.128

Lacan takes up the issue of kinship in his Seminar VII on the Ethics of Psychoanalysis

(Lacan 2008: 124-365). The exemplar of his discussion is the Sophoclean heroine Antigone.

Lacan recasts investigation on the ways in which Antigone exposes the limits of the symbolic

law. Antigone is a product of the incestuous relationship between Oedipus and his mother. By

defending her genealogy and insisting on burying her brother despite the austere interdiction

that hangs upon such an action she refuses to subject herself to the law of the state, to the

social law. Antigone thus becomes the incarnation of the ultimate ethical figure—that is, of the

one who acts in conformity with her innermost desire no matter what, who is willing to pursue

this desire to the limit defying social and legal imperatives. Acting in this way, Antigone

enters a zone in which these laws no longer apply, a zone that enables the subject to perceive

those laws from the outside. Antigone lives her life from a perspective that casts her as already

dead, inhabits the liminal sphere between symbolic and physical death. This zone is indifferent

                                                                                                               127 For an account of motherhood as presented in Byzantine literature see Hatlie 2009. For the scarcity of sources relating to mothers in Byzantium and for the available information see Connor 2004: 149-153; Herrin 1999 and 2013; Hill 1997: 82-87; Kazhdan 1998:1-2; Laiou 1981: 234-237 and 1985: 65-68. For Byzantine women see Blamires 1992a; Garland 2006; Malone 2000. For a review of women relatives of male saints in Syriac literature see Palmer 1990. 128 See, for example Brown 1991; Fox 1967; Rubin 1975; Stone 1997: 48-53.

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to the natural principles and whoever finds himself there possesses a body that is excepted

from the vital cycle—a sublime body.129

This space is what in Lacanian terminology responds to a “life between two deaths”.

Lacan says: From Antigone’s point of view life can only be approached, can only be lived or thought about, from the place of that limit where her life is already lost, where she is already on the other side. But from that place she can see it and live it in the form of something already lost. (Lacan 2008: 345)

By entering this zone and thus assuming a desire for death, Antigone becomes the

personification of her ethical stance. The community that surrounds her does not follow her

example, does not incorporate her crime. Hence, Antigone is required to sacrifice her own

being and through her sacrifice she maintains and reaffirms the social order and the conception

of family.

The holy twosomes that make up the core of this chapter, Martha and Symeon the

Younger, Anna and Stephanos the Younger, are certainly not Sophoclean heroes. However,

the theoretical context exposed in the above could, I believe, be transformed into conduit for

directing and channeling thought and thus for setting up a productive dialogue between

Byzantine Lives and psychoanalysis. As the following analysis has the ambition to

demonstrate, the blood and emotional ties between a mother and a son, as featured in these

Byzantine Lives, present a unique case in which the earthly relationship is indeed theoretically

repudiated, but simultaneously preserved and celebrated as it structures the protagonists’ holy

practice. This generates a type of “limbo” in the acquiring of a holy identity, in that familial

bonds are both shaken and reaffirmed.

More specifically, the son becomes the mother’s gift to God and paves the way for her

spiritual salvation, while the mother contributes to her son’s achievement of holiness by

pushing him to occupy a zone similar to the one outlined by Lacan as the “zone between two

deaths”. The son’s suffering body, located in the “zone between two deaths” gains, as will be

shown, a sublime quality. In this way the son’s body becomes a precious offer to God,

granting salvation to the mother and thus preserving the bond—even beyond the boundaries of

earthly existence. Such a preservation of the kinship bond is not, as will be discussed further,

met in other types of affairs. It is not a characteristic, for example, of the relationship between

                                                                                                               129 On the concept of sublimation regarding this particular reading of Lacan see Van Haute 1998.

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a mother and a daughter, in which case the complete abjection and cancellation of the earthly

bond features as an imperative prerequisite for securing a holy identity.

Symeon and Martha

The story of the stylite saint Symeon the Younger and his mother Martha is recounted in two

texts: the LSymY, written by an anonymous author in the sixth century (van den Den 1962-

1970, I: 101) and the LM, written at some point between the seventh century and before the

end of the ninth century (van den Den 1962-1970, I: 70-71).130 The main reason for choosing

to focus on both texts in order to follow the story of the couple is that the two Lives share

many common elements. In fact, the LM reproduces that of Symeon to such a degree that the

author is considered beyond doubt to have had in front of him a copy of the original LSymY

(van den Den 1962-1970, I: 67-92). This is pertinent to my analysis, since the author of the

later Life appears not only to reproduce plot elements that relate to the mother-son bond, but

also to fill in details that he probably thought were lacking from the first text. Besides, the

existence of two texts that share such a close intertextual relationship presents a unique

opportunity of critical engagement in that it is the only case that enables us to follow the

relationship from the perspective of both heroes; that is, the first text is mostly orientated

toward Symeon and the second toward Martha. Nevertheless, as I hope to demonstrate, in both

texts without the one member of the pair, the second’s identity would be significantly lacking.

A useful point to add here is that the Byzantines themselves appear to have considered the two

texts as a pair, since they appear together in all the manuscripts that have come down to us.131

The LSymY recounts the story of the homonymous saint, who is believed to have lived

in the sixth century and to have died in the year 596 at the age of seventy-five (van den Den

1962-1970, I: 125-126).132 Symeon is born as an answer to his mother’s prayers to John the

Forerunner. Signs of his religious vocation and great wisdom are prominent from his early

childhood. Led by a divine apparition, he ascends on his first pillar at the age of six, next to

                                                                                                               130 Further on issues of placing the composition chronologically see the arguments of Déroche 1996: 73-74; see also Lafontaine-Dontogne 1967: 67-135 and Volbach 1966 on archaeological evidence pertaining to the monastery and the cult of Symeon the Younger. 131 See van den Den 1962-1970, I: 11-19 for a detailed description of the manuscripts that contain the Lives. This tendency is not, however, valid in the Menologia entries, in which, with a single exception only the LSymY appears. 132 Actually, the epilogue of the LSymY estimates his death in 592 (van den Den 1962-1970, I: 124). However, the editor, based on other primary sources and relevant bibliography, places the stylite’s death in 596 (van den Den 1962-1970, I: 125-126).

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the stylite John.133 His ascetic practice is divided into four periods according to the three

pillars (and one base) he stands on, each of which lasts six, eight, ten and forty-five years.

During this long period of ascetic discipline, the saint invents cruel forms of physical and

mental training to chastise his flesh, he repudiates all demonic attempts against him, he

predicts natural disasters, he is granted many divine visions and he heals a multitude of sick

people who gather around his pillar. He also founds a monastic community and he is ordained

deacon and priest.

Martha, the main protagonist of the second Life, is believed to have died on July 5th,

551 (van den Den 1962-1970, I: 80). Her Life recounts the story of a very pious woman who

partook of everything related to earthly affairs as little as possible. Martha guided her son

toward a God-loving lifestyle, while she herself was also a firm believer, a humble and silent

woman, supportive of the poor, the sick and the needy. She assumed the role of the intercessor

in many instances of natural catastrophes, requesting her son to bring them to an end. She also

assumed the role of the narrator of divine visions regarding her son which she addressed to a

community of believers. After her death her body was translated at the base of Symeon’s

pillar. Many miracles were performed at the location of her tomb and a church was eventually

built in order for her body to be translated therein. Symeon was communicating with his

mother after her death through visions and joined miracles. Following his death, Symeon was

buried with his mother.

Donating a Perfect Soul: Martha

In Byzantine hagiographical narratives the jackpot winners on the scale of female sanctity

were considered to be the virgin martyrs. Corporeal integrity was thought to be a major

achievement for a woman. The significance of female virginity was premised on the belief that

a woman is more attached to the body and the passions related to it than a man.134 This also

explains why most of the Lives and Passions that commemorate female saints are devoted to

virgins and also why, as a convention, in these texts the importance of their intact body is

much stressed.135

                                                                                                               133 For stylite saints see Delehaye 1923. 134 This subject goes back to the writings of the Church Fathers (Aspegren 1990; Burrus 2000; Clark 1977, 1981 and 1986a; Cooper 1996; Gould 1990). 135 See for example Febronia, a virgin young nun, who was tortured because she did not concede to marry her torturer and lose the virginity she devoted to Christ (Passion of Febronia, BHG 659; Chiesa 1990, pp.377-

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Given this context, Martha, a wife and mother—hence more attached to the world and

its pleasures, appears to be an exception to the above motif, which is the case most often met

in hagiographical narratives of holy women; despite not being a virgin, she achieves holiness

in the examined texts. However, as so often happens in cases of deviation from contextual

norms linked to the genre, the hagiographer of the LSymY chooses to justify his heroine rather

than silence the fact:136 Martha does not wish to marry, since she desires to completely devote

herself to God and preserve her virginity. She, however, chooses to obey—like a pious woman

should—to the will of her parents, in accordance to the divine doctrine: “honor your father and

mother” (LSymY, p.3.§1.5-25). Hence, the “authorial dilemma” is, as a first step, already

solved in the earlier text by facing and debating the hagiographical norm (that mainly virginal

women reach holiness), with a social and divinely sanctioned rule: it wasn’t her choice to

make.137 So Martha is given to marriage but she, nevertheless, still follows a very pious way

of life and persuades her husband to also conform to this lifestyle (LSymY, p.3.§1.22-25).

However, still, there remains another problem for the hagiographer of the LSymY to

solve: how could a non-virgin, married housewife achieve sanctity? That is, how could she

prove such a great devotion to God as to become holy? The surrounding circumstances in

Martha’s life are not ideal for one who desires to follow God’s path. Marriage may not have

been her own choice; yet Martha’s loss of virginity is explicitly stated in the text as an

obstacle to her pious devotion to God and is also recognized by Martha herself as something

that instituted a lack in her spiritual identity (LSymY, p.3.§2.1-3). The author’s solution to this

problem, repeated also almost by word by the hagiographer of the LM is clearly indicated, as

the following quotation from the LSymY illustrates: Χρόνου τοίνυν διαδραµόντος, ἡ εἰρηµένη τιµιωτάτη γυνὴ θεασαµένη τὸ καλλώπισµα τῆς παρθενίας αὐτῆς διαλυθὲν καὶ πρὸς κόσµον ἑαυτὴν διὰ τῆς συζυγίας χωρήσασαν

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           390.§16-33). See also the example of professional virgins such as Mary of Antioch, who achieved holiness solely because she preserved her virginity (Life of Mary of Antioch, BHG 1045; AASS Maii VII. 1688, 50-58). Most of the other types of female saints are also virgins e.g. Mary/Marinos the cross-dresser (Life of Mary/Marinos; Richard 1975, pp.83-94). For a detailed discussion of Mary of Antioch and the importance of her virginity see Constantinou 2012. For Febronia see an article by the same author (Constantinou 2015 and Simon 1924). For Mary/Marinos see Constantinou 2005: 90-126. 136 This hagiographical practice is valid in other cases of saintly women who were married. For example, Theodora of Thessalonike was given to marriage when she was still a child because a great number of suitors were pestering her father who had retired to the monastic life. Notwithstanding the pressure, her father decided to betrothe her to a distinguished and pious man (Life of Theodora of Thessalonike, BHG 1737; Paschalides 1991, pp.74-76). On Theodora see also Patlagean 1984; Talbot 1996c. Mary the Younger was given to marriage after her future husband, prompted by her brother in law persuaded her mother to concede (Life of Mary the Younger, BHG 1164; AASS Nov. IV. 1925, p.692). 137 See Laiou 1993 and Noonan 1973 for the subject of consent and especially coercion to marriage.

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προσεδρεύει τῷ προγεγραµµένῳ πανσέπτῳ οἴκῳ τοῦ ἁγίου προφήτου προδρόµου καὶ βαπτιστοῦ Ἰωάννου δυσωποῦσα γονὴν αὐτῇ διὰ τῆς αὐτοῦ πρεσβείας ὑπὸ Θεοῦ δωρηθῆναι εἰς λειτουργίαν τῆς τοῦ δεσπότου ἡµῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ ἀγαθότητος. (LSymY, pp.3-4.§2.1-7)138

After some time passed, the aforementioned respectable woman, seeing that the beauty of her virginity had vanished and that she has become part of the world due to her spousal union, she goes to the aforementioned most holy church of Saint John the Baptist, the prophet and forerunner, entreating him to intercede to God so that she be granted a son for the service of the goodness of our lord Jesus Christ.

As clearly shown in the above passage, Martha recognises that she lacks the beauty of

virginity, i.e., that her body is not integral but “withered”, lacking, fragmented; she also

recognises that she has been tied to worldly affairs because of her role as a wife. But there is

still room for salvation: by becoming a mother. Her role as a mother then, one who will guide

the child toward a pious lifestyle is clearly expected in Byzantine society, as reflected in the

two hagiographical narratives, to recompense for (and ultimately overshadow) her role as a

wife.

What Martha asks then, is a divine gift from God to her, which gift she shall “make”

holy and offer back to God—hence, a network of triangular exchange that runs to both

directions (from God to Martha, from Martha to God) and is formed by the giving and

receiving of a son. Therefore, Martha establishes a link to God by requesting to be given a son,

whom she shall then give up (i.e., sacrifice) and in this way give back (to God) in order to be

given access to divine salvation.

These observations are supported by a dream that Martha sees later on in the text, and

which indicates that her holiness is premised on her offering a child as gift to God: Ἐν µιᾷ οὖν τῶν ἡµερῶν καθ’ ἑαυτὴν συλλογιζοµένη τὰ περὶ τοῦ παιδίου καὶ τῶν ῥηθέντων αὐτῇ περὶ αὐτοῦ καὶ ἀποροῦσα τί ἄρα τὸ ἀποβησόµενον ἐξ αὐτοῦ, ὑπνώσασα εἶδεν ἑαυτὴν πτερωθεῖσαν καὶ ὥσπερ εἰς ὕψος ἐπαιροµένην, κρατοῦσάν τε τὸ παιδίον καὶ ἀναφέρουσαν δῶρον τῷ Κυρίῳ καὶ ταῦτα λέγουσαν πρὸς τὸ παιδίον ὡς ἐπὶ τοῦ προφήτου Συµεών⋅ “Ἐπεθύµουν ἰδεῖν σου τὴν θείαν ἀνάβασιν, ὦ τέκνον, ὅπως ὁ Κύριος ἀπολύσῃ µε τὴν δούλην αὐτοῦ ἐν εἰρήνῃ ὅτι εὗρον χάριν ἐν γυναιξὶν ἀποδοῦναι πόνους ὠδίνων µου τῷ ὑψίστω.” Ταῦτα οὖν θεασαµένη διετήρει πάντα ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ αὐτῆς. (LSymY, p.9.§8.1-10)

So one day, while she was reflecting by herself on the things regarding the child and on what she was told about him and wondering what would issue by him, she fell asleep and saw that she grew wings and that she was sort of raised up high, holding the child and offering it in an upward gesture as a gift to God and saying to the child the following words, like in the time of the prophet Symeon: “I was longing to see your divine ascension, my child, so that the Lord can discharge me in piece, for I was

                                                                                                               138 Repeated in the LM, p.254.§2.14-21.

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blessed among the women to have offered the Supreme the pain of my labour.” So after she saw these, she kept everything in her heart.

Martha’s dream is very important in understanding her relationship with her son, in that it

outlines Martha’s ongoing exchange with God formed by her donating Symeon to Him. More

specifically, Martha’s literary depiction in the above passage clearly brings to mind the donor

compositions of monumental painting, manuscript illuminations, and icons. 139 These

depictions formed part of the Byzantines’ pictorial vocabulary from an early period. In

depictions of this type, a donor stands with his arms raised and offers a model church (or a

manuscript/icon) s/he holds to Christ, who is always depicted sitting or standing on a higher

level than the donor.140 This offer forms an idiom that inaugurates the donor’s spiritual

interaction with God and is intended to contribute to the salvation of his/her soul. Likewise,

Martha, in this case acting as a donor, holds her son at a higher level than her

(“ἀναφέρουσαν”), offering him to God as something precious and beneficiary—like a church,

a manuscript, an icon. The son then acts as an intercessor between Christ and his mother.

Another point that should be made here is that Martha does not opt out her previous

lifestyle through requesting the death of a child—as happens, for example in the Life of

Melania, in which Melania, a married woman, asks to be relieved from worldly affairs and her

children die, or as is the case in the Life of Xenophon and Maria, spouses who decide to

change their way of life after the loss of their two sons.141 In the case of Martha, it is not the

renunciation of the blood bond that will lead to her spiritual salvation but rather the

preservation of it. In particular, a gift can only function as such if the one who offers it is

considered to possess it in the first place. Martha’s access to the “material” structure of

donation is depended on her social role as a woman and a mother. She gives up what is

socially considered to be her possession. It is noteworthy that no Byzantine hagiographical

example has come down to us of a father who achieved holiness because of his role as a                                                                                                                139 For donor compositions in Byzantium see selectively Cormack 1986; Kalopissi-Verti 1992; Teteriatnikov 1993 (monumental painting); Carr 2006; Ševčenko 1994 (portable icons). 140 An indicative example that very much resembles what is described in the text we are considering is the donor composition above the south entrance in Panagia Phorbiotissa, Cyprus. The composition is dated in 1105/6 (Carr and Nikolaidès 2012; Chatzechristodoulou and Myriantheus 2002: 9; Sacopoulo 1966: 10; Stylianou and Stylianou 1960: 98). The donor, a certain Nikephoros Magistros, stands with his hands raised, holding a model of Panagia Phorbiotissa, which he offers to the enthroned Christ through the intercession of the Virgin Mary. The composition is accompanied by a verse inscription (painted over an earlier one at some point in the fourteenth-century), which is actually a prayer to the Virgin to intercede for the salvation of the donor’s soul (Kalopissi-Verti 1992: 341-342). 141 Melania the Younger is examined in Chapter Three. See below pp. 165-184. For Xenophon and Maria see Life of Xenophon, Maria and their Sons, PG 114, 1014-1043.

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saint’s father. Hence, Martha’s act of donation is also a manifestation of her gender and her

social role.

The fact than being the mother of a saint is expected to yield a reward in the afterlife is

also reflected in the words of John, the stylite at whose side Symeon initially follows his own

ascetic practice. Before John dies, he blesses Symeon, saying among others: “Χάριν δὲ εὕροι

ἐν οὐρανῷ καὶ ἐπὶ γῆς ἡ τεκοῦσά σε µήτηρ, καὶ ὅσα διηκόνησέ µοι βέλτιον σὺ γινώσκεις⋅ δώῃ

αὐτῇ Κύριος ἔλεος” (LSymY, p.35.§35.23-25; “May the mother who gave birth to you find

grace in heavens and on the earth, and you know better everything she has done for me”). John

prays for Symeon’s mother—and not his father—because it is she who seems to be linked to

the spiritual fate of the child.

At this point, the language used to refer to Martha, especially in the LM written to

commemorate her as main protagonist should be mentioned, as well as the narrative form of

her Life, since both of these textual parameters appear to again couple Martha with her son. In

specific, almost in every instance when Martha is mentioned, both in the LSymY, and in the

LM, she is defined as Symeon’s mother. A remarkable example of this authorial practice is the

title of the LM. The rubric reads as follows: “Βίος τῆς µακαρίας Μάρθας µητρὸς τοῦ ἁγίου

Συµεὼν τοῦ ἀγωνισαµένου ἐκ νηπίας ἡλικίας τὰ τῆς ἀσκήσεως ἆθλα ἐν τῷ Θαυµαστῷ ὄρει”

(LM, p.253; “Life of the blessed Martha, mother of the holy Symeon who fought from infancy

the battles of ascesis on the Admirable Mountain”). The same practice is followed in the text’s

proemion; Martha’s first mention in the text devoted to her is coupled with an explanatory

comment that relates her to her son: “Ὅθεν καὶ ἡ ἐν ἁγίοις ἡµῶν µητὴρ Μάρθα, ἐξ’ ἧς Συµεὼν

ὁ τοῦ Θεοῦ δοῦλος προῆλθεν” (LM, p.253.§1.15-16; “Wherefrom our mother Martha, who is

among the saints, <originates>, from whom Symeon the servant of God came to be”).

Martha’s determinant characteristic appears to be, therefore, her relationship to her son.

The same inclination toward coupling Martha with Symeon is also followed in the

narrative form of the LM. A saint’s Life usually has the following structure: the saint’s origins

are described, then the virtues s/he achieves during his/her earthly life, his/her death and burial

and/or some posthumous miracles.142 Given this structural exemplar, as regards the narrative

                                                                                                               142 Saints’ Lives demonstrate variations in structure based on the male or female gender of their protagonist (Constantinou 2004). However, this basic scheme is largely applied in most narratives (see e.g. Aigrain 1953; Delehaye 1955; Hackel 1981; Pratsch 2005; Riches and Salih 2002). An indicative example is the Life of Macrina (BHG 1012, Maraval 1971). Macrina is also a saint that like Martha, does not enter the convent in a strict sense, and who is also considered as the exemplar for the composition of female saints’ Lives. This female protagonist transforms her own house into a monastery and performs many acts of kindness and almsgiving to

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form of the LM, a remarkable characteristic of the text is that the actual biography takes up

only nine printed pages out of a total of sixty-four (LM, pp.253-262.§1-11)!

The literary portrait of Martha, as featured mainly in the first four of these nine pages,

draws the picture of a very pious woman, who perfectly conforms to her gender and to what is

socially expected from a devoted Christian: she is humble, silent and offers to those in need. In

particular, the following “feats” are attributed to her: she lacks even the slightest trace of pride

and arrogance (LM, p.254.§2.1); she observes with great austerity all periods of fasting,

including Wednesdays and Fridays (LM, p.254.§2.1); she diligently lights up many candles in

the church and provides incense (ἐπεµελεῖτο φώτων πολλῶν καὶ θυµιαµάτων προσαγωγῆς

[LM, p.254.§2.3-4]); she raises her son according to the divine guidelines given to her: Τὸν δὲ αὐτῆς τίµιον βλαστὸν θεοπρεπῶς ἐκτρέφουσα ἀνῆγε µέχρις ἐτῶν ἓξ τῆς αὐτοῦ ἡλικίας ἐµφόβως καὶ θεοφιλῶς, κατὰ τὰ λαληθέντα αὐτῇ καὶ διδαχθέντα ὑπὸ τοῦ ἐνδόξου προδρόµου καὶ βαπτιστοῦ Ἰωάννου, δι᾽ οὗ τὴν σύλληψίν τε καὶ γέννησιν αὐτοῦ εὐηγγελίσθη⋅ δεήσεις τε καὶ ἱκεσίας ἀπαύστως ὑπὲρ αὐτοῦ τῷ δεσπότῃ Χριστῷ µετὰ δακρύων προσέφερεν, αἰτουµένη προσδέξασθαι αὐτὸν καθὼς παρὰ τῆς Ἄννης τὸν Σαµουήλ. (LM, p.254.§2.7-14)

And bringing her honourable offspring up in a God-pleasing manner, she raised him in the fear and love of God up to the age of six, according to what she was told and taught by the most glorified forerunner and Baptist John, by whom she received the good tidings about his conception and birth. And she incessantly prayed and entreated in tears Christ the lord for his sake, beseeching Him to receive him, like he received Samuel from Anna.

Additionally, Martha partakes of little sleep and observes night vigils (LM, pp.254-255.§3.1-

3), while she never misses any divine liturgy and she participates to it standing throughout and

not sitting (LM, pp.255-256.§3.13-§4.14); she gives away clothes to the poor (LM,

p.256.§4.14-19 and p.256.§4.23-24); she takes care of the sick (LM, p.256.§4.19-21); she

feeds those who have no food (LM, p.256.§4.21) and she offers water to the thirsty (LM,

p.256.§4.22); she sheds tears in funerals for every deceased and offers burial clothes to

strangers who pass away while in her city (LM, pp.256-257.§5.3-6); she offers refreshments to

the brethren on Sunday congregations (LM, p.257.§5.6-7); she never neglects to pay for what

she buys and humbly sells her own handicrafts at a fair price (LM, p.257.§5.8-11); she never

takes oaths (LM, p.257.§5.11); she is mostly silent and only speaks when necessary (LM,

p.257.§5.11-13); she puts much effort in reconciling those who fight (LM, p.257.§5.13-25);

she prays incessantly for her son (LM, p.258.§6.12-16); she honors and respects the clerics

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           strangers and to members of her family. Consequently, the whole extent of the narrative is spent in describing the ways in which Macrina reached this level of virtue and how she manifested these pious qualities.

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(LM, p.258.§7.1-8); she accepts the possessed in her house and they are miraculously healed

(LM, p.258.§7.8-19); she takes care and relieves as much as she can the ill-ones who await to

be cured by her son (LM, p.259.§8.1-19).

Most of Martha’s actions as a pious laywoman are performed also by other saintly

women. For example, in the Life of Melania (discussed in Chapter Three below pp. 165-184),

the saint’s almsgiving is highlighted to such a degree that it takes up the largest part of the

narrative. Likewise, the Life of Macrina (BHG 1012) describes in minute detail the

protagonist’s indulgement to the Holy Scriptures and the generous services she offers to

everyone in need.143 The same is valid in the Lives of Mary the Younger and Thomais. The

narratives are exclusively concentrated on the two women’s generous offerings to others and

to the consequences these actions cause on both because of their husbands’ objections to their

practice.144 What differs in those other cases compared to Martha is that most of the narrative

emphasis lies exactly on these pious actions.

By way of contrast, what one can conclude from the above exposition of Martha’s

qualities is that their squeezing in four pages give the appearance of a shopping list rather than

a detailed narrative exposition. It seems then, that the greatest “feat” of Martha is her son, to

whom much more narrative space is devoted. Second, the saint appears to act according to her

gender and her Christian orientation. She does not, for example, offer money to the needy,

because, as a woman she does not have access to monetary property but she offers instead

services and goods.145

To return to the narrative form of the LM, the rest of the text consists of dreams and

visions—hers, Symeon’s and his students’—concerning Martha’s forthcoming death, her

prayers about her son, her burial, the translation of her body near Symeon, the rituals

performed in her honour, her posthumous appearances and miracles. Hence, Martha seems to

be mostly physically absent from her own story. She is, instead, present through her son (who

is in many episodes of her Life the protagonist) and through her after-death appearances.                                                                                                                143 Life of Macrina, Maraval 1971. See also above, fn 142. 144 Life of Mary the Younger (BHG 1164, AASS Nov. IV. 1925, 692-705; Life of Thomaïs (BHG 2454, AASS Nov. IV 1925, 234-242). On the latter see the analysis of Laiou 1989. See also below fns. 156, 227 and 295, where these texts are discussed again. 145 A similar development is observed, for example, in the Life of Mary the Younger (BHG 1164, AASS Nov. IV. 1925, 692-705) the homonymous heroine of which also offers services and goods to the needy. She, for example, offers hospitality to foreigners and donates all her jewellery and clothes to the poor (Life of Mary the Younger, p.694.§5). Male saints, on the other hand, offer money and other parts of the material property to which they have access, such as cuddle. See Chapter Three, p 178 and fn. 223, where the gender-based aspect of almsgiving is discussed; see Farmer 1986 for how a “good” wife should behave.

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As the above analysis has shown, Martha’s spiritual course cannot be perceived

without her son. Her son appears to be her spiritual salvation, her freedom from the shackles

of earthly affairs. It would then seem appropriate to turn next to Symeon in order to pinpoint

Martha’s contribution to her son’s holiness and to better understand what exactly becomes of

Symeon—that is, how he acquires the ability to offer salvation (to his mother and to others).

Symeon Between Two Deaths

As aforementioned, Martha expects to recognise in the image of her son her own wholeness,

which she lost because of getting married. She thus projects on her son her desire for her

fragmented body to become whole again. Therefore, Symeon is destined from the beginning to

become holy. He is the product of Martha’s prayer, a divine gift that Martha is put in charge

of. Her duty—and her greatest feat—is, then, to accomplish the task assigned to her: to return

to God the gift she was offered as something precious (that is, as spiritually concrete as

possible) so as to gain salvation through it/him.

The narrator of the LSymY announces that he will begin his story with Symeon’s

parents, as it is they who guided the saint towards spiritual advancement: “Τὴν διήγησιν

ποιησόµεθα, µνηµονεύοντες πρότερον τῶν αὐτοῦ θεοφιλῶν γονέων καὶ δεξιόντες ὅπως οὗτοι

τὸν πανάγιον τοῦτον εὐδοκίᾳ Θεοῦ προαγαγεῖν εἰς φῶς κατηξιώθησαν” (LSymY,

p.2.proem.24-25; “We shall begin the narration by first commemorating his God-loving

parents and we will relate how they were deemed worthy by divine will to bring to light this

most holy one”). In practice, however, the narrator sets out to speak almost exclusively about

Martha. Hence, Martha’s contribution to her son’s spiritual career is both recognised and

underlined.

According to Lacan, the “real Other”, the mother, is the one who initiates the subject to

the laws and structure of society and language, the symbolic order.146 In Symeon and Martha’s

case, this statement is confirmed; Martha not only initiates her son to the Christian ideology

and practice, but also teaches him to orientate himself towards the divine affairs and to keep

                                                                                                               146 Lacan 1979: 161-200; 1994: 195, 308-309; 1995: 269-270; 2006b: 99, 688-702, 713-714. Lacan refers to this also in his Seminar XV which is still unpublished (Lacan 1967-1968). He returns to this idea briefly in Seminar XIX [1971-72] to discuss specifically the relation of mother to son (Lacan 2011: 17). See also commentaries on this idea in Brousse 1995: 99-117; Dolar 1996: 129-153, and 1996a: 13-15; Laurent 1995, esp. pp. 23-25, 30-31.

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his mind away from earthly affairs. She, therefore, in a way “launches” him to pursue a life

orientated towards death—that is, to enter the “zone between two deaths”.

More specifically, Martha is instructed by John the Forerunner to call the name of the

child Symeon (like his predecessor stylite saint), to feed it only by her right breast, never to

give it meat or wine but only bread and honey, salt and water (LSymY, p.5.§3.1-11);147 a

ritualistic behaviour performed by the mother until Symeon reached the age of six and which

aimed at leading the child to the path of holiness, as also illustrated in the words of the

Forerunner: “Χρὴ δὲ µετὰ παντὸς φόβου φυλαχθῆναι αὐτὸ ὡς σκεῦος ἅγιον καὶ παραθήκην

τιµίαν⋅ λειτουργὸς γὰρ ἔσται οὗτος Κυρίου τοῦ Θεοῦ ἡµῶν” (LSymY, p.5.§3.11-13; “You must

guard it with great fear like a holy vessel and a precious deposit. For he shall become a

minister of God our Lord”). An important part to Symeon’s spiritual advancement appears,

therefore, to play the contrast between earthly bonds and divine devotion. When Symeon was

two years old he exclaimed the phrase quoted at the beginning of this chapter, “Ἔχω πατέρα

καὶ οὐκ ἔχω πατέρα, ἔχω µητέρα καὶ οὐκ ἔχω µητέρα” (LSymY, p.7.§5.6-7; “I have a father

and I don’t have a father, I have a mother and I don’t have a mother”). The author comments:

“σηµαίνων διὰ τούτων τὴν µὲν πρὸς τα γήινα αὐτοῦ ἀποταγήν, τὴν δὲ πρὸς τὰ πνευµατικὰ καὶ

οὐράνια προκοπὴν καὶ ἀνάβασιν” (LSymY, p.7.§5.7-9; “designating by these words, on one

hand his detachment from worldly affairs and, on the other, his progress and his ascension

toward spiritual and celestial affairs”). Within the same sentence, Symeon both recognises the

blood bond (“ἔχω”) and discards this bond as inferior compared to his vocation (“οὐκ ἔχω”).

Symeon’s spiritual orientation and the abandonment of worldly affairs entails his

entrance into a sphere that very much resembles Lacan’s “zone between two deaths”. Lacan

describes this situation as a “life that is about to turn into certain death, a death lived by

anticipation, a death that crosses over into the sphere of life, a life that moves into the realm of

death” (Lacan 2008: 306). The person who occupies this zone acquires, as aforementioned, a

sublime body, a body inaccessible to destruction, a body to which the natural laws simply do

not apply. Everything that has to do with transformation, decay or history is suspended. The

person that crosses over into this zone appears to be, like Antigone, pitiless, fearless, and

                                                                                                               147 Everything “right” was synonymous with good in Byzantium. For example in Byzantine iconography of the Last Judgement the righteous are always depicted on the right side of Christ. See indicatively Mouriki 1976: 148. Meat and wine were considered to be a type of luxurious food, associated with spiritual corruption. On diet and its relation to bodily purity see e.g. Bynum 1987; Shaw 1998. Mary the Egyptian, for example, is specifically mentioned to have consumed these products daily before her repentance (LME, p.3717.§28).

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ultimately inhuman; he/she feels nothing. The sublime quality of such a person emits an aura

of beauty and freedom to those around but also a disturbing sensation, one related to a lethal

dimension, to a beyond sphere.148

Symeon’s entrance into the “zone between two deaths” is literally marked in narrative

terms by his crossing of a desert, a wild place inaccessible by humans. A supernatural

apparition orders the six-year old boy to follow him in the wilderness. The child stays in the

wild hostile terrain, surrounded by beasts for a short period of time (LSymY, p.10.§10.1-

p.12.§12.14). That this transitional space marks a break to Symeon’s previous life is very

clearly stated in the text: “Ἔκτοτε οὖν ὁ τοῦ Θεοῦ θεράπων ἐπελάθετο τοῦ σώµατος καὶ

ἀγγελικὸν βίον ἀνεδέξατο, τῶν ὄπισθεν ἐπιλανθανόµενος καὶ τοῖς ἔµπροσθεν ἐπεκτεινόµενος

ἡµέρᾳ καὶ ἡµέρᾳ ἐπινοῶν ἑαυτῷ σκληραγωγίας” (LSymY, p.14.§16.9-13, my emphasis; So

thenceforward the servant of God “forgot” his body and took up the angelic life, forgetting the

past and progressing to what lay in front of him by inventing new forms of tough training for

himself). What is expressed in this passage is actually the definition of a life very similar to

Lacan’s concept of the “zone between two deaths”: from this point on, Symeon leaves behind

not only the world but also, as will be discussed further on, his body (“ἐπελάθετο τοῦ

σώµατος”). What marks his life thenceforward is an incessant (“ἡµέρᾳ καὶ ἡµέρᾳ”)

disciplining, punishing, torturing of the body (“σκληραγωγίας”). His focus then onward is the

beyond sphere or, as Lacan would put it, a “death lived in anticipation” (“ἀγγελικὸν βίον”).

From this moment on Symeon ascends on a pillar next to the stylite John. It is actually quite

remarkable to observe that, in conformity to what Lacan says concerning this liminal sphere,

thenceforward in Symeon’s life any concept of transformation, change, or history, indeed of

movement, is canceled. Symeon remains immobile on his pillar. The sense of history and

continuity (even of narrative) is also, in a way, challenged and overshadowed, since what we

hear in the story afterwards is an endless repetition of the same structure: the ill are brought to

Symeon, become cured and then leave.

From the point that he ascends on the pillar and becomes a stylite, Symeon’s body

acquires sublime qualities. The saint can deprive himself completely of light, food and sleep

and yet remain alive.149 He has the ability to endure all weather conditions, including a

fiercely cold winter, completely naked, and without paying attention to the attacks of the

                                                                                                               148 See Lacan 2008: 321, 324; See also Constantinou 2005: 38-48; Kay 2000; Žižek 1992: 83-84. 149 See, for example, LSymY, p.36.§37.2-4.

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serpents (LSymY, p.30.§30.1-24; p.66.§81.14-31). He daily finds new ways to discipline his

body. For example, he tights himself up with a rope, which causes severe wounds all over his

body; not only does he not die, but he is also miraculously restored to health (LSymY, pp.22-

23.§26.1-23). A very interesting example of the sublime quality that Symeon’s body manifests

is the following: Μετὰ ταῦτα ἑτέραν ἄθλησιν ἀναδέχεται ὁ τοῦ Θεοῦ ἐκλεκτὸς καὶ καθέζεται ἐπάνω τῶν ποδῶν αὐτοῦ ἐνιαυτόν. Ἐσάπησαν δὲ οἱ µηροὶ αὐτοῦ καὶ αἱ ἀγκύλαι, καὶ ἐποζέσαντες καὶ κολλήσαντες, ἓν τι γεγόνασιν. Ἐνενόει γὰρ καὶ ἔλεγε πρὸς τὸν Χριστὸν ὅτι⋅ “Διὰ τὸ ὄνοµά σου τὸ ἅγιον καὶ τῶν ἰδίων ποδῶν κατεφρόνησα γενόµενος σεσηπώς, καὶ ὅπως γινώσκῃ ὁ σατανᾶς ὅτι ἀσάλευτός εἰµι, ἑδραῖος ἑστηκὼς ἐπὶ τὴν πέτραν τῆς εἰς σὲ πίστεως.” Τότε ὑπὸ τῆς δυσωδίας γνόντες οἱ ἀδελφοὶ σὺν τῷ πρεσβύτῃ ἐξέστησαν, καὶ πέµψας ὁ πρεσβύτης ἤνεγκεν ἰατρὸν εἰς τό, φησίν, ἐπιµεληθῆναι αὐτοῦ. Τὸ δὲ παιδίον θεασάµενον κατεγέλασε λέγον⋅ “Ζῇ ὁ Κύριός µου ὅτι οὐχ ἅψεταί µου βοήθεια ἀνθρώπων εἰς ἃ ἐγὼ διὰ τὸν Θεὸν ἐπέδωκα ἐµαυτόν.” Ἦσαν γὰρ καὶ τὰ δύο γόνατα θρέψαντα, διὰ τὸ εἶναι αὐτὸν νήπιον καὶ λίαν ἁπαλόν. Ὁ δὲ Κύριος τῆς δόξης ἐπισκεψάµενος ἐθεράπευσεν τὸν ἑαυτοῦ ἀθλητὴν ἀπὸ τῆς πληγῆς τῶν ποδῶν αὐτοῦ, καὶ ἀναστὰς ὁ παῖς ἔστη ἑδραῖος⋅ ἐπενόησε δὲ ὑπὲρ εὐχαριστίας στῆναι ἐπὶ τὰ γόνατα αὐτοῦ καιρόν τινα, ὃν καὶ ἐπλήρωσεν. (LSymY, pp.30-31.§31.1-18)

After these the chosen one by God engaged in another combat and crouched for a year. And his thighs and his shanks decayed and gave off an odour of disintegration and were welded into one. And he was thinking and saying to Christ that: “For your divine name I despised my own legs and left them to rot, so that Satan knows that I am unmovable and that I stand firmly on the rock of your faith.” Then because of the bad odour the brothers along with the elder one realised what happened and were struck with astonishment and the elder one sent for a doctor in order to, as he said, treat him. But as soon as he saw him the child laughed and said: “My Lord is alive, for the help of humans will not touch me to treat those which I brought upon myself for God”. And indeed both of his knees were restored to health because he was young and very tender. And the Lord of glory came and healed his athlete from the wound of his legs, and the child stood up in total health. And he decided to stand on his knees for some time as a gesture of gratitude, which he did.

As the passage shows, Symeon actually sits on his knees for a whole year, so that his thighs

decay and become one with his legs. A normal body would not be expected to recover from

these wounds (at least not without medical treatment). But Symeon’s body does not appear to

obey to the natural laws. Not only does the saint manage to go through with his ordeal

(“ἄθλησιν”) without a trace of hesitation, but his body is also once again miraculously restored

to its previous condition. Corruption and decay are terms that simply lose their value when it

comes to Symeon. The sublime body of the stylite is disturbing and admirable at the same

time. As the passage quoted above shows, for example, the other monks are astonished by the

ordeal that Symeon subjects his body to (“ἐξέστησαν”). The term used to describe their

reaction denotes a sense of admiration, of surprise, but also of fear and worry, as also

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illustrated by their actions; they send a doctor to treat him. Hence, Symeon’s body is irradiated

with a supra-human, sublime quality that defies the natural principles.

Having such a body, Symeon is, like Antigone, fearless. So much that he does not

hesitate to confront the master of evil, the devil himself, who attacks the saint continuously—

both physically and mentally. The devil attempts, for example, to bite Symeon, to dismantle

his pillar, to disfigure his face, to distract the saint from his prayer, to frighten or tempt him.

Every attempt of the devil, however, is brought to dust, since Symeon manages to come out

from it safe, either exclusively through divine intervention, or through repudiating the attacks

on his own. Two devil attacks that illustrate Symeon’s sublime personality are the following: Ὑπὸ µίαν δὲ ἐξαίφνης δέδωκεν ἐκ νότου ὥσπερ παµµεγέθης πέτρα ἐπὶ τὴν καµασίνην αὐτοῦ µηλωτὴν καὶ ἔνευσεν ὅλον τὸν κίονα, ἀλλ’ ἡ θεία χάρις φυλάξασα ἐν εἴδει περιστερᾶς ὤφθη, καὶ καταργήσασα τὸν πειρασµὸν τὸν κίονα ἀνώρθωσεν [...]. Ἄλλοτε κατὰ τὸ µεσονύκτιον ψάλλοντος αὐτοῦ ἐπελάβετο τοῦ ποδὸς αὐτοῦ καθάπερ χεὶρ ἀνθρώπου ῥῆξαι θέλοντος τῆς στάσεως. Ὁ δὲ τῆς σφύρας δραξάµενος τῇ τοῦ σωτῆρος µνήµῃ καὶ ὀνοµασίᾳ ἐδοκίµασε τύψαι ἐκεῖνον καὶ ἔδωκεν εἰς τὰ σίδηρα τοῦ καγκέλλου⋅ ἀκούων δὲ ὁ διάβολος τὸ τοῦ Χριστοῦ ὄνοµα ἀλαλάζων ἀφανὴς ἐγένετο. (LSymY, p.38.§39.8-20)

And one day suddenly <the devil> came from the south and fell on his leather tent like a giant rock and bent his entire column but the divine grace that guarded him appeared in the form of a dove and averting the danger straightened up the column […]. Another time in the middle of the night, while he was singing the Psalms, <the Satan> grabbed his leg as if with a human hand, wishing to throw him down from the column. But Symeon grabbed him by his ankle and by the memory and name of the Saviour he tried to beat him and pushed him against the iron railing. But as soon as the devil heard the name of Christ he disappeard howling.

In the first instance, Symeon does not even blink when the devil attempts to destroy his pillar;

the devil does not succeed in bringing down the saint since, through the aid of God, the

stylite’s pillar remains completely intact. The second instance underlines once again Symeon’s

sublime stance in that not only does he remain calm and fearless throughout another fierce

attack against him, but he also retaliates and attacks the devil back by himself. Hence, Symeon

is portrayed as a spiritual and physical authority. Motionless, fearless, super-human, he is

characterised by the narrator as a “stone” (“λίθος”). Another facet of Symeon’s sublime

quality is, besides, that, despite being constantly on his pillar, he can be present through his

absence and perform miracles everywhere. In particular, at first the saint performs his power

through the intercession of three angels, who write down his requests. But after some time the

three angels are instructed to refrain from this task. They thus address the saint in the

following way:

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“Νῦν ηὔξησεν ὁ Θεὸς τὴν ἑαυτοῦ δύναµιν ἐν σοὶ καὶ χάριν ἐδωρήσατό σοι πολλήν, ὅπως δοξασθῇ διὰ σοῦ τὸ ἅγιον αὐτοῦ ὄνοµα. Οὐκέτι οὖν ἡµεῖς προσθήσοµεν τοῦ γράφειν, διότι λόγῳ καὶ δυνάµει πάντα λοιπὸν γενήσεται διὰ σοῦ κατὰ τὴν τῶν προσερχοµένων πίστιν, ἐν θεωρίᾳ ὀφθαλµῶν, ἐν ὁράσει, ἐν λόγῳ παριστώντι τὸ ἔργον, ἐν ἐπιθέσει τῶν χειρῶν σου, ἐν τῇ βαΐνῃ ῥάβδῳ, ἐν τῷ κρασπέδῳ τῆς σῆς µηλωτῆς καὶ τοῦ σάκκου, καὶ πρὸς τούτοις δι’ αὐτῆς τῆς κόνεως τῆς παρὰ σοῦ δεδοµένης, διὰ µόνης τῆς πρὸς σὲ κατὰ πίστιν ἐντεύξεως. Ὅπου ἡ µνήµη σου, ἐκεῖ ἔσται ἡ δύναµις τοῦ Θεοῦ ἰωµένη πάντας ἐν παντὶ καιρῷ καὶ ἐν πάσῃ ἀσθενείᾳ ἐν ᾗ τυγχάνουσιν. Ὄψονται δέ σε καὶ ἐν ταῖς οἰκίαις καὶ ἐν ταῖς ὁδοῖς καὶ ἐν ταῖς ἔργοις αὐτῶν, καὶ ἐπικαλούµενοι τὸν Θεὸν διὰ σοῦ τοῦ δούλου αὐτοῦ εὑρήσουσι χάριν καὶ βοήθειαν.” (LSymY, p.40.§41.5-19)

“Now God has increased his power in you and has granted to you much grace, so that His divine name may be glorified through you. Therefore we will not continue writing any more, because from now on everything will be done by you through your speech and power to act according to the faith of those you come to you. Through the sight of your eyes, through your vision, through speech that produces the action, by the touch of your hands, by your palm stick, by the fringe of your leather mantle or your sackcloth and in addition to these by the dust itself, given by you, and only by the request made to you with faith. There, where you will be commemorated, there will be the power of God, healing everyone at all times and from any illness which befalls them. And they will see you in their houses and in the streets and in their actions, and if they invoke God through you His servant, they will find grace and help.”

Even though his movements are limited, Symeon is able to perform miracles through objects

associated to him, through his voice, or even through the evocation of his name or his memory

by the faithful.150 His supposedly restricted performing sphere is, therefore, in fact enlarged

due to his sublimity.  151

To cyclically return to the mother’s offer, now, given the above analysis, it seems that

what Martha actually offers to God eventually is not just any body or just any soul but a

sublime body and soul—one that can be tortured and restored, that shows no signs of fear and

pity for himself, that is beautiful and fearsome at the same time. Symeon’s body acquires these

exceptional qualities exactly because the saint is from the beginning a “loan”, that is, a

temporary gift destined to be given back to the donor. To this individual Martha herself has

offered the proper upbringing, that is, his initiation to the divine vocation he was destined for.

From the moment that Symeon takes up his holy task—that is, from the moment that he

ascends on his pillar, Martha’s role is restricted to that of an advisor, an intercessor, and a

narrator of visions concerning Symeon.152 Her latter function constitutes a major contribution

                                                                                                               150 André-Jean Festugière (1973) has shown a correlation between some miracles ascribed to Asclepius at Epidauros and those of Symeon the Younger (Festugière 1973). 151 In this Symeon the Younger differs from Mary of Egypt, who also occupies the position of the sublime, as he, even though a trasgressive figure as well, in a way fosters even from his pillar the Christian community gathered underneath his feet whereas Mary of Egypt’s sublime quality is only revaled to Zosimas. 152 See, for example, LSymY, pp.87-88.§107.1-22; pp.113-115.§127.1-58.

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to the formation of her son’s holy identity, since the community of believers and the external

audience gain knowledge of Symeon’s sanctity to a large degree through Martha’s narrrations

of her visions.153 The mother also prays to God to offer her son strength,154 while she puts

much effort in keeping Symeon humble: “Εἶδον µεγάλα ἐν σοί, ὧν οὐκ ἔστιν ἀριθµός, ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἠβουλήθην µέχρι τοῦ νῦν τι περὶ τούτων εἰπεῖν πρὸς σέ, ἵνα µὴ θαρρήσῃς σεαυτῷ, ἀλλὰ τῷ δεδωκότι Θεῷ τὴν εὐχαριστίαν ἀναπέµψῃς τῷ δυναµένῳ καὶ µειζόνων σε ἀγαθῶν ἀξιῶσαι”. (LM, p.268.§20.20-24)

“I saw great things concerning you, which cannot be enumerated, but I did not want to tell you anything about these until now, so that you don’t become arrogant, but so that instead you send up to God your gratitude, Who is able to deem you worthy of even greater goods”.

We have already seen in Chapter One, concerning the case of Zosimas, the ways in which

pride can prove devastating for one’s spiritual career. Pride is a sin linked to male candidate

saints. Given this context, Martha’s struggle to keep her son away from such a passion appears

as a very significant contribution to Symeon’s spiritual advancement.155

We have explored so far Symeon and Martha’s interdependence as regards their

spiritual identities. Martha prayed for a way to regain her lost being and the answer came

(through her Other), through her son. Through her son’s holiness, through his sublime

suffering body Martha regains her integrity and eventually achieves holiness. Symeon, on the

other hand, was initiated to the love of God by his mother and launched into the “zone

between two deaths” through her guidance. These observations are supported in the two Lives

by the spaces that the two saints appear to occupy, or are destined to occupy, in the afterlife.

The allocation of the two protagonists in the afterlife is quite an important feature of two texts

that both expose in detail; it is also a textual aspect worth exploring because it shows that the

relationship between mother and son is not to be negated even after-death, but reestablished

instead. These spaces also betray a type of hierarchy in the afterlife.156 This means that both

                                                                                                               153 See, for example, LSymY, pp.118-122.§129.63-166; LM, p.265.§16.1-267.§18.19. 154 See, for example, LM, p.258.§6.12-14; p.268.§20.6-8; p.268.§20.12-17. 155 See further examples of Martha’s effort in LM, p.260.§9.4-19, p.269.§22.7-8. 156 The afterlife constitutes an important feature of other hagiographical texts as well. Another aspect of the afterlife is, for example, discussed in Chapter Three concerning the Passions of three couples of spouses (see below p…). Great value to the heroines’ afterlife status is also given in the Lives of Mary the Younger and Thomais (ed. see above p 112, fns. 144-145; see also Halsall 1996: 291-295 [Thomais]; Laiou 1996: 239-242 [Mary the Younger]). The hagiographers of these two Lives devote quite an amount of narrative space detailing their heroines’ posthumous miracles and presenting episodes in which certain bystanders who doubted the saints’ holiness were proven wrong. This treatment could be interpreted as the hagiographers’ effort to prove their heroines’ holiness by showcasing many of their miracles as the stories were about two laywomen—thus two heroines whose holiness is not as self-evident as a martyr’s holiness is.

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saints may acquire a holy identity but their holy boarding pass does not guarantee the same

access to the divine; they are not equally holy.

Spaces of the Afterlife

Why do the Dead Return?

Slavoj Žižek poses the question that features in the title of this section taking his cue from

Lacan’s comments on Antigone and the heroine’s unconditional demand of proper burial for

her brother. Žižek concludes his analysis by stating that “the return of the living dead

materializes a certain symbolic debt persisting beyond physical expiration” (Žižek 1992: 23).

In my reading of the LM I found myself asking the same question since, despite the fact that

the heroine reaches the end of her earthly existence at about one third of the text, she keeps, in

the rest two thirds returning from her grave. So, why do the dead return?

The first clue is given to us by the author just before Martha’s death, when she

expresses her desire to be buried in the “ξενοτάφιον”, that is, the place where foreigners were

buried, along with the strangers so that “her bones may “sip” some honor and worth from the

honorable bodies buried there” (“ἐγὼ οὖν κήδοµαι τῆς τοῦ τόπου εὐλογίας διὰ τὴν εὐχὴν

ἐκείνου καὶ τῶν ἀδελφῶν µου τῶν ἐκεῖ ῥιπτοµένων, ὧν ἀναξία οὖσα ἐκ τῆς ὑγρασίας αὐτῶν

πιανθῆναι τὰ ὀστᾶ µου προσεύχοµαι, ὅπως τὴν σωτηρίαν καρπώσωµαι διὰ τῆς αὐτῶν

ἐπισκοπῆς” (LM, p.271.§24.17-21; “I care for the blessing that exists in this place because of

his [St. Thomas’] prayer and my brothers’ <the foreigners> who were thrown there, and even

though I am unworthy of them, I pray that my bones may absorb some of their humidity, so

that I may yield salvation through their intercession”).157 We have been following so far in this

chapter Martha’s (and, of course, the author’s) view that Symeon’s holiness could be

transmitted to his mother, i.e., that holiness and salvation are transferable. The same view is

reflected in Martha’s wish to be buried in the “ξενοτάφιον” and repeated still further on: τὰ

τῆς ταφῆς αὐτῆς πρὸς τὸ ἐσπουδασµένον αὐτῇ καὶ περιπόθητον, ὥστε µὴ στερηθῆναι αὐτὴν

τοῦ µισθοῦ τῶν ἐκρεριµµένων ὥστε νεκρὸς ἐβδελυγµένος (LM, p.272.§25.10-13; <she prayed

for> her burial to be carried out as she planned and longed for, so that she would not be

                                                                                                               157 Melania the Younger is also a heroine who considers holiness transferable. In particular, she gives directions to be buried wearing the clothes of holy men to participate in their holiness (LMY, p.268-270§69). For this subject see Constantinou 2010a: 172.

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deprived from the reward of those who were thrown there like a cast off corpse). It is very

interesting to observe that Symeon firmly disagrees with his mother’s desire and even after her

death he hesitates to satisfy her request because he wants her to be buried near him. Therefore,

what Symeon desires on his part is to preserve and not undo the relationship with his mother.

However, God grants Martha her wish, even for a short period of time (LM,

p.273.§27.4-9), until Symeon sees the following dream: Τότε ὁ τοῦ Θεοῦ δοῦλος Συµεὼν ἐν ὁράµατι τῆς νυκτὸς θεωρεῖ λείψανον δικαίου ἐντὸς τῆς καµασίνης αὐτοῦ µηλωτῆς ἐκ δεξιῶν ἐπικρεµάµενον αὐτῷ καὶ ὅτι τὴν δεξιὰν ἐκτείνας χεῖρα καὶ τρίτον ἁψάµενος τῆς ἐξ αὐτοῦ εὐλογίας ἀντελάβετο, καὶ καλέσας τινὰς τῶν ἀδελφῶν εἶπε πρὸς αὐτούς⋅ “Ἡ κυρία µου ἡ µεγάλη ἐκοιµήθη”. (LM, p.274.§28.11-16) Then Symeon, God’s servant, sees in a dream at night the relic of righteous [man] inside his leather tent. <He saw it> by his right side, hanging over him. And that he extended his hand and touching him three times he received his blessing, and he called some of the brothers and said to them: “My great lady has passed”.

A number of elements in this dream assume great value in our investigation. First, Martha is

symbolised as “λείψανον δικαίου” (a relic of a righteous man); she, then, appears to have in a

way surpassed her gender, an important prerequisite for a woman to achieve holiness.158

Second, Symeon sees his mother inside his tent hanging over his right side. This information

is very important as Martha’s body is eventually translated and buried at the base of Symeon’s

pillar. She becomes attached to his pillar. Hence, Martha literally becomes part of her son’s

performing space.

Martha’s organic relationship with her son even after her death is also apparent in

Martha’s participation to Symeon’s community: Martha appears in the dreams of his students

and requests actions to be done on her behalf, such as proper rituals to be performed at her

grave, or a church to host her body. Symeon even sets forth to acquire a piece of the Holy

Cross to honour her first memorial. To this latter episode are devoted no less than sixteen

printed pages of the text (LM, pp.296.§52.1-312.§70.26), with Symeon as a protagonist.

Hence, Symeon becomes his mother’s physical extension in the textual reality. It is Symeon

who decides and regulates who has access to his mother’s body and it is he who in most

episodes acts on Martha’s behalf. His function as Martha’s extension in the textual reality is

also apparent in the miracles that Symeon and Martha perform together. For instance, a man

                                                                                                               158 On the subject of the “manly” woman see Aspegren 1990; Castelli 1991; Cloke 1995; Hartney 1999. An indicative example is a subgenre of saints’ Lives that is centred around women who disguise themselves as men and achieve holiness in this form. For holy cross-dressers see Anson 1974; Constantinou 2005: 90-126 and 2014a; Davis 2002; Patlagean 1976.

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tortured by a demon who severely hurts his leg approaches Symeon’s pillar with the hope of

finding a cure. But while he approaches Martha’s tomb on his way to Symeon, he is greatly

relieved from his pain, thus making his effort to reach Symeon less painful. The healing

process is completed as the man touches Symeon’s holy dust (“κόνεως”; LM, pp.312-

313.§71.1-24). Consequently, the two saints act as a miracle-working pair, the one completing

the other.

It is, therefore, apparent that Martha touches upon the world of the living through her

son. And actually, despite her physical expiration, she is suspended in an un-dead state. This is

reflected in the language used to describe her. With a single exception (LM, p.279.§35.3), after

her death Martha is referred to as “σωρός” (the body of a recently deceased), that is, not only a

relic (“λείψανον”)—i.e., someone whose disintegration process has been completed, nor

appearing “live” like other saints,159 but always coming out of her grave, her “θέσις” (place),

as the text refers to her tomb.160 The state of Martha’s body also reflects her in-between status: Ἀνεκόµισαν δὲ αὐτὴν ἐκ τοῦ τόπου ἄλυτον, ἀδυσώδη, ἄρρηκτον καὶ ἄβρωτον σκωλήκων, καίτοι καύσωνος τοιούτου ὑπάρχοντος ἐν ταῖς ἡµέραις ἐκείναις⋅ ἦν γὰρ ὀγδόη τοῦ ἰουλίου µηνός. Ἀλλ’ οὔτε τῶν ἐκεῖ συροµένων ἑρπετῶν παντελῶς αὐτῇ προσεκολλήθη, οὔτε τῶν πολυπληθουσῶν µυιῶν προσήγγισεν, διὰ τὸ δοῦναι τὸν Κύριον τὴν ἐξ αὐτοῦ χάριν τῷ τιµίῳ αὐτῆς λειψάνῳ. (LM, p.275.§30.4-10, my emphasis)

And they recovered her from that place with no trace of decomposition, with no odour of decay, unbroken and uneaten by worms, despite the summer heat of those days; for it was the eighth of July. But neither did any of the serpents that crowled there stuck onto her, nor any of the many rats there came near her because the Lord had given his grace to her honourable relic.

The terms of the passage refer to the heroine’s body as still integral, still a whole, intact body

but also a relic (“λείψανον”). Actually, a certain man, Antoninos, is punished in an episode of

the text with fever and complete paralysis because he considers dead bodies (Martha’s

included) disgusting: “παρῃτεῖτο παντὶ νεκρῷ πλησιάσαι, βδελυκτὸν τοῦτο λογιζόµενος.

Τοῦτο δὲ αὐτὸ καὶ ἐπὶ τοῦ λειψάνου τῆς ὁσίας πεποιηκὼς οὐ προσήγγισεν, οὐδὲ τὸν ὥµον

ὑπέθηκεν” (LM, p.280.§35.9-12; he refrained from approaching all the dead finding that

disgusting. And he did the same to the saint’s relic and did not approach nor did he place his

shoulder under it). A relic consisting only of bones would not probably cause disgust; hence

we must assume that Martha’s body did not undergo the normal disintegration process or any

                                                                                                               159 See e.g. Artemios (Miracles of Artemios [BHG 173-173c], Chrisafulli and Nesbitt 1997) or Thecla (Miracles of Thecla [BHG 1717-1718], Dagron 1978) who appear “live” or in various disguises. 160 See, for example, LM, p.282.§38.7-26.

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disintegration whatsoever. And, once again, it is Symeon who decides whether he shall grant

Antoninos permission to access Martha’s body and be forgiven of his sin.

So, why does Martha return? I believe we can now answer this question. She returns to

participate to her son’s community. Her role as a mother not only is not negated but is, in

contrast, expanded: Martha is referred to as the mother of the whole of Symeon’s

community.161 She returns to remind us (that is, the readers or listeners) of her presence: she is

still a protagonist. She returns because she shares in her son’s holiness. Martha’s holiness is

manifested through the miracles she performs for the sake of the members of her son’s

community of believers. Symeon’s holiness is, in turn, confirmed in a large part through his

mother’s holiness, that is, through the fact that she witnesses a number of dreams which prove

her son’s holiness while stil alive, and through her miraculous posthumous apparitions. Thus a

mutual interdependence to achieve holiness and prove holiness is at work that lasts till the end.

Symeon hesitates to grant his mother’s wish for a church to be built in her honor and her body

to be transferred there, one of the reasons being that he wanted this to be done after his own

death so that they would be both put there and be inseparable:

καὶ οὐκ ἠθέλησεν ἀπάρξασθαι τοῦ τοιούτου ἔργου, τοῦτο µὲν διὰ τὸ µὴ πειρασθῆναί τινας τῶν ἁπλουστέρων καὶ ἀπίστων µαταίους ἀναπλάττοντας ἐν ἑαυτοῖς λογισµοὺς καὶ καταλαλοῦντας κατὰ τοῦ δικαίου ἀνοµίαν, τοῦτο δὲ καὶ βουλευόµενος ἕνα οἶκον ἐπιτηδεῦσαι ἑαυτῷ τε καὶ αὐτῇ, ὥστε αὐτοὺς καὶ ἐν τούτῳ ἀχωρίστους ἀλλήλων εἶναι, ὅπερ καὶ γέγονε µετά τινας χρόνους. (LM, p.288.§46.7-13)

And he did not want to begin carrying out such a task. On the one hand because he did not want to tempt any of those who were more simple-minded and less faithfull. <Those> would fabricate thoughts by themselves and would accuse the righteous one of improper conduct. On the other hand because he intended to build one church for himself and her, so that they would be in this too, inseparable from each other, which was exactly what happened some years later.

Symeon once again appears, therefore, in the text to insist on preserving the relationship with

his mother—even beyond death.

So, once again, why does Martha return? I believe she would say “ὥστε µὴ στερηθῆναι

αὐτὴν τοῦ µισθοῦ Συµεών” (“so that she is not deprived of Symeon’s reward in the afterlife”);

she shares in her son’s holiness and he shares in hers. But do they share the “same” holiness

after all?

                                                                                                               161 See e.g. LM, p.283.§40.6.

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Is There a Degree of Holiness?

In the LSymY there appears the following passage: Ἔκτοτε οὖν ἐπλήσθησαν οἱ µοναχοὶ φόβου Θεοῦ, καί τινες αὐτῶν ὡραµατίσθησαν, καὶ εἶδον τρεῖς κόγχας καὶ τρεῖς θρόνους κειµένους καὶ τρεῖς στεφάνους ἐπικειµένους τοῖς θρόνοις, καὶ ἐρωτήσαντες τίνος ἄρα ἐστὶν ἡ φαινοµένη αὐτοῖς δόξα, φωνῆς ἤκουσαν λεγούσης⋅ “Συµεὼν τοῦ παιδός ἐστιν”. (LSymY, p.32.§33.1-5)

From then on the monks were filled with the fear of God. And some of them had a vision, and they saw three conchs, and three thrones were found there and three crowns placed on the thrones. And they asked for whom was therefore the glory that was shown to them, and they heard a voice saying: “It is destined for the child Symeon”.

The imperial iconography that depicts Symeon’s holy status continues further on with a

beautiful image of the saint being “dressed” in holiness by the Lord:162

Καὶ ἐνέδυσαν αὐτὸν οἱ ἄγγελοι ἐπάνω τῶν ἀσκητικῶν ἐνδυµάτων δόξαν καὶ µεγαλοπρέπειαν τῆς ἁγιωσύνης, ἐπιθέντες διάδηµα λίθου πνευµατικοῦ τιµίου ἐν πνεύµατι ζωῆς ἐπὶ τῆς κεφαλῆς αὐτοῦ, ἔχον σταυρὸν καὶ ἀστέρα ὑπερέχοντα καὶ φωτίζοντα ὡς ἀστραπήν· καὶ ἐκάθισαν αὐτὸν ἐν ἐκείνῳ τῷ δειχθέντι ἵππῳ χαρᾷ µεγάλῃ δοξάζοντες. (LSymY, p.44.§47.18-23)

And the angels clothed him over his ascetic clothes with the glory and magnificence of holiness. And <they> placed on his head a spiritual crown made from the precious stones of the spirit of life. This had on it a cross and a star above it, which shone brilliantly like a lightning. And they sat Symeon on that horse which appeard, glorifying him with great joy.

In this passage, Symeon is dressed in a spiritual imperial garment, which signifies his holiness,

over his humble clothing. The two passages reflect the promise given to Symeon of his reward

in the afterlife. This reward is to be gained through his suffering as a stylite in the name of

Christ and through living his life in death, i.e. as if he were already dead throughout his earthly

existence. The three thrones, conchs and crowns mentioned in the first passage appear to

respond to the number of pillars occupied by Symeon throughout his ascetic practice, as also

summarised at the end of his Life: Ἡ τοίνυν ἀρχὴ τῆς στάσεως αὐτοῦ τῆς ἁγίας γέγονεν ἐπὶ βάσεως πλησίον τοῦ ἀββᾶ Ἰωάννου, καὶ ἔστη ἐν αὐτῇ ἔτη ἕξ⋅ ἔπειτα ἔστησαν στῦλον ποδῶν τεσσαράκοντα, καὶ ἔστη ἐν αὐτῷ ἔτη ὀκτώ⋅ καὶ µετὰ τοῦτο ἔστη ἐν τῷ ἁγίῳ Θαυµαστῷ ὄρει ἐν βασιδίῳ ἀπὸ ξηρολίθων ἔτη δέκα⋅ ὕστερον ᾠκοδοµήθη ὁ µέγας στῦλος, ἐν ᾧ ἀνῆλθεν ἀπὸ θείας ἀποκαλύψεως, καὶ ἔστη ἐν αὐτῷ ἔτη τεσσαράκοντα πέντε. (LSymY, p.223.§258.1-7) Thus the beginning of his holy stasis was made on a pillar next to abba John, and he stood on it for six years. Then they erected a column of forty feet and he stood on it for eight years. And after that he stood on the holy Admirable Mountain, on a base made

                                                                                                               162 The use of imperial iconography is not unusual in Byzantine literature. See Agapitos 1999 and 2013 for such examples in the Byzantine romances.

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of rocks for ten years. Following this the great column was constructed, on which he climbed following the divine revelation, and he stood on it for forty-five years.

As the passage shows, Symeon occupies three pillars and one stone base (βασιδίῳ).

Additionally, Symeon’s rewards in the afterlife seem to also respond to his three transitions

from layman to monk, from monk to deacon, from deacon to priest. Each transition and

ordination is marked by a pillar, since it takes place on the day of Symeon’s ascendence

(ἀνάβασις) on a higher pillar.163

Exceptionally noteworthy for this analysis is the fact that there exists a similar passage

in the LM, which designates the allocation of both saints in the afterlife. More specifically, as

Martha’s death approaches, the Virgin Mary appears to her in a vision, notifies her of her

approaching death and shows her afterlife residence: a luxurious palace that her son had built:

“Τοῦτο γάρ ἐστι τὸ παλάτιον ὃ ἔκτισεν ὁ υἱὸς σου ἐν τῷ οὐρανῷ” (LM, p.266.§17.21-22;

“This is the palace which your son has built on heavens”). Martha’s afterlife holy status

appears, therefore, once again to be greatly indebted to her son and to consist her own reward

for being a worthy mother of such a son and for having properly guided him. But while

Martha’s status in the afterlife is restricted to that first palace, Symeon’s virtue has constructed

a second palace, “situated” on a higher level and much more luxurious than the first, while he

has also put the foundations of a third, still higher-leveled compared to the others: Ἁρπαγεῖσα οὖν εἰς ὕψος ἀέρος ὡς εἰς οὐρανὸν τοῦ οὐρανοῦ, εἶδον ἕτερον παλάτιον τοῦ πρώτου τὴν διήγησιν ὑπερβαῖνον, οὗ τὴν ἀνεκλάλητον δόξαν θεασαµένη ἐν ὀλιγωρίᾳ κατέστην, καὶ ἐνισχύσασά µε ἔφη⋅ “Καὶ τοῦτο τὸ παλάτιον ὁ υἱός σου ᾠκοδόµησεν⋅ ἤρξατο δὲ καὶ τοῦ τρίτου τὰ θεµέλια τεθεικώς”. (LM, p.266.§18.4-9)

Therefore, taken high up in the sky as from heaven to heaven, I saw another palace, which surpassed what I described regarding the first. And as soon as I faced its unspeakable glory, I hesitated, and giving me courage she said: “Your son has built this palace as well. And he began to lay the foundations of the third one.”

Martha’s narration takes place when Symeon is already at the Admirable Mountain but has not

yet ascended on the Great Pillar (his last one). This is before he founds a monastery and before

he is ordained priest. If we keep in mind the respective passage from Symeon’s Life quoted in

the above and the intertextual relation of the two Lives, it seems that the three palaces that

Martha mentions correspond to the three thrones, conchs and wreaths—which, in turn,

correspond to the stages of Symeon’s ascetic practice. And quite impressive is the fact that

                                                                                                               163 LSymY, pp.13-14.§15.1-4 (pillar); p.33.§34.1-25 (forty-feet-tall column); p.57.§66.7-10 (stone base); p.90.§112.1-p.93.§113.62 (Great Column).

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there appears to be a clear hierarchical relation between the two saints as reflected in the

passage from the LM.

In particular, the first palace mentioned by Martha corresponds to Symeon’s laylife up

to the point when he ascends on his first pillar and becomes a monk. Since Martha is in a large

part responsible for her child’s virtue during this time, she is granted access to this palace.

However, she does not have access to the two higher-leveled palaces, since she has not

significantly affected her son’s holy course from that point on. Symeon is thus clearly holier

than Martha.

Consequently, the spaces of the afterlife show us that the relationship between Martha

and Symeon (and their shared path toward holiness) is expected to persist and remain

functional even beyond the boundaries of the earthly existence. What the afterlife allocations

also illustrate, however, is that there indeed exists a “degree of holiness” in these two stories,

which degree is, moreover, gender-determined. This is also reflected in the allocation of

Symeon and Martha’s bodies on earth: alive, Martha was part of those gathered around

Symeon’s pillar. After her death she was buried at the base of Symeon’s pillar. Alive or dead

then, Martha can only occupy the base of her son’s pillar. The top of the pillar, like the higher-

leveled palaces, is unreachable for this female saint. The same hierarchy is reflected in the title

of the LM: She is “µακαρία” (blessed) and he is “ἅγιος” (saint). When the two are coupled in

the same sentence, therefore, it would seem that no equal terms describe them. Hence, as

hopefully the above analysis clearly demonstrates, the two texts betray the existence of a

functional relationship between mother and son that defies death. However, it is also apparent

that in the couple “Symeon and Martha”, Symeon is leading name and Martha is the auxiliary.

Stephanos and Anna

The LStephY was written in 807/809 by a certain Stephanos, deacon of St. Sophia in

Constantinople. The text was commissioned by Epiphanios, a recluse on the mountain of St.

Auxence (Auzépy 1997: 5, 8-9). The LStephY was much valued in previous scholarship as a

source for the Byzantine history of the eighth century.164

                                                                                                               164 For a discussion of the LStephY in relation to the period in which it was produced and especially the iconoclastic controversy see Auzépy 1999; see also Efthymiades 1993; Talbot 1998: 9-10.

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The text recounts the story of Stephanos the Younger, a remarkable recluse of the

mountain St. Auxence, who lived during the iconoclastic period under the emperor Leo III

(717-741). He was martyred in defence of the icons presumably in 765, under Constantine V

(741-775). Stephanos excels in every aspect of God-pleasing practices from his early

childhood. He soon becomes a monk and spiritual leader of a monastic community. The fame

of his pious lifestyle and his iconolatry spreads and reaches the emperor who exiles him in

Prokonnesos. After a period of time and due to the fact that, even though Stephanos was in

exile, his fame was growing rather than diminishing, he is again summoned to Constantinople

and eventually put to death after suffering excruciating torments in the hands of a crowd.

Following his death, the saint performs cures and saves pious people from danger.

The narrative content of the LStephY displays an acute preoccupation with familial

relations, biological or metaphorical, since already from the title of the text Stephanos is

referred to as “our holy father”: “Βίος καὶ πολιτεία ὁµολογία τε καὶ ἄθλησις τοῦ ὁσίου πατρὸς

ἡµῶν Στεφάνου τοῦ νέου τοῦ µαρτυρήσαντος ἐν τοῖς χρόνοις τοῦ ἀσεβοῦς Κωνσταντίνου τοῦ

Κοπρωνύµου” (LStephY, p.87; “Life and conduct, confession and martyrdom of our holy

father Stephanos the Younger who was martyred at the time of the impious Constantine

Copronymos”).165 Even though this is common in the Lives of male monastic saints, in this

text its continuous reoccurrence along with the analysis that follows, which focuses on the

importance of familial ties given here, adds to it another dimension. The same phrase reoccurs

for example in the prologue (LStephY, p.87.§1.6) and is also repeated many times in the text.

As will be shown in the following analysis, other types of familial bonds are also treated, such

as Stephanos’ with his mother or with one of his female students.

To Give Up What You Love Most: The Three Annas

In the LStephY the name of his mother, Anna, seems to acquire certain significance, since it is

shared by three female characters who are treated as important in the narrative. The first Anna

to be mentioned is an extradiegetic character—since she does not participate in the plot. She is

the biblical Anna, the mother of the Virgin, who, as was well known in the Byzantine

tradition, prayed for the birth of a child to devote to God.166 The biblical Anna acts as a role

                                                                                                               165 There also exists a French translation of the text in Auzépy 1997: 179-277. I have consulted this translation but unless otherwise indicated, all translations are my own. 166 On the place of the Old Testament in Byzantine thought and culture see the essays included in Magdalino and Nelson 2010.

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model for the second Anna, Stephanos’ mother, who also prays for the birth of a child whom

she may devote to God. The third Anna is a noble widow, who appears at about the middle of

the narrative, as soon as Stephanos’ mother does not play any role in the narrative.

In the previous section I attempted to analyse the way in which Symeon the Younger’s

sublime body serves as his mother’s means of spiritual salvation by becoming her gift to God.

In the LStephY the role of the son as saviour of his mother is again brought to the forefront,

this time highlighted even more, since it is explicitly stated as such. More specifically, Anna—

Stephanos’ mother—having already given birth to two girls (LStephY, p.91.§3.23-27), still

desperately prays to the Virgin Mary to bless her with the birth of a male child, whom she

intends to devote to God and to gain salvation through this gift:167 Θεωρήσασα δὲ ἡ τούτων πανευσεβὴς µήτηρ λοιπὸν τὸν χρόνον προσρέοντα καὶ τὰ γυναικῶν πρὸς στείρωσιν αὐτῆς ἐγγίζοντα, ἤσχαλλεν καὶ ἐδυσφόρει παιδίον ἄρρεν οὐκ ἔχουσα. (LStephY, p.92.§4.1-3, my emphasis)

Seeing thus the time passing and the moment of women’s sterility approaching, their most pious mother was vexed at and distressed for not having a male child.

and

“δεῖξον τῇ µητρικῇ σου πρεσβείᾳ τεκεῖν µε παιδίον ἀρρενικὸν ὅπως τῷ υἱῷ σου καὶ Θεῷ τοῦτο δοτὸν προσάξω”. (LStephY, p.92.§4.23-24, my emphasis)

“See, through your motherly intercession, that I give birth to a male child so that I may offer it as a gift to your son and God”.

From these passages, it is made explicitly clear that it is not the devoting of a child per se that

offers salvation to the mother; as aforementioned, Anna has already given birth to two

daughters, whom she could equally devote to God and thereby gain salvation, had the worth of

the gift been the same. But it is not. Anna asks twice for a specifically male child, this

automatically making the female child inadequate to serve as its mother’s means of salvation.

This statement is also supported by the surviving evidence. There are, to my knowledge, no

Lives or Passions devoted to a daughter, whose mother prayed for a female child and who

achieved holiness because of the devotion of this child to God. The only “exception” is the                                                                                                                167 Although far beyond what this thesis aspires to prove, the fact that the role of the mother acquires importance in the text could be partly related (or not completely unrelated) to the climate of the ninth to the eleventh century (when we observe the largest concentration of manuscripts that transmit the narrative), an era known for the revival of the cult of the mother of God but also for its focus on human emotions (see e.g. Angelide 2004; Barber 2007). It is to the Virgin Mary that Stephanos’ mother prays. For hagiography in this period see Rydén 1986. For perceptions of the Virgin Mary see Vassilaki 2005. For the cult of the mother of God in art see Vassilaki 2000. See also Peltomaa, Külzer and Allen 2015 for the intercessory role of Mary in the previous era (fourth to nineth centuries). For the manuscript production see Auzépy 1997: 43-58, esp. table 53. There have come down to us fifteen manuscripts that date to the ninth and tenth centuries and ten that date to the eleventh century. For historical studies of this period see Magdalino 1991.

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birth of the Virgin Mary upon the biblical Anna’s request. However, even this text is not quite

an exception to the above statement, since the Virgin Mary constitutes a completely different

case and makes a category of her own. She is not yet an other female saint but the female saint

par excellence, since she is the mother of God. And it is her being the mother of God that

retrospectively makes Mary, and Mary’s mother, a saint; hence, another example of the son’s

holiness being extended to his mother. Rather, in the Lives that involve a mother-daughter

pair, as we shall see in the next section of this chapter, it is the repudiation, spurn and

complete dissolution of the blood bond that leads both mother and daughter to holiness.

To return to the text, after the birth of her son Anna prays in the church of Theotokos

of the Blachernae and keeps her promise by devoting the child to God and by trying her best to

make him an exemplary Christian:

Ἐκτείνασα δὲ τὰς χεῖρας πρὸς τὸ ἄναντες καὶ τοῖς ποσὶ τῆς ἁγίας ἐκείνης εἰκόνος τὸ βρέφος προσκυνητικῶς ἐνείρασα, αὖθις ἐβόα⋅ “Δέχου, ὦ δέσποινα, τῆς µητρικῆς σου πρεσβείας τὸ βλάστηµα. Δέχοιο, ἀντιφωνήτρια, τὸν πρὸ συλλήψεώς σου τεχθέντα µοι παῖδα. Δέχοιο, δανείστρια, τῶν χρεωστῶν τὸ δάνειον”. (LStephY, p.95.§6.10-15)

And extending her arms upwards and lifting the infant in an obeisant fashion towards the feet of that holy image, she immediately cried out: “Accept, lady, the offshpring of your motherly intercession. Accept, you who answers, the child that was born by you before its conception. Accept, creditor, the loan of your debtors”.

The offer of Stephanos to God, as inferred by the passage, has been a pending debt on the part

of Anna. It is, besides, to this same icon that the son’s miraculous birth is attributed as it is to

this that Anna had prayed before. The imagery of Anna extending her arms towards the

Virgin’s icon in a gesture of offering her son reminds us once again (like with Martha) of the

donor compositions. Anna is holy because she raised her son to be what was predestined to be,

that is, holy. Hence, like Martha, she is informed of what she is to receive because of her son,

and also predicts the fate of her son: “Τὸν τῆς κοιλίας σου καρπὸν κατὰ τὴν πίστιν σου, γύναι, εὐλογήσειεν Κύριος ταῖς τῆς Θεοτόκου καὶ ταῖς τοῦ πρωτοµάρτυρος Στέφανος πρεσβείαις.” Ὄντως ἀγαθῆς πίστεως ἀγαθωτέρα καὶ ἡ ἀντάµειψις! Ὡς γὰρ ἡ Χαναναία ποτὲ γυνὴ ἤκουσε παρὰ τοῦ Χριστοῦ Ὦ γύναι, µεγάλη σου ἡ πίστις, γενηθήτω σοι ὡς θέλεις, οὕτως καὶ αὕτη παρὰ τοῦ ἐν αὐτῷ ὅλον τὸν Χριστὸν φοροῦντος θεσπεσίου πατρὸς ἔλαβεν, καὶ περισσότερον εἰληφυῖα τοῦ µέλλοντος γεννᾶσθαι τὸ ὄνοµα. (LStephY, p.94.§5.11-18, emphasis in the original)

“The Lord shall bless the fruit of your womb according to your faith, woman, through the intercession of Theotokos and Stephanos the protomartyr”. Indeed, the reward for a good faith is even greater! Just like the woman from Chanaan once heard from Christ “Woman, your faith is great, let it be as you wish”, in the same way she received <the words> from the admirable father who wears Christ in his entirety in him, and in addition she received the name of the child who was about to be born.

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and Ὄντως προέδειξεν ἡ γενναία µήτηρ προφητικῶς διὰ τῆς εὐχαριστίας τὸν εἰς ὕστερον µέλλοντα ὑπὲρ τῆς τοῦ Χριστοῦ εἰκόνος καὶ τῆς αὐτοῦ µητρὸς µαρτυρεῖν, ὡς µετέπειτα γνωσθήσεται. (LStephY, p.95.§6.23-26)

Indeed, the generous mother foreshowed in a prophetic manner through her gesture of gratitude the one who was afterwards going to be martyred for the sake of the icon of Christ and His mother.

Eventually Stephanos becomes a monk and from that day onward he, naturally, moves away

from everything that has to do with worldly affairs, including the relation to his family

(“καταλιµπάνεις πατέρα καὶ µητέρα καὶ ἀδελφάς”; LStephY, p.103.§12.19-20, emphasis in the

original; “you live behind father and mother and sisters”). It is only after the death of his father

that the saint returns to his family, a spiritually advanced man by then, in order to settle his

mother and sister to a monastery. Having achieved high spiritual levels, he holds by then a

dual role concerning his relationship to his mother; son in blood, father in spirit: “καὶ

συγκαταριθµήσας αὐτὰς τῇ ἁγίᾳ ἐκείνῃ συνοδίᾳ, γίνεται αὐτὸς τῆς σαρκικῆς µητρὸς

πνευµατικὸς πατὴρ διὰ τοῦ ἁγίου σχήµατος, ὁµοίως καὶ τῆς ἀδελφῆς” (LStephY,

p.107.§16.14-16; and making them part of that holy company he becomes spiritual father of

the one who was his mother in flesh by the holy habit and in the same way of his sister). What

appears in the passage is a first indication that, as far as spiritual status is concerned,

Stephanos is superior from his mother. Also, once again as in the case of Martha, Anna’s role

from the point that Stephanos becomes a monk is restricted to that of an intercessor between

people who suffer and her son who can cure them.168 This role of hers is most evident while

Stephanos is in exile, as Anna follows him there where she eventually dies (LStephY,

p.153.§53.10-16).

Meanwhile, at some point before Stephanos’ exile, when the saint is leading his

monastic life, the third Anna appears in the plot, who—remarkably—is a middle-aged woman,

just like his mother. This third Anna is a noble widow, whom Stephanos persuades to become

a nun as soon as possible (LStephY, pp.115-116.§21.8-31). Actually, Stephanos takes up the

role of her spiritual father (“θεοφιλὴς πατὴρ”; LStephY, p.115.§21.18; God-loving father). In

this function he employs a threat-like warning by which he stresses the urgent character of the

actions the woman should take to ensure the salvation of her soul (“µή σε καταλάβῃ θάνατος

                                                                                                               168 See for example LStephY, p.151.§50.25-29. A woman approaches Anna and begs her to intercede on her behalf in order for Stephanos to heal her possessed son. Anna, touched by the woman’s pain, does as she is asked and the child is cured.

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πρὶν ἀποδῷς τὴν ἐγγύην”; LStephY, p.115.§21.20-21; “that death does not seize you before

you give your pledge”). Hence, he leads Anna to desert the world. As the author comments,

Stephanos’ words “carve her soul” (“Ἡ δὲ τιµία ἐκείνη γυνὴ τὸν λόγον τοῦ θεοφόρου πατρὸς

ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ἐγχαραχθεῖσα, ὤσπερ κηρὸς ἀναµαξάµενος ἐκτύπωµα, οὕτως ἀδιαλώβητον

ἔφερεν”; LStephY, p.115.§21.21-23; And that honourable woman had the words of the

theophorous father imprinted in her soul, unaltered in the same way in which was modeled by

the imprint of a seal), since she is overwhelmed by terror about her possible spiritual death

(“δεδοικυῖα τὸν τῆς ψυχῆς θάνατον κατὰ τὸν λόγον τοῦ σεβασµίου πατρός”; LStephY,

p.115.§21.26-p.116.§21.1; afraid of the death of her soul according to the words of the

respected father).

Hence, it is Stephanos who is responsible for the transformation of Anna’s identity.

The same is made quite evident by the fact that it is he who decides to give her the name

“Anna”—the name of his mother. Her worldly name, on the other hand, is never mentioned in

the text. Additionally, the process of Anna changing from a laywoman to nun is described

using the same phrase that was used in the case of Anna-Stephen’s-mother: “καὶ οὕτως αὐτὴν

γυµνώσας τῆς συρφετῆς τοῦδε τοῦ βίου κόπρου δέδωκεν αὐτῇ ἅγιον σχῆµα µετονοµάσας

αὐτὴν Ἄνναν⋅ καὶ γίνεται αὐτῆς ἐν κυρίῳ πατὴρ καὶ ἀνάδοχος” (LStephY, p.116.§21.26-28;

and in this way he stripped her from the excremental filth of this world, and gave her the holy

habit changing her name to Anna. And he becomes her father and godfather in the lord). This

third Anna is, like Anna-the-mother, reborn because of Stephanos and, therefore, Stephanos

becomes as the passage illustrates, a metaphorical father of a woman for a second time.

Consequently, what we observe in the LStephY, is that the text navigates an awkward

interexchange between the narrative functions that Anna-the-mother and Anna-the-student

perform, also highlighted by the terms that describe the two women. Thus both Annas owe

their salvation to Stephanos, the second one (the noble widow) even becoming a martyr for his

sake: “οὐ µὴν ἀλλὰ καὶ πρὸς αὐτὸν τὸν θεσπέσιον πατέρα ἡµῶν Στέφανον ἐν τῷ βουνῷ

ἀνελθοῦσα, ὑπὲρ αὐτῆς εὔχεσθαι παρεκάλει τὸν ἅγιον, µάλιστα δὲ ὅτι καὶ αὐτοῦ ἕνεκα ἦν

αὐτῆς ἡ πάλη” (LStephY, p.135.§35.2-5; and what is more, she climbed the mountain towards

our marvelous father Stephanos and she beseeched the saint to pray for her sake, and above all

because it was because of him that she took up this fight).

It is noteworthy that while there is no mention in the text of Anna’s (his mother in

flesh) body like for example in the case of Martha, who is distressed because of her loss of

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virginity, there is mention of Anna-the-student’s body. In specific, there is an interesting twist

in the way the plot in the LStephY unfolds since the reason Anna-the-student is tortured and

put to death is her alleged sexual affair with Stephanos. She is thus accused of being a

“whore” (“µοιχαλίδα”; LStephY, p.135.§36.28), whipped and fiercely beaten on her chest and

stomach (LStephY, p.135.§36.28-p.136.§36.16). The bond between this Anna and Stephanos is

thus seen from two different perspectives. On the one hand, the emperor views the pair’s

relationship in suspicion, pointing out that the bond could not be devoid of any sexual taint.

This gives a rather scandalous dimension to the way Anna, Stephanos and the readers/listeners

view this same bond, since a few paragraphs before Stephanos was declared Anna’s spiritual

father (LStephY, p.116.§21.26-28). For them, the accusation is one of incest, this making the

emperor seem even more impious. However, the fact that such an episode is described in

detail in the narrative shows that in the case of Anna-the-student and Stephanos, the sexual

colour between the female character and the male protagonist is not completely effaced due to

the fact that they do not share a blood bond.

Thus to conclude this analysis, following the example of the biblical Anna, the second

Anna, Stephanos’ mother, prays for a male child whose holiness shall equal her salvation. And

after the mother has given up what she naturally loves most, her child, as a gift to God, she

withdraws to the margin of her son’s life. Likewise, another Anna comes to pair up with

Stephanos, one who accordingly gives up what a human being naturally cherishes most, her

life, in defence of Stephanos, the one who, in her eyes, is equal to a promise of eternal life.

The next section aspires to scrutinise the status of Stephanos’ body, which becomes such as to

empower the saint to offer salvation.

Stephanos Between Two Deaths

As mentioned before, Stephanos’ life, as is the case with Symeon, changes when as a boy he

reaches the age of six. By that age, Stephanos, guided by his parents is educated in the Holy

Scriptures. From the time Stephanos is born, up to the stage when he becomes a monk, the

author’s point of reference and measure of comparison by which he demonstrates the hero’s

achievements is Stephanos’ mother, not his father. It is Anna whom Stephanos imitates and

ultimately surpasses, regarding both knowledge of the Scriptures and the observing of night

vigils: “καὶ γὰρ οὐ διέλειπεν ἅµα τῇ ἱερᾷ αὐτοῦ µητρὶ νυκτοπορῶν πρὸς τὰς συνήθεις

ἀγρυπνίας γινοµένας ταῖς τῶν ἁγίων µνήµαις” (LStephY, p.97.§8.13-15; for he did not neglect

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together with his revered mother to set off at night to observe the vigils held by custom for the

commemoration of the saints). Hence, Stephanos, at this point a very diligent student in

everything that concerns the holy, gradually becomes spiritually robust and surpasses all the

other young men of his age. In this way, as illustrated in the following passage, Stephanos

proves that he is indeed God-sent, predestined to reach spiritual excellence: Οὕτως ὁ τίµιος Στέφανος παιδευθεὶς τὴν ἀκροτάτην εὐσέβειαν, πολλοὺς τῶν ὁµηλίκων ὑπερηκόντισεν ἐν ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ τῇ τῆς ψυχῆς φιλοθεΐα καὶ φιλοµαθίᾳ⋅ ἦν γὰρ αὐτοῦ ὑπὲρ τὴν ἡλικίαν τὸ πρόθυµον ὥστε θαυµάζεσθαι αὐτὸν παρὰ τῶν τεκόντων καὶ λέγειν ὅτιπερ “ἀληθῶς εὐχῆς υἱός ἐστιν οὗτος”. (LStephY, p.98.§8.1-5, my emphasis, the phrase repeated also in p.103.§12.2-3)

In this way the honourable Stephanos, having practiced the virtue of piety in the utmost degree, surpassed in a short time many of the children of his age regarding the love of God in his soul and the love of learning. For he was diligent above his age, so that his parents admired him and said that “Truly, this is the son of a prayer”.

After Stephanos acquires a basic education in divine matters, he is ready to move on to the

second stage of his life, that of the monk. Specifically, Stephanos is left in the charge of a holy

man who is called John—interestingly, John was also the name of the holy man who was in

charge of Symeon the stylite, as mentioned in the previous section: Ἐν τούτοις οὖν τοῖς λυπηροῖς περιπεσόντες καὶ οἱ τοῦ µακαρίου Στεφάνου γονεῖς τὴν ἱδίαν σωτηρίαν περιεσκόπουν, ἀλλ’ ἐκρατοῦντο τὴν ἐγγύην πηρῶσαι τοῦ ἱεροῦ παιδός⋅ καὶ δὴ ἀναλογισάµενοι ὅτι οὐχ οἷός τέ ἐστιν ἐν τοῖς τοῦ Βυζαντίου µοναστηρίοις αὐτὸν ἐγχρονίζειν, διὰ τὴν ἐπικρατοῦσαν ταραχὴν τοῦ τυράννου, θεόθεν κινούµενοι καὶ ὑπ’ ἀγγέλου ὁδηγούµενοι, καθάπερ ποτὲ ὁ θεοπάτωρ Ἰωσὴφ σὺν τῇ Θεοτόκῳ ἐν τῇ κατ’ Αἴγυπτον φυγῇ ἀπὸ προσώπου τοῦ βρεφοκτόνου Ἡρώδου, οὕτω καὶ οὗτοι ἅµα τῷ θεόφρονι παιδὶ Στεφάνῳ τῆς ἐνεγκαµένης ἀπάραντες καὶ πρὸς τὸν ναύσταθµον Χαλκηδόνος ἐκπλεύσαντες, εἴχοντο τῆς ὁδοῦ τῆς ἐπὶ τὸ ὄρος φερούσης τοῦ ὁσίου καὶ θεοφόρου πατρὸς ἡµῶν Αὐξεντίου. (LStephY, p.101.§11.17-27)

Having fallen into these misfortunes the parents of the blessed Stephanos were considering their own salvation, but they were held by the need to fulfill the promise given regarding the consecrated child. And they realised that it would not be possible for him to stay in the monasteries of Byzantium due to the trouble that the tyrant was causing. And <they were> motivated by God and guided by an angel, like once Joseph along with Theotokos fled in Egypt when they had to face the infanticide Herode. In the same way they, together with the child Stephanos who was inspired by God, left their homeland and took the ship to the port of Chalcedone, on their way to the mountain that was named after our holy and theophorous Auxence.

From this passage, it is made once again apparent that Stephanos’ parents do not exactly act

on their own regarding matters that have to do with their son but are, instead, instructed by the

divine. Therefore, their will as to what becomes of Stephanos is not as independent as that of

Stephanos himself appears to be, but is, rather, premised on their willingness to aid or obstruct

the divine fate linked to their child. This statement could serve as a further explanation of why

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the mother appears to be lower than her son in the scale of sainthood: Stephanos is the agent,

the one who “acts holy”, while his mother’s holiness is one of the effects of this holy

performance. Stephanos’ achievement of holiness is crucial for the spiritual status of the

parents. Thus Stephanos is said to be offered “as a sacrifice” to John: Πρὸς τοῦτον οὖν τὸν ὅσιον, τὸ κατ’ ἐκεῖνο καιροῦ Γρηγόριος καὶ Ἄννα, ἡ θεόφρων δυάς, τὸν τίµιον υἱὸν Στέφανον ὡς θῦµα προσαγαγόντες, δεήσεις προσφέρουσιν, δεχθῆναι αὐτὸν ἐξαιτούµενοι καὶ τοῦ ἁγίου καὶ ἀγγελικοῦ σχήµατος ἀξιωθῆναι, εὐχῆς αὐτὸν υἱὸν εἶναι λέγοντες καὶ πρὶν γενέσεως καὶ ἀπ’ ἐµβρύων τετάχθαι αὐτὸν τῷ µοναδικῷ βαθµῷ. (LStephY, p.102.§12.1-p.103.§12.4)

So to this saintly man, Gregory and Anna, the God inspired dyad, bring forth at that moment their honourable son Stephanos as a sacrifice, and offer prayers, asking him to accept him (the child) and to deem him worthy of the holy habit, saying that he is the son of prayer and that, even before he was born and while he was an embryon, ranked in the monastic order.

As once again underlined in the quoted passage, Stephanos is predestined to follow the path

of God (“ἀπ’ ἐµβρύων τετάχθαι”).169 He is a sacrifice to God on behalf of his parents and, one

could add, especially on behalf of his mother, the one who requested from the beginning the

child for this purpose.

Based on the preceding analysis we could also quite safely infer that both in the case of

Symeon discussed earlier and that of Stephanos, there appears a clear gender-based distinction

regarding the holy standards that a male “teacher” or a female “teacher” can guide a younger

male to achieve. More specifically, both Symeon and Stephanos, when they reach the age of

six and are thus considered qualified to reach higher spiritual levels, they are removed from

the care of their mothers and are put in the charge of holy men. In the next contact that the two

men have with their mothers, they assume the teacher’s role, which belongs to the one who is

spiritually better.

Stephanos’ movement to the status of the monk entails, like that of Symeon, his

entrance into a zone very similar to what Lacan describes as the “zone between two deaths”.

The break with the hero’s previous way of life is clearly indicated in the text by employing,

notably, the same phrase that was used to describe this change in the LSymY: “τῶν τε ὄπισθεν

ἐπιλανθανόµενος καὶ τῶν ἔµπροσθεν ὁσηµέραι ἐπεκτεινόµενος” (LStephY, p.97.§8.23-24,

emphasis in the original; forgetting the past and progressing day by day to what lay in front of

him). At this point of Stephanos’ life, a theoretical dissolution of familial bonds is

                                                                                                               169 See also LSymY, p.96.§7.29-p.97.§7.1: “ἣ καὶ µάρτυς αὐτοῦ τῆς ἀριστείας ἀναµένει γενέσθαι, ὅταν πᾶσι κατ’ἀξίαν τὰς ἀµοιβὰς ὁ Κριτὴς ἀποδίδωσιν” (who awaits to be the witness of his excellence, when the Judge will hand to everyone their rewards according to what they deserve).

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presented,170 since the protagonist is thenceforward dead to the world: “καταλιµπάνεις πατέρα

καὶ µητέρα καὶ ἀδελφὰς καὶ πάντα τὰ σήµερον ὄντα καὶ αὔριον οὐκ ὄντα, καὶ φέρεις τὸν

σταυρὸν αὐτοῦ ἐπὶ ὤµων ἵνα κληρονοµήσῃς τὴν τῶν οὐρανῶν βασιλείαν” (LStephY,

p.103.§12.18-22, emphasis in the original; “you leave behind father and mother and sisters and

all that are today and tomorrow are not, and you carry your cross on your shoulders in order to

inherit the kingdom of heavens). Actually, in Stephanos’ case the saint’s distanciation from

biological kinship is much more stressed than in the case of Symeon, since it also assumes the

form of a warning/threat from John to Stephanos: “Βλέπε, τέκνον, τίνι συντάσσῃ, µὴ πάλιν

σχῇς γονέων πόθον ὑπὲρ Θεοῦ⋅ ὁ µὲν γὰρ καὶ ἔπλασε καὶ ἔσωσεν, οἱ δὲ οὓς ἠγάπησαν

ἀπώλεσαν καὶ κολάσει παρέδωκαν, ὥς φησιν ὁ τῆς φωτιζούσης κλίµακος ὑποφήτης”

(LStephY, p.104.§12.2-4; “Beware, my child, to whom you pledge your allegiance, do not put

again the love of your parents higher than <your love> of God. For the latter [God] created

and saved but the former [the parents] destroyed those whom they loved and delivered <them>

to Hell, as the interpreter of the luminous scale says”). The conclusion drawn from the

quotation is that, not only is the love for one’s parents naturally inferior to the love one should

have for God, but the bond with the parents has many times led the children to spiritual

destruction.

A second difference we could spot between the two male heroes examined so far

regarding their performance in what we have, following Lacan, termed the “zone between two

deaths” is that Stephanos’ is not single-faceted but rather assumes two forms. We have seen in

the case of Symeon that the hero enters and exits the zone as a stylite. Stephanos, however,

passes from two stages. On a first level, the saint pronounces his symbolic death by giving up

worldly affairs and devoting himself to strict ascesis; and on a second level, he suffers

martyrdom in defense of holy icons. Each level of his performance is clearly marked by his

dressing up and undressing of a certain costume—the monastic garment. In specific, as he

enters his monastic phase, Stephanos shaves his head, removes his lay clothing and wears the

monastic garment. Accordingly, as he is about to suffer martyrdom, he removes his monastic

clothing and remains only with his chiton (LStephY, p.168.§67.12-21). Thus, he exits the

“zone between two deaths” after he has disciplined his body in every way possible. According

to Lacan, the effect of the sublime is catharctic (Lacan 2008: 301, 351-353). In this light, free

from body and clothing, Stephanos arrives to his end, which is also his catharsis.                                                                                                                170 Once again this similar to what we have followed in the LSymY (see above p 129).  

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Stephanos’ performative sphere and actions are also transformed according to phase

one or phase two of his activity in the “zone between two deaths”. A while after he becomes a

monk, Stephanos moves to a (once again like Symeon) very high but spatially restricted place,

this time not a pillar but a grave-resembling cell, which he himself had built carving a rock on

the top of a mountain: Τῆς γὰρ κεφαλῆς τοῦ ὄρους ἐκ παµµεγέθους πέτρας κορυφουµένης καὶ ὡς φάραγγος κοίλην πρὸς τὸ νότιον ἐχούσης µέρος ἐν ᾧ τό τε µοναστήριον καὶ τὸ θεόκτιστον σπήλαιον σύγκειται, ὑποσκεπόµενόν ἐστι καὶ ἀχείµαστον ἁπὸ χειµερίων ἀνέµων τοῦ τε Βορρᾶ καὶ τοῦ Λίβα διὰ τό, ὡς προείρηται, τῇ κορυφουµένῃ πέτρᾳ καλύπτεσθαι. Ταύτην οὖν τὴν κορυφὴν περινοστησάµενος, ὁ παµµάκαρ πατὴρ ἡµῶν Στέφανος οἰκοδοµεῖ ἐν αὐτῇ κελλίον πάνυ βραχύτερον εἴς τε τὸ µῆκος καὶ εὖρος ὕψος τε καὶ βάθος τοῦ πλαγιόθεν σπηλαίου, ὡσεὶ µιᾶς πήχεως καὶ ἡµίσεως τὸ εὖρος, ὡσεὶ δύο δὲ τὸ µῆκος, καὶ πρὸς τὸ ἑῷον µέρος ἐκτυποῖ προσευχῆς κογχάριον ἔχον τὸ ὕψος ὥστε µόνον συγκύπτων στήκειν ἠδύνατο, τὸ µέχρι τοῦ νῦν σῳζόµενον⋅ τὸ δὲ ἄλλο ἅπαν τῇ ἀχειροτεύκτῳ στέγῃ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ καλύπτεσθαι θέλων, ἀερόφωτον τοῦτο παρείασεν. Τοιοῦτον δὲ τοῦτο στενόχωρον καὶ φοβερὸν ἐποίησεν ὥστε τοὺς καθορῶντας τὸ τοιόνδε λέγειν µνῆµα µόλις εἶναι πρὸς τὴν τοῦ δυστήνου σαρκίου τούτου ταφὴν ἢ οἰκητήριον πρὸς ἀνάπαυσιν µονῆς. (LStephY, p.112.§20.21-p.113.§20.8)

The summit of the mountain was surmounted by a huge rock and this, on its south part, where the monastery and the cave that was built by God was found, had like a cliff overhanging. These latter were shielded and unexposed to the winds of winter, the Borras and the Livas, due to them being, as aforementioned, covered by the surmounting rock. Having explored this summit, our most blessed father Stephanos builds on it a cell, much smaller in length, width, height and depth than the cave of the slope, at about one and a half cubit in width, about two in length, and at the side of the east he digs a small conch for prayer which in height it was such so as he could only stand if bent down, which is still up to nowadays preserved. All the rest because he wanted it to be covered by the roof of the sky, which is not constructed by human hand, he left it in the open air. And this construction was so confined and scary so that those who saw it said that it was a tomb designed for his wretched corpse to be buried in rather than a dwelling for a monk to rest.

As illustrated by the passage, Stephanos’ cell is perceived by him and the bystanders as a

grave.171 Hence, the hero himself and the people around him behave as if he were already

dead. Besides, Stephanos knows beforehand what his future fate is (that is, that he is going to

be martyred), since he is informed about his destiny from the stylite John (LStephY,

p.106.§15.23-p.107.§15.4). Thus he lives in anticipation of his violent death. Consequently,

Stephanos acts, like Symeon, accordingly, dragging death into his life by adopting a violent

treatment against his body. In specific, he fights away at first all temptations instigated by the

devil: appetite, lust, anger (LStephY, p.104.§13.14-21). Having set himself free from human

passions and needs, he then fasts and prays to such an extreme degree so that—like Symeon—                                                                                                                171 See also the reference of Stephanos’ cell as “grave-resembling dwelling” (“ταφοειδὲς οἴκηµα” (LStephY, p.113.§20.22).

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he causes John’s reaction, who fears that his student is about to completely consume himself

with his ascesis (LStephY, p.104.§13.23-p.105.§13.1). With these actions Stephanos

exemplifies the belief that the harsher the earthly life is lived, the greater the reward in the

afterlife—or, in Lacanese, one has to suffer a kind of symbolic death in order to be true to his

desire and to gain the ultimate freedom. This belief is also evident in Stephanos’ teachings to

his students: Ἐπεὶ οὖν βιαστῶν ἐστιν τῶν οὐρανῶν ἡ βασιλεία, κατὰ τὴν τοῦ Σωτῆρος ἡµῶν φωνὴν καὶ βιασταὶ αὐτὴν ἁρπάζουσιν, τῷ ἴσῳ τρόπῳ καὶ ἡµεῖς, ἀδελφοί, ὑστερούµενοι, θλιβόµενοι, κακουχούµενοι, γυµνητεύοντες, πεινῶντες καὶ διψῶντες, ἐν ἐρηµίαις πλανώµενοι καὶ ὄρεσι καὶ σπηλαίοις καὶ ταῖς ὀπαῖς τῆς γῆς, τὸ βραχὺ τοῦτο τῆς πολυωδύνου ἡµῶν ζωῆς παροίκηµα τῆς ἐνθένδε εὐσεβῶς διαπεράσωµεν ἵν’ ἐκείνην κληρονοµοῦντες εἴπωµεν πρὸς τὸν ἀδέκαστον Κριτήν⋅ “Ἴδε τὴν ταπείνωσίν µου καὶ τὸν κόπον µου, καὶ ἄφες πάσας τὰς ἁµαρτίας µου”. (LStephY, p.112.§19.3-11, emphasis in the original)

Because the kingdom of heavens belongs to those who exercise violence, according to the words of our Saviour and the violent ones take it by force, in a similar way we, too, brothers, destitute, oppressed, maltreated, naked, hungry and thirsty, wandering in the deserts and on the mountains and the caves and the dens of the earth, should spend this brief sojourn of our unhappy life on earth in piety, so that at the moment when we inherit the other, we will tell the incorruptible judge: “See my misery and my labour, and forgive all my sins”.

“True” life is only gained if one lives his life as if he were dead.

Stephanos engages in a yet harsher form of ascesis when he abandons the common life

with his students and moves to his grave-shaped cell. This cell (like Symeon’s dwelling on the

pillar) does not have a roof and as a result the saint is exposed to extreme weather conditions:

“ὁ δὲ ἀρκεῖσθαι ἔφη τῶν νεφελῶν τοῦ οὐρανοῦ σκέπεσθαι ὀροφῇ⋅ ἦν οὕτως τῷ θέρει καὶ

χειµῶνι φλογούµενος καὶ ψυχούµενος” (LStephY, p.114.§20.16-18; but he said that it was

enough for him to be protected by the roof of the clowds in the sky. And he was in this way in

the summer and in the winter burning and friezing). Not considering harsh enough the bodily

pain he experiences by having his body exposed to the natural elements, Stephanos also wears

a cross-shaped “garment” made of iron belts tied on his body and sleeps on a rough mat:

Πρὸς δὲ τὴν ἔνδυσιν εἶχε διὰ σιδήρων τὸ σῶµα σταυροειδῶς ἐγκεκλεισµένον⋅ ἀπό τε τῶν ὤµων ἕως τῆς ὀσφύος, ἐγκυκλικῷ ζωστῆρι ἑτέρῳ σιδήρῳ κεκαθηλωµένα ἐξ’ ἀµφοῖν τῶν ἑτέρων µερῶν, καὶ ὑπὸ τῶν µασχαλῶν ἑτέραν περικαλύπτεσθαι περιζωστρίδα σιδηρᾶν ἐν ᾗ τὰ µέσα τῶν κατιόντων ἐκ τῶν ὤµων καθήλωτο σιδήρων. Τὸν δὲ χιτῶνα εἶχε δερµάτινον καὶ µόνον, τό τε ἅγιον κουκούλλιον καὶ τὸν σταυροφόρον ἀνάλαβον ὁµοίως καὶ τὴν ἱερὰν ἐπωµίδα τοῦ µοναχικοῦ σχήµατος, εἰς δὲ τὸ ἀνακλίνεσθαι ψιάθιον καὶ µόνον, κατὰ τὸν τύπον τοῦ θεοφόρου Ἰωάννου τοῦ γεγονότος αὐτοῦ καθηγητοῦ. (LStephY, p.114.§20.19-27)

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As regards his clothing, he had his body confined by means of irons arranged in a cross-like fashion: these irons, which ran from the shoulders to the waist, were nailed on another iron belt, in both sides (front and back), and another iron belt, which was nailed in the middle of the irons that ran down from the shoulders, was coming from under his armpits. And he only wore a leather chiton, the holy cowl, and the cross-shaped scapular, as well as the sacred hood of the monastic habit; for bedding he only had a mat, following the model of the theophorous John who became his teacher.

In fact, when the emperor Constantine’s soldiers come to arrest Stephanos, they discover that

due to the harshness of his ascesis his shins have (once again like the ordeal Symeon puts

himself through) become stuck on his thighs and therefore he has to be carried out of his cell.

Hence, by directing extreme violence against his body, Stephanos lives as though he were

dead. This is confirmed by the words that his students use to refer to his lifestyle: deadly

practices (“θανατοποιοῖς διαγωγαῖς”; LStephY, p.114.§20.10).

That Stephanos is launched in a zone in which the barrier between life and death is

rendered porous is, additionally, reflected in Stephanos’ own words when the emperor’s

representative appears in front of the saint, that is, when Stephanos is about to move to the

second phase of his performance. The emperor’s representative is sent to Stephanos with gifts

tailored to the hero’s gender and ascetic lifestyle:

‘“Τῇ πρὸς σὲ φιλίᾳ διὰ τὸ εὐσεβὲς σου τοῦ βίου κινούµενοι, οἱ εὐσεβεῖς καὶ ὀρθόδοξοι ἡµῶν βασιλεῖς Κωνσταντῖνος καὶ Λέων κελεύουσιν ὑπογράψαι σε πρὸς τὸν τῆς ὀρθοδόξου ἡµῶν συνόδου ὅρον’, δοὺς αὐτῷ φοίνικας καὶ ἰσχάδας καὶ ἄλλα τινὰ ἅπερ εἰσὶν ἐπιτήδεια εἰς τροφὴν ἀσκητοῦ”. (LStephY, p.129.§30.9-13)

‘“Moved by a friendship for you due to the piety of your life, our pious and orthodox emperors, Constantine and Leo, order you to sign the decree of our orthodox council.’ And give him dates and dried figs and other things that are suitable for the nourishment of an ascete.”

The emperor’s purpose is to make the saint concede to his iconoclastic policy. He does not,

therefore, offer Stephanos civil honors like other male protagonists of Passions are offered, but

sends, instead, figs.172 What is most noteworthy, however, is that, up to that point martyrdom

was not part of the emperor’s plans concerning Stephanos. However, without the

representative even uttering a single word regarding martyrdom, Stephanos rushes up to state

his willingness to die defending the icons: “πρὸς δὲ καὶ τὴν τῶν ἱερῶν εἰκόνων προσκύνησιν

εὐχερῶς µέλλω ἀποθνήσκειν” (LStephY, p.129.§30.25-26; “and I will die with no hesitation

for the sake of making obeisance in front of the sacred icons”). The phrasal combination

“µέλλω + infinitive” refers to a certain decision or fact placed in the future. It is equal to “I am                                                                                                                172 For example, Sergios and Bacchos, who were soldiers discharged because of their Christian faith, were offered back by Duke Antiochus their military rank, as well as great honour and glory (Passion of Sergios and Bacchos [BHG 1624], van den Gheyn 1895).

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going to/I will” and not to “I may”.173 Therefore, in this case, “µέλλω ἀποθνήσκειν” means

that Stephanos has alrady decided—even before the emperor decides to put him to death—he

shall become a martyr. By stating his determination, Stephanos once again highlights the fact

that his life is only lived in anticipation of death.

From this point on, Stephanos enters the second phase of his performance in the “zone

between two deaths”. His performative sphere is now enlarged, since Stephanos is dragged out

of his seclusion and becomes a public “criminal” figure. In specific, upon informed of

Stephanos’ wholehearted defence of the icons, the emperor orders for the protagonist to be

extracted from his cell and kept into custody (LStephY, p.130.§31.7-27). Subsequently, the

monarch fabricates false accusations against the saint (LStephY, p.132.§32.4-6).

Meanwhile, Stephanos is dragged out of the cell where he was kept imprisoned by the

emperor’s soldiers, who also beat, insult, spit upon him and wound him. The hero is

eventually incarcerated at the Philippi monastery, in Chrysopolis (LStephY, p.142.§44.21-

p.147.§46.17). The emperor’s wrath leads to the complete destruction of Stephanos’

monastery near St. Auxence Mountain, which is burned down. Finally, Stephanos is led before

a congregation consisting of iconoclast priests, who fail to convince the saint to abandon his

iconolatric disposition (LStephY, p.142.§44.26-p.143.§44.3). Subsequently, Stephanos is

exiled in Prokonnesos (LStephY, p.146.§45.1-14). While in exile, Stephanos once again

betrays his emotional connection to the name Anna, since he chooses his place of retirement

based on the existence of a church devoted to Saint Anna. However, because of his teaching

pro the cult of icons even in his exile, Stephanos again draws the attention of the emperor,

who once again summons him to Constantinople and once again throws him into prison

(LStephY, p.154.§55.20-24). The hero is then interrogated by the emperor himself and thrown

back into prison (LStephY, p.154.§55.25-p.157.§55.16), before being led to his final ordeal and

death (LStephY, p.166.§65.5-p.172.§73.1).174

What one could infer from this extended sequence of narrative events is that, as the

plot progresses, any distinction between life and death no longer seems to hold. Stephanos’

moment of death defies both the concepts of space and time. In what concerns space, the saint

is continually removed from one monastery and sent to another. He is, furthermore, thrice

                                                                                                               173 Regarding the evolution of the future tense in Byzantine Greek and the use of periphrasis to express some of its functions, including µέλλω + infinitive see Browning 1983: 33-34. 174 For a comparative discussion of Stephanos’ rhetorics of death with Michael Synkellos’ see Agapitos 2004; for general comments on the language and rhetorics of death see Agapitos 2003.

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dragged out of an ascetic cell and thrown into a prison cell. In fact, the last time Stephanos is

incarcerated, the prison cell even loses its status as such, since it is said to have been

transformed into a monastery because of the saint’s presence in it.175 From another point of

view, the saint is cast away from the societal body and sent to various locations as an outcast,

then twice returned back to the Capital in an attempt on behalf of the sovereign to incorporate

him back into society.

In what concerns time, the repetitive form of the aforementioned structure over such an

extended narrative frame (about fifty printed pages, LStephY, pp.129-178), severely curtails

any sense of coherent sequence and unity, this peaking at the moment when Stephanos is

lynched by the angry crowd. He is beaten, torn apart and thrown to the dogs (LStephY,

p.169.§68.14-p.173.§72.1):

Τούτου γὰρ συροµένου ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς καὶ προσκρουοµένου ἐκ πλακὸς πρὸς πλάκα, χεῖρες ἀπεκόπτοντο, δάκτυλοι σὺν τοῖς ὄνυξιν ἐξέπιπτον, πλευραὶ τούτου διερρήγνυντο, φλέβες ἐκρησσόµεναι τῷ πλήθει τοῦ αἵµατος τὴν γῆν κατέβαπτον, ἶνες διασπώµεναι κατὰ ἁρµογὴν τοῦτον µεληδὸν ἐδείκνυον. Λίθῳ δὲ µεγάλῳ τούτου τις φονείως τῇ κοιλίᾳ προσκρούσας, διχῶς ταύτην ἐλάκισεν⋅ καὶ ἦν ἰδεῖν πᾶσαν τὴν τῶν ἐγκάτων οἰκονοµίαν σὺν τοῖς ἐντέροις ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς προὖπτον συροµένην δεινώς. (LStephY, p.170.§70.10-17)

For, while he was dragged on the ground and he was struck against slab to slab, hands were cut off, fingers along with the nails were falling off, his ribs were breaking, vains were bursting open and were dyeing the ground with blood, muscles torn out from each joint showed him in pieces. And somebody threw ferociously a big rock on his stomach and tore it in two. And you could see his whole arrangement of entrails along with the intestines revealed and brutally dragged on the ground.

What the passage chillingly illustrates is literally a body in pieces (“µεληδὸν ἐδείκνυον”).

Stephanos is mutilated but yet remains integral, since these pieces of a body can yet perform

miracles.176 Thus, imbued with a life of their own, Stephanos’ cutout body parts at the moment

of his death make the categories of life and death bleed into one another. At the high point of

his biological expiration, torn in a million pieces, the saint is more alive, more complete than

ever. This feeling of confusion of opposites is intensified as during Stephanos’ martyrdom

narrative time is literally cancelled: ἄφνω νέφος τι πυρῶδες ἐγεννήθη περὶ τὸ ἑῷον µέρος τῆς Κωνσταντινουπόλεως πρὸς τὴν κορυφὴν τοῦ ὄρους ἐξ’ οὗπερ ὁ ἅγιος ὥρµητο, εἶτα περὶ τὰ ἄκρα τῆς πόλεως

                                                                                                               175 Stephanos in the company of other holy fathers who are held prisoners, narrate beneficial stories related to other martyrs (e.g. LStephY, p.161.§59.1-27), hold daily the church services (e.g. LStephY, p.164.§62.1-3), share teachings (e.g. LStephY, p.163.§61.23-24), fast and pray (e.g. LStephY, p.158.§56.9-12). 176 See, for example, LStephY, p.173.§75.16-p.174.§75.24. Part of Stephanos’ body, which is kept as a relic, saves a pious man from the death penalty.

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φθᾶσαν συµµελανοῦται παντὶ τῷ ἀέρι⋅ καὶ ἦν ἰδεῖν ἡµέραν καὶ οὐχ ἡµέραν, καὶ σκότος καὶ οὐχὶ νύκτα. (LStephY, p.172.§73.8-12)

Suddenly a cloud of fire was born to the East of Constantinople, on the summit of the mountain from which the saint set out, then reaching the outskirts of the city it turned all the air black; and you could see day and non-day, and darkness and not night.

Time is, as seen in the passage, inexistent; but even the spatial coordinates blend, since a cloud

of fire bridges the mountain from which the saint originates with the place where he ends his

life. Captured in the “zone between two deaths”, the saintly body at the moment of death

presents the image of a bizarre cocktail blending body pieces, time/space, life/death,

terror/pleasure—in short, the image of the captivating sublime.

Speaking Gender: Mothers and Sons, Mothers and Daughters

I have so far examined two mother-son pairs—Symeon and Martha, Stephanos and Anna—

both of whom have a relation which acquires a certain narrative function. This means that in

both cases, the familial bond is exploited in the narrative and treated as instrumental for both

the mother’s and the son’s achievement of holiness. The two women are almost solely saved

because of their sons’ spiritual excellence, while the sons’ birth and spiritual career are

attributed to the mothers’ prayers. Furthermore, even though the earthly mother-son bond is

theoretically referred to as inferior to divine kinship, it is nevertheless preserved as essential,

even in the protagonists’ afterlives. These reasons make the concept of the pair an integral part

of these texts’ network of meaning. In order to make this argument more concrete, it would be

useful to compare first the previously examined pairs with two other mother-son pairs in two

Passions, in which both the mother and the child are also martyrs. As it will become evident

from the following analysis, in these Passions biological kinship does not acquire any

narrative function. The discussion of these texts will serve to further underline the distinction

between functional and non-functional pairs.

Second, in both the life of Symeon (LSymY and LM) and the LStephY, where the

relationship is functional, great value is given, as aforementioned, to the fact that it is only the

son who contributes to the mother’s achievement of holiness—hence, the gender of the child

constitutes a determinative factor of the mother’s holy identity. Given this context, I consider

it essential to also compare the conclusions reached so far with cases in which the relationship

is functional but the child is a girl—that is, to explore what changes in the construction of the

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holy identity when the gender of the child is different. This comparison will comprise the

closing section of this chapter.

Theodote and Sons

The first text that comes under consideration is the anonymous Passion of Theodote and her

Sons (BHG 1781).177 It recounts the story of Theodote, a widow from Nicaea, who was

supposedly tortured and martyred along with her three sons under Diocletian. The historical

reality of the story is contested; Theodote is considered to be a fictional saint (Delehaye 1937:

209).

One first reference in the text, which is pertinent to this analysis, is that the reason for

Theodote’s arrest was the accusations made against her, of teaching her sons a new religion—

Christianity (Passion of Theodote and her Sons, p.220.§2). This serves to point out that, just

like the two texts discussed before, in this text too it is the mother who is considered

responsible for the religious orientation of her sons. Hence, the mother holds an important role

as the children’s spiritual guide. However, a notable difference that the relationship of the

mother with her sons presents in this text compared to the other two is that biological kinship

is only exploited as a means to show that the martyrs’ love for God surpasses every other

bond. In specific, multiple references are made in the text that the bond of Theodote and her

sons is indeed strong. However, their determination to die out of love for their spiritual kin,

God, is stronger: “οὔτε γὰρ ἐκείνη ὑπὲρ τῶν παίδων διὰ τὴν πίστιν φυλάττεσθαί τι παθεῖν

ἐνενοεῖτο, οὔτε τοῖς παισὶ διὰ τὴν µαρτυρίαν παραιτεῖσθαι παθεῖν⋅ ἀλλ᾽ ἦν ἑκατέροις

ὁµολόγησις ἑτοιµοτάτη” (Passion of Theodote and her Sons, p.221.§2; Because she was

neither intending, for the sake of her children, to shield herself from any torture <that would

be imposed on her> because of her faith, nor to stop her children from suffering because of

their confession). In this context, the protagonists’ emotions and how they treat their in-

between bond are restricted to them offering one another courage, in order to go through with

the ordeal:

                                                                                                               177 The quoted passages refer to the edition of Delehaye 1937. There also exists a metaphrastic version of the text, incorporated in the Passion of Anastasia ([BHG 82], PG 116, 600-604). Even though setting up a dialogue between the metaphrastic and pre-metaphrastic version of the text could enlighten many aspects of the narrative, for the purposes of this chapter the analysis focuses only on the pre-metaphrastic version.

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Καὶ ἦν ἰδεῖν πρᾶγµα, τοῖς µὴ θεασαµένοις ἄπιστον, τοῖς δὲ πιστεύσασιν καὶ πάνυ πιστόν⋅ ἡ µήτηρ παρεκάλει εἰς τὸν πικρὸν τοῦτον ἀγῶνα τοὺς παῖδας, οἱ παῖδες τὴν µητέρα µὴ κατοκνεῖν τὰ πάθη µήτε ὀκλάζειν πρὸς τὰς συµφοράς, µήτε πρὸς τοὺς βασάνους ἀπαγορεύειν, ἀλλ’ ἵνα πάντων ὁµοῦ ἡ αὐτὴ προθυµία ᾖ, ἡ αὐτὴ γνῶσις πρὸς κύριον. (Passion of Theodote and Sons, p.221.§2)

And you could see a happening that will appear inconceivable to those who did not see it, but very true to those who believed. The mother was inviting the sons to this bitter battle, and the sons <were inviting> the mother not to shrink back from tortures, nor to bend before the misfortunes, nor give up the tortures, but instead all together had the same eagerness, all (shared) the same knowledge of the Lord.

Aware of the natural love that a mother has for her children, the judge is convinced that

Theodote will refrain from sacrificing her sons. The sons, on the other hand, are certain that

their mother will go through with the ordeal (Passion of Theodote and her Sons, p.222.§3). In

an effort to bend the sons’ own determination, the judge then tortures their mother in front of

them; this attempt however, results in failure as not only the sons remain firm to their belief,

but they also urge Theodote to suffer: “ἀνέχεσθαι τῆς ὕβρεως παρεκάλουν τὴν µητέρα”

(Passion of Theodote and Sons, p.223.§4; they urged their mother to bear the insult). Theodote

has the same attitude while her sons are tortured (Passion of Theodote and her Sons,

p.223.§5).

It seems then, that in this text the familial bond is not quite as much exploited as an

attribute that needs to be preserved. What makes the heroes and the heroine saints in this case

is not the contribution to each other’s identity, but the sole fact that they defend their faith by

becoming martyrs. The social bond in their case bends under the divine bond and it is not

preserved; it evaporates:

“τῇ µὲν κατὰ σάρκα γενέσει, µήτηρ εἰµί, ἀδελφὴ δὲ τῷ λόγῳ καὶ τῇ πίστει⋅ ὥστε, εἰ πείθῃ µοι καὶ συµβουλευούσης ἀνέχῃ, ἕνα θάνατον, ἕνα τάφον ἡµῶν κατάκρινον⋅ κείσθω µήτηρ µετὰ παίδων ἐξοµολογησαµένη⋅ φόνευε παῖδας µετὰ µητρὸς µαρτυρήσαντας. (Passion of Theodote and Sons, p.224.§5)

“In fleshly birth I am a mother, but as regards reason and faith, I am a sister. Therefore, if you listen to me and if you bear listening my advice, sentence us to one death, one grave. Let the mother rest with her children after she has confessed; put the children to death as martyrs with their mother.”

Theodote is, the passage shows, mother only in flesh. What exonerates the share of the

worldly enjoyments she has had is not the birth of a son, as we saw before, but her own death.

Hence, she does not appear to be hierarchically lower than her male counterparts but she is,

instead, transformed into their “sister”.

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Kyrikos and Iulitta

The same development discussed in the above is observed in another Passion whose

protagonists are a mother and her son, the Passion Kyrikos and Iulitta.178 The Passion has

come down to us in two forms: as an independent Passion (BHG 314), the version used here,

and in the form of an epistle, written by Theodore bishop of Iconium and dated August 1004

(BHG 316).179 Theodore devotes the whole of his letter to the Passion of the two saints as a

reply to the request of a certain bishop named Zosimas, who features as the recipient of the

epistle.

Iulitta was a noble woman, who was under Diocletian arrested and tortured for her

faith along with her three-year old son Kyrikos. The child is violently pulled away from his

mother’s arms and gets to watch his mother being flogged and tortured in front of him.

However, the violence that the young Kyrikos witnesses does not discourage him nor does it

surrender him to his sorrow. Instead, despite the young of his age, Kyrikos acts in the

following remarkable way: “ἀλλὰ καὶ ὡς τῆς σώφρονος τρυγῶνος περικαλλὴς νεοσσὸς

µιµηλλὴν ἀπεφθέγγετο φωνὴν ὁ ἅγιος Κήρυκος, αὐτὸ τὸ ὑπὸ τῆς µητρὸς λεγόµενον κήρυγµα

κράζων, καὶ λέγων· Χριστιανός εἰµι” (Passion of Kyrikos and Iulitta, p.197.§3.7-10; But as

the outstanding nestling of a prudent turtle-dove, saint Kyrikos was imitating the words of his

mother, shouting the same declaration and saying, “I am a Christian”). Kyrikos does imitate

his mother as the passage indicates; however, this imitation entails the subjection of the

familial bond to the divine bond. Iulitta’s reaction when her son dies a martyr after receiving a

blow on the head is similar:

Τοῦτο τοίνυν ἡ ἁγία Ἰουλίττα θεασαµένη, καὶ χαρᾶς ὥσπερ ἀφάτου πληρωθεῖσα, ὅτι τοιοῦτον δῶρον προσήνεγκε τῷ Θεῷ· “Εὐχαριστῶ σοι, Κύριε”, ἔλεγεν, “ὄτι κατηξίωσας τὸν ἐµὸν υἱὸν πρὸ ἐµοῦ τελειωθέντα καὶ τοῦ ἀµαράντου στεφάνου τῆς σῆς ἀγαθότητος καταξιωθέντα.” (Passion of Kyrikos and Iulitta, p.198.§3.3-6)

Seeing this saint Iulitta was filled with unspeakable joy, for she offered God such a gift. “Thank you, Lord”, she was saying, “for you deemed my son worthy to reach his end before me and to gain the unfading wreath of your kindness.”

The mother is full of joy at the death of her son. Hence, in this case, as in the case of Theodote

and her three sons, it is the death of the child that offers pleasure to the mother, not the birth;

and this death entails the child’s own salvation, not the mother’s. The dominant role both

protagonists assume is that of the martyr, therefore they appear to earn an equal reward in the                                                                                                                178 Passion of Kyrikos and Iulitta (BHG 314), van Hooff 1882. 179 Passion of Kyrikos and Iulitta [epistle] (BHG 316), PG 120, 165-172.  

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afterlife, in contrast to Symeon and Martha, and Stephanos and Anna: “Καὶ τὸν ἐµὸν σπεύδω

υἱὸν καταλαβεῖν, ἵνα σὺν αὐτῷ καταξιωθῶ τῆς βασιλείας τῶν οὐρανῶν” (Passion of Kyrikos

and Iulitta, p.198.§4.15-16; “And I rush to reach my son, so that together with him I may be

deemed worthy of the kingdom of heavens”).

So far I have focused my analysis on pairs made up of mothers and their sons and

followed this relationship comparing cases in which it is functional and cases in which it is

not. I shall next turn my inquiry to two texts that involve pairs made up of a mother and her

daughter(s), one that belongs to the genre of Life and one to that of Passion.

Theodora and Theopiste

The first text that comes under the focus of this study for the purpose of comparing what

changes in the kinship bond when the child is a girl is the Life of Theodora of Thessalonike.180

It was written by a certain deacon named Gregory in 894, (Paschalides 1991: 28, 41-51). The

text is devoted to the life of a nun named Theodora, who died in 892 and whose cult was very

prominent in Thessalonike (Patlagean 1984). This Life is very useful for the purposes of this

chapter, since it was written at about the same period as the LStephY. Comparing two texts that

were written at about the same time in terms of how the familial bond is portrayed makes our

conclusions more accurate.

According to her Life, Theodora was from Aegina and had parents who excelled in the

virtue of piety. Her mother died when Theodora was very young and her father became a

monk, having entrusted Theodora to the care of a virtuous woman relative. Theodora was soon

betrothed to a very decent and pious man. During the Saracen attacks against their homeland,

the couple fled to Thessalonike where the two spouses settled down and begot three children.

Two of them died a while after their birth, while their firstborn, Theopiste, was devoted to

God following the demise of her siblings. Theodora herself became a nun at the same convent

with her daughter after the death of her husband. She spent the rest of her life in the monastery

leading an admirable life and performing many posthumous miracles.

As will become apparent in the analysis that follows, familial bonds become an object

of reflection and scrutiny in this text.181 The heroine features as the mother of all the Christian

                                                                                                               180 References made to this text are from the edition of Paschalides 1991. 181 See Kaplan 2013.

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community in the title and the prologue (Life of Theodora of Thessalonike, p.66.§1.17), while

the commentary on her relationship with her daughter in the monastery takes up much

narrative space. The iconoclastic and post-iconoclastic period was an era of reflection upon the

Incarnation and mainly upon the role of the Virgin Mary in it, as mother of Christ.182 The Life

of Theodora is a prime example of these currents since the author (a very educated man as one

could infer from the highly rhetorical and dense style of the text) incorporates a whole speech

that refers to the Incarnation and the Virgin’s role as mother (Life of Theodora of

Thessalonike, p.90.§13.1-p.98.§15.24). But most importantly for the purpose of this analysis,

the author infuses his narrative with numerous comments on the importance of motherhood

and on the relationship of mother and child, as the following passages reveal: Οὐχ οὕτω γὰρ καλάµη πρὸς πυρὸς ἔξαψιν ἐπιτηδεία διὰ ξηρότητα, ὡς ἡ τῶν ὑπὸ χεῖρα διάθεσις ἑτοιµοτάτη πρὸς ὑποδοχὴν τῆς τοῦ κρατοῦντος ἀρετῆς ἢ κακίας, καὶ µάλιστα εἰ τύχοιεν νηπιάζοντες, διὰ τὸ θᾶττον ὡς ἀδρανοῦς αὐτῶν τοῦ νοὸς πρὸς τὴν οἱανοῦν ἕξιν τοῦ προεστῶτος καὶ συλλαλοῦντος µεθαρµοζοµένου καὶ µεταπίπτοντος. Ὁ γὰρ συµπορευόµενος, ὡς ἔφησέ τις, σοφοῖς σοφὸς ἔσται, καὶ τὸ συνδιαιτᾶσθαι τοῖς φαύλοις οὐκ ἀζήµιον. Διὸ ἄµεινον ἀεὶ τῷ κρείττονι τὸ ἦττον ἀκολουθεῖν διὰ βελτιώσεως ἐλπίδα. Ἔνθεν γὰρ τῇ Θεοδώρᾳ καὶ τὸ εἶναι καὶ τὸ εὖ εἶναι καὶ τὸ παρὰ πᾶσιν ἐπαινεῖσθαί τε καὶ θαυµάζεσθαι. (Life of Theodora of Thessalonike, p.72.§4.13-p.74.§4.23)

For a reed is not as likely to catch fire because of its dryness, as the disposition of those under guardianship is liable to be influenced by the one in authority over them, for good or evil, especially if they should chance to be infants, inasmuch as their undeveloped mind soon adapts and conforms to the habits of the guardian who converses <with them>. For, as someone said, he who walketh with wise men will be wise, and association with the wicked is not without danger. Wherefore it is always better for the weaker to follow the stronger in hope of improvement. From this <sequence of events> then resulted Theodora’s existence and flourishing and the fact that she was praised and admired by all. (Talbot 1996a: 167)

and ἐπειδὴ µήτηρ καὶ κατὰ τὸ ἶσον ταῖς µητράσιν ἡ φύσις ὡς ἐν πᾶσι κἀν τούτῳ κατεκρατήθη. (Life of Theodora of Thessalonike, p.80.§8.7-9)

as she was a mother and, as in the case of mothers, her nature was overwhelmed in this as in all things. (Talbot 1996a:169)

As the two passages show, the mother’s role to the development of the child’s personality is

determinative, while the child can also affect to a significant degree the emotional state of

his/her mother. However, the form that the relationship of a mother with her daughter assumes

in terms of the development of their spiritual identity appears to differ in many ways from that

of a mother and her son analysed before.

                                                                                                               182 For relevant bibliography on the period and the prevailing matters of discussion see above, fn. 167.

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Theodora was given to marriage very early as her integrity was endangered because of

her great beauty and piety, which attracted the admiration of numerous men (Life of Theodora

of Thessalonike, p.74.§5.1-p.76.§5.20). As aforementioned, after the death of two of their

children, Theodora and her husband devote their first child to God. This offering of the child

is, like the case of Symeon and Stephanos, presented as a sacrifice: “Δέξαι, µῆτερ, τὸ πρῶτον

καὶ µόνον καταλειφθὲν ἡµῖν τέκνον καὶ προσάγαγε θυσίαν αὐθαίρετον καὶ λογικὸν

ὁλοκάρπωµα Κυρίῳ τῷ Θεῷ ἡµῶν, τὸ ζωηφόρον καὶ ἅγιον σχῆµα τῶν µοναχῶν ἀµφιάσασα”

(Life of Theodora of Thessalonike, p.82.§9.11-14; “O mother, receive our first-born and sole,

remaining child, and present her as a voluntary sacrifice and spiritual whole-offering to the

Lord our God, after clothing her in the life-bearing and holy monastic habit” [Talbot 1996a:

170-171]).183 We could, however, spot a significant point of differentiation between these acts

of devotion. Theodora persuades her husband to offer their child to God not in order for them

to be saved through this offer and also preserve the relationship to the child (as happens in the

case of male saints), but in order for them to be relieved by this worldly burden and be able to

devote themselves solely to God. Consequently, it would seem that in the case of the female

child, it is its loss or, put bluntly, its “getting rid of” that opens the way for the mother to

pursue her own salvation, as can be seen, for example, in the following quotation: “Πάντες οἱ ἄνθρωποι ἀπαρχὰς προσφέρουσι τῷ Θεῷ· προσάξωµεν καὶ ἡµεῖς τὴν ἀπαρχὴν τῶν ἡµετέρων τέκνων, αὐτὴν καὶ µόνην ἐγκαταλειφθεῖσαν καὶ δωρηθεῖσαν τέως ἡµῖν ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ καὶ ὡς τὸ διώβολον τῆς πάλαι πιστῆς ἐκείνης χήρας καὶ τὸ ἡµῶν εὖ οἶδα Χριστὸς προσδεξάµενος τέκνον καὶ ἐν τῇ παρούσῃ ζωῇ ἀναψυχὴν τελείαν ἡµῖν δωρήσεται καὶ ἐν τῇ µελλούσῃ κρίσει διὰ τὴν ἐκ τοῦ ὑστερήµατος τῶν τέκνων ἡµῶν προσαγοµένην αὐτῷ προσφορὰν µείζονος τῆς αὐτοῦ φιλανθρωπίας ἀντιληψόµεθα”. (Life of Theodora of Thessalonike, p.80.§8.23-p.82.§8.32)

“All men offer first fruits to God; let us also offer the first fruit of our children, the girl who is the sole child remaining to us, and has been temporarily granted by Him to us. And I am confident that Christ will accept the child like the two obols of that faithful widow of old, and in the present life will give us complete solace and at the future judgement day we will receive in turn greater compassion from Him on account of the offering which we present to Him of the last of our children”. (Talbot 1996a: 170)

Additionally, in the Life of Theodora, it is the mother, Theodora, and not the child the

one who holds the role of the main protagonist. And one should add to this that Theodora’s

life account is not solely premised on her relationship to her daughter as we saw to be the case

with the mothers of male saints. Instead, the heroine’s life compiles many other achievements

                                                                                                               183 It is noteworthy that this event takes place when Theodote was six years old (Life of Theodora of Thessalonike, p.82.§9.1), that is, at the same age when also Symeon and Stephanos assumed a life devoted to God.

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of her, such as what she learns from her abbess (Life of Theodora of Thessalonike,

p.106.§21.1-p.110.§22.28), her fighting off of many temptations (Life of Theodora of

Thessalonike, p.110.§23.1-p.112.§23.7), her tough work and discipline in the context of the

monastery (Life of Theodora of Thessalonike, p.112.§23.7-29), her willingness and diligence

in learning the Scriptures (Life of Theodora of Thessalonike, p.112-114.§24.1-14), the care she

took of her abbess during the last years of the latter’s life (Life of Theodora of Thessalonike,

p.140.§37.21-31), the attention she paid to what her eyes saw and what her tongue spoke (Life

of Theodora of Thessalonike, p.148.§40.1-15), the care she took of the helpless and the

destitute (Life of Theodora of Thessalonikie, p.164.§48.18-34). The great variety of

Theodora’s virtuous acts mentioned, as well as the extensive narrative span that these episodes

cover, is diametrically different from the extremely brief, four-page long that Martha’s

virtuous performance takes up, not to mention the case of Anna, for whom nothing else is

mentioned except for her pious upbringing of Stephanos.

The image presented of Theodora then, is one of a humble, disciplined and altruistic

woman, of high spiritual levels. However, Theodora does have a weakness, her daughter. In

contrast to the mothers of sons, whose “niche point” in the eyes of God is assumed to be their

outright willingness to give up their child for His sake, Theodora is presented as over-attached

to her worldly love for Theopiste, while she did not have a problem when she gave Theopiste

up to the monastery:

Διά τοι ὁ τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς βασκαίνων διάβολος, ἐπιβλέπων αὐτὴν τοῦ µακαρισµοῦ τοῦ ἐν τῷδε τῷ ψαλµῷ δικαίως ἀξιουµένην, ἐφλέγµαινε τὸν ἰὸν καὶ µετεσκόπει τὰς ψυχικὰς αὐτῆς ὁδούς, εἴ πως αὐτὴν παγιδεῦσαι ἰσχύσειεν. Εἰδὼς οὖν ταύτην ἐξαιρέτως ταῖς δυσὶν ἐντολαῖς, ἐν αἷς ὅλος ὁ νόµος καὶ οἱ προφῆται κρέµανται, κάτοχον οὖσαν· εἰδὼς δὲ, ὅτι καὶ φύσεως ὅροις ἀναγκάζονται γονεῖς φιλεῖν τὰ τέκνα, καὶ µάλιστα ἡ ὠδίνασα, τὴν δευτέραν τῆς πρώτης ἐνεδρέυων συλῆσαι, τῷ εἰωθότι τῆς µάχης αὐτοῦ τρόπῳ σαίνων ὑποβάλλει λογισµὸν τῇ Θεοδώρᾳ προσπαθῶς περὶ τὸ τέκνον διακεῖσθαι. ‘Η δὲ παθοῦσά τι ἀνθρώπινον ἤρξατο παρενοχλεῖν τὴν προεστῶσαν καὶ λέγειν (ἦν γὰρ τὴν παῖδα ἀγαγοῦσα εἰς τὸ αὐτῆς µοναστήριον, διὰ τὸ τὴν ἀποκείρασαν αὐτὴν ἤδη τελευτῆσαι)· “Κυρία µῆτερ, σοῦ τῆς ψυχῆς µόνης ποιούσης τὴν ἐπιµέλειαν, οὐ φέρω τὴν ἐκ τῶν ἐµῶν σπλάγχνων τεχθεῖσαν καθορᾶν εὐτελεῖ καὶ διερρηγµένῳ ῥακίῳ περικαλυπτοµένην καὶ βραχυτάτῃ διαιτωµένην τροφῇ. Κέλευσον οὖν αὐτὴν ἑτέρῳ µοναστηρίῳ δοθῆναι, ἐπεὶ οὐ φέρω τὴν τῶν σπλάγχνων µου πύρωσιν· µήτηρ γάρ εἰµι, καὶ ὡς πᾶσαι κἀγὼ περὶ τὸ τέκνον διάκειµαι”. (Life of Theodora of Thessalonike, pp.114-116.§25.1-20)

Therefore the Devil, who begrudges the good, observing that she was truly deserving of the blessing in this psalm, heated up his venom and scrutinised her spiritual paths <to see> if he might somehow be able to trap her. Since he knew that she was particularly devoted to the two commandments on which hang all the law and the prophets, and since he knew that parents, and especially the mother, are compelled by

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the laws of nature to love their children, he lay in ambush to strip the second <commandment> away from the first; and in his typical fawning mode of combat he instilled in Theodora a passionate attachment to her daughter. And she, becoming subject to human emotions, began to pester the superior <about her daughter Theopiste> (for she had brought the child to her own convent because the woman responsible for her tonsure [i.e., Aikaterine] had already died, saying: “My Lady Mother, you who alone are concerned with my soul, I cannot endure to see the daughter born of my womb clothed in a cheap and tattered garment and subsisting on so little food. Please arrange for her to be transferred to another convent, since I cannot bear the fire in my heart. For I am a mother, and like all <mothers>, I too am devoted to my child”. (Talbot 1996a: 185-186)

As illustrated in the above passage, in the case of mother-daughter pairs, love for the child

conflicts with love for God; the one who devotes herself to God should be ready to spurn

every emotional bond with the world. Obviously, Theodora appears as inadequate in this

respect, a lack that leaves space for the devil to act by planting doubt in her heart and by using

the daughter as lure object in order to deceive the mother. Thus the mother-daughter bond, in

contrast to the mother-son bond, proves spiritually disastrous for the mother. But this

relationship also endangers the daughter’s spiritual course as, in contrast to the mothers of

sons, who push their children to enter the “zone between two deaths”, Theodora does not want

to see her daughter lead the harsh life of a nun. Hence, the abbess wonders: “καὶ ταύτης τὴν

προθυµίαν ἐκκόψαι προῄρησαι ἀγαθὴν οὖσαν; ὅλως δὲ καὶ λέγεις ἔχειν θυγατέρα ἐν τῷ

µοναστηρίῳ;” (Life of Theodora of Thessalonike, p.120.§26.46-48; “Or did you wish to

eradicate her good intentions? In short, do you say that you have a daughter in the convent?”

[Talbot 1996a: 187]). Is the mother going to be an impediment to her daughter’s pious course?

If she continued being attached to her daughter Theodote, as the passage suggests, the answer

would be positive. That is the reason why Theodora’s love for her daughter is referred to as a

“sin”, a “passion” (“πάθους”; Life of Theodora of Thessalonike, p.120.§27.4) that has to be

obliterated.

Theodora’s emotions for Theopiste lead the mother to treat Theodote differently from

the other nuns, taking great care of her well-being and her comfort—in direct contrast to the

way a proper nun should act: “ἡ Θεοδώρα ὡς µήτηρ τὴν Θεοπίστην περιθάλπουσα

ἐγινώσκετο” (Life of Theodora of Thessalonike, p.120.§27.10-11; Theodora was again seen

displaying toward Theopiste the affection of a mother [Talbot 1996a: 187]). In an effort to

prevent Theodora’s and Theopiste’s spiritual plummet, the abbess forbids the two nuns to

speak to each other, a measure that lasts for fifteen years (Life of Theodora of Thessalonike,

pp.120-122.§27.1-39). What the abbess actually does in Lacanian terms, is shutting the two

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women off from the Symbolic (the field of language, communication and social laws), in order

to wipe out their relationship (Lacan 1994: 153-154, 182-189; 1988a: 5, 29, 210-238):184 Καὶ ἐπὶ δεκαπέντε ἔτη ἐν ἑνὶ κελλίῳ καὶ µιᾷ τραπέζῃ συνδιαιτώµεναι καὶ ἑνὸς ἔργου ἀντιλαµβανόµεναι, πολλάκις δὲ καὶ ἕνα ἱστὸν ἐποιχόµεναι, καὶ ἑνὶ µυλῶνι ἀλήθουσαι, καὶ ἁπαξαπλῶς ἀδιαφόρως καὶ ἀπαρατηρήτως µετ’ ἀλλήλων διάγουσαι, οὕτως τὴν ἐντολὴν ταύτην ἐπλήρωσαν, ὡς, εἴ ποτε συνέβη κληθῆναι τὴν Θεοδώραν παρὰ τῆς µεγάλης καὶ τάχιον οὐχ ὑπήκουσε, µηδέποτε τὴν Θεοπίστην τολµῆσαι αὐτῇ εἰπεῖν, κἂν ἄνευ τῆς µητρικῆς προσφωνήσεως· (Life of Theodora of Thessalonike, p.122.§28.6-14).

And for fifteen years they lived together in one cell and <ate> at one table and undertook the same handwork, often plying one loom and grinding grain at one mill, and in general living together without paying attention to or taking notice of each other; and they carried out this commandment <of the superior> to such an extent that if Theodora ever happened to be summoned by the superior and did not answer right away, Theopiste never dared to say to her (even without addressing her as “mother”). (Talbot 1996a: 188)

Theodora’s and Theopiste’s most important “feat” dealt with in the Life and narrated most

extensively is thus their effort to bring their relationship to zero by conforming to the abbess’s

interdiction—something we do not encounter in mother-son pairs: Ἡλίκον δὲ πῦρ αὐτῶν τὰ σπλάγχνα συνέφλεγε, καὶ ὁποῖον ξίφος τοµῶς ἠκονηµένον σφοδρῶς τὴν καρδίαν συνέκοπτεν, τὰ τοσαῦτα ἔτη µὴ συλλαλοῦσαι ἀλλήλαις τὸ σύνολον, µάλιστα ὁπόταν µιᾷ αὐτῶν βάρος διακονίας ἐπέκειτο καὶ ἤθελον πρὸς ἑαυτὰς κἂν ὡς ἀδελφαὶ συντυχεῖν, ἵνα ἀλλήλαις συναντιλάβωνται, καὶ οὐκ ἠδύναντο; (Life of Theodora of Thessalonike, p.124.§29.8-14)

How great a fire must have inflamed their emotions, and what kind of a sharply wetted sword must have cut their hearts grievously, as they did not speak to each other at all for so many years, especially when a burdensome task was imposed on one of them and they wanted to talk to one another like sisters, to help each other, and could not! (Talbot 1966a: 189)

As seen in this passage, Theodora’s and Theopiste’s fight to place love for God higher in their

emotional scale compared to their love for each other, is presented as a real struggle. In the

mother-son pairs, instead, no similar struggle is even hinted at; rather, it seems to be taken for

granted that Martha and Anna have even before their sons’ birth, acquired this virtue.

Fifteen years pass before Theodora and Theopiste are given permission to speak to

each other again; and by then their emotional ties seize to exist: “Χάριτι δὲ Θεοῦ

διεφυλάχθησαν αἱ ἀµφότεραι ἐκ τοῦ συγγενικοῦ θεσµοῦ ἀπαθεῖς καὶ ἀνενόχλητοι” (Life of

Theodora of Thessalonike, p.126.§30.5-7; And by the grace of God <from then on> both of

them remained unaffected and untroubled by their bond of kinship [Talbot 1966a: 189]). The

two women are not mother and daughter anymore: “Οὐδὲ γὰρ τοῦ λοιποῦ ὡς µητρὶ θυγάτηρ, ἢ

                                                                                                               184 See also Introduction pp. 17-18.

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θυγατρὶ µήτηρ, δεδώκασι ἀλλήλαις προσφώνησιν” (Life of Theodora of Thessalonike,

p.126.§30.9-10; Nor hereafter did the daughter address her mother as mother, nor did the

mother address her daughter as daughter [Talbot 1966a: 189]). Hence, in contrast to Martha

and Symeon who finally occupy the same tomb, Theodora specifically requests to be buried

alone, apart from her daughter: “Παρήγγειλε δὲ καὶ τῇ θυγατρὶ τοῦ ἰδίᾳ καὶ καταµόνας θάψαι

τὸ αὑτῆς σῶµα” (Life of Theodora of Thessalonike, p.150.§40.30-31; And she bade her

daughter to bury her body separately and by itself [Talbot 1966a: 199-200]). This development

hints at a different image from the one presented in mother-son pairs, where the earthly bond

extends to the afterlife; here it is rejected, on the earth and beyond the earthly existence.

Additionally, in the case of Theodora, it is the mother who is presented as holier from her

daughter, since the latter does not perform any miracles—whereas in mother-son pairs, the

sons appear by rule holier than their mothers.185

At this point it would be useful to refer to the work of Susan Ashbrook-Harvey, which

has significantly contributed to the study of mother-daughter pairs in Syriac hagiography.

Ashbrook-Harvey observes that mothers and daughters in Syriac hagiographical tradition

appear to sustain both their emotional relationship and their ascetic vocation (Ashbrook-

Harvey 1996: 28). Comparing Ashbrook-Harvey’s findings with the conclusions reached in

the above analysis, we see a quite different image arising with regard to the Byzantine Greek

tradition. As it seems, at least in the case of Theodora and Theopiste, not only do familial

bonds add absolutely nothing to the two women’s holiness, but they also appear as a danger

for the spiritual status of both.186 What is, rather, crowned as a major female achievement in

the text is the opposite, that is, the ability to overcome and finally negate the emotional tie

with one’s mother or daughter. This observation is valid not only for Theodora and Theopiste

but for saintly mother-daughter pairs in the greater Byzantine tradition as well. For example,

Gill Gorman’s study focuses on examples of fourth-century hagiographical literature that

feature emotional bonds between two females (Gorman 2001). In none of the cases that

                                                                                                               185 In the case of an other mother-daughter pair, the Life of Mary of Antioch (BHG 1045), the daughter, Mary, is holier than the mother on account of her virginity. However, their bond is not considered as functional according to the definition this thesis has given the term, since it is not instrumental for both of the protagonists’ achievement of holiness (Life of Mary of Antioch, AASS Maii VII. 1688, 50-58). 186 Something similar happens in the Life of Mary of Antioch (see above, fn. 144-145). In this text there also appears the mother as an important character side by side with the main characters, Mary and Anthemios. Preserving the daughter’s virginity from the attempts made against her by an impious suitor, Anthemios, proves to be a constant source of agony for the mother.

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Gorman studies two biologically related female protagonists gain holiness because of their

kinship bond (Gorman 2001, esp. 436 n. 64).

Pistis, Elpis, Agape and Sophia

Another text worth mentioning for the sake of comparison within the framework of our

mother-son pairs which acquire an important narrative function is the Passion of Pistis, Elpis,

Agape and Their Mother, Sophia.187 In the Passion of Theodote and Sons and in the Passion of

Kyrikos and Iulitta we saw that the bond between a mother and her son did not acquire the

functionality that this bond takes on in the Lives of Symeon and Stephanos, since it is not

essential for the protagonists’ achievement of holiness. The text analysed here, on the other

hand, portrays the bond of a mother with her daughters that assumes functional value and

presents many similarities—as well as differences—with the functional mother-son pairs

analysed in the above.

The anonymous Passion was written at some point before the eighth century—when its

Latin translation appears (Halkin 1973: 185). Sophia was a rich and noble woman, who raised

her three daughters—Pistis, Elpis and Agape—according to the principles of the Christian

religion, teaching them how to detach themselves form worldly matters. At some point the

family was accused of drawing women away from marriage by initiating them to the values of

Christianity. The three daughters along with their mother are thus arrested and led before the

emperor. The emperor, astonished by the beauty of the three girls, remains speechless for a

while, before choosing to interrogate the mother first. During her interrogation, Sophia

declares in public her Christian orientation and her willingness to sacrifice her daughters as a

proof of it. The daughters are thereafter interrogated. All three of them deny the offers made to

them by the emperor and firmly defend their Christian faith. They are then brutally tortured

but their bodies remain intact throughout all the ordeals. Finally, they are decapitated, while

Sophia dies peacefully three days later.

A first element common to all the functional relationships studied so far, both those

between mothers and sons, and those between mother and daughters, is the importance given

to the role of the mother as the child’s guide and teacher during his/her formative years. A

                                                                                                               187 The quoted passages are taken from the edition of Halkin 1973.

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similar development can be traced in the narrative under investigation, regarding Sophia’s

rearing of her three daughters that was premised on the principles of Christian religion: Ἐπαίδευεν οὖν τὰ παιδία αὐτῆς διδάσκουσα τὰ τῆς εὐσεβείας δόγµατα· προέκοπτον οὖν αἱ νεάνιαι ἐν σοφίᾳ καὶ χάριτι θεοῦ. Ἰδοῦσα δὲ τὴν προθυµίαν τῶν τέκνων αὐτῆς ἡ Σοφία ἠγαλλιᾶτο χαίρουσα καὶ δοξάζουσα τὸν θεὸν καὶ εὐχοµένη πλείονα αὐταῖς δοθῆναι πρὸς τὰ θεῖα τῆς εὐσεβείας διδάγµατα χάριν. (Passion of Pistis, Elpis, Agape and Sophia, p.186.§1.15-20)

Thus she trained her children teaching them the principles of piety. So the young girls advanced in the wisdom and grace of God. And seeing the diligence of her children, Sophia took delight, was feeling pleased and was glorifying God and was praying that they be given a greater grace to (follow) the divine teachings of piety.

As illustrated in the passage, the young girls were initiated to the essential attributes of a

proper Christian woman—virginity, fasting, knowledge of the Scriptures, humbleness. And it

is this behaviour of them that sparked the uprising of the townspeople who became their

accusers. The citizens’ reaction was attributed to the fact that the principles the girls

represented departed from the social norms of their pagan society, which dictated that

women’s life-purpose should be to become wives.

What is noteworthy is that throughout the narrative, the three sisters behave as a team

and not as three independent protagonists.188 Thus they represent the first part of the pair,

joined to their pair-mate, their mother. This is made apparent in many instances. Already from

the title (“Μαρτύριον τῶν ἁγίων παρθενοµαρτύρων Πίστεως, Ἐλπίδος καὶ Ἀγάπης καὶ τῆς

ἁγίας µητρὸς αὐτῶν Σοφίας” (p.185); “Passion of the holy virgins and martyrs Pistis, Elpis

and Agape and their holy mother Sopia”), the names of the three sisters come one after the

other and are characterised by the same adjectives (“saintly virgin martyrs”). They are then

joined paratactically (“καὶ”, which indicates something “other” not the “same”) to the second

term, the other part of the pair—their mother. The same treatment is evident during the

interrogation of the three sisters; the young women enter the stage holding hands (Passion of

Pistis, Elpis, Agape and Sophia, p.187.§2.18); they respond to the interrogator and to their

mother using the same words, or, as the author comments, “in one voice” (“ὡς ἐκ µιᾶς

φωνῆς”; Passion of Pistis, Elpis, Agape and Sophia, p.192.§6.1). The sisters seem to recognise

that they constitute members of a unified, group, a team, since they refer to each other using

expressions which denote parts of a unified whole: “σύζυγε κλάδε τῆς µητρὸς ἡµῶν” (Passion

of Pistis, Elpis, Agape and Sophia, p.187.§2.18; “twin branch of our mother”), or again

                                                                                                               188 The same is valid in the case of brother-brother schemes, pairs that are beyond the scope of this study. See Introduction, p. 24.

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“ὁµόζυγον σπλάγχνον” (Passion of Pistis, Elpis, Agape and Sophia, p.200.§11.30; “twin

offspring”).

It is this unit which consists her pair-mate that Sophia is determined to offer as gift to

God, in a gesture that reminds us of Martha’s and Anna’s determination to donate their sons.

Actually, Sophia is also prepared to offer her sacrifice even before she is asked to do so: “τὰ

δωρηθέντα µοι νήπια αὐτῷ ἐν ἁγνείᾳ τηρήσασα προσαγω δῶρον κυρίῳ τῷ θεῷ µου” (Passion

of Pistis, Elpis, Agape and Sophia, p.188.§3.13-14; “the children that were gifted to me,

having preserved in chastity, I offer as a gift to Lord my God”). Indeed, as the quotation

shows, the mother is, like in the case of Martha and Anna, ready to offer her daughters to God.

She sees her daughters as a gift which has to be returned to the donor. But what makes these

girls perfect and, one could add, “eligible” to be valuable gifts is, besides, their upcoming

torture, their virginity—an attribute completely silenced in the case of sons. Aligned with this

statement is the fact that the tortures the daughters suffer are sexually charged—they are, for

example, undressed, whipped and have their breasts cut off. Such violent actions with an

erotic-sadistic hint we do not observe in the treatment of Stephanos, for example, whose body

is also mutilated but in ways that make a sense of repulsion and pity rather than admiration

towards the body itself prevail (note, for example, the scattered body parts and the brain

substance vividly described). Aside the physical violence the daughters experience, a

psychological thriller unfolds as well, since their love for the mother is used by the torturer,

even if without success, as a means to weaken the martyrs (“Οἰκτειρήσατε τὸ τῆς µητρὸς ὑµῶν

γῆρας [...] καὶ πείσθητέ µοι”; Passion of Pistis, Elpis, Agape and Sophia, p.191.§5.29-30;

“Pity the old age of your mother […] and listen to me”).

Hence, the mother-daughter bond seems to function in ways similar to the mother-son

bond, but to also significantly differ in application because of the gender connotations the

child carries with it. The same can be said as regards the role of the children as mediators for

the mother’s salvation. Sophia perceives her daughters as intercessors on her behalf: “Τῷ νέῳ οὖν τῆς ἡλικίας ὑµῶν µὴ προσέχετε, ἀλλὰ τῇ πανοπλίᾳ τοῦ καλοῦντος ὑµᾶς περιζωσάµεναι ἐµὲ στεφανώσατε ἐν τῇ γενναίᾳ ὑµῶν ὑποµονῇ καὶ ἐνστάσει τῇ πρὸς τὸν ἀντικείµενον· ῥύσασθέ µε ἐκ τῆς περιφυροµένης µοι ἁµαρτίας. Ἐὰν γὰρ ὑµᾶς πέµψω εἰς τὴν στρατιὰν τοῦ µεγάλου βασιλέως, ἤδη πρεσβεύτριαι προάγετέ µου τετελειωµέναι καὶ διὰ τῆς ὑµῶν ἀθλήσεως, τεκνά µου· κἀγὼ γνωσθήσοµαι εἰς τὴν τῶν οὐρανῶν βασιλείαν καὶ προσκαλέσονταί µε δι’ ὑµᾶς οἱ τῷ θεῷ εὐαρεστήσαντες καὶ ἔσοµαι µεθ’ ὑµῶν συναριθµουµένη διηνεκῶς. Σπλάγχνα µου καὶ στελέχη µου καὶ ῥάµνοι, ἐλεήσατέ µε τὴν ἀθλίαν ὑµῶν µητέρα, ἥτις ὑµᾶς ἐκύησα καὶ πολλὰς δι’ ὑµᾶς ὑπέµεινα βασάνους.” (Passion of Pistis, Elpis, Agape and Sophia, p.189.§4.8-19)

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“Do not pay attention to the youth of your age, but girding yourselves with the armour of the one who summons you, crown me with your brave patience and your objection against the enemy. Redeem me from the sin piled up in me. For if I send you to the ranks of the great King’s army, having reached your end in this way and through your martyrdom, my children, will go before me as my ambassadors. And I will become known to the kingdom of heavens and through you, those who pleased God will invite me and I will be counted as one of you forever. My offspring and my roots and my thorns, have mercy for your wretched mother, for I carried you and I suffered many hardships for you.”

The mother declares in the passage once again her determination to incite her daughters to

martyrdom and she stresses the attributes the girls have gained through her contribution. As a

result of these attributes she is responsible for, Sophia appears to expect certain rewards;

perfect and virginal because of her, the girls shall meet the Saviour before her (“προάγετέ

µου”) and they shall intercede for her (“ἐµὲ στεφανώσατε”, “πρεσβεύτριαι”). Sophia’s

admonitions are expressed in the Imperative, not the Indicative or the Optative, hence

something that denotes an order more than a wish; as of the result of the girls’ intervention on

behalf of their mother, it is expressed in Nominative of future tense; hence, Sophia seems to be

implying that the reward she expects is certain. Her certainty derives from the fact that she

was able to overcome her natural love for her children, in order to prove her fidelity to her

vocation, her love for God; hence, she is worthy of a reward: “Τεκνία µου, ἐγὼ ὑµᾶς ἐγέννησα· οὐδέν ἐστιν ἡ ζωὴ αὕτη τοῦ κόσµου τούτου, ἀλλὰ πρόσκαιρος· δι’ ὀλίγων οὖν ὑποµονῶν τελείαν, σπλάγχνα µου, τὴν οὐράνιον ἐλπίδα κληρονοµήσατε, ἵνα κἀγὼ χαίρουσα ἐπακολουθήσω ὑµῖν, τελείαν ὑµᾶς θυσίαν τῷ θεῷ προσκοµίσασα.” (Passion of Pistis, Elpis, Agape and Sophia, pp.190-191.§5.16-20)

“My children, I gave birth to you. The life of this world is nothing but temporary. So, my offspring, with a little patience you can inherit the unblemished celestial hope, so that, I, too, will follow you in joy, having offered you to God as a perfect sacrifice.”

The same is repeated in many occasions in the narrative, with Sophia anxiously prompting her

daughters while they are tortured to intercede for her (Passion of Pistis, Elpis, Agape and

Sophia, p.197.§8; p.197.§9; p.200.§11). It is, actually, quite remarkable in light of the above,

that every time one of Sophia’s daughters is about to receive the final blow, the last thing she

reminds the young martyr to do is to intercede for her. Hence, by going through with their

passion, the daughters satisfy their wish, which is, however, in fact and foremost the mother’s

wish—in this way they exemplify Lacan’s famous dictum that “<wo>man’s desire is the

desire of the Other” (Lacan 1979: 3).189

                                                                                                               189 See also Lacan 1953: 12; 1994: 138. See above pp. 37-50 and 66-70 for other analyses regarding this dictum of Lacan.

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In light of the preceding analysis, the structural components of this pair regarding the

children’s role as mediators look quite similar to the Symeon-Martha and Stephanos-Anna

pairs. There is, however, a significant difference that evaporates the solidity of such an

argument and distances in yet another respect the mother-daughter pair from the mother-son

pair: Sophia has to be a martyr—even by force. To be more specific, Anna and Martha are

revered as holy mothers of holy sons even before their sons’ death. The son’s holiness seems

thus to be transferable to the mother even during the earthly existence. By contrast, even

though Sophia is not martyred, she dies three days later and becomes a martyr anyway; she is

referred to as a martyr in the title and in two more instances (Passion of Pistis, Elpis, Agape

and Sophia, p.204.§14.40-41; p.204.§14.46-47). Thus it seems that Sophia’s pushing of her

daughters to suffer is not enough in this case. She has to be symbolically interpellated to the

position of the martyr and baptised as such in order to ascend to holiness. We could, thereby,

conclude that even in the case in which the mother-daughter bond is not cancelled for the sake

of salvation (as happens in Theodora and Theopiste’s case), what counts in the end is the

achievement of the status of the martyr—which also overshadows the mother-daughter bond.

By way of conclusion, in this chapter I used Lacan’s analysis of Antigone, the classical

exemplar of kinship entanglement, to approach a special category of Byzantine Lives, those of

mothers and sons. I refer to this category as “special” because the bond of mother and son is

here both celebrated and repudiated. The theoretical analysis has helped us pinpoint cases in

which the interdependence of mothers and sons proves to be a catalyst in their achievement of

holiness. In this respect, in both the cases of Martha-Symeon and Anna-Stephanos the

mothers’ spiritual course cannot be perceived without their sons and vice-versa. These bonds

are extensively treated in these narratives and manifested in each text in different ways. Thus

we observed two mothers initiating their sons to the Christian faith and launching them in a

life similar to Lacan’s “zone between to deaths”. This in the case of Symeon takes the form of

assuming the life of a stylite and putting his body through mortifying practices. In Stephanos’

case it acquires the dual form of the hero becoming a monk and later on a martyr.

A second step was to consider texts in which the mother-son bond does not acquire the

same character we saw portrayed in the cases of Symeon/Martha and Stephanos/Anna.

Therefore, we saw that in pairs such as Theodote and her sons and Kyrikos and Iulitta, the

narrative elements that acquire a nuclear value in functional pairs, such as the mothers’

responsibility for the sons’ Christian education do appear but do not affect the plot or the

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texts’ narrative form. In these cases both the mothers’ and the sons’ means of salvation is

based on their autonomous decision to undergo martyrdom and not on their interaction.

Furthermore, the mother-son bond is not in these latter cases considered important enough as

not to expire in the afterlife.

These conclusions bring us back to Anna and her request to be specifically blessed

with a male child. Why does she do that? In light of the texts we examined, I believe we are

now in the position to answer this question: because it seems that only a male with the

potential to achieve sanctity is a “sure bet” to warrant the mother’s salvation. Alternatively, if

a daughter is at play, this daughter either needs to be discarded (Theodora and Theopiste), or

the mother needs to assume a more powerful and prestigious role, such as that of the martyr,

even if she is not actually one, and to die (Sophia and daughters). In both alternatives the

mother-daughter bond comes second to what gives these women a holy status, since either the

mother denies this bond or she dies. Consequently, it would seem that in the “game theory” of

sanctity, the mothers of sons score big, entirely because of motherhood, whereas the mothers

of daughters in their attempt to reach the finish line sacrifice either their mother-role or their

life. Hence, it seems that kinship ties are preserved, transformed or “untied” according to the

gender of the holy child. But even within the mother-son pair, the concept of kinship is far

from straightforward as we saw in the case of Martha-Symeon and Stephanos-Anna.

Specifically, using the Lacanian reading of Antigone we examined the position of the mother

in relation to the “zone between two deaths” where she pushes her son and in relation to the

sublime body that the son gets to possess. We saw that the son’s holiness is transferable to the

mother. However, the mother can never reach what her son will become in the afterlife; there

is a degree of holiness. Together and apart, these holy twosomes move incessantly between

their worldy and divine bond. Hence, we could conclude, kinship in mother-son pairs assumes

a poker face of preserving while undoing, of diminishing while revering the bond, best

exemplified by the phrase with which this chapter begins: “ἔχω µητέρα καὶ οὐκ ἔχω

µητέρα”—a holy limbo.

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Chapter 3 Kinship Trouble: Gender, Hierarchy and Performance in Passions and Lives of Spouses

Introduction

This chapter introduces a third type of relationship between male and female protagonists as it

appears in Byzantine Passions and Lives, that between husbands and wives. A Passion or Life,

which unfurls using as a kernel the stories of two candidate saints who are married, necessarily

dwells one way or another on their relationship. If the hagiographers of holy couples are to

portray both spouses as saints, they need to specify what kind of bond these protagonists

share. Therefore, most of the texts that have spouses as protagonists present what I defined as

“functional relationships”.

Evidently, stories of spouses were—at least at first glance—closer to the standards of

ordinary people, that is, of laypeople who did not display saintly qualities and who probably

constituted at least a part, if not the largest part, of such texts’ audience. Be that as it may,

these protagonists need to excel in ways that surpass normal everyday laypeople. In this light,

questions that splinter the analysis of this type of holy couples from the beginning are the

following: how is “male” and “female” perceived and orchestrated in these texts? What is the

hierarchical format of this gender interplay within the environment of marriage? In what ways

is this earthly (and by definition sexual) bond negotiated and brought to terms with, or in

contrast with, the protagonists’ road to holiness? In other words, how does this form of

sexualised kinship operate so as not to undo or impede the protagonists’ religious aspirations?

Furthermore, are gender and kinship fixed attributes within the order of these narratives, or do

they signify tangled webs of relations that shift and that exhibit fluid or even queer potentials?

And if the latter is the case, how do necessarily implicated factors such as the treatment of the

protagonists’ body affect these potentials? And, after all, how does each text manage (if at all)

to balance these thorny issues within the narrative entity?

Dwelling on these questions made me turn to a field in which such preoccupations hold

prime place—that of gender studies, and specifically to one particular thinker, Judith Butler. I

refer to the theory outlined in her book Antigone’s Claim: Kinship Between Life and Death

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(Butler 2000). In this work, Butler revisits Sophocles’ Antigone reaching different conclusions

from those of Lacan, discussed in the previous chapter, while also launching a searing critique

of Lacan’s theoretical apparatus.190 To clarify the difference between these two readings, I

consider it important to bring the two thinkers in a tête-à-tête confrontation regarding their

points of divergence.

Both Lacan and Butler use the example of Antigone as a scope through which they

grapple with the concept of kinship in general. While they view Antigone as a transgressive

figure—since she chooses to defend her incestuous lineage over the social law—they part

ways when interpreting the consequences of her transgression. Lacan suggests that Antigone

inhabits the limit of what the society approves as normative kinship. By jumping in this

liminal sphere between two deaths, the heroine incorporates the borderline between socially

acceptable kinship and death, reaffirming in an apotropaic fashion the boundaries of the

family.

Butler, on the other hand, proposes that Antigone cannot be classified under Lacan’s

invariable symbolic categories of normative kinship; instead, for Butler the heroine posits a

“kinship trouble”, which severely challenges such categories.191 Her argument proceeds as

follows: Butler’s starting point is Lacan’s position that Antigone’s queer status, which

eventually leads to her extraction from the societal body and her transition into the “zone

between two deaths”, makes her a representative of the principle of normative kinship. Butler,

however, raises her doubts as to whether Antigone can fulfill such a role. As a product of

incestuous relations, the heroine can hardly represent normative kinship in any sense (Butler

2000: 2). Moreover, Butler argues, Antigone cannot represent any general principle of kinship

(as Lacan would want it), since the heroine states that she wouldn’t be willing to undertake the

                                                                                                               190 Lacan’s and Butler’s readings of the Sophoclean text have in many instances been commented on together, since Butler’s essay answers critically to Lacan’s (see e.g. Mader 2010). One such approach is that of Emma Campbell (Campbell 2010). Campbell has used both theorists to investigate kinship in Medieval French hagiography. Even though I have arrived at very different conclusions concerning the Byzantine texts, I consider Campbell’s effort as an inspiring example of how the two theorists can enrich our understanding of Medieval hagiographical literature. 191 Butler seeks to criticise through her essay, besides Lacan, a branch of feminist scholarship which, similar to Lacan, considers that Antigone legitimizes the concept of kinship and launches a primitive feminist politics (Butler 2000: 2). Antigone has actually been a very popular topic in feminist writing. See e.g. Cavarero 2010; Ehlstain 1982; Fradinger 2010 (for an outline of twentieth-century approaches to Antigone); Holland 2010; Irigaray 1974, repr. 2010; Mader 2010; Söderbäck 2010a, 2010b. On the relationship between Lacan and Feminism regarding the incest taboo and the formation of the gendered body see especially Gallop 1982 and 1985.

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same action for any other kin—except for her brother.192 Consequently, she rather exposes the

socially contingent character of kinship (Butler 2000: 6-11). Besides contingent, kinship, like

gender, is for Butler performative—a form of doing and not a form of being.193 By burying her

brother, Antigone performatively reinstates the problematic kinship of which she is a part as a

public scandal (Butler 2000: 55-62). What is more, Antigone acts, according to her father’s

view, like a son, while his sons prove through their uncourageous and faulty behaviour to be

daughters (Butler 2000: 62). Add to this that, in the meantime, Antigone and her siblings are

actually also Oedipus’ siblings and we end up with what Butler terms as “kinship trouble”.

Through her example, therefore, Antigone does not legitimize any principle of normative

kinship; instead, she raises the question of what the conditions of intelligibility could have

been that would have made her life possible (Butler 2000: 24, 76). Hence, while for Lacan

Antigone reaffirms through her exclusion the validity of established symbolic positions, for

Butler the heroine points to a rewriting of those positions, to a sphere where symbolic

constraints might be transformed and made livable.

The theoretical apparatus outlined here forms the skeleton on which the present chapter

assumes flesh. The texts studied here, brought for the first time together (at least to my

knowledge), will be shown to concern themselves systematically with the same issues, but

also to interestingly deal with those issues in different ways. This aids our understanding of

the importance of both gender and kinship as decisive regulators of the protagonists’

relationship in the hagiographical texts involving married couples. It also illuminates our

perception of how gender and kinship were perceived and put at work in this type of literature.

This chapter consists of three parts. The first part undertakes the investigation of the

relationship between two couples: Pinian and Melania and Andronikos and Athanasia, as

represented in their respective Lives.194 I will show that these two Lives portray a type of

spousal kinship that becomes fragile as the stories unfold, since, as soon as the protagonists’

spiritual vocation is set in motion, kin and gender positions tend to slide into one another. This

                                                                                                               192 This point in Antigone has received many interpretations. Mary Beth Mader (2010) for example, disagrees with Butler’s conclusion that Antigone would only break the law for her brother and interprets the specific passage differently. Anyhow, I am not interested in whether Butler is right or wrong in her interpretation of Antigone. My interest lies instead with the theoretical gist Butler arrives to after studying the play. 193 For gender as performative see also Butler 1990 (esp. pp. 34, 45-46, 175-203) and 1993. 194 See the editions of Gorce 1962: 124-270 and Alwis 2011: 250-268 respectively which are used for this chapter’s purposes.

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feature calls for a redefinition of what is defined as livable kinship in the texts, in ways similar

to Butler’s theory.

Second, I will turn to three pairs of martyr-spouses: Adrianos and Natalia, Timotheos

and Maura, and Galaktion and Episteme to investigate how gender and kinship acquire a

performative dimension that extends even to the protagonists’ afterlife.195 In this second

category, gender does not become displaced as in the first category. However, while gender is

constructed performatively according to the traditional roles assigned to “male” and “female”

in society, kinship is once again fluid, allowing the protagonists to assume multiple kin

positions regarding their relationship to each other during their earthly life.

The third move in my argument sets the stage for a critical confrontation between

Lacan, Butler and three queer Byzantine couples—Julian and Basilissa, Crysanthos and Daria,

Valerian and Cecilia.196 These saints achieve a peculiar juxtaposition of virginity and married

life in ways that appear to upset the vocabulary of kinship, while also shaking the boundaries

between concepts such as male VS female, self VS other, earthly life VS heavenly life, and

life VS death. These couples then, tarry with both theories mentioned above, while also

marking a move beyond them, since in their case livable kinship is neither exactly reaffirmed

(Lacan), nor exactly rethought (Butler). Rather, these peculiar saintly couples seem to

constantly portray kinship with a question mark.

Displaced Gender, Kinship in Transit: Lives of Spouses

As already stated, this first section focuses on the Life of Melania the Younger (BHG 1241)

and the Life of Andronikos and Athanasia (BHG 123a).197 Both texts concentrate on lay

couples who, at a certain point in their lives and, following the tragic death of their offspring,

desert their wealth and their home seeking to assume the monastic habit.

                                                                                                               195 The texts are taken from the AASS Sept III 1750, 218-230, the AASS Maii I 1680, 741-744, and the AASS Nov. III 1910, 35-41 respectively. 196 Editions in Halkin 1980: 241-296, AASS Oct XI 1864, 469-484 and Halkin 1987: 88-132 respectively. 197 Hereafter LMY and LAA respectively.

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Melania and Pinian

The LMY was written at some point between the sixth and the ninth centuries (Gorce 1962:

52). Some scholars believe that the Greek narrative derives from a Latin prototype, while

others consider the Byzantine text to be the original (Gorce 1962: 52-54).198 Summarising the

findings of all relevant research, Elizabeth Clark opts for the latter being the most probable

scenario, that is, Greek to have been the original language (Clark 1984: 5-13). The LMY was

written by a certain Gerontios, a priest and a very close acquaintance of his heroine, who also

presents himself as an eyewitness to some of the events he narrates.199 Gerontios appears as

Melania’s successor, in charge of the male and the female monasteries the saint has founded

(Clark 1984: 13-17; Gorce 1962: 54-62).200

Gerontios recounts the story of a Roman woman, who was born at some point in the

fifth century and presumably died on the 31st December, 439. Melania was of noble lineage

and her family ranked high in the Roman senate. She was incited by her parents to marry the

consul Pinian and together they bore a daughter and a son. However, both of their children

died very young and, following their death, the couple decided to spend the rest of their lives

in chastity. Thenceforward, the two of them spent many years traveling and donating their vast

property to those in need and to various monasteries, while also visiting ascetics in Africa,

Jerusalem, the Holy Land, Alexandria and Egypt. While on her journey, Melania founded a

female monastery on the Mount of Olives. There she spent fourteen years in seclusion and

ascetic practice. After her husband’s death, the heroine undertook a second pilgrimage,

passing by Constantinople—where she converted her uncle, to Jerusalem—where she

performed miracles. She eventually returned to her monastery, where she died peacefully and

was buried in great honour.

In the case of this couple, what makes one “male” or “female” in the context of their

shared life is first constructed performatively, in the way the term is defined by Butler, that is

following the standards of their patriarchal society; but as soon as the protagonists orientate

                                                                                                               198 Cardinal Mariano Rampolla firmly supported the priority of the Latin (Rampolla 1908). Priority of the Greek was championed by Adhémar d’Alès 1906. See also Clark 1986: 64 and 85 fn.5. 199 He appears in the plot to have written the LMY in 452-453. See Brown 2012: 292; Clark 1984: 115-152 and 1986: 65-66. See also Clark 1986: 65 and 87 fns.7-8 for a review of older scholarship. 200 On Melania the Younger as a historical personality and heroine of the LMY see also Brown 2012: 291-300, 322-325; Clark 1986; Coon 1997: 109-118.

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their way of life toward complete devotion to God, these same roles are shaken. Melania

proves not to respond to the weaknesses for which her female gender predisposes us. She even

proves to be manlier from her husband who exhibits weaknesses usually associated with the

female gender. Along with the protagonists’ displaced gender, what defines their function as

spouses (sex, children, shared fortune) is in a way cancelled. Both spouses thus jump from one

kin position to another, in a way that opens up new possibilities as to what is defined as livable

kinship in the text and, probably, by extension, in the society in which this narrative was

produced.

The LMY begins by “setting straight” the traditional gender roles and the social

obligations that go with them. Melania’s desire to remain a virgin and to avoid marriage

altogether is explicitly mentioned.201 The saint aspired from a very young age to devote herself

to God. However, as so often happens in the case of female married saints,202 she is forced by

her parents to conform to the edicts of her gender and become a wife, this bringing to dust her

dream of leading a solitary life: Αὕτη τοίνυν ἡ µακαρία Μελάνη πρώτη τῆς συγκλῆτου Ῥωµαίων ἐτύγχανεν, ἥτις τὸν Χριστὸν ἐκ νέας ἡλικίας ποθήσασα καὶ τῷ θείῳ τρωθεῖσα ἔρωτι τὴν τοῦ σώµατος ἁγνείαν ἐπόθησεν. Οἱ δὲ γονεῖς αὐτῆς, ἅτε περιφανεῖς τῆς συγκλήτου Ῥωµαίων ὑπάρχοντες καὶ ἐξ αὐτῆς τὴν διαδοχὴν τοῦ γένους ἔχειν ἐλπίζοντες, µετὰ πολλῆς βίας συνάπτουσιν αὐτὴν πρὸς γάµον τῷ µακαρίῳ αὐτῆς ἀνδρὶ Πινιανῷ τῷ ἀπὸ ὑπάτων, τεσσαρεσκαιδέκατον ἄγουσαν ἔτος, τοῦ συµβίου αὐτῆς ὑπάρχοντος ὡς ἑπτακαίδεκα. (LMY, p.130.§1)

This blessed Melania then, was foremost among the Romans of senatorial rank. Wounded by the divine love, she had from her earliest youth yearned for Christ, had longed for bodily chastity. Her parents, because they were illustrious members of the Roman Senate and expected that through her they would have a succession of the family line, very forcibly united her in marriage with her blessed husband Pinian, who was from a consular family, when she was fourteen years old and her spouse was about seventeen. (Clark 1984: 27-28)

The reason for her parents’ insistence on their daughter’s marriage is, according to the

passage, their own desire to ensure an heir to their name and vast fortune, something for which

later on regret and ask for forgiveness (LMY, p.138.§7).

Thus Melania conforms to the social role assigned to her due to her gender, she obeys

her parents and becomes a wife. In a last attempt to live in chastity, Melania, having “gained

                                                                                                               201 Cf. for example, how sex is perceived in the Acts of the Apostles. See on the subject Perkins 1985; Tissot 1991. 202 We have already seen the case of Martha in the previous chapter (see above p. 106). This is a very common feature in the Lives devoted to wives. See e.g Life of Theodora of Thessalonike, (BHG 1737; Paschalides 1991, pp.74-76), Life of Mary the Younger, (BHG 1164; AASS Nov. IV. 1925, p.692).

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awareness”, as stated in the text, of “what marriage is” (LMY, p.130.§1), that is having been

chained to worldly affairs, begs her husband to live with her abstaining from sexual relations: Ἡ δὲ πεῖραν λαβοῦσα τοῦ γάµου καὶ τελείως τὸν κόσµον µισήσασα παρεκάλει τὸν ἑαυτῆς ἄνδρα µετὰ πολλοῦ οἴκτου ταῦτα τὰ ῥήµατα φάσκουσα˙ “Εἰ µὲν βούλει, φησίν, κύριέ µου, ἁγνεύειν σὺν ἐµοὶ καὶ κατὰ τὸν τῆς σωφροσύνης συνοικισθῆναί µοι νόµον, καὶ κύριόν σε καὶ δεσπότην τῆς οἰκείας ζωῆς ἐπιγράφοµαι.” (LMY, p.130.§1)

After she had had the experience of marriage and totally despised the world, she begged her husband with much piteous wailing, uttering these words: “If, my lord, you consent to practice chastity along with me and live with me according to the law of continence, I contract with you as the lord and master of my life.” (Clark 1984: 28)

It is logically inferred from the passage, that Melania understands that the last word belongs to

her husband, the head of the familial unit.203 Realising that her odd demand might be received

by her husband as unsettling the spousal hierarchy, she rushes to add that, if Pinian conceded

to her desire, she would still recognise him as lord of her life. Hence, she attempts to reassure

Pinian that giving up sex won’t diminish her husband’s hierarchical position in the family

constellation. Melania even pushes things further and presents Pinian with a plan B, in case he

disliked her offer: had he still wanted to maintain sexual relationships, he could do it…but

with an other partner (!)—given that Melania would offer her husband her whole fortune in

exchange for her freedom: “εἰ δὲ τοῦτό σοι ἐπαχθὲς καταφαίνεται καὶ οὐκ ἰσχύεις ἐνέγκαι τὴν πύρωσιν τῆς νεότητος, ἰδοὺ πρόκεινταί σοι ἅπαντά µου τὰ ὑπάρχοντα ὧν ἐντεῦθεν ἤδη δεσπότης γενόµενος χρῆσαι καθὼς βούλει, µόνον τὸ σῶµά µου ἐλευθέρωσον, ἵνα τοῦτο σὺν τῇ ψυχῇ µου ἄσπιλον παραστήσω τῷ Χριστῷ κατὰ τὴν ἡµέραν ἐκείνην τὴν φοβεράν.” (LMY, pp.130-132.§1)

“If, however, this seems burdensome to you, and if you do not have the strength to bear the burning passion of youth, just look: I place before you all my possessions; hereafter you are master of them and you may use them as you wish, if only you will leave my body free so that I may present it spotless, with my soul, to Christ on that fearsome day.” (Clark 1984: 28)

Unfortunately, Melania’s tempting effort to buy her husband off falls in void since, unlike

other female saints who manage to have similar requests granted, she is not successful.204 The

only consensus Melania succeeds in reaching is Pinian’s promise that after they would have

given birth to two children, they would, thereafter, cease intercourse.

Melania’s spiritual fate appears then, in this text, to be strictly tied to her female

gender and to the authority that comes concomitant with it in her society—that of her male

                                                                                                               203 See Constantinou 2015a. 204 An example of a heroine who does manage to preserve her virginity within marriage is Cecilia, who will be discussed in section three (see further pp. 266-268). Cecilia actually threatens her husband that if he touched her, her guardian angel would smite him.

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counterpart. Evidently, what is understood as gender in this text has to do with the behaviours

which the two protagonists exhibit and the authority (or lack of authority) that these

behaviours presuppose. Thus gender is perceived as performative. In other words, Melania’s

spiritual course (in contrast to other female saints, who go against their husbands’ decisions in

order to favor their spiritual goals) does not depend on her own will.205 Instead, Melania’s

spiritual desire is dependent on her husband’s will, or, as Lacan would put it, her spiritual

desire is (or better, has to be) the desire of the Other. Whether our heroine likes it or not, she is

coupled with her husband in spiritual terms. The two protagonists’ paired relationship is made

evident in the narrative in many instances. An interesting example is the episode in which

Melania plans to desert her husband: Ἐπειρᾶτο οὖν ἐκφυγεῖν ἡ ἁγία καὶ καταλεῖψαι αὐτῷ ἅπαντα αὐτῆς τὰ ὑπάρχοντα˙ καὶ ἀνακοινοῦται ἁγίοις τὸ πρᾶγµα˙ τῶν δὲ παραινεσάντων αὐτῇ ἔτι βραχὺν ἐπιµεῖναι χρόνον, ὅπως διὰ τῆς καρτερίας τὸ αποστολικόν πληρώσει λόγιον˙ “Τί γὰρ οἶδας, γύναι, εἰ τὸν ἄνδρα σώσεις;” (LMY, pp.132.-134.§4)

Therefore the saint kept trying to flee and to leave him all her possessions. When this matter was brought to the attention of the holy men, they advised her to wait a short while longer, so that through her patience she might fulfill the apostolic saying, “Wife, how do you know if you will save your husband?” (Clark 1984: 29)

As clearly stated in the passage, divine will is opposed to her separation from Pinian.

Especially as the phrase “Τί γὰρ οἶδας, γύναι, εἰ τὸν ἄνδρα σώσεις;” shows, her case is

different from other women who reach holiness leaving their husbands behind.206 Had she

resorted to a similar action, she would have gone against the divine. The protagonists are,

then, clearly treated as a couple. Consequently, if Melania wants to step higher on the spiritual

scale, she has to drag her husband with her. And this is exactly what she does, as will be

shown next.

As aforementioned, Melania experiences the loss of her virginity and freedom as tying

her to worldly affairs. The same feature is evident in other cases of women who are given to

marriage against their will and, who experience this as a tremendous loss, as for example the

holy mothers Martha and Anna discussed in Chapter Two. Seeing her holy ambitions

evaporate, Melania attempts to recompense for her loss in every way available to her: she

                                                                                                               205 Saints who defy their husbands in order to fulfill their pious aspirations are, for example, Mary the Younger and Thomaïs, who are severely abused because of their defiance. See Life of Mary the Younger ([BHG 1164], AASS Nov. IV. 1925, 692-705); Life of Thomaïs ([BHG 2454], AASS Nov. IV 1925, 234-242. 206 Such women are, for example, Matrona, the largest part of whose Life is devoted to her efforts to avoid her husband, and Theodora of Alexandria. See Life of Matrona ([BHG 1221], AASS Nov. III. 1910, 790-813) and Life of Theodora of Alexandria ([BHG 1727], Wessely 1889: 24-48).

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commits her daughter to virginity (LMY, p.132.§1); she secretly avoids bathing herself (LMY,

p.132.§2); since her social status dictates a luxurious dresscode, she wears under her silk attire

a thick woolen garment as a sign of humility (LMY, 136.5). Hence, Melania appears to adopt a

“form of doing” that conforms to what her society understands as “female” but to

simultaneously perceive this “female” as an impediment to her spiritual course. Consequently,

she struggles to readjust the female gender she performs in every way possible so as to prove

her devotion to God.

However, Melania’s actions do not seem enough to fulfill her life-purpose of coming

closer to God. The heroine desperately wants out from worldly affairs, yet, chained by her

gender to her husband’s will as previously shown, she is out of options. She, therefore, resorts

to the divine and specifically to saint Laurence, whom she begs in prayer to set her free from

the world (LMY, p.136.§5). Her wish is granted in an uncanny way since, at the moment of her

desperate appeal, she was pregnant with her second child—a son. She gives birth prematurely

following the prayer, the infant dies immediately after birth, while Melania herself falls

severely ill (LMY, p.136.§5-6).

It is worthwhile to briefly comment upon this development by taking into

consideration the other two holy mothers discussed in Chapter Two. We have seen in the case

of both Martha and Anna that they pray for the birth of a son, whom they consider their only

means for salvation—defined by both as their ticket out from worldly affairs. Similarly,

Melania prays to be “relieved from the burden of worldly affairs”. In her case, however, this is

translated not to birth of a son but to his death, while a bit later her daughter dies as well.

Remarkably, Melania, without a drop of hesitation understands this development as an answer

to her prayer and grabs the chance to extort her husband’s consent to her spiritual desire: “Εἰ

βούλει µε, φησίν, ἔτι ζῆν, δὸς λόγον ἐνώπιον τοῦ Θεοῦ, ὅτι τὸ λοιπὸν τοῦ βίου ἡµῶν ἐν ἁγνείᾳ

διάγωµεν, καὶ ὄψει τὴν δύναµιν τοῦ Χριστοῦ” (LMY, p.136.§6; “If you want me to continue

living, give your word before God that we will spend the rest of our lives in chastity, and then

you will see the power of Christ” [Clark 1984: 30]). Hence, strictly speaking, Pinian does not

exactly get in the spiritual track by his own autonomous will, but he is rather forced to do so,

since his wife’s fate is paired with his. This is also a point at which the two protagonists’

gender, established through their compliance to the roles that determine “male” and “female”

in their society, that is, established performatively as Butler would put it, is again

performatively transformed.

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This performative change of gender is most evident in the case of Melania than in that

of Pinian. A first sign that the heroine begins to move away from her female gender is the

transformation of her body. The body is, according to Butler, the medium through which one’s

gender is manifested.207 Traditionally in the context of Christian ideology, women were

considered to be prone to vanity caused by bodily adornment and beauty.208 Melania, one

would logically infer, must have been an elegant woman, since the degradation of her body,

caused by her newly acquired ascetic practice, is noted with surprise by the bystanders who

belonged to her social circles: “Δεῦτε, ἴδετε ἣν πρὸ τεσσάρων ἐτῶν ἐθεασάµεθα σφριγῶσαν ἐν

τῷ κοσµικῷ ἀξιώµατι, νῦν δὲ γεγηρακυῖαν ἐν τῷ οὐρανίῳ φρονήµατι”; (LMY, pp.148-

150.§12; “Come, see the woman who four years ago we beheld vigorous in all her worldly

rank, who has now grown old in heavenly wisdom” [Clark 1984: 34]). In fact, so astonished

are the witnesses of Melania’s transformation, that they treat her as a public spectacle: “Δεῦτε,

ἴδετε” (LMY, p.148.§12). Her change is positively understood as an antithesis between earthly

status and spiritual virtue: as a beautiful high-class woman she was “σφριγῶσαν ἐν τῷ

κοσµικῷ ἀξιώµατι” (LMY, p.150.§12), while now she is “γεγηρακυῖαν ἐν τῷ οὐρανίῳ

φρονήµατι” (LMY, p.150.§12)—she has withered for the sake of spirituality. Consequently,

Melania has begun to transcend her female gender, so strongly associated with bodily

concerns. The same evolution is thenceforward stressed in many instances with regard to

Melania’s spiritual advancement.209

In fact, if we look closely at how the couple’s spiritual advancement is constructed in

the narrative, we interestingly notice that this is closely interrelated with the protagonists’

effort to get rid of everything material. A remarkable example is the couple’s effort to

substitute their expensive clothing with humble attire:

Ἡνίκα δὲ τῆς ἰσαγγέλου πολιτείας ἐνήρξαντο, ἡ µὲν µακαρία Μελάνη εἴκοσι ὑπῆρχεν ἐνιαυτῶν, ὁ δὲ ταύτης λοιπὸν ἀδελφὸς ἐν Κυρίῳ Πινιανὸς τεσσάρων καὶ εἴκοσι ἐνιαυτῶν ἐτύγχανεν. Ὅθεν µὴ δυνάµενοι τέως διὰ τὸ ἁπαλὸν τῆς νεότητος συντόνῳ ἀσκήσει χρήσασθαι, τῆς ἐσθῆτος αὐτῶν τὴν εὐτέλειαν ἐπετήδευον. Ἐνεδιδύσκετο οὖν ἡ µακαρία ἱµάτιον λίαν εὐτελοῦς τιµήµατος, καὶ τοῦτο πεπαλαιωµένον, ἐν τούτῳ πειρωµένη ἀποσβεννύειν τὸ τῆς νεότητος κάλλος˙ ὁ δέ, ἐπειδὴ ἅπαξ τῆς λαµπρᾶς ἐσθῆτός τε καὶ τρυφῆς νεωστὶ ἀποπηδήσας ἐτύγχανεν, κιλικίσια ἱµάτια ἐνεδύετο.

                                                                                                               207 See indicatively Butler 1990: xxiv, 34, 45-46, 195-198. 208 See e.g. Basil of Ancyra (De vera virginitatis integritate, PG 30, 669-809); Clement of Alexandria, (Paedagogus, Marrou 1970: II pp.18-36.§4.1-§14.2 and XI pp.114-161.§53.1-§83.1); Gregory of Nazianzus (Κατὰ γυναικὼν καλλωπιζοµένων, Knecht 1972: 18-37); John Chrysostomos (Hom. 8. II Tim. 1, PG 62, 541); Paul (1 Tim.2.9). See also the comments of Detorakis 1989. 209 See, for example LMY, p.250.§62 where it is specifically mentioned that by avoiding earthly luxuries and seeking humility the saint has managed to defeat the temptation of vanity.

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Θεωροῦσα δὲ αὐτὸν ἡ µακαρία µήπω τοῦ καλλωπισµοῦ τῶν ἱµατίων τελείως καταφρονήσαντα, ἐλυπεῖτο µὲν καθ’ ἑαυτὴν οὐ µετρίως, ἐδεδοίκει δὲ φανερῶς ἐλέγξαι αὐτὸν διὰ τὸ ἄδηλον τῆς νεότητος καὶ τῆς ἡλικίας τὴν πύρωσιν˙ ἑώρα γὰρ αὐτὸν ἔτι σφριγῶντα τῷ σώµατι. Ὅθεν ἦθος ἀναπλάττεται καί φησιν πρὸς αὐτόν˙ “Ἆρα, ἐξ ὅτε τῆς πρὸς Θεὸν ὑποσχέσεως ἐνηρξάµεθα, οὐκ ἐδέξατο ἡ καρδία σου λογισµὸν ἐπιθυµίας περὶ ἐµοῦ;” Ὁ δὲ µακάριος τὴν τῆς διανοίας ὐατοῦ καθαρότητα ἀκριβῶς ἐπιστάµενος, διεβεβεοῦτο ἐνώπιον τοῦ Κυρίου ὅτι “Εξ ὅτε λόγον δεδώκαµεν τῷ Θεῷ καὶ τῆς ἁγνείας ἐνηρξάµεθα, ὡς τὴν ἁγίαν Ἀλβίναν τὴν µητέρα σου, οὕτως σε θεωρῶ.” ‘Η δὲ πρὸς αὐτὸν ἔφη µετὰ παρακλήσεως˙ “Πείσθητι οὖν µοι ὡς µητρὶ καὶ ἀδελφῇ πνευµατικῇ, καὶ ἄµειψον τὰ κιλικίσια ἱµάτια˙ οὐ γὰρ συµφέρει τοιαῦτα φορεῖν ἀνθρώπῳ καταλείψαντι διὰ τὸν Θεὸν τὴν κοσµικὴν µαταιότητα.” Ὁ δὲ τὴν ἐπὶ τὸ κρεῖττον αὐτῆς προτροπὴν θεασάµενος, εὐθέως τῆς ἀρίστης συµβουλῆς ἐπακήκοεν δοκιµάσας λυσιτελεῖν ἀµφοτέροις τοῦτο εἰς σωτηρίαν, καὶ ἐναλλάξας τὰ κιλικίσια, ἐνεδύετο ἀντιοχίσια ἰδιόχροα, ὡς εἶναι τὸ τίµηµα αὐτῶν νοµίσµατος ἑνός. (LMY, pp.140-142.§8)

When they began the angelic way of life, the blessed Melania was twenty years old and Pinian, who was henceforth her brother in the Lord, was twenty-four years old. Although at the time they were not able to practice rigorous asceticism because of their pampered youth, they clothed themselves in cheap garb. Thus the blessed woman wore a garment that was exceedingly cheap in value and very old, trying in this way to extinguish the beauty of youth. As for Pinian, he then once and for all rejected the magnificent clothes and luxury of his recent life, and garbed himself in Cilician clothes. The blessed woman was immeasurably saddened to see that he had not yet completely scorned the embellishments of dress. She feared to censure him openly, however, because he was not yet unproven in years and experienced the ardor of youth; she saw that he was still vigorous in body. She therefore changed her approach with him and said to him, “From the time when we began to carry out our promise to God, has your heart not been receptive to the thought of desiring me?” And the blessed man, who knew well the rectitude of his thoughts, affirmed in the Lord’s presence “From the time when we gave our word to God and entered the chaste life, I have looked on you in the same way as your holy mother Albina.” Melania then exhorted him, saying, “Then be persuaded by me as your spiritual mother and sister, and give up the Cilician clothes; it is not fitting for a man who has left behind worldly frivolities for the sake of God to wear such things.” And he saw that her exhortation was for his own good. Straightway he obeyed her excellent advice, judging this to be advantageous for the salvation of them both. And changing his Cilician garments, he clothed himself in those of the Antiochene style that were natural-colored and were worth one coin. (Clark 1984: 31-32)

It is immediately apparent from the quotation that much more textual space than expected is

devoted to the saints’ change of garment;210 this extensive narration is, of course, analogous to

the great effort needed by the two protagonists to achieve virtues that other saints immediately

and effortlessly accomplish.

                                                                                                               210 For comments on Pinian’s robe see also Brown 2012: 292-293. Brown adds an interesting remark from Peter the Iberian, a Georgian prince who turned monk (Brown 2012: 293). The monk describes Pinian dressed in a robe of “crushed straw, humble and worthless” (Rufus, Life of Peter the Iberian §39, ed. by Horn and Phenix 2008: 54-55). See also Devos 1968 and Horn 2006: 138-141, who argue that Peter the Iberian need not have actually seen Pinian, but it is also probable that the monk refers to a description he had heard.

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The above statement seems to be the general rule behind Melania and Pinian’s

achievement of virtue, which tends to be a very slow process: “Καὶ οὕτως διὰ τῆς χάριτος τοῦ

Θεοῦ ταύτην τὴν ἀρετὴν κατορθώσαντες, εἰς ἑτέραν αὖθις ἐτράπησαν” (LMY, p.142.§9; Thus

by God’s grace having successfully accomplished this virtue, they turned anew to another one

[Clark 1984: 32]). What is portrayed as requiring so much effort by this couple is

incomparable with the actions, which structure the performance of saints such as Symeon and

Stephanos. As analysed in the previous chapter, the latter two are immediately launched in the

“zone between two deaths”, living as if dead, and acquire superhuman qualities such as

complete deprivation of sleep and food, or endurance to extreme weather conditions without

need for garments whatsoever. Additionally, these protagonists inflict wounds on their bodies

using handmade iron attires (Symeon), or are chopped in pieces alive (Stephanos). Melania

and Pinian’s performance is even incomparable to saints discussed in the first chapter, such as

Mary of Egypt. Although Mary was, like Melania and Pinian, previously used to a luxurious

lifestyle, she nevertheless stays in the desert for four decades without decent food and

clothing. One could argue that there exists no base for comparison between saints glorified in

various Lives, since each is valued in his/her own terms. However, this does not appear to be

the case in this Life, since comparison is invited from the protagonists themselves. More

specifically, Melania and Pinian themselves recognise that their steps in acquiring spirituality

are protracted and long-drawn out:

καὶ σοφῶς µετ’ ἀλλήλων ἐσκέπτοντο λέγοντες˙ “Ἐὰν ἄσκησιν ὑπὲρ τὴν δύναµιν ἡµῶν ἀναδεξώµεθα, πάντως διὰ τὴν τῆς ἀναστροφῆς ἁπαλότητα µὴ ὑποφέρον τὸ σῶµα ἡµῶν τὴν κακουχίαν ἐξασθενεῖ, καὶ µέλλοµεν ὕστερον τρυφῇ ἑαυτοὺς ἐκδιδόναι.” (LMY, p.142.§9)

Together they wisely considered the matter and said, “If we take upon ourselves an ascetic discipline that is beyond our strength, we will not be able to bear it because of the softness of our way of life. Our body will not be able to bear it, will weaken completely, and later we will be likely to surrender ourselves to sensuality.” (Clark 1984: 32)

As illustrated in this passage, the two spouses (which actually means the author who draws

their profile too) understand that they are weak, i.e. weaker than averagely expected, as

regards the virtue of the body and the required kicking off of material habits; therefore, they

decide that it would be wiser for them to take things slowly. Thus after taking care of their

apparel, they move on to more demanding tasks, such as taking care of those in need.

What is also evident in the last three quoted passages is that, slow as they may be in

relieving themselves from their need of worldly luxuries, Melania and Pinian are,

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nevertheless, swifter in erasing their sexuality. According to the quotations, from the point the

two spouses decide to live in chastity, their sexual desire immediately seizes to exist: “Εξ ὅτε

λόγον δεδώκαµεν τῷ Θεῷ καὶ τῆς ἁγνείας ἐνηρξάµεθα, ὡς τὴν ἁγίαν Ἀλβίναν τὴν µητέρα

σου, οὕτως σε θεωρῶ” (LMY, p.142.§8; “From the time when we gave our word to God and

entered the chaste life, I have looked on you in the same way as your holy mother Albina”

[Clark 1984: 32]). The two protagonists are, from the time they declare that they seize to be

husband and wife, referred to as siblings.211 In their case, even kinship as reflected in language

acquires a performative dimension, in the way Butler understands the term, since the

transformations the protagonists desire and state, automatically take place. They are thus able

to move from one kin position to another, revealing in this way the concept of kinship as

something contingent, that is, similar to how Butler perceives the concept. This instantaneous

effacing of sexual desire directly contrasts with saints like Mary of Egypt who, as we saw in

Chapter One, need to fight for a long time against the temptation of lust.

In light of the above, it comes as no surprise that the greatest spiritual challenge of

Melania and Pinian as reflected in the LMY, appears to be their effort to get rid of their vast

fortune:212 Περὶ δὲ τῆς οὐσίας αὐτῶν, ἅπερ ἐκ στόµατος τοῦ µακαρίου ἀκήκοα, ἀκροθιγῶς διηγήσοµαι. Ἔλεγεν γὰρ κεκτῆσθαι ἐν προσόδῳ ἐναυσιαίῳ πλέον ἔλαττον χρυσοῦ µυριάδας δώδεκα, χωρὶς ὧν εἶχεν κτηµάτων τῆς ἰδίας ἐλευθέρας˙ τὰ δὲ κινητὰ αὐτῶν τοσαῦτα ὑπῆρχεν, ὡς µέτρῳ µὴ ὑποβάλλεσθαι˙ ἅπερ εὐθέως ἀρξάµενοι προθύµως ἐµέριζον, ἁγίοις ἀνδράσιν τὴν τῆς ἐλεηµοσύνης διακονίαν ἐγχειρίζοντες. Ἀπέστελλον ἐν ἄλλαις χώραις δι’ ἑνὸς µὲν µυριάδας τέσσαρας, δι’ ἑτέρου δὲ τρεῖς, δι’ ἄλλου δὲ δύο καὶ <δι’> ἑτέρου µίαν, καὶ τὰ λοιπὰ καθὼς συνήργει ὁ Κύριος. Ἔλεγεν γὰρ ἡ ἁγία αὕτη τῷ µακαρίῳ αὐτῆς συνζύγῳ καὶ ἀδελφῷ˙ “Βαρύτατόν ἐστιν ἡµῖν τὸ τοῦ βίου φορτίον, καὶ οὐκ ἐσµεν ἱκανοὶ ἐν τούτοις ὄντες τὸν ἐλαφρὸν ζυγὸν τοῦ Χριστοῦ ἀναδέξασθαι. Ἀποθώµεθα οὖν διὰ τάχους τὰ χρήµατα, ἵνα Χριστὸν κερδήσοµεν.” Ὁ δὲ ὡς παρὰ Θεοῦ οὕτως τὰς τῆς µακαρίας νουθεσίας ἐδέχετο, καὶ πλουσίᾳ χειρὶ τὰ ὄντα ἐσκόρπιζον. (LMY, pp.156-158.§15)

I shall report on their property by just skimming the surface of things I heard from the mouth of the blessed Pinian. He said that he had as an annual income 120,000 pieces of gold, more or less, not counting that derived from his wife’s property. Their movable goods were such that they were too many to be counted. Immediately they began, with zeal, to distribute these, entrusting to the holy men the administration of alms. They sent money to different regions, through one man 40,000 coins, through another 30,000, by another 20,000, through another 10,000, and the rest they distributed as the Lord helped them do. The saint herself said to her blessed husband and brother, “The burden of life is very heavy for us, and we are not competent in these circumstances to take on the light yoke of Christ. Therefore let us quickly lay aside our goods, so that

                                                                                                               211 See, for example, LMY, p.140.§8. 212 For estimations over Melania and Pinian’s enormous estates, wealth and slaves, see Blásquez 1994 and Clark 1986: 67-72.

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we may gain Christ.” Pinian received the admonition of the blessed woman as if it came from God, and with generous hands they distributed their goods. (Clark 1984: 38-39)

In this passage, the saints’ gigantic property is first described in minute detail and then set

against their spiritual vocation;213 their wealth is treated as a burden, an impediment in their

path toward God. In order to gain Christ, they have to give up money. Their “dilemma”

resembles Lacan’s dictum of forced choice—discussed in the Introduction (see above pp. 17-

18): “Your money or your life”.214 Only one of the two terms is really a choice. Likewise, in

order to gain divine salvation and not eternal condemnation, which translates to spiritual

death, the two saints have to divest themselves of what was carefully constructed in the text as

being most important in their earthly life: money and status.215 In these terms, it seems natural

that this “loss” is presented as the saints’ greatest temptation: Καί ποτε πάµπολλα παρακληθεῖσα παρ’ ἡµῶν εἰπεῖν, πῶς ἡδυνήθησαν ἀπὸ τηλικούτου ὕψους ἐλθεῖν εἰς τοσαύτην ταπείνωσιν, ἤρξατο λέγειν ὅτι˙ “Οὐκ ὀλίγους κόπους καὶ πολέµους ὑπέστηµεν ἐν ἀρχῇ παρὰ τοῦ µισοκάλου ἐχθροῦ, ἕως ἠδυνήθηµεν τὸν ὄγκον τῶν τοσούτων χρηµάτων ἀπώσασθαι, δυσφοροῦντές τε καὶ θλιβόµενοι, ὅτι οὐκ ἦν ἡµῖν ἡ πάλη πρὸς αἷµα καὶ σάρκα, ἀλλά, καθώς φησιν ὁ ἀπόστολος, πρὸς τὰς ἀρχάς, πρὸς τοὺς κοσµοκράτορας τοῦ σκότους τοῦ αἰῶνος τούτου. Ἐν µιᾷ δὲ νυκτὶ λυπούµενοι σφόδρα ὑπνώσαµεν, καὶ ὁρῶµεν ἑαυτοὺς ἀµφότεροι ἐν σχίσµατι τοίχου στενοτάτῳ διερχοµένους καὶ πάνυ ἀνιωµένους ἐν τῇ στενότητι, ὥστε λοιπὸν τὰς ἑαυτῶν ψυχὰς ἀπολέγεσθαι. Ὡς δὲ µετὰ πολλοῦ κόπου διήλθοµεν, φησίν, τὴν ὀδύνην ἐκείνην, εἰς πολλὴν καὶ µεγάλην ἀναψυχὴν ηὑρέθηµεν καὶ χαρὰν ἀνεκλάλητον. Τοῦτο δὲ ἔδειξεν ἡµῖν ὁ Θεός, τὴν ὀλιγοψυχίαν ἡµῶν παραµυθούµενος, ἵνα θαρρῶµεν περὶ

                                                                                                               213 In the Latin version the couple’s possessions are described in even more detail. See for example, the description of their bath:

She said [to Gerontios]: “We had an extraordinary piece of property, and in it stood a bath that surpassed any in worldly splendor. On one side of it was the sea, and on the other, a forest with diverse vegetation, in which roamed wild boar, male deer and does and other forms of wild life. From the pool, the bathers could see, on one side, ships sailing in the breeze, and, on the other, wild animals in the wood. The Devil […] set before me the multicolored marbles of the villa and its inestimable revenue. For the estate had sixty-two settlements on it with four hundred rural slaves] built around the bath.” (Life of Melania [Latin], ed. by Laurence 2002: 186; quoted in Brown 2012: 292)

One could say that the vivid description is even more accentuated by the fact that Melania appears to narrate in the first person her life to Gerontios. Brown discusses in detail, considering a large array of historical data, the kind of property that Melania and Pinian must have possessed (Brown 2012: 291-296, 322-325). In fact, because Melania and Pinian were not of age, the renunciation of their fortune became a public matter. The two spouses had to depend on the support of the imperial authorities in order to disseminate their possessions, since their decision sparked a revolt of their dependent slaves. For more details see Brown 2012: 296-299. 214 On this, known as Lacan’s “Vel of forced choice” see esp. Lacan 1995. 215 We should not view the close relation of religious giving and afterlife reward observed in the text as unorthodox. In a Byzantine setting, and specifically in Late Roman Christian literature, this interrelation is a common feature. It is attributed to the commercial boom related with the rise of monetarized economies from the sixth century BC onwards and to the social diversity of the late Roman Christian community (Brown 2012: 85-86; Mrozek 1984). Prime examples of this tendency are the donors of fourth-century basilicas in Africa and Modern Gaul, or the donor inscriptions in Italian shrines and tombs (Algazi 2003: 10; Diefenbach 2007: 379-400; Fiocchi-Nicolai 1994: 240-241; Heijmans 2004: 193-194; Marrou 1970).

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τῆς µελλούσης ἡµᾶς ἐκ τοῦ πολλοῦ κόπου διαδέχεσθαι ἀναπαύσεως.” (LMY, pp.158-160.16)

Once, when we strongly urged her to tell how they could come from such great heights to such lowliness, Melania began by saying, “Not few were the problems and struggles we endured in the beginning from the Enemy who is hostile to good, until we could divest ourselves of the burden of so much wealth. We were vexed and distressed because our battle was not against flesh and blood, but, as the apostle says, against the principalities, against the world rulers of this realm of darkness. One night we went to sleep, greatly upset and we saw ourselves, both of us, passing through a very narrow place in a wall. We were totally discomposed in the narrowness, so that all that remained was to give our souls. When we came through that pain with great suffering,” she said, “we found abundant great relief and ineffable joy. God manifested this to us, comforting our faintness of spirit, so that we might be brave concerning the future repose that we would receive after such suffering.” (Clark 1984: 39)

These protagonists’ giving away of their wealth is deftly depicted in the narrative in the same

terms that in other Lives usually describe the protagonists’ struggle against life-threatening

situations (cold, hunger, physical attacks by Satan)—that is, as a grand tournament against the

devil. In this context, we could also better understand the extensive narration of these

episodes, that is, the reason why thirty-two printed pages of the LMY are exclusively centered

on the couple’s almsgiving (LMY, pp. 140-202.§7-39).216

Thus as the above analysis shows, Melania and Pinian appear to be more restricted

than other holy protagonists by the limits of their body, a fact not silenced in the text, and

therefore they both have to disregard bodily luxuries and worldly goods step by step.

However, it is also made clear that as regards their relationship, it seems to be readily

transformed. This change is also evident in the performance of the two spouses, since, from

the point they embrace chastity, they behave as parts of a team. What this means is that the

two saints behave as equal teammates, performing the same deeds of virtue independently

from their gender.217 The same treatment is also reflected in the language used to refer to their

behaviour. The third person plural describes their actions, thereby giving an impression of

homogeneity and equality.218 Moreover, the same adjectives are employed to denote both

protagonists’ quality of character.219

                                                                                                               216 In this respect, it would be noteworthy to compare the extensive narrative space devoted to Melania and Pinian’s acts of donation with the equivalent narration found in other texts under consideration, such as the Passion of Julian and Basilissa, where it only takes up one sentence (PJB, p.253.§9). 217 For example, they both treat the sick (LMY, p.142.§9); they offer hospitality to strangers (LMY, p.142.§9); they pay the debts of imprisoned destitute (LMY, p.144.§9). 218 See for example the verbal forms “ἀπέλυον”, “παρέχοντες”, “ἤρξαντο πιπράσκειν” (LMY, pp.142-144.§9). 219 See, for example, “οἱ µακάριοι” (LMY, p.202.§40).

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Hence, at this point of the narrative, the kinship terms with which the two protagonists

denote their relationship to each other have changed; this is clearly stated in the text as from

that point onward Melania and Pinian are referred to as brother and sister.220 This treatment of

the two protagonists indeed resembles the way the relationship of brothers and sisters is

depicted in Byzantine hagiography, as discussed in the Introduction. Brothers and sisters who

star in hagiographical literature are treated as a unit, for they perform the same actions, while

their individual characteristics as literary characters are practically inexistent. Many of them

even share the same name.221 By contrast, as we shall see in the next sections of this chapter,

in the Lives of other married saints, the deeds of virtue that wives and husbands perform are

driven by their gender. For example, in the Passion of Cecilia and Valerian, Cecilia’s

husband, Valerian, performs activities in the public domain. (PCV, p.98.§10). Cecilia herself,

as in fact all the wives studied in the next two sections, stay at home and may engage in God-

pleasing activities from this private sphere, such as teaching young virgins how to behave. The

same is valid in those Lives of spouses, in which only one spouse achieves holiness. A

characteristic example is the Life of Thomaïs.222 In this Life, Thomaïs gives away household

items to which she has access or has made by herself, or offers services usually performed by

women, such as taking care of the sick and the poor. However, the heroine never offers money

or land. In contrast, in the Life of Philaretos the Merciful, for example, the husband and

candidate saint, Philaretos, as head of the familial unit is the one who has access to the family

property and money and it is exactly these things that he gives away, despite his wife’s

objections.223 In the LMY, on the other hand, we see Melania and her husband perform

together the same deeds, either traditionally female-assigned (such as taking care of the sick),

or male assigned (such as donating property). Consequently, at the start of their spiritual

career, the two saints are treated as equals, as also the bystanders admit:

                                                                                                               220 See for example LMY, p.202.§40 and p.220.§49. In both cases Pinian is referred to as Melania’s spiritual brother. 221 See, for example, Zenobios-Zenobia, Eulampios-Eulampia discussed in the introductory part above p. 9, fn. 12. 222 Life of Thomaïs ([BHG 2454], AASS Nov. IV 1925, 234-242; see pp. 235-236.§6 for the heroine’s pious tasks). 223 Life of Philaretos the Merciful ([BHG 1511z], Rydén 2002: 60-119). For a detailed analysis of the gender-based performance in both the Lives of Thomaïs and Philaretos, as well as for further examples of behaviours driven by the holy protagonists’ gender in Byzantine hagiographical narratives see Constantinou 2005 and 2014. For women’s domestic tasks, such as weaving in Byzantine society, in particular see Talbot 1997: 126, 130. For literary analyses of the Life of Philaretos the Merciful see Fourmy and Leroy 1934; Ludwig 1997: 74-166; Kazhdan and Sherry 1996; Rydén 2002: 16-50. See also Laiou 2009 for the transmission of property in the Byzantine family.

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“ἀλλὰ καὶ τὴν φύσιν αὐτὴν χαλινώσασα, εἰς καθηµερινὸν θάνατον ἑαυτὴν ἐξέδωκεν, δι’ αὐτῶν τῶν ἔργων πᾶσιν δεικνύουσα, ὅτι οὐδὲν ἀπολείπεται περὶ τὴν κατὰ Θεὸν ἀρετὴν τὸ θῆλυ τοῦ ἄρρενος, ἐπειδὰν ἔρρωται ἡ προαίρεσις.” (LMY, p.150.§12)

“She has rather even bridled nature itself and delivered herself to death daily, demonstrating to everyone by her very deeds that before God, woman is not surpassed by man in anything that pertains to virtue, if her decision is strong.” (Clark 1984: 35)

In these terms, the way the two saints realise the transformation of their relationship from

spouses to siblings, very much resembles the performative formation of kinship that Butler

describes. In other words, kinship is not treated as something stable, but as a concept that

changes according to the stance the concerned parts each time assume.

However, as the story unfolds, a very interesting hierarchy is established between

Melania and Pinian. The analysis detailed so far, has interpreted the ways in which Melania

and Pinian’s relationship is transformed from one of spouses (i.e., with Pinian in charge) to

one of siblings (i.e., with both partners as equals). If we approach familial relations according

to Butler’s theoretical guidelines, we realise that kinship is again performatively redefined,

since Melania gradually moves higher in the hierarchy, from the role of Pinian’s sister to that

of mother: “‘ὡς τὴν ἁγίαν Ἀλβίναν τὴν µητέρα σου, οὕτως σε θεωρῶ.’ Ἡ δὲ πρὸς αὐτὸν ἔφη

µετὰ παρακλήσεως˙ ‘Πείσθητι οὖν µοι ὡς µητρὶ καὶ ἀδελφῇ πνευµατικῇ’” (LMY, p.142.§8; “I

have looked on you in the same way as your holy mother Albina.” Melania then exhorted him,

saying, “Then be persuaded by me as your spiritual mother and sister” [Clark 1984: 32]). The

rearrangement of the couple’s relationship, as masterminded by the author, acquires much

importance if we also take into consideration the analysis of all types of relationships brought

to focus in the preceding two chapters. Thus we saw in Chapter One that the role of the

spiritual guide/father in the case of the two repentant prostitutes, Pelagia and Mary

(Abraham’s niece), was assumed by Nonnos and Abraham respectively. In Chapter Two we

saw the sons becoming their “mothers’ fathers”, as stated in both the Lives of Symeon and

Stephanos, from the time the two sons embrace their religious vocation.224 We shall see an

analogous development in the texts brought to focus in the next sections, with most of the

husbands becoming their wives’ teachers.

In all the narratives examined so far then, the role of spiritual guide and teacher in the

context of the pair is assumed by males, while female protagonists are restricted to the role of

                                                                                                               224 The only exception in the examples discussed so far is Mary of Egypt, who becomes Zosimas’ spiritual guide and not vice-versa. However, as already discussed in the analysis of this particular narrative, Mary is a transgressive figure in many aspects and constitutes an exception to many hagiographical conventions. Many of her peculiar characteristics derive, besides, from the fact that Zosimas encounters her when she is already a saint.

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the student.225 In the case of Melania and Pinian, however, a reverse hierarchy seems to be at

work from very early on in the story, that is, from the narrative point the protagonists begin to

travel, with Melania assuming the role of Pinian’s spiritual teacher: “Ὁ δὲ ἄοκνος ὢν περὶ τὰ

τοιαῦτα ἔργα, χαίρων ὑπήκουσεν αὐτῇ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἀγαθῷ διδασκάλῳ” (LMY, p.196.§37; And

he, who did not hesitate to perform such works, obeyed her cheerfully, as she was a truly good

teacher [Clark 1984: 52]). This hierarchical displacement in relation to the outset of the

narrative is not only stated but also becomes evident in a performative way. In specific,

Melania’s profile, formed through her behaviour, as discussed using Butler’s theoretical

guidelines, eventually reveals her as a more dynamic personality compared to Pinian. We have

already discussed the fact that from the beginning of the couple’s spiritual career the author

hints at Melania’s greater devotion to God, since it is she who insists on living in chastity with

her husband. A second hint to this direction is given when Melania urges her husband to avoid

wearing luxurious clothes, remarking in addition that “ἐδεδοίκει δὲ φανερῶς ἐλέγξαι αὐτὸν διὰ

τὸ ἄδηλον τῆς νεότητος καὶ τῆς ἡλικίας τὴν πύρωσιν” (LMY, p.142.§8; She feared to censure

him openly, however, because he was not yet unproven in years and experienced the ardor of

youth [Clark 1984: 32]). This statement serves to point out to the reader or the listener that

Melania is probably stronger in spirit than Pinian, and more willing to leave behind the

pleasures of the world.226 Moreover, even if the two saints work as a team to donate their

fortune and perform the same deeds, nevertheless a closer look reveals that the lead belongs to

Melania, since it is she who encourages and advices her husband, this making him in effect

more generous: “Ὁ δὲ ὡς παρὰ Θεοῦ οὕτως τὰς τῆς µακαρίας νουθεσίας ἐδέχετο, καὶ

πλουσίᾳ χειρὶ τὰ ὄντα ἐσκόρπιζον” (LMY, p.158.§15, my emphasis; Pinian received the

admonition of the blessed woman as if it came from God, and with generous hands they

distributed their goods. [Clark 1984: 39]). It is, thereupon, quite remarkable that, according to

                                                                                                               225 For the Christian context that underlies the conception of the husband as the wife’s teacher with Apostle Paul as the main proponent of what later became a topos mentioned by other Church Fathers, see Brown 1988: 130-131. This treatment appears to have roots in ancient Greek tradition, especially Plutarch, who maintains that the husband is responsible for leading his wife into a state of higher morality (Jacobs 1999, esp. p.116). John Chrysostomos has also dwelt on this topic, forbidding women to teach and stressing the catastrophic consequences of such an “unnatural” stance, by bringing up Eve’s instruction of Adam (Hom. 9. I Tim. 1, PG 62, 545; Hom. 4 Tit. 1, PG 62, 683). 226 It is germane to note here that as a historical personality, Pinian seems to have been much more spiritually renowned than presented in the LMY. Many episodes that relate to his spiritual activity are remarkably silenced in the narrative. An illustrating example is a scene included in an epistle of Augustine of Hippo, according to which Augustine’s congregation in Africa literally gathered to demand that Pinian be made a priest at Hippo (Brown 2012: 324-325). Silencing Pinian’s spiritual feats makes him appear in the LMY much less important than what he may have really been and points to an intentional overshadowing of the hero from the hagiographer’s part.

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the quotation, the “mouth of God”, i.e. the one who is capable of providing advice beneficial

to the soul, is in this text a woman, Melania.

Moreover, it is noticeable that in the LMY we are given information only about

Melania’s everyday routine of devotion: the heroine fasts (LMY, pp.172-174.§22); she

indulges in studying and copying the Holy Scriptures (LMY, p.174.§23); she partakes of little

sleep and never laughs (LMY, pp.174-176.§23); she reads treatises of the saints (LMY, pp.178-

180.§26); she prays incessantly and performs the divine office (LMY, p.188.§32); she encloses

herself in a box (LMY, p.188.§32). Additionally, in the last stages of her spiritual career, the

saint spends fourteen years isolated in a cell, only maintaining contact with Pinian and her

mother. In the same spirit, one should not forget that, even though the two protagonists are

clearly treated as a pair, in the title of the LMY it is only Melania who is commemorated as the

main protagonist: “Βίος της ὁσίας Μελάνης” (LMY, p.124; “Life of saint Melania” [Clark

1984: 27]). Besides, only Melania—and not Pinian—performs miracles (LMY, p.246.§60-

p.252.§62). But how can this reverse hierarchy be established in a text soaked in the

patriarchal society that produces it?

By the end of the LMY, as Melania approaches her death and her spiritual

achievements are summed up, it is once again stressed that the heroine’s greatest feat is her

repudiation of worldly luxuries: “διὰ τὰ µέλλοντα καὶ αἰώνια ἀγαθά, ἅτινα ὁ παντὸς τοῦ κόσµου κτίστης τε καὶ δηµιουργὸς χαρίζεται τοῖς γνησίως εἰς αὐτὸν πιστεύσασιν, περιεφρόνησα δόξης τε καὶ χρηµάτων καὶ πάσης τῆς ἐν τῷδε τῷ βίῳ ἀναπαύσεως.” (LMY, p.230.§53)

“For that which concerns the future and eternal good, which the Creator and Ruler of the whole world cheerfully gives to those who trust him, I have despised glory, possessions and every pleasure of this present life.” (Clark 1984: 65, with slight modifications of my own)

It is this characteristic of her, of this previously noble, wealthy woman that most impresses the

bystanders. Melania herself declares that she has despised the malicious triad of money, glory

and comfort.227

The observations detailed in the above indicate that from a certain narrative point

onward Melania is no longer spiritually weak, as she was at the outset of the story, no longer                                                                                                                227 The virtues of generosity and philanthropy are, of course, present in other Lives of wives as well. However, what is mostly stressed in those other cases, in which donating is extensively treated as a salient characteristic of holy women, is the wives’ suffering in the hands of their husbands because of their almsgiving. For example, Mary the Younger and Thomais are beaten to death as a result of their generosity or because they fail to behave as proper wives (Life of Mary the Younger, AASS Nov. IV. 1925, 692-705, pp. 695-696.§9-10; Life of Thomaïs, AASS Nov. IV 1925, 234-242, p.239.§16). In the case of Melania, on the other hand, what is highlighted is the act of donating itself and the difficulty for a woman or a man who was once wealthy to perform it.

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prone to sins that concern the body and, consequently, no longer framed by her female gender.

Instead, the above analysis underlines once again that gender is, in this text, understood

performatively; that is, it is not a natural attribute with which one is born and keeps to the end

of his/her life. Rather, gender is a behaviour-driven capacity and being thus, it can also

change. Melania does not overshadow her husband because suddenly the patriarchal

orientation of the society in which the narrative was produced has shifted to glorify the

primacy of women; Melania overpowers Pinian because she can change her gender. Put

differently, Melania does not move upwards in the spiritual scale as a woman but as a man;

since gender is conceived performatively as a form of doing and Melania’s actions suit what is

understood in the society as male gender, Melania surpasses her nature. Indeed, as the story

progresses, Melania is perceived as “manly”. This is evident, for example, when the heroine

visits the holy fathers on the mount of Nitria: “ἔνθα τὴν µακαρίαν ὡς ἄνδρα δέχονται οἱ τῶν

ἐκεῖσε ἁγιώτατοι πατέρες˙ καὶ γὰρ ἀληθῶς παρεληλύθει τὸ γυναικεῖον µέτρον, καὶ φρόνηµα

ἀνδρεῖον µᾶλλον δὲ οὐράνιον ἐκέκτητο” (LMY, pp.200-202.§39; in which the fathers of the

most holy men there received the saint as if she were a man. In truth, she had been detached

from the female nature and had acquired a masculine disposition, or rather, a heavenly one

[Clark 1984: 53-54]). Melania is, the passage shows, received as if she were a man, that is, as

equal not to—and by—any ordinary man, but to—and by—a company of holy fathers.228

Accordingly, if we approach Pinian’s gender politics through Butler’s performative

lens, we observe that, as the story unfolds and Melania evolves, becoming more “manly”, the

comparison puts Pinian in a rather uncomfortable position, since he is shown to sort of lack in

manhood. Of course, the text is not so explicit with Pinian’s “lack”, since he is, after all, one

of the holy protagonists. However, certain indications (not devoid of a hint of irony one could

add) draw a quite clear profile of Pinian in this respect. He is, as we have seen, more attached

to bodily adornment—an attribute considered, as aforementioned, more typical for a woman.

Furthermore, Pinian does not choose to live in chastity with his wife, but he is forced to do so;                                                                                                                228 It seems that other powerful women in early Christianity were perceived as “manly” and even surpassed their husbands in virtue. For a historically oriented perspective regarding the prominence of powerful “manly” wives in early Christian hagiography see Winstead 1997: 8. The author attributes this tendency to the importance of matrons in promoting Christianity in Late Antiquity. According to her view, women were more likely to convert to Christianity than were their husbands, due to the latter’s greater involvement in state paganism. Even though in Melania’s case paganism is a minor issue (dealt with in only one episode), and even though her literary portrait shows that the dynamics behind her dynamic personality are different, it is nevertheless significant that in the period that preceded the composition of the LMY the prominence of wives was not an extremely unusual phenomenon. Some comments on Melania’s dynamic personality, though significantly different in essence than the ones outlined in this thesis, are also made by Coon 1997: 114. See also Davies 1980.

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and he needs to be incited and instructed by his wife in order to give more generously their

material wealth away. Thus Pinian, in the unavoidable comparison with his wife falls short,

lacking in humility, chastity and generosity.

This discrepancy between the two spouses’ expected performance—as implied by

conventional gender politics—is also reflected in their afterlife status. More specifically,

Pinian dies eight years before Melania and Melania chooses to live thereafter in the place

where Pinian’s body is held (LMY, p.220.§49). Melania’s choice of residence serves to

indicate that, like in other cases we have studied so far,229 the earthly relationship is not

cancelled after one’s death, but seems to extend in a way to the protagonists’ afterlife.

However, an authorial interjection commenting upon Pinian’s death broadens our horizon of

interpretation, since it illustrates that the aforementioned reverse hierarchy between Melania

and Pinian appears to persist in their afterlife: “Ἦν δὲ ἄρα ὁ Θεὸς ὁ οὕτως πρὸς τὴν ἀγαθὴν

πρόθεσιν αὐτῆς οἰκονοµήσας, ὅπως ἔτι µειζόνως ἀθλήσασα ἡ µακαρία λαµπροτέραν

ἐργάσηται τὴν ἐν Κυρίῳ αὐτῆς πολιτείαν” (LMY, p.220.§49; It was God who arranged matters

thus to be in accord with Melania’s good purpose, so that the blessed woman, contesting even

more, might more illustriously carry out her way of life in the Lord [Clark 1984: 61]). Melania

needs to live longer than her husband, since she is meant to reach a higher spiritual status than

him. Hence, gender is constructed in this text as something fluid and variable, which

determines the spiritual hierarchy established between the two protagonists’ life and afterlife.

The preceding analysis shows that in the case of Melania and Pinian kinship and

gender, approached through Butler’s theory, assume a socially contingent character. Melania

and Pinian begin and end their spiritual course as a pair but, during this course, their category

of pair assumes different forms because their kinship positions shift; from spouses to siblings,

from siblings to a mother-son scheme. The text begins with a couple orientated towards the

husband’s primacy within the unit, before we move on to equality. And then a reverse

hierarchy is established: the wife, who is no longer wife but, through her behaviour becomes

mother and eventually father, appears to be more spiritually concrete than her

husband/brother/son. These various kin and gender positions are assumed performatively and

unproblematically within the textual construct. This indicates that when spirituality is

concerned, in the LMY kinship and gender fall close to Butler’s theory that livable categories

are rethought and redefined instead of remaining stable and invariable.                                                                                                                229 See, for example, the bond of Martha and Symeon.

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Andronikos and Athanasia

The story of Andronikos and Athanasia used for the purposes of this thesis is relayed in the

tenth/eleventh-century codex Urbani 36 (Alwis 2011: 7; Dahlman 2007). There are also two

recensions of the text considered to be earlier. Traditionally, the tale tends to be considered

part of a sixth-century hagiographical collection of spiritually edifying stories known as the

“Daniel cycle” (Alwis 2011: 7).230 The debate on whether the tale of Andronikos and

Athanasia was initially composed as part of Daniel’s collection or not is rife. There is also

much discussion concerning the tale’s date of composition (Alwis 2011: 7; Dahlman 2007:

65). The only certain fact—that pertains to the version used here—is that the text was written

after the sixth century, since Daniel of Sketis is clearly identified in the narrative, and before

the tenth/eleventh century—the date of the manuscript (Alwis 2011: 8). In the version

discussed in this thesis, the story of Andronikos and Athanasia stands as an autonomous Life

with its own prologue. Besides, this particular version, as Alwis has already observed,

compared to the previous versions, elaborates and lengthens the episodes (Alwis 2011: 8).

Therefore, the issues we are interested in (kinship, relations between the protagonists, gender)

are expected to be dealt with in greater detail in this lengthier version. This is generally the

practice followed in Byzantine hagiographical literature, with most of the revised versions or,

in Byzantine terms, “µεταφράσεις” which appear mostly in the tenth century accentuating

such issues. This could be seen also in conjunction with the spirit of the tenth/eleventh

centuries, an era that pays much attention to the protagonists’ emotional cosmos in both art

and literature.231

The plot of the text is set in Antioch. Andronikos and Athanasia are a wealthy couple,

he is a banker and she the daughter of his colleague. The two of them lead a pious life, sharing

their wealth with the poor, the needy and the monks. Two children are born to them, a son and

                                                                                                               230 For a detailed presentation regarding Daniel and his collection see Dahlman 2007. The term “spiritually edifying stories” (narrationes animae utiles) was coined by the Bollandists to describe tales, which grew from desert fathers’ maxims and experiences (Delehaye 1966a). See also Wortley 1987 and 2004, as well as Alwis 2011: 122-123 and 146-147, fn. 85 which include references to examples of these narratives. 231 See, for example, the tenth century collection of Symeon Metaphrastes. The author amplifies existing hagiographical texts mainly by detailing the heroes’ emotional reactions (Høgel 2002). For the attention given to emotions in artistic production in this particular era see Meyer 2013. See also Alwis, who mentions as a recurring theme of the tenth century the themes of philanthropy, of respect to the monastic life, as well as the reappearance of fiction, the prime genre that portrays emotions (Alwis 2010: 122-125).

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a daughter. After the birth of their second child, Andronikos and Athanasia decide to abstain

from intercourse. A decade after the birth of their daughter, a tragedy befalls upon their

family. Both their children die as an effect of a severe illness, leaving Athanasia heartbroken.

The two children are buried in the church of saint Julian the martyr. Athanasia keeps a vigil in

this church on the day of the burial. During this time she witnesses in a dream saint Julian

reprimanding her for her inconsolable grief. Astonished, Athanasia persuades her husband to

leave everything behind and pursue the monastic life together. The two spouses undertake a

pilgrimage to Jerusalem and then to Egypt. There, Andronikos meets a monk from Sketis and

decides to go with him to the renowned lavra. He, therefore, leaves his wife behind with the

intention to return for her later. After he arranges for Athanasia to enter the monastery of

Tabennesi, Andronikos pursues the ascetic lifestyle by the side of Daniel. Twelve years have

elapsed and Andronikos embarks on a second pilgrimage to the Holy Land. On his way, he

encounters Athanasia disguised as a monk. Athanasia recognises her husband but, since she

has significantly changed in appearance, Andronikos does not recognise her. Together, they

continue the journey to Jerusalem and afterwards they decide to live in the same cell at the

monastery of Oktokaidekaton in Alexandria. They live in silence for twelve years until

Athanasia dies. As her body is prepared for burial, her female identity is revealed. Andronikos

discovers he had been living with his wife through documents the heroine kept in her pillow.

Andronikos dies soon after his wife and is eventually buried with her.

The story of Andronikos and Athanasia is also, as that of Melania and Pinian, the story

of a consummated marriage, which at some point is apparently denounced for the sake of

continence and spirituality. It presents many similarities with the previously scrutinised text,

but also many differences. Both of these axes invite a comparison with the LMY, which

reveals two important issues the story of Andronikos and Athanasia tackles—once again,

gender and kinship. Gender appears to be also in the case of this couple the kernel on which

the plot unravels. For, the protagonists’ advancement to a higher spiritual status is dependent

on the ways they perform the male or female gender at a given narrative point. Accordingly,

the kin positions the protagonists assume vary according to the gender they each time perform.

In these terms, Butler’s view of kinship and gender as performative permits a vivid insight into

the ways these concepts are orchestrated in the narrative.

The tale commences by establishing the traditional gender hierarchy. In this case,

differently from Melania and Pinian, the rubric of the text names both protagonists: “Βίος καὶ

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πολιτεία τοῦ ὁσίου πατρὸς ἡµῶν Ἀνδρονίκου καὶ τῆς αὐτοῦ συµβίου Ἀθανασίας” (LAA,

p.249; “The life and conduct of our saintly father Andronikos and his wife Athanasia” [Alwis

2011: 256]). The title naturally predisposes the audience toward a treatment of the two

characters that moves in more equal terms compared to the LMY. However, there is a hint that

Andronikos takes precedence from the start, since he is mentioned first as “our father”, while

Athanasia follows as Andronikos’ qualifier (“τῆς αὐτοῦ συµβίου”). That the picture gradually

drawn of the couple tends to comply to societal Byzantine standards, with man as head of the

household, is also made clear already from the two first paragraphs. Following the title, in the

proemion the protagonists’ hometown is described and glorified as having given birth to both

pious men and pious women: “τὸ γενέτειραν εἶναι καὶ ἄριστον τροφὸν ἀνδρῶν ὁµοῦ καὶ

γυναικῶν θεοφιλῶν” (LAA, p.249.§1.12-13; being the mother and excellent nourisher to both

God-loving men and women [Alwis 2011: 256]). As the passage once again makes clear,

gender relations are a significant factor that guides the making of this Life. However, this

apparent equality is again disrupted, since it is immediately joined to a clause introducing

Andronikos (not Athanasia) as object of narration: “ἦς δὴ καρπός ἐστιν εὐκλεής καὶ ὁ νῦν ἡµῖν

προτεθεὶς εἰς διήγησιν, ὁ θαυµαστὸς τῷ ὄντι καὶ θεῖος Ἀνδρόνικος” (LAA, p.249.§1.14-16;

Indeed a famous fruit of this city is the remarkable and holy Andronikos, who is now placed

before us as the subject of our narrative [Alwis: 256]). Andronikos is thus inserted in the plot

first, while Athanasia, as will be shown next, comes to be added almost as a secondary

ingredient, to “spice up” Andronikos’ lay life.

As soon as our hero lands in the plot, he is first described as being extremely wealthy

and second, as being phenomenally pious (LAA, p.249.§2.20-22). These determinants are then

explained: even though Andronikos is a banker (i.e., wealthy and prestigious), he is generous

and humble, since his focus is the soul and not the pleasure of the body—i.e., pious (LAA,

p.249.§2.22-24). He proves the qualities attributed to him everyday by wholeheartedly giving

to the poor and to the monks (LAA, p.249.§2.24-30). Being thus, Andronikos’ résumé makes

him the perfect husband, as in Byzantium being able to provide for one’s family, as well as

being prestigious and a good Christian were qualities much more sought in men than were

beauty and love.232 And this is exactly the point at which Athanasia is introduced in the text.

Remarkably, in line with the treatment already evident in the title and the prologue, Athanasia

does not manifest any individual qualities, as Andronikos does. Instead, she is qualified as her                                                                                                                232 See indicatively Angold 1989 and Laiou 1992 for the eleventh and twelfth centuries.

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husband’s “helper toward the good cause” (“βοηθὸς ἐπὶ καλῷ”, LAA, p.249.§2.31).233 The

picture of the two protagonists then, seems to comply to their society’s gender taxonomy, with

the husband being the main agent, and the wife’s role restricted to that of her husband’s

assistant.234 What is also made clear already from the title, but also stated at the point when

Athanasia is introduced in the plot, is that the two spouses are considered a pair, and as a pair

they conquer immortality together: “τὴν ὄντως ἀθανασίαν φερωνύµως τῆς κλήσεως, σὺν αὐτῷ

ἐκληρώσατο” (LAA, p.249.§2.31-33; with him was allotted the true immortality after which

she was named [Alwis 2011: 257]).

Additionally, in light of the clues provided in the text so far, it seems that—unlike

Melania and Pinian—Andronikos and Athanasia are from the beginning detached from

everything that has to do with wealth. Their money is just their medium to offer to others and

not, as in the text previously analysed, their greatest temptation. Athanasia is even mentioned

to have never advised her husband to strive in order to increase their fortune (LAA,

p.249.§2.33-35). This statement implies, one could infer, that other women would be expected

to behave in the opposite way, demanding from their husbands to increase their capital.

Instead, due to her love of God, Athanasia urged her husband to divide their income in three

parts: one for the household and the people in it, one for nurturing and clothing the poor, and a

third one for the care of strangers and monks who happened to visit Antioch (LAA,

p.249.§2.36-41). Hence, Athanasia is a woman and as a woman she begins as spiritually

inferior to Andronikos but she is nevertheless (if we see gender as manifested in performance)

what would be termed in Byzantium a “good” woman. And, being detached from their ties

with money, these protagonists are expected to spiritually thrive in a different way than

Melania and Pinian.

Turning next to the two protagonists’ sexual ethos, we observe that, in contrast to the

events surrounding Melania’s marriage, Athanasia is not mentioned to have ever objected to

her wedding, or to have wanted from the beginning to lead a solitary life. Also revealing in

this respect is the fact that, as was the case with our previous couple, Andronikos and

                                                                                                               233 Repeated also later on (“παρακαλεῖν ἐπειρᾶτο τὴν βοηθὸν”, LAA, p.251.§5.97-98; he attempted to plea with his helper [tr. Alwis 2011: 258, with minor modifications]). 234 See characteristically John Chrysostomos’ view that if a status of monarchy with man as the head was not at work, within the familial unit, discord would inevitably arise (Hom. 34 I Cor. 3, PG 61, 289-290). Chrysostomos makes the same point on many occasions. For a more comprehensive list of references on the issue see Clark 1979: 2, fns. 4-9.

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Athanasia decide to lead a continent marriage after the birth of two children.235 Nevertheless,

the decision in the case of this couple does not belong solely to the woman whom the husband

was forced to follow, as we saw in the LMY. Instead, it is mentioned as a consensus of

husband and wife, a type of mutual contract: τὸ ἀπ’ ἐκείνου δέ συνθήκας καὶ πίστεις ἀσφαλεῖς ἀµφότεροι ἔθεντο τοῦ µηκέτι συνελθεῖν ἀλλήλοις παρ’ ὅλην δὴ τὴν ζωήν· οὕτως οὖν τῇ σαρκὶ καὶ πάσαις ταῖς σαρκικαῖς ἐπιθυµίαις ἀποταξάµενοι, ὅλην τὴν ῥοπὴν παρεῖχον τῷ πνεύµατι καὶ τοῖς ἔργοις τοῦ πνεύµατος. (LAA, p.250.§3.46-50)

After this, they both entered into agreement and pledged with unfailing trust to unite no longer with each other for the rest of their lives. Therefore, having bid farewell to the flesh and all carnal desires, they devoted all their effort to the spirit and spiritual works. (Alwis 2011: 257)

Therefore, as regards both his monetary policy and his sexual practice, Andronikos does not

manifest the same weaknesses tied to self-restrain and strength, which Pinian had shown. The

protagonist exhibits more manly qualities and affirms in this way his male gender.

As regards the two spouses’ paired performance from the time they give their promise

of continence, another difference with our discussion of Melania and Pinian surfaces. More

specifically, it seems that our second couple does not behave as a team of two. Rather, the two

saints’ God-pleasing tasks are gender-oriented, according to the social roles associated with

“male” or “female”:

τὰς γὰρ τρεῖς τῆς ἑβδοµάδος ἡµέρας, Δευτέραν φηµί καὶ Τετράδα καὶ Παρασκευὴν, ὁ θεῖος µὲν Ἀνδρόνικος, µετὰ τῶν ὁµοτέχνων καὶ ὁµοτρόπων ὅλος ἀπησχολεῖτο εἰς περιποίησιν ἀνδρῶν, ἀναπήρων τὲ καὶ πτωχῶν, λουτροῖς τὲ δουλοπρεπῶς θεραπεύων αὐτοῖς τὸ σῶµα πεπονηκός, καὶ τὴν ἄλλην πᾶσαν ἀπονέµων ἀνάπαυσιν· ἡ δὲ θαυµασία Ἀθανασία, τῶν ὁµογενῶν γυναικῶν ὅσαις ἔνδειαν εἶχεν ὁ βίος καὶ τι τραχὺ καὶ ἀνώµαλον, ἐπ’ ἴσης τῷ ἀνδρὶ ἐποιεῖτο τὴν πρόνοιαν. (LAA, p.250.§3.50-58)

For three of the days in the week—I mean Monday, Wednesday and Friday—the holy Andronikos together with his fellow bankers and other like-minded men, were preoccupied with caring for disabled and poor men as if they themselves were servile, and caring for those whose bodies were suffering, with baths, and dispensing every other relief. The remarkable Athanasia, with other women of equal birth, provided exactly the same care as her husband to women whose lives were stricken by poverty or any harsh or difficult situation. (Alwis 2011: 257)

As the passage shows, Andronikos provides for the poor and needy men, while Athanasia

offers her charitable services exclusively to women. Hence, in this case, the equality claimed

for the two saints (ἐπ’ ἴσης τῷ ἀνδρὶ ἐποιεῖτο τὴν πρόνοιαν, LAA, p.250.§3.57-58) has a social

color. That is to say, it is not the same with what is meant by equality in the modern sense, or

                                                                                                               235 See also Alwis (2011: 86-88) who relates the couple’s decision to the general theme of distraction from God’s affairs underwriting the text.

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even in lexical terms. Rather, in this Byzantine context, it is taken for granted that the lead

belongs to the man, whom the woman follows, and this is basically, as the quoted authorial

comment shows, understood as the only possible equality in social terms.

The gender-coloured behaviour of the two protagonists resurfaces again in the episode

in which Andronikos and Athanasia’s children die as a result of a serious illness (LAA,

p.250.§4.60-67). Similarly to Melania and Pinian, this death marks a break with Andronikos

and Athanasia’s previous life. This is also the narrative point at which Athanasia’s spiritual

weakness is made manifest. For, unlike Melania, who immediately perceived the demise of

her children as a relief from the burden of worldly affairs, Athanasia, viewed through Butler’s

theoretical lens, demonstrates a more “feminine” reaction. While the two children lie in their

bed deeply distressed, Athanasia upon seeing them “εὐθὺς οὖν στρεφοµένῃ τὰ σπλάγχνα καὶ

τὴν καρδίαν κοπτοµένῃ δεινῶς” (LAA, p.250.§4.67-68; worried in her innermost being and

struck violently in the heart [Alwis 2011: 257]), she becomes desperate. She thus climbs on

the bed and lies with them to comfort them (LAA, p.250.§4.60-70). The author explains her

reaction in the following way:

καὶ γὰρ οὐδὲ ἄλλῳ τινὶ φορητὸν ἂν ὑπῆρξε, µήτι γε µητρί καὶ ταῦτα φιλόπαιδι, τὸ βλέπειν τῇ νόσῳ κάµνοντας ἀµφοτέρους τοὺς παῖδας· εἰ γὰρ καὶ φιλόθεος ἦν ἡ γυνή, ἀλλά γε σπλάγχνοις τοῖς µητρικοῖς ἐκόπτετο καὶ αὐταῖς δήπου ταῖς ἀνάγκαις τῆς φύσεως. (LAA, p.250.§4.70-75)

This would not have been bearable to anyone to see both her children worn down by disease, especially a mother who loved her children so much. For even though the woman was God-loving, she was nevertheless tortured by maternal love and indeed, by the demands of nature. (Alwis 2011: 257)

This comment assumes great importance for the purposes of this analysis, since the narrator

recognises that according to what he had presented up to this episode, Athanasia led a very

pious life. However, his heroine had not seized being a woman and her emotional outburst,

characteristic of the female gender, directly contrasts her spiritual vocation. Or, in Butlerian

terms, her performance makes her female. The clash is underlined by the syntactical

presentation of the authorial remark: “εἰ γὰρ καὶ” (LAA, p.250.§4.73), introduces a clause of

concession—understood as “even though Athanasia loves God”. This is followed by an

antithetical conjunction in stressed form, introducing the main clause (“ἀλλὰ γὲ” [LAA,

p.250.§4.73]) to show the heroine’s submission to her nature. Hence, Athanasia, according to

our author, behaves improperly for one who is supposed to love God and this shows that she

still prioritises worldly affairs to spiritual conduct.

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This implicit authorial critique comes with a sequel, as the narrator goes on to contrast

Athanasia’s reaction with that of Andronikos: ὁ τοίνυν Ἀνδρόνικος ἐπεὶ τέλος εἶχεν ὁ ὄρθρος ἐν τῷ οἴκῳ γενόµενος, ὡς πέρα τοῦ µετρίου καθεύδουσαν, ἠτιᾶτο τὴν σύζυγον ἐπεὶ δὲ παρ’ αὐτῆς ἤκουσεν ὡς οὐχ’ ὕπνου πόθος, οἶκτος δὲ τέκνων ὁµοῦ νοσούντων ἔνδον ἦν ταύτην παρακατέχων προσελθὼν καὶ τῶν παίδων ἁψάµενος, κραταιὰν εὗρε τὴν ἀῤῥωστίαν αὐτῶν· ἵν’ εἴποιµι τὸ τῆς θείας Γραφῆς, οὐδὲν οὖν ἀγεννὲς ἢ σκυθρωπὸν εἰπὼν ἢ παθών, τοῦτο µόνον ἐφθέγξατο· τὸ θέληµα τοῦ Κυρίου γενέσθω. (LAA, p.250.§4.75-82)

When matins had ended, Andronikos came home and scolded his wife for oversleeping. When he heard her say <that what had kept her in the house> was not desire for sleep but pity for the children who were both ill, he went in, touched the children and found them very ill. To quote the Holy Scriptures, saying nothing base or gloomy or suffering, he said only this, “The will of the Lord be done”. (Alwis 2011: 258)

Andronikos is reserved in his reaction, placing the fate of his children to the hands of God.

The terms of comparison in our analysis then bring Andronikos’ reaction closer to that of

Melania, while Athanasia’s explosive attitude seems to resemble Pinian’s distress in the

analogous episode. The two spouses’ contrasting behaviour continues in the following lines, as

Andronikos leaves his wife and his sick children, and visits saint Julian’s church to pray. His

calm resort to the divine is opposed to the wailing and the lamentation he hears upon his return

to his house (LAA, pp.250-251.§5.88-114). Arriving home he is informed that his children

have passed away: εἰσελθὼν δέ, εὗρεν ἀµφότερα τὰ παιδία νεκρὰ ἐν µιᾷ καὶ τῇ αὐτῇ κλίνῃ κείµενα· καὶ τὴν σύζυγον, φανερῶς ἤδη τῷ πάθει νενικηµένην. παραχρῆµα γοὖν εἴσεισι τὸν εὐκτήριον οἶκον, ὃς ἦν ἐν τῷ οἴκῳ αὐτοῦ, καὶ πρηνὴς πεσὼν εἰς τὸ ἔδαφος, ἄλλός τις καθωρᾶτο Ἰώβ, τὰ ἐκείνου καὶ διαπραττόµενος καὶ φθεγγόµενος θερµὴν γὰρ ἐκεῖ τῷ κυρίῳ, τὴν εὐχὴν καὶ συχνὴν προσαγαγὼν τὴν προσκύνησιν, εὐχαριστῶν ἔλεγεν· “ὁ κύριος ἔδωκεν, ὁ κύριος ἀφείλετο· ὡς τῷ κυρίῳ ἔδοξεν, οὕτως καὶ ἐγένετο· εἴη τὸ ὄνοµα κυρίου εὐλογηµένον εἰς τοὺς αἰῶνας.” ἐξελθὼν δέ, παρακαλεῖν ἐπειρᾶτο τὴν βοηθὸν συναποθανεῖν τοῖς τέκνοις ἐφιεµένην, καὶ µὴ δὲ ζῆν ὅλως ἔτι ἀνεχοµένην· “τί γάρ µε δεῖ ζῆν”, ἔλεγε· περιπαθές τε καὶ γοερὸν ὡς εἰκὸς µητέρα φιλότεκνον ὀλολύζουσα· “ἀµφοτέρων µοι τῶν κλάδων περιῃρηµένων; πρὸς τίνα τοῦ λοιποῦ βλέψω; ἐν τίνι δὲ τὸ ζέον καταπαύσω τοῦ πάθους· ἄπαις ἡ καλλίπαις ἐξαίφνης γεγενηµένη;” ταῦτα καὶ τὰ τούτων ἐχόµενα τὴν Ἀθανασίαν συνείρουσαν· µετὰ θερµῆς τῆς τῶν δακρύων ἐπιρροῆς, παρακλητικοῖς λόγοις ὁ θεῖος ἐπειρᾶτο ἀνέχειν Ἀνδρόνικος· “µὴ οὕτω γύναι” λέγων· “µὴ κατὰ µίαν τῶν ἀφρόνων καὶ ἀναστάσεως ἐλπίδα µὴ κεκτηµένων, ἐκτὸς τοῦ προσήκοντος λόγου ἀποδύρου τὰ τέκνα ἡµῶν· εἰ γὰρ καὶ ἡµῖν τεθνήκασιν, ἀλλὰ Θεῷ πάντως ζῶσιν ὑφ’ οὗπερ ἄρα καὶ προσελήφθησαν, σοφῶς τὸ συµφέρον ἡµῖν τε κἀκείνοις οἰκονοµήσαντος αὐτὰ µὲν γὰρ τὰ τέκνα ἡµῶν ἄµωµα προσελάβετο πρὶν ἢ γεύσασθαι τῶν τοῦ βίου κακῶν· ἡµῖν δὲ τὸ πρὸς ψυχῆς σωτηρίαν ἀπιδεῖν ἐµνηστεύσατο, µηδενὸς ὄντος ἔτι τοῦ περισπῶντος ἡµᾶς καὶ πρὸς ἑαυτὸ ἐπιστρέφοντος.” (LAA, pp.250-251.§5.88-114)

Entering, he found both his children lying dead in one and the same bed and his wife already clearly overcome by grief. So at once he went to the chapel, which was in his

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house, and fell to the ground face downwards, looking like another Job, doing and uttering the same things. For there, praying feverishly to the Lord and making frequent obeisance, he thanked God, and kept saying, “The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken away. As it appeared fit to the Lord, thus it has come to pass. Blessed be the name of the Lord to the ages.” Going out, he attempted to plead with his wife who wanted to die with her children, and who could not bear at all to live any more. For she said, “Why should I live?” She went on crying and wailing as is natural for a mother who loves her children: “Both my young shoots have been taken away from me. To whom shall I look from now on, with the help of what shall I extinguish the flame of my grief? I, who had beautiful children, am suddenly childless.” While Athanasia was saying these and similar words continuously with her flood of tears, the holy Andronikos tried to support her with imploring words, saying, “Do not be so, wife. Do not lament for our children with inappropriate words like this, like one of the foolish ones who have no hope for the Resurrection. For though they are dead to us, at least they live in God by Whom they were received, Who wisely managed this for their and our own good. For He received our children, unblemished, before they had even tasted the evils of life, while He pledged us in marriage to pay attention to the salvation of the soul, now that there is nobody to distract and attract our attention.” (Alwis 2011: 258)

As illustrated in the passage, Andronikos’ enkratite, stoic and, almost inhumanly serene stance

is comparable only to Job. Andronikos accepts God’s will and even has the strength to console

his wife. Directly contrary (and characteristically “female”) behaves Athanasia. Her reaction

climactically surges since, not only is she now inconsolable but one could say also hysterical,

since she finds no reason to live with her children dead. Compared to her previous state of

being heartbroken, she then graduates to extreme grief (“περιπαθές τε καὶ γοερὸν [...]

ὀλολύζουσα”, LAA, p.251.§5.99-100), and then to this desire for death. Being thus, she is

totally unfit to a pious woman and she is, therefore, declared by the author as “defeated by

passion” (“τῷ πάθει νενικηµένην”, LAA, p.251.§5.90). Athanasia’s performance is, therefore,

carefully constructed as characteristically female and as rather contrary to exceptional spiritual

standards.

Upon the death of their children, therefore, the emotional reactions of the two

protagonists prove to be gender-driven. The hierarchical relation between the two spouses,

hinted at but also concealed by the language of equality, is not immediately noticeable at the

beginning of the text. However, as the tale unfolds and reaches the untimely death of the two

children, it is clearly revealed. The male protagonist, Andronikos, viewed through Butler’s

glance, manifests his male gender through his stoic behavior, which is positively commented

upon in the text as an attitude that brings the hero closer to God. On the other hand, the female

protagonist, Athanasia, downplays in a way her previously exposed pious actions by proving

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herself faithful to her female gender.236 This classifies her as spiritually inferior to her

husband.

At this point it would seem that the plot has reached a deadlock, since Athanasia is not

at all moved by her husband’s encouraging words. She still desires to die and this endangers

her pair-mate’s spiritual status, since she is tied to him and thus in a position to drag him down

with her. The solution is offered through a divine apparition. Athanasia spends the night at

saint Julian’s church, where her children are buried, refusing to desert them (LAA,

p.251.§5.119-124). Exhausted by grief, she falls asleep and sees in a dream a monk—later

revealed to be the martyr Julian himself. The monk reproaches Athanasia for her inconsolable

grief, reassuring her that her children have serenely passed to the afterlife. He also reminds her

that it is exactly this transition to the everlasting afterlife that should interest all mortals (LAA,

pp.250-252.§6.126-147). Astonished by the dream, Athanasia rushes back to her house and

announces her husband her desire to lead a solitary life. Consequently, divine intervention is

needed to push the plot forward, changing Athanasia’s mindset and instilling in her the

monastic vocation. Let us remember that the divine was the deus ex machina also in the case

of Melania and Pinian, but in reverse mode; that is, in order for Pinian to consent to his wife’s

desire. If we keep both examples in mind, we could more effectively spot the direct opposition

pursued by the two authors between the performance of Pinian/Athanasia (as demonstrating

traits of weakness) and Melania/Andronikos (as spiritual exemplars).

Athanasia’s impulsive—and slightly naïve, one could add—spontaneous decision is

more underlined by Andronikos’ reaction to his wife’s proposal. Clearly uncertain of whether

Athanasia has given a reasonable amount of thought to her decision he, being more sensible,

gives his wife one week to reconsider. Only after being reinsured that Athanasia has remained

firm to her decision does Andronikos proceed to make the arrangements for their departure.

But even in going through with these arrangements, the husband exemplifies his sensible and

more organised “male” personality. Specifically, Athanasia just talks the idea, that is, she just

throws the ball. Andronikos, on the other hand, arranges for the family fortune to be spent

building a hospital and a lodging house for monks; he also sets free their servants, after he has

provided for them. Hence, unlike Melania and Pinian, who disseminate their property together,

in this case the “boss” in the house is Andronikos, who does the general management of

                                                                                                               236 For further observations regarding how Athanasia’s gender is staged in the text see Alwis 2011: 103-105.

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money and household staff, and who is the only one capable at this point to act sensibly and to

think more long-term.

To return to Athanasia, we have already discussed that, unlike Melania who, from the

beginning of her career shows more signs of spiritual strength than her husband, Athanasia

appears to be considerably lacking in this respect. She continuously reinstates through her

performance her femininity. Rather than being silenced, Athanasia’s “defects” in her spiritual

profile are stressed by the author. This authorial practice highlights once again his interest in

the emotional world of his characters. An illuminating example is Athanasia’s reaction when

she gazes from afar the house she is about to leave behind: ἥτις ἐπιστραφεῖσα καὶ ἀνεῳγµένας πάσας ἰδοῦσα τοῦ ἰδίου οἴκου τὰς θύρας, τοὺς ὀφθαλµοὺς εἰς τὸν οὐρανὸν ἀνατείνασα, “ὁ Θεὸς”, ἔφη σὺν δάκρυσιν· “ὁ πάλαι εἰπὼν Ἀβραὰµ τῷ προπάτορι·῾ἔξελθε ἐκ τῆς γῆς σου καὶ ἐκ τῆς συγγενείας σου’ δι’ ὃν καὶ αὐτοὶ τῆς ἐνεγκαµένης τό γε νῦν ἀλλοτριούµεθα· αὐτὸς ὁδήγησον ἡµᾶς εἰς ὁδὸν εὐθεῖαν καὶ τῷ φόβῳ σου περιτείχισον· ἰδοὺ γὰρ τὸν οἶκον ἡµῶν, διὰ τὸ ὄνοµά σου τὸ ἅγιον, ἀνεῳγµένον εἰάσαµεν θλιβοµένῳ παντί· τοίνυν µὴ δὲ αὐτὸς ἀποκλείσῃς φιλάνθρωπε δέσποτα ἔµπροσθεν ἡµῶν τῶν σῶν οἰκετῶν τὴν θύραν τῆς βασιλείας σου, ἀλλ’ αὐτῆς µετόχους ἀνάδειξον τῶν ἡµαρτηµένων ἡµῖν· ὁ µόνος ἀναµάρτητος πάντων ἀµνηµονήσας.” ταῦτα καὶ πλείω τούτων δάκρυσι περιρρεοµένη, ἡ σεµνοτάτη Ἀθανασία σὺν τῷ ἀνδρὶ πρὸς Θεὸν εὐξαµένη τὴν πόλιν ἐξέλιπεν. (LAA, pp.252-253.§7-8.177-191)

turning back and seeing all the doors of her own house standing open, <Athanasia> looked up to Heaven and said with tears, “O God, Who said in the past to Abraham, our forefather, ‘Get thee out of thy country and from thy kindred’, for Whose sake we too now leave our native land, Lead us forth by the right way and protect us by the fear of You. Behold, for the sake of Your holy name we kept our house open to anyone who was in grief. So, kind Master, do not shut the gate of Your kingdom in front of us, Your servants, but make us partakers of it, You, the only sinless One, having forgotten all our sins.” With these words and many more, the most revered Athanasia prayed to God with flowing tears and left the city with her husband. (Alwis 2011: 259-260)

The heroine appears hesitative. Her prayer indicates that deep in her heart she has doubts on

whether this sacrifice shall earn the couple the reward they desire. So she can but leave their

fate at the hands of God. Additionally, at the beginning and ending of this specific episode, the

author does not omit repeating that Athanasia’s touching farewell speech to her house—and,

metonymically, to her previous life, is accompanied by tears.237 The same attitude Athanasia

maintains a few lines further on, when Andronikos expresses his desire to visit Sketis and

plans to temporarily leave his wife behind, because she is not allowed there. Remarkably, not

only does our heroine not encourage her husband to undertake this admittedly beneficial for

                                                                                                               237 “ἔφη σὺν δάκρυσιν” (LAA, p.252.§7.179; “said with tears” [Alwis 2011: 259]), “δάκρυσι περιρρεοµένη” (LAA, p.253.§8.189; “with flowing tears” [Alwis 2011: 260]). See Hinterberger 2006 for the meaning of tears.

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his soul journey, but she even tries to prevent him from going by demanding to go with him: ἡ

Ἀθανασία ἐν συνοχῇ καρδίας καὶ δάκρυσιν, ἐδεῖτο τοῦ ἀνδρὸς µεθ’ ἑαυτοῦ ταύτην

παραλαβεῖν (LAA, p.253.§8.199-200; Athanasia distressed and in tears, begged her husband to

take her with him [Alwis 2011: 260]). This once again impulsive and, one might say

capricious, attitude, which disregards even the abaton of Sketis, directly contrasts the virtue of

self-restraint (enkrateia) that every pious woman ought to demonstrate. What is more,

Athanasia’s reaction is once again marked as astonishingly “female”, especially if we bring to

mind Melania, who urges her husband to perform soul-beneficial tasks, to abstain from

luxuries, to live ascetically. If gender is performative according to the argument presented so

far, then Athanasia seems to exaggerate her female gender to the utmost degree.

Eventually, Andronikos manages to persuade Athanasia to stay behind, promising that

he will return for her and he visits abba Daniel in Sketis. The latter, with Andronikos’ request,

arranges for Athanasia to enter the monastery of Tabennesi—a further reminder of the wife’s

fate being tied to the husband’s decisions. Andronikos then spends twelve years in Sketis as

Daniel’s disciple (LAA, p.253.§8.200-224). After these twelve years have elapsed, Andronikos

embarks on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. On his way he encounters Athanasia disguised as a

monk. She recognises Andronikos but he does not (LAA, p.253.§9.225-234). This is the

narrative point at which the heroine’s gender performance is shown to have shifted, since

Athanasia is an entirely transformed person and has transgressed her female nature. Here also

then, gender is shown to be a fluid attribute directed by one’s performance. This is firstly

evident in the way the narrator reintroduces her; she is now the “holy Athanasia” (“ἡ θεία

Ἀθανασία”, LAA, p.253.§9.233), whereas before she was referred to as “wonderful”

(“θαυµασία”), “modest” (“σεµνοτάτη”), or just Athanasia.238 By contrast, Andronikos was

from the beginning of the text signaled as “holy”.239 Athanasia’s change is also evident by her

astonishing bodily transformation: “τῆς ὄψεως αὐτῆς τῇ κακοπαθείᾳ ἀλλοιωθείσης καὶ ἐπὶ τὸ

αἰθιοπικώτερον µεταβληθείσης” (LAA, p.254.§9.235-236; her face had been altered with

suffering and moreover she looked like an Ethiopian [Alwis 2011: 260]). As the passage

shows, the heroine has lost all her female characteristics. Her characterization “ἐπὶ τὸ

                                                                                                               238 For her characterization as “wonderful” see e.g. LAA, p.250.§3.56); as “modest” see e.g. LAA, p.253.§8.189-190; as “Athanasia” see e.g. LAA, p.251.§5.104, p.251.§6.123). 239 See, e.g. LAA, p.249.§1.16 and p.250.§3.51.

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αἰθιοπικώτερον” brings to mind the famous example of Mary of Egypt.240 Athanasia’s radical

change is, like Mary’s, understood as a transgression of the female gender. One could infer

that Athanasia even perceives she has moved higher in the gender scale to a manlier self, or to

have put every effort to achieve this transformation, since she even changes the “facet” tied

with her previous self, making herself now male even in appearance.

To gain a more solid understanding of how Athanasia’s new self is interpreted by the

Byzantine audience of the LAA, I consider it worthwhile to briefly refer at this point to an

authorial comment found in a tenth-century Menologion entry (Menologium Latyšev).241 This

latter text is dated to the same period that the manuscript containing the version under

examination was produced. The Menologion entry tends to amplify the episodes, especially as

regards the characters’ emotional condition.242 It thus demonstrates a fruitful ground for

comparison on the issues that interest us here. Upon seeing Andronikos, Athanasia, says the

narrator of the Menologion, “οὐδὲν γυναικεῖον ἔπαθεν οὐδὲ τι πρὸς αὐτὸν ὅλως γνωρίσµατος

ἐφθέγξατο ῥῆµα, οἷα εἰκὸς ἄλλην τινὰ διαπράξασθαι” (Menologium Latyšev, p.170; she was

not overcome by any womanly reaction, nor did she say to him any words that would make

him recognise her, like any other woman <in her position> would). The narrator notices with

remark the heroine’s non-female reaction. Non-impulsive, controlled and moderately talkative,

this woman seems barely comparable to the Athanasia introduced to us (and to the audience of

the LAA up to this point).

However, the most characteristic markers that prove Athanasia’s transcendence of her

female nature are revealed in the rest of the text. As aforementioned, Athanasia, in her new

identity as a monk, escorts Andronikos to his pilgrimage and proposes to him to dwell with

her in a joined cell. Her husband agrees and performs his ascetic practice together with

Athanasia for twelve years, until the latter’s death. Two compelling arguments have been

made as to the reason why Athanasia keeps her identity hidden.

                                                                                                               240 The example of Mary was well known in Byzantine society and was also a very popular theme depicting Holy Communion in monumental painting—hence Mary was probably known to most believers. See e.g. the depictions of Mary in the sanctuaries of Asinou and Panagia tou Arakos churches in Cyprus (for the subject of Mary in Cypriot monumental painting see Stylianou 1976; editions of the monuments by Chatzechristodoulou and Myriantheus 2002, Sacopoulo 1966, Stylianou and Stylianou 1973 [Asinou]; Nicolaïdès 1996 [Panagia tou Arakos]). See also Meyer 2009 generally on the subject of “porneia” in art and Tomeković 2011 for the subject of ascetics and monks in Byzantine monumental art. Hence, the allusion to Mary as a point of comparison with Athanasia is obvious here. 241 Latyšev 1970. For information regarding the dating and contents of this text see Detorakis 1990. 242 See, for example, Athanasia’s mourning upon the death of her children, which assumes a more tragic dimension than the respective episode in the LAA (Menologium Latyšev: 167-168).

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Britt Dahlman attributes the heroine’s decision to her desire to enable her husband, on

the one hand, to keep his monastic vows and, on the other hand, to prove her own devotion to

God (Dahlman 2007: 83). Alwis argues for Athanasia’s desire to maintain contact with her

husband (Alwis 2011: 58-60). We could naturally agree with the second part of Dahlman’s

argument that Athanasia struggles to completely devote herself to God through her decision.

As regards the first part of her argument, however, enabling Andronikos to remain faithful to

his monastic vows, I would be cautious to agree. The text itself provides no grounds by which

we could draw an accurate conclusion in this direction. On the contrary, we have seen

Athanasia opposing to her husband’s “solo” career, not considering the implications her

objections would cause Andronikos. Had she changed her position, she could have as easily

avoided cohabitation altogether. Her decision should, I think, be sought rather in her desire for

her own spiritual development. This is why I tend to agree more with Alwis’ interpretation.

Throughout the text we have seen the strong bond that ties Athanasia to her husband

and it would only seem natural for her to have wanted to spend the rest of her earthly life by

his side. Besides, I believe that the preceding analysis in this section strengthens such an

interpretation. We have followed the mechanisms at work that from the beginning of the story

establish the two protagonists as a couple. This treatment persists to the end of the story and

would not be compatible with any separation of Andronikos and Athanasia. Such a separation

would also clash with the apparent affection that Athanasia demonstrates toward her husband

throughout the story. The heroine needs to preserve the bond, even in a changed form, as

brother to brother. However, since I believe there is more to Athanasia’s decision than

outlined in the above, I would like to propose another parameter that could add to the

discussion.

We have seen in the previous analysis that Athanasia’s weakest trait in spiritual terms

is her impulsive and rather dramatic personality. Saints’ Lives, generally speaking, narrate the

story of how a person undoes a certain spiritual lack he/she has. For example, we saw in

Chapter One that former prostitutes repent by abstaining from bodily enjoyment and by

chastising their flesh to the utmost degree. In Chapter Two we followed mothers who manage

to fill their spiritual gap by “making” their sons holy. In the same spirit, we should turn to

Athanasia’s lack in order to better understand how she “fixes” it.

I would suggest that the key to this question is silence. This newly acquired

characteristic of Athanasia is repeatedly stressed by the author as defining her new identity

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and thus further distantiating her from her female nature. The first time the heroine’s new

virtue is introduced is while on the journey to the Holy Land with Andronikos. The author

comments on his protagonists’ behaviour during this journey remarking that they strive with

all their power to maintain silence (“τῆς ἀνυπευθύνου φροντίζοντες εἰς δύναµιν σιωπῆς”, LAA,

p.254.§9.239; concentrating on an irreproachable silence as far as they could [Alwis 2011:

260]). The verbal form used (“φροντίζοντες”), literally meaning “taking care to” signals a

quality not yet perfected, a trait that needs to be cultivated and the two spouses put all their

strength in it. In similar terms is laid out Athanasia’s proposal to Andronikos to share a

dwelling: “εἴ σοι ἀρεστόν ἐστιν ἀδελφέ, ὑπόστρεψον ἐνταῦθα τὸν γέροντα ἀσπασάµενος· καὶ καθάπερ σιωπῶντες ἅµα ὡδεύσαµεν τὴν πρὸς τὰ Ἱεροσόλυµα καὶ ἐξ Ἱεροσολύµων ὁδόν, οὕτω καὶ τὴν ὁδὸν τοῦ βίου µετὰ τῆς ἴσης σιωπῆς τε καὶ ἡσυχίας, ἐν τοῖς ᾧδε διέλθωµεν ἄχρις οὗ καταντήσωµεν εἰς τὴν Χριστοῦ βασιλείαν, ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ ἐκείνου χειραγωγούµενοι.” (LAA, p.254.§10.254-259)

“If it is pleasing to you, brother, then return after you have embraced the revered man. For as we have travelled the road to Jerusalem and back in silence, in the same way let us, with equal silence and peace, follow the road of life until we arrive in the Kingdom of Heaven, led by His hand.” (Alwis 2011: 261)

As neatly encapsulated in the passage, Athanasia’s main argument, which forms the

cornerstone of her proposition, is that the pilgrimage the two “men” undertook was in fact a

test on their ability to practice silence. Having succeeded in the basics, they should be tested

to a more advanced ordeal, living together in the same way (“καθάπερ σιωπῶντες [...] µετὰ τῆς

ἴσης σιωπῆς τε καὶ ἡσυχίας”), i.e., in silence. The repeated occurence of the need for silence

trumpeted throughout the last part of the LAA underlines the importance given to this virtue in

the text. It is mentioned three times in the five lines that make up the above-quoted passage,

and laid out as the two saints’ main purpose. It also reoccurs in Daniel’s advice to Andronikos

when the latter announces to his teacher his decision to cohabitate with Athanasios/Athanasia:

“µεῖνον µετὰ τοῦ ἀδελφοῦ τὴν σιωπὴν ἀγαπῶν” (LAA, p.254.§10.268; “remain with the

brother, cherishing silence” [Alwis 2011: 261]). Intriguingly, this is the only advice that the

wise Daniel offers his disciple—which again underlines that it is an issue meriting a great deal

of attention. And indeed, for twelve years Andronikos and Athanasia live together under the

same roof and perform their ascetic practice together while in complete silence (LAA,

p.254.§10.275-282). But why is silence such an important spiritual trait in this Life?

I presume that a concept of Lacanian psychoanalysis, already harnessed in the analyses

of previous chapters, could provide us with an aid on this thorny topic. It has been outlined in

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the introductory part of this thesis that for Lacan, the link of the self with the Other is mainly

established through the order of the Symbolic, that is, through communication and language.

Relations, ideas, identities, perceptions of selfhood necessarily pass through the medium of

intersubjective communication. We have also discussed, reflecting upon Athanasia’s attitude

in this section, that in the Byzantine society talking too much was associated with the female

gender. Athanasia, by succumbing to her emotional outbursts, was manifesting her twofold

“pathos” (as the author himself puts it)—her attachment to her female nature and to

Andronikos as his wife.243 The antidote for this spiritual lack seems to be then, complete lack

of contact with the one closer to her, her other half—Andronikos. In other words, by putting

herself through the test of silence while keeping Andronikos by her side as her greatest

temptation, Athanasia creates a bizzare bond that cancels the order of the Symbolic altogether.

That is, she denies both her female gender (by disguising herself and denying the features that

most strongly used to define her) and her link to the Other (her kin position as Andronikos’

wife).244 She is not a woman, or a wife anymore (or, maybe she is also all of these, but in a

concealed form). She has now become brother Athanasios.245

Athanasia does not remain forever (only) a man in the perception of the bystanders,

since that would conceal the heroine’s greatest achievement. Her female nature and her

identity are revealed, as aforementioned, just after her death (LAA, 255-256.§12.315-330), as

is the case with other female cross-dressing saints, such as Pelagia and Euphrosyne (BHG

625)246. Hence, in terms of kinship, these two protagonists begin as husband and wife and end

up as brothers. Even though apparently denied, their status as spouses is not, however,

completely cancelled since in the end it is reestablished and added, it would seem, to their

status as brothers. In this respect, it is telling that unlike Melania, who eventually surpasses her

husband and becomes his mother/father, Athanasia reaches in the end a status equal to her

                                                                                                               243 On the perception of women who “talked too much” in the Christian thought see Brakke 2005: 34-35. 244 Even though beyond the scope of this thesis, I consider as inviting reflection the fact that other holy heroines, such as Pelagia (see Chapter One, pp. 62-64), or Daria, Basilissa and Cecilia (see below p. 276) acquire voice—or even in the case of Pelagia (see above p…) name—as soon as they ascend spiritually. Athanasia, on the other hand, needs to lose her voice in order to acquire a spiritual identity. 245 She is constantly referred to as brother Athanasios. See e.g., LAA, p.254.§10.276; p.255.§11.289; p.255.§11.298; p.255.§11.305). Latyšev’s version also presents a certain interest in this respect: “ἐν ᾧ χρόνους δέκα πρὸς τοῖς δυσὶ τὴν ἀγγελικὴν διανύσαντες πολιτείαν περιβόητοι τοῖς πᾶσι γεγόνασι καὶ οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἢ Ἀθανάσιος καὶ Ἀνδρόνικος τοῖς ἁπάντων ἔκειντο στόµασιν” (Menologium Latyšev, p.171; and leading in this way the angelic life for twelve years, they became known to everyone and in every single one’s mouth was no other word besides “Athanasios and Andronikos”). The two protagonists contribute to each other’s virtue as brothers. 246 LP, see above pp. 51-52; Life of Ephrosyne [(BHG 625], Boucherie 1883, pp.204-205).

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husband as “man to man”. This also explains why she is referred to as Andronikos’ brother

and not, for example, his father. The heroine’s feats are by the end of the LAA summarised in

the following way: “ὅπως ἡ γυνὴ ἀνδρικὴν ἀπ’ ἀρχῆς ἄχρι τέλους τὴν ἄσκησιν ἐπεδείξατο,

καὶ τὸ πάντων παραδοξότερον, µέσον ἀνδρῶν οἰκοῦσα καὶ αὐτὸν συνοικοῦντα τὸν σύζυγον

ἔχουσα” (LAA, pp.255-256.§12.328-330; that a woman displayed asceticism as a man from the

beginning to the end, and most extraordinarily, lived among men and had her husband living

with her [Alwis 2011: 262]). The first part of this long sentence is common in other Lives of

cross-dressing saints.247 The particularity of this cross-dressing heroine is, however, added in

the second part (“αὐτὸν συνοικοῦντα τὸν σύζυγον ἔχουσα”), accentuated by the pronoun

“αὐτὸν” that refers to Andronikos. This manly woman has managed to undo her lack and to

achieve equality with her husband. The two are buried together as both brothers and spouses:

“χρῆν γὰρ αὐτὸν ἔλεγον τῷ ἀδελφῷ συνταφῆναι Ἀθανασίῳ” (LAA, p.256.§13.354-355;

<they> said that he should be buried with brother Athanasios [Alwis 2011: 263]).

To summarise the previous discussion, the two holy protagonists establish their gender

and kin identities through their performance and their interaction. These identities shift

creating a tangle of kinship and gender as the narrative proceeds. Launching a performance

aligned with what the society defines as a pious male, Andronikos has secured a place among

the holy. By shifting her performance, Athanasia has put forward a new nexus of netted bonds,

or as Butler would put it, a new livable category, in which a woman by nature and wife by law

can also/simultaneously become a man and brother to her husband.

Interrogating Boundaries: Passions of Spouses

As ambitiously advertised in the title, this section suggests that holy spouses, or, more

specifically, the protagonists of Byzantine Passions that involve spouses, challenge certain

boundaries. A claim that seems rather odd at first sight since the spousal unit, or better, the

marriage union, is known to bring together social alliances by creating artificial blood ties. But

then again, isn’t the joining of holiness with marriage, which makes up the thematic basis of

these narratives, already bending the traditional binary frame of worldly affairs VS divine

affairs? Being a spouse means having enjoyed things in life that automatically exclude one

                                                                                                               247 See eg. Life of Euphrosyne the Younger ([BHG 627], AASS Nov. III. 1910, 861-877, specifically p.865.§9, p.877.§49).

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from scoring high in the scale of holiness. The sole existence of this category of Passions then,

already problematises the normative “regimes” of holiness, prompting for compelling

questions such as the following: How can a couple reach holiness despite the spouses who

form it being submersed in earthly affairs? And, even if they do make it to the elite spiritual

class, do they make it in the same way? That is, what is the relationship between them in terms

of hierarchy, body, and performance? And what becomes of the human emotions that naturally

emerge within the marriage bond?

In what follows, I shall be arguing that these questions are exactly what the

hagiographers bring to the forefront in these texts. And, as I hope to show, they achieve this by

making their protagonists tightrope-walking on, or even subverting the operative notions of

life (earthly and divine), identity and cultural intelligibility. The heroes and heroines examined

here linger on the edge of what makes life and death, self and other, time and space culturally

viable. And it is this interplay that eventually arises as the structural principle behind the

making of these narratives. Critical in shaping my frame of thinking is Butler’s notion that

gender is performative, that has been exposed in detail in the preceding section, as well as

Lacan’s notion that the subject acquires his image of bodily wholeness and idea of self

through the Other, which has been described in Chapter One and the Introduction.

Six Passions of spouses structure my basis of inquiry. Three of them consist my object

of focus in this section: the Passion of Galaktion and Episteme (BHG 665), the Passion of

Timotheos and Maura (BHG 1849) and the Passion of Adrianos and Natalia (BHG 27). As I

shall attempt to show, the authors of these texts exploit the performative dimensions of gender

that are manifested through the protagonists’ speech and body, by sketching the “male” and

the “female” as aligned with what is perceived as the normal structuring purview of the social

law. A similar treatment was revealed to be at play in the texts that were analysed in the

previous section. However, these authors do not highlight gender norms in order to bend them,

as was the case with the previously examined couples. Rather, they keep their protagonists’

gender performance in line with normal social practice, but subvert instead boundaries that

have to do with marital relationships and bodily contours. They exploit in this way the

incommensurability that ensues between gender, body, and identity in order to stress the

shared nature of their protagonists’ holy identities.

A bolder move is marked, on the other hand, by the three couples that feature in the

last section: the Passion of Julian and Basilissa (BHG 970), the Passion of Chrysanthos and

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Daria (BHG 313) and the Passion of Cecilia and Valerian (BHG 283c). Here it seems that

notions such as gender performance and normative categories such as death-life, self-other,

time, space, narrative are exposed only to be suspended. The three virgin couples that have a

leading role in these texts manage to vocalize a peculiar joining of incommensurables that

flirts with a complete erosion of foundational categories of identity.

The Texts

The Passion of Galaktion and Episteme has been transmitted to us in fifteen Byzantine

manuscripts (Alwis 2011, 8).248 The text must have been written at some point between the

second century and the ninth century.249

The plot is set in Emesa at an unspecified time of Christian persecution. It opens with

the presentation of a wealthy and prestigious pagan couple, Gleukippe and Kleitophon.

Despite its prosperity, the couple seems to live a rather unhappy marriage, since Gleukippe is

battered and ridiculed by her husband because of her sterility. A Christian monk, Onouphrios,

disguised as a beggar, arrives one day at their house asking for alms. Overwhelmed with

sorrow because she has once again been beaten by Kleitophon, Gleukippe shuts the door in the

monk’s face but a bit later she regrets her cruel behaviour and accepts him in the house.

Gleukippe ends up confessing her marital problems to Onouphrios who offers her a

solution, promising her a child, given that she converts to Christianity. Thus Gleukippe

decides to become a Christian and she conceives a week later. The wondrous event brings

about Kleitophon’s conversion as well. A boy is born to them and he is given the name

Galaktion. At the age of twenty-five, Galaktion is betrothed to Episteme, a young woman with

an equally secure niche in society. However, he refrains from kissing his bride, since she is a

pagan. To gain Galaktion’s affection, Episteme decides to convert to Christianity.

The two spouses decide to avoid intercourse and lead a life completely devoted to

spiritual matters. Hence, they give away their property and follow a monastic life on Mount

Pouplion, on the Sinai. There, they become part of a community made up of both monks and

nuns, who live in separate groups. The two spouses live separately pursuing their ascesis for

                                                                                                               248It is noteworthy that eight of the manuscripts date to the eleventh century. See Alwis 2011: 8. 249 For all the relevant information, some further arguments regarding the date of composition and detailed references to bibliography, see Alwis 2011: 8-10.

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six years, at which point Galaktion is arrested and led to martyrdom. Deeply distressed

Episteme runs and joins her husband. The protagonists are tortured together and suffer death

by decapitation. Their faithful servant Eutolmios, who is also the narrator of the tale, buries

their bodies together.

The Passion of Timotheos and Maura has come down to us in two versions (BHG

1849 and BHG 1848z), each transmitted in a single codex.250 Although different in style and

length, with BHG 1848z presenting, in my view, a more stylised but summarised version of

the tale, the two texts do not diverge with regard to the issues discussed in this chapter. Hence,

pending a more thorough comparison between the two versions, I shall concentrate on the

lengthier text edited in the Acta Sanctorum, and refer to the shorter text when relevant to my

argument.

Timotheos is a Christian cantor, arrested and brought before the pagan judge Arianos

because of his religion. During the interrogation, Timotheos is ordered to surrender all his

Christian books. The young man refuses and is made to undergo a number of tortures. Seeing

that, despite the gruesome nature of the tortures inflicted on him, the martyr remains firm in

his beliefs, the soldiers advise the judge to use his young wife as a lure. Specifically, his

newly-wed bride is ordered to beautify herself and enter the scene, so as to turn Timotheos

away from his Christian faith. The judge’s plan, however, is brought to failure since

Timotheos not only refuses to deny his faith but persuades Maura to become a martyr as well.

Maura is then also tortured. The two spouses are finally crucified and end their earthly life in

this way ten days after they are put on the cross.

No information concerning the date of composition of the Passion of Adrianos and

Natalia has, to our present knowledge, survived. Its author is also unknown as is the case with

most Byzantine Passions (Halkin 1986: 47).251 The story unfolds in Nicomedia during the

reign of the emperor Maximian. A group of men are arrested there as Christians and brought

to trial. They are punished with beating for their inobedience to the emperor’s edicts but refuse

to deny their faith. Their courage effects the conversion of Adrianos, one of Maximian’s

soldiers.

                                                                                                               250 Cod Pal. Bibl. Vat. 27, fol. 36 transmits the version BHG 1849 and Cod. Ven. Marc. gr. 349, f. 130-131 contains version BHG 1848z. The BHG 1849 is edited in the AASS (Maii I), while BHG 1848z, a more recent discovery, has been edited by Halkin (1989) as part of a collection of texts that feature less known saints. 251 There is also a shorter version of the text (BHG 29) transmitted in an eleventh-century codex (Cod. bibl. reg. Par. 1453a; PAN [short version], Halkin 1986; see also Halkin 1986: 47 for information about the text). For the purposes of this thesis I have used the extended version.

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Adrianos is then arrested and thrown into prison. His wife, Natalia, is already a

Christian by birth. As soon as she is informed of her husband’s arrest, she hurries to the

prison. When the two spouses meet, Adrianos promises his wife that he will notify her before

his trial takes place, so that she could be present at the event. As the trial approaches, Adrianos

bribes the guards and is temporarily set free, so as to return with Natalia to the scene.

Eventually, the young man undergoes extremely violent tortures and dies a martyr. His

body is carried away by a pious man who wants to protect it from the emperor’s menace.

Following her husband’s death, Natalia is forced to marry one of Maximian’s dignitaries.

Nevertheless, she manages to escape before the wedding and travels to the place where her

husband’s body lay. Having reached her destination, she surrenders her spirit and is laid to rest

next to her husband.

A Fairytale Gone Bad? Gender and Marital Problems  The texts examined in this part are significantly diverse in terms of both content and form.

More specifically, all three present very different plots, the only similarity being that

eventually their protagonists suffer martyrdom. Moreover, they are each of different length.252

The differences that the three Passions exhibit make their comparative approach much more

challenging. However, Butler’s notion that gender is performative, and Lacan’s argument that

self-identity takes flesh through intersubjective interaction allowed me to reveal two general

parameters common in all three texts. These parameters, although materialized in different

ways in each narrative, assume great importance and are scrutinized in all three of them. These

are the following: certain complications that arise within the marriage union, and the

extremely violent treatment of the body in the scene of martyrdom. These two themes mark

my two subsections. As I hope to effectively demonstrate, both issues are exploited by the

three hagiographers as a device that puts in motion or bolsters the protagonists’ shared

identities.

                                                                                                               252 The PGE and the PTM take up six and four printed pages in the AASS edition. The PAN takes up nine pages in a similarly formatted edition.

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Galaktion and Episteme

The text opens with a narrator who addresses in direct speech his audience and prepares them

to listen to a “weird” but “wonderful” story that will greatly benefit their souls: “Διήγησιν

ξένην καὶ παράδοξον ἀκούσατε σήµερον παρ’ ἐµοῦ, ἀγαπητοί, ἥτις ἐστὶ χρήσιµος ταῖς

ὑµετέραις ψυχαῖς” (PGE, p.35.§1; “Listen, today, beloved, to a strange and wondrous

narrative by me that is useful for your souls” [Alwis 2011: 286]). Instead of proceeding to

introduce the actual protagonists of his story, however, he devotes a large part of his narration

to Galaktion’s parents. What monopolizes the narrator’s interest in the case of Galaktion’s

parents, Gleukippe and Kleitophon, appears to be the theme of religious conversion. Thus we

are told of a couple that reminds us, as also naturally his Medieval audience, of Tatios’ famous

protagonists, Leukippe and Kleitophon.253 Achilles Tatios’ novel was a love story, happily

ending with Leukippe and Kleitophon’s marriage. Since it opens with a similarly named

couple, the PGE could easily create the expectation of being the sequel of Tatios’ well-known

tale.

However, instead of presenting a loving couple that lived happily ever after, as would

be expected from a sequel of the novel, the hagiographer serves us instead with an abusive

husband and a battered, barren wife. Traditional gender roles find in his text a chilling

application with a wife who spends her time at home and is brutally beaten and humiliated by

her husband because she cannot fulfill the prime role a woman was supposed to fulfill—

namely, to bear offspring.254

The conjugal crisis is solved by the disguised monk, Onouphrios, to whom Gleukippe

confesses her sad story. However, the solution is not, as a modern reader but also a Medieval

recipient would probably expect, to change the husband’s ill disposition toward his wife.255

                                                                                                               253 For an interesting reading of the PGE as an ironic take and as an inversion of the pagan novel to make a Chistian tale see Alwis 2011: 39-45, 62-63, 126-127. 254 For the role of women in the family see Angold 1995, 99-102; Garland 1988 (ninth to thirteenth century); Herrin 2013a; Talbot 1997, 121-125. For their role in Byzantine society in general see Laiou 1981, 233-241; id. 1985. For their legal standing as regards family affairs see Grubbs 1998 and 2002. 255 We have cases in Byzantine hagiography, in which a husband’s ill behavior toward his wife is solved by a miraculous change effected on his behaviour. For example, in the Miracles of Thekla, a husband who used to spend his time in brothels and to make his wife miserable behaving in this way, became an affectionate loyal spouse through the saint’s intervention (Miracles of Thekla [BHG 1717-1718], Dagron 1978: 344 [Miracle 20]).

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This would have meant recognising that being barren is not Gleukippe’s fault. Instead, it

seems that the fault is attributed to Gleukippe herself and the wrong religion she upholds

(PGE, p.36.§3-4). In this light, the solution that Onouphrios offers involves promising

Gleukippe a child if she became a Christian. In other words, traditional gender roles are rather

stressed here, with the fault that destroys the conjugal relationship being transferred on the

wife’s sterility. Moreover, this development also underlines the traditional gender hierarchy

exhibited in the context of this family: the husband changes his disposition only after his wife

manages to be a “proper” woman and conceive a child.

Most importantly, however, in offering this solution the hagiographer brings at center

stage the issue he appears to be mostly preoccupied with throughout his narrative—

conversion. Gleukippe draws the clouds away from her marriage and manages to become a

mother—and, in effect, to be recognised as part of the spousal unit—because she converts. In

fact, Gleukippe converts, it seems, not so much of faith, or even out of the slightest interest for

the Christian God, but only because this conversion befits her desire of conceiving: “Δικαίως οὐκ ἔστι σοι τέκνον˙ οὐ γὰρ πέποιθας ἐπὶ Θεὸν τὸν ἰσχύοντα δοῦναί σοι καρπὸν κοιλίας.” Ἡ δὲ πρὸς αὐτὸν πάλιν ἔφη˙ “Καὶ ποίῳ τοίνυν Θεῷ λατρεύσω, ἵνα µοι δώσει ταύτην τὴν χάριν;” Ὁ δὲ γέρων φησίν˙ “Χριστῷ τῷ ἀληθινῷ Θεῷ καὶ τῷ τούτου πατρὶ καὶ τὸ τούτοις συνδοξαζοµένῳ ἁγίῳ πνεύµατι.” (PGE, p.36.§3-4)

“Rightly you do not have a child. For you have not believed in God Who has the power to give you fruit of your womb.” And so she said to him again, “Well then, what sort of god should I worship so he will give me this joy?” And the old man said, “Christ the true God and his Father and the Holy Spirit Who is glorified together with Them.” (Alwis 2011: 288)

As the passage shows, Onouphrios on his part does not put himself in much trouble preaching

and explaining to Gleukippe the principles of Christianity, as happens in most tales of

conversion.256 Instead, Onouphrios acts as a life-coach, pinpointing Gleukippe’s mistake

(believing to the wrong gods) and guiding her to correct it so as to better her life.

It is germane to note here that Gleukippe and Onouphrios’ conversation brings up

another issue that will assume importance with the introduction of the main protagonists,

Galaktion and Episteme, in the story—namely, that both spouses need to become Christians in

order for faith to yield a reward in the afterlife:

                                                                                                               256 See, for example, the monk Silianos, who quotes to Sosanna passages from the Gospel. The heroine is so moved that she becomes a Christian (Life of Sosanna [BHG 1673], AASS Sept VI. 1757, 153-159, esp. 153 §1-154 §2). See also Taïsia, a Christian prostitute who, guided by her spiritual father at length changed her life and achieved holiness (Life of Taïsia [BHG 1695], Nau 1902: 86-102). Cf. the example of Pelagia discussed in Chapter One. See above pp. 45-50.

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“Εἰ ἐγώ, πάτερ, πιστεύσω καὶ ὁ ἐµὸς σύζυγος ἄπιστος µείνῃ, ἆρα γε οὐ διὰ τὸν ἄνδρα τὸν ἄπιστον ἄπρακτος διαµείνῃ ἡ πίστις µου;” Πάλιν δὲ ὁ γέρων ἔφη πρὸς αὐτήν˙ “Οὐχί, γύναι˙ ἀποστολικὴν παράδοσιν ἔχουσιν οἱ τοιοῦτοι ἐν τῷ ἰδίῳ νοῒ πληροφορεῖσθαι˙ Σὺ δὲ ἐὰν ἐµοὶ πεισθῇς, καὶ σεαυτὴν καὶ τὸν ἄνδρα σου σώσεις.” (PGE, p.36.§4)

“Father, if I believe but my husband remains a non-believer, will my faith remain unsuccessful because my husband is a non-believer?” And again the old man said to her, “No, woman. Such people are able to fully believe the apostolic tradition in their own mind. If you obey me, you will save both yourself and your husband.” (Alwis 2011: 288)

Indeed, this is a text in which no man is left behind. As we shall again observe when analysing

Galaktion and Episteme’s interaction, this text differs in approach from others, such as, for

example, the Life of Mary the Younger or the Life of Thomaïs, in which the battered wives

make it to holiness but they are not interested in the spiritual transformation of their sinful

husbands.257 In this case Kleitophon also converts and the couple begets a son, Galaktion.

Galaktion is nurtured in the principles of Christianity, but he is also educated in Greek

philosophy (PGE, p.37.§6).

Following the death of his mother, Galaktion is betrothed to Episteme (PGE, p.37.§6).

Complications in this couple’s relationship surface early on. The difficulty does not arise, as it

happens in other cases, because one of the two partners opposes to the marriage union due to

the fact that he/she desires to completely devote him/herself to God.258 In this case, neither

Galaktion, nor Episteme appear to protest to marriage per se. Instead, what creates the tension

between them is Galaktion’s reserved attitude against Episteme. More specifically, Galaktion

keeps his distance, avoiding embracing Episteme like it was customary for couples.

Galaktion’s stance appears to deeply affect Episteme, who complains to her father over the

fact. The uncomfortable situation created among the father-in-law, the bride and the groom

forces Galaktion to explain his reserved stance. He does this by confronting Episteme in

private in the following way: “Οἶδας, γύναι, τίνος χάριν οὐκ ἀσπάζοµαί σε;” Ἡ δὲ λέγει αὐτῷ· “Οὐχί, κύριέ µου, καὶ πάνυ λυποῦµαι περὶ τούτου.” Λέγει αὐτῇ ὁ µακάριος Γαλακτίων· “Διότι οὐχ ὑπάρχεις χριστιανή, ἀλλ’ ἐὰν λάβῃς τὸ ἅγιον βάπτισµα, τότε καὶ ἀσπάζοµαί σε καὶ καλῶ σε σύζυγον.” Ἡ δὲ λέγει αὐτῷ· “Ὅτε βούλει, κύριέ µου, βαπτισθήσοµαι· µόνον τύχω τῆς ἐπιθυµίας µου.” (PGE, p.38.§7)

                                                                                                               257 Life of Mary the Younger ([BHG 1164], AASS Nov. IV. 1925, 692-705(; Life of Thomaïs ([BHG 2454], AASS Nov. IV 1925, 234-242). 258 This is what happens, for example to the three couples examined in the next section, Julian and Basilissa, Chrysanthos and Daria, Valerian and Cecilia. The crisis in their case arises because Julian, Chrysanthos and Cecilia respectively, protest to their upcoming marriages. See below, pp. 249-258.

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“Do you know, lady, why I am not kissing you?” And she said to him, “No, my lord and I am very grieved about this.” The blessed Galaktion said to her, “Because you are not a Christian, but if you were to receive holy baptism, then I will kiss you and I will call you wife.” And she said to him, “When you wish it, my lord, I will be baptized. As long as I receive what I long for.” (Alwis 2011: 289-290)

Several issues in this passage are worth lingering upon. First, it serves to underline once again

a theme that appears to be a major locus of concern for the hagiographer, since it was already

brought forward in the marital crisis Gleukippe and Kleitophon faced: embracing Christianity

is obligatory for the partners to form a proper couple. Galaktion avoids his wife because she is

a pagan. Noteworthy is the metaphrastic rendition of Galaktion’s reasoning, in which

Episteme is referred to as “unclean” (“ἀκαθάρτῳ”, PGE [metaphrastic version], p.100.§7), a

stance that Episteme casts as “loathing” (“µίσος” PGE [metaphrastic version], p.100.§7]). The

husband despises his wife because of her religion.

Second, it is here that Butler’s theory of the performativity of gender comes in handy.

More specifically, the tension in the couple’s relationship is solved in a verbal exchange

between the two protagonists, through which each of them reinstates his/her gender and

assumes the respective role of husband or wife. In the passage we follow Galaktion while he

attempts to bring a solution to his marital deadlock by converting his wife. But what is of

particular importance for this analysis is the way Galaktion effects this conversion. In most

hagiographical narratives, conversion is the result of a religious argumentation, as for example

happens in the case of Chrysanthos and Daria—a couple that features in the next section.

Daria is persuaded to become a Christian after offered by her husband-to-be a long

Christian preaching (see below p. 265). Or, conversion for one of the partners could ensue

after the promise of a glorious reward in the afterlife. This, for example, is the case with

Basilissa, who is persuaded by her husband Julian to change her faith after she is told of the

grandeur she could achieve following the end of her earthly life (see below pp. 259-260).

Quite strikingly, on the other hand, what Galaktion brings up as to support his argument has

nothing to do with the basics of religion per se. Rather, he promises to “pay his wife in

service”, we could say, in case she decided to convert: he shall kiss her and recognise her as

his wife (“ἀσπάζοµαί σε καὶ καλῶ σε σύζυγον”, PGE, p.38.§7); which means that it is when

Episteme converts, and only then, that Galaktion shall behave as a man and husband towards

his wife.

In other words, Galaktion shall become a man/husband and Episteme a woman/wife

only if she becomes a Christian. Indeed, the dialogue between them very much resembles a

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transaction, as Episteme responds in the same spirit: “Ὅτε βούλει, κύριέ µου, βαπτισθήσοµαι·

µόνον τύχω τῆς ἐπιθυµίας µου;” (PGE, p.38.§7). Her response is a reflection of the social

norms attached to a woman in her society.259 Put bluntly, Episteme does not care if, when and

how she will convert. The only thing she cares about is to have her desire granted—to receive

Galaktion’s embraces and a place beside him as his wife. Following the consensus reached

between the two spouses, Episteme converts and is secretely baptised by Galaktion in the

garden.

In sum, the narrative displays a chiastic mode of conversion between the two

couples—Gleukippe and Kleitophon, Galaktion and Episteme. Gleukippe converts

Kleitophon, Galaktion converts Episteme. In the first case, however, the conversion is

mediated by a male hero—the monk Onouphrios. But most importantly, what appears to be

underlined in both cases is that both women can only become women, that is, fulfill the

performative requirements of mothers or wives, by converting to Christianity. It is only by

doing so that they are recognised by their husbands as proper representatives of the female

gender and are thus able to fulfill the social expectations of this gender.

Remarkably, the hagiographer continues structuring his tale by gendering the

protagonists’ responses. In the next episode, Episteme sees a dream eight days after she has

been baptized. In her dream there appear three choruses, the first comprised by men dressed in

black, the second by women dressed in white and the third by winged creatures that breath out

fire: “Ὁρῶ παλάτιον πάνυ κεκοσµηµένον καὶ ἐν αὐτῷ τρεῖς χοροὺς ψάλλοντας· καὶ ὁ µὲν εἷς

χορὸς ἔχει ἄνδρας µελανοφόρους· ὁ δὲ ἕτερος παρθένους πάνυ εὐειδεῖς· ὁ δὲ τρίτος

ἀνθρώπους πτερωτοὺς καὶ πυριµόρφους” (PGE, p.38.§8; “I see a palace adorned very

beautifully and in it, three choruses singing. One of the choruses has men clad in black and the

other has very beautiful virgins. And the third has winged and fiery-formed humans” [Alwis

2011: 290]).

Galaktion decodes the dream figures saying that the first group symbolizes men who

deserted the world and their wives, the second women who, similarly, left behind the world

and their husbands, and the third angels. In order to explore more fully the gender implications

of the intersubjective network laid out in this text, it is worth briefly commenting upon

Galaktion’s interpretation.

                                                                                                               259 See above fns. 7 and 254 for references.

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A first point that should be made is that, like in other texts examined in the context of

this thesis, this passage betrays a general concern about the protagonists’ allocations in the

afterlife. The episode is placed at a key narrative moment just after Episteme’s conversion, at

a turning point of the protagonists’ life (they are about to leave the world behind) and it takes

up a considerable narrative space. This choice that the hagiographer makes highlights the

importance he pays to his protagonists’ afterlife status. Second, the afterlife imagined here is

gender-based. Those who make it to salvation are divided into groups according to their

gender—male, female, gender-less. Third, the relation of these afterlife groups in their

“macrostructure” appears indecisive. Can male, female and gender-less maintain any kind of

interaction or do they remain separated forever?

That there is indeed an ambiguity regarding the afterlife imagined here, which must

have been perceived by the Byzantine audience, is illustrated by two things: it is perceived, it

seems, by Symeon Metaphrastes who attempts to tackle it, and it is the only matter in

Galaktion’s interpretation that catches Episteme’s attention. In the metaphrastic version

Episteme’s dream changes. It is notable that Symeon only intervenes in the narrative content

of the old version in two cases, one of which is this particular issue.260 One could, therefore,

infer that Symeon’s intervention was meant to ease a passage that must have baffled the

medieval audience as well: Ἐδόκει γὰρ περί τινας οἴκους βασιλικοὺς ἀναστρέφεσθαι, κάλλει ἀµυθήτῳ διαπρεπεῖς, ἐφ’ οἷς ἑκατέρωθεν χοροὺς περὶ τοὺς τοίχους ἵστασθαι τρεῖς. Ὧν ὁ µὲν ἄνδρας εἶχε, σεµνούς τε ἰδεῖν καὶ στολῇ µελαίνῃ κεκοσµηµένους, ὁ δεύτερος δὲ γυναῖκας ὁµοίως ἐχούσας· ὁ δὲ τρίτος παρθένων ἦν, αἷς ἐπήνθει φαιδρότης ἐπιτερπὴς καὶ χάρις προσεµειδία ταῖς ὄψεσιν ἐλευθέριος. (PGE [metaphrastic version], p.101.§9)

It seemed to her that she was wandering in some royal mansions, which were adorned with ineffable beauty; therein stood three choruses, one on each side. One of the choruses had men, humble in appearance and clad in black attire, the second had women in similar attire. And the third had virgins, whom a sweet fairness bloomed and on whose faces a grace of freedom smiled.

In the metaphrastic version women are, like men, dressed in black and not in white. This could

be explained by the fact that in Byzantine art, strongly correlated with depictions in literature,

it was customary to depict in white virgin martyrs, while black was reserved for monks and

nuns.261 But most significantly, the third group is said to be made up vaguely of “virgins”. The

                                                                                                               260 Symeon’s second intervention, which is again of importance, will occupy our attention further on. 261 For the correlation of the painted image with literature in religious iconography see Brubaker 2007; Dagron 1991; Maguire 1981 and 1996. See also all the essays included in James 2007. For the sanctoral cycle in monumental painting where depictions of monks and virgins are located see James 1994; Jolivet-Lévy, Kaplan

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pronoun that specifies this third group is feminine (“αἷς”). However, when Galaktion

interprets the dream in this version, he explains that both those who belong to the first group,

and to the second (i.e. male and female), resemble to the angels illustrated in the third. Hence,

the winged fire-breathing creatures of the premetaphrastic version have been “humanized” in

the metaphrastic one, and encompass a kind of mixture of the first and second group. Could

this be an attempt to create a bridge between the three groups? Be that as it may, the mere fact

that Symeon resorts to this change indicates that these afterlife placements must have appeared

confusing and/or problematic to him. The second development that underlines, I believe, the

ambiguity of the afterlife illustrated in the premetaphrastic text, is, as aforementioned,

Episteme’s reaction and this is where I shall turn next.

Upon hearing Galaktion’s interpretation of her dream, Episteme proposes that they,

too, should lead such a remarkable life, but on the condition that they won’t be separated: “Καὶ εἰ τοῦτο ποιήσοµεν, κύριε, καὶ ἐξ’ ἀλλήλων χωρισθῶµεν, δυνησόµεθα πάντοτε ἀγαλλιᾶσθαι µετ’ ἀλλήλων;” Λέγει αὐτῇ ὁ µακάριος Γαλακτίων· “Δός µοι τῇ ὥρᾳ ταύτῃ συνθήκας, κυρία, ὅτι ἀκολουθεῖς µοι, καὶ οὐ χωρισθήσοµαί σου οὔτε ἐν τῷ νῦν αἰῶνι τούτῳ οὔτε ἐν τῷ µέλλοντι, τοῦ κυρίου µου Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ ποιοῦντος τὸ θέληµα τῶν φοβουµένων αὐτόν.” Ἡ δὲ µακαρία Ἐπιστήµη ὤµοσεν αὐτῷ κατὰ τοῦ κυρίου Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ ὅτι “ἀκολουθήσω σοι, ὅπου ἂν πορεύσῃ. Ἡ γὰρ θεωρία σου, φησί, παραµυθίαν ἀπαθείας µοι παρέχει.” Τότε ὁ µακάριος Γαλακτίων ἔφη πρὸς αὐτήν· “Εὐχαριστήσωµεν, κυρία, τῷ Θεῷ ἡµῶν, ὅτι ἔκλινε τὸ οὖς αὐτοῦ ἐν ἡµῖν, καὶ ἐν ἡµέρᾳ περισπασµοῦ καὶ πειρασµοῦ ἡ συµφωνία ἡµῶν σταθήσεται.” (PGE, p.38.§8)

“If we do this lord, and we separate from one another, will we always be able to rejoice with each other?” The blessed Galaktion said to her, “Give this hour a promise, lady, that you will follow me, and I will not be separated from you in this world or the next, my Lord Jesus Christ fulfilling the will of those who fear Him.” And the blessed Episteme swore to him by the Lord Jesus Christ that, “I will follow you wherever you go; for the sight of you”, she says, “offers me apatheia as consolation”. Then the blessed Galaktion said to her, “Let us give thanks, lady, to our God, that He deighed to listen to us, and our agreement will withstand a day of distraction and temptation”. (Alwis 2011: 290)

As the passage shows, these afterlife allocations, which also imply a separation in their earthly

life as well, since this is an inevitable consequence of embracing solitarity, seem to puzzle

Episteme. Once again, she appears to concentrate her focus on the position she has so

painstakingly earned as Galaktion’s wife. What interests this heroine the most is not to be

separated from Galaktion, in this life, or the next. She displays an emotional attachment to her

husband, characteristic of the female gender, as we have already seen in the case of Athanasia.

It is only after Episteme is promised by Galaktion eternal companionship that she agrees to go                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            and Sodini 1993; Tomeković 1989; id. 2011. See also Brubaker 1985 for an excellent example of how art can be applied as carrier of specific politics using as a mouthpiece the Homilies of Gregory of Nazianzus.

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through with the proposal she had made of leading a solitary life. Which promise,

interestingly, actually enhances the ambiguity of the afterlife in this text: a prophetic dream

showcases on the one hand male and female as eternally separated, and a saintly protagonist

claims eternity as part of a pair.

It is also worth considering at this point, an observation first brought forth by Alwis

(2011: 62-63). Namely, that even though what the couple decides at this particular point is to

preserve their virginity, no emphasis is given to the marriage/celibacy debate. In fact, we

could add that we are only explicitly told that the spouses have remained virgins when

Episteme’s deaconess expresses her agony that Episteme might hesitate during martyrdom and

endanger her virginity (PGE, p.40.§12). In the metaphrastic version this information is given

much later, during Episteme’s torture (PGE [metaphrastic version], p.45.§17).

Moreover, it is notable that, in the narratives discussed in the next section, in which the

issue of virginity is detailed much more, the heroines’ bodies remain whole. Episteme’s, on

the other hand, is allowed to be partialized (PGE, pp.40-4.§14). This may be an indication to a

different treatment of the female body, a point discussed further on. Hence, in this narrative,

even though implied and later on told, the issue of virginity is not extensively dealt with,

especially compared to themes such as conversion and the role of conversion as relationship

stabilizer.

The protagonists’ gendered performance is, furthermore, exhibited in the actions they

take before leaving behind the worldly affairs. Galaktion assumes a male role giving away the

family property, while Episteme donates her jewellery, described in detail: “ζώνας δύο,

ὁρµίσκον ἕνα, ἐνώτια τέσσαρα, ψελλία, περιδέραια καὶ ἁπλῶς εἰπεῖν πάντα αὐτῆς τὸν

στολισµὸν διένειµεν πένησιν” (PGE, pp.38-39.§9; <Episteme> distributed two belts, one

necklace, four pairs of earrings, armlets and necklaces, in short, all her adornments to the poor

[Alwis 2011: 290]). Hence, in line with the argument supported here, that gender is

performative in the way Butler defines the term, both protagonists appear then to comply with

the traditional regulatory practices, which define male and female in Byzantine society.262

Following the dissemination of all their precious possessions, the spouses settle in a

monastic community. This must have been some form of a double monastery, since Galaktion

cohabits with a group of holy men, while Episteme settles nearby with a group of female

                                                                                                               262 See references above fn. 223 and p. 178; see also Constantinou 2005: 163-192 and id. 2014 for an analysis of this particular feature in other saints’ Lives.

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ascetics. It is noteworthy that, even though we saw Episteme entering a tough negotiation in

order to gain the place of Galaktion’s sweetheart, she does not exactly receive what she has

been promised, since she does not actually perform the wife’s role. Nevertheless, as we shall

see next, Episteme does take at face value Galaktion’s promises to be inseparable in life and

death. It seems, therefore, that conversion has established a shared identity between the

spouses but they perform this identity in temporary separation.

After our protagonists settle down in their monastic communities, they spend six years

in ascetic discipline. Here the perspective shifts solely to Galaktion, since our narrator,

Eutolmios, follows his master to the monastery and witnesses his acts of devotion. We are

thereby told that Galaktion fasts, sleeps very little, maintains vigils, chants but, most

importantly, he avoids any contact with women in general and with Episteme in particular

(PGE, p.39.§10). This is what is reported as the hero’s major achievement throughout his

monastic practice: τοσοῦτον δὲ εἰς ἁγνείας ἤλασεν ἀρετήν, ὥστε µὴ ἰδεῖν χαρακτῆρα γυναικὸς τὰ ἓξ ἔτη τῆς ἀσκήσεως αὐτοῦ· πολλάκις γὰρ οἱ ἅγιοι γέροντες ἐκεῖνοι παρεκάλουν αὐτὸν λέγοντες· “Ἐλθὲ µεθ’ ἡµῶν καὶ θέασαι τὴν κυρίαν τὴν διάκονον, ὅτι ἐνενηκοστὸν ἄγει ἔτος ἐν τῷ σχήµατι· ὡσαύτως δὲ ὁρᾷς καὶ τὴν ἀδελφὴν Ἐπιστήµην” καὶ οὐκ ἠνείχετο λέγων ὅτι “ἕως καιροῦ ἀναγκαίου οὐκ ὄψοµαι αὐτήν.” (PGE, p.39.§10)

He drove virtue to such a degree of purity that he did not see the face of a woman during the six years of his asceticism. For often those saintly old men called him saying, “Come with us and see our lady, the deaconess, who is spending her ninetieth year. And at the same time you can also see sister Episteme.” But he could not endure this, saying “Until it is the necessary time, I will not see her.” (Alwis 2011: 291)

As the passage shows, even though he is literally urged to visit his wife, Galaktion avoids any

contact. He is determined to be a solitary despite being a husband.

Timotheos and Maura

The plot of this text opens with the scene of Timotheos’ interrogation by Arianos, the judge

(PTM, p.741.§1). Hence, unlike the case of Galaktion and Episteme, we are not given the

chance to follow the couple’s relationship before the trial that concludes with the protagonists’

martyrdom. However, there is a common thematic strand between the two Passions, which

offers fruitful ground of comparison. Specifically, in this text too, there arises at some point

great tension in the spouses’ relationship, which tension is, like the one between Galaktion and

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Episteme, resolved through the wife’s decision to turn toward the Christian God. Therefore, I

shall begin my examination by focusing first on this particular episode.

At the point when Maura is about to be introduced in the story, Timotheos has already

denied to sacrifice to the pagan Gods and to surrender the Holy Scriptures in his possession to

the judge (PTM, p.741.§1). The cycle of tortures has already begun. A particular torture the

martyr undergoes is of interest for our analysis. Timotheos is pierced with heated iron staffs

through his ears so that, due to the extreme temperature, both of his eyes pop out.

Consequently, the martyr loses his vision. Having suffered this torture, Timotheos exclaims:

“Οἱ µὲν ὀφθαλµοὶ τοῦ σώµατος τούτου, πολλὰς ἀδίας ὁρῶντες, τοῦτο ἔπαθον· οἱ δὲ σωτήριοι

ὀφθαλµοὶ τοῦ Κυρίου ἡµῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ φωτίζουσί µου τὴν ψυχήν” (PTM, p.741.§2; “The

eyes of this body, having witnessed so much odiousness, fell to this, but the salvatious eyes of

our Lord Jesus Christ illuminate my soul”). The passage is indicative, in that Timotheos

admits that he does not employ his physical vision in order to see what is most important for

him—things related with his Christian faith—but he uses an other level of vision, a mental

one. We have already explored in detail in Chapter One cases in which Byzantine Lives

exhibit a clear distinction among different levels of vision. An analogous feature is illustrated

in this Passion, manifested again a few lines later, when Timotheos turns his gaze to the sky to

pray, even though he does not actually have eyes to see the sky (“ἀναβλέψας εἰς τὸν

οὐρανὸν”, PTM, p.741.§3; looked up to the sky).

This development merits attention, since Timotheos’ first confrontation with his wife

takes place under these circumstances. More specifically, the judge, realising that his usual

methods of torture do not yield the desirable result, as Timotheos does not deny his faith,

resorts to using Maura as a temptation (PTM, p.741.§3). The torturer’s logic is based on the

fact that Timotheos and Maura are newly-wed, hence naturally the martyr would be tempted

by his young and beautiful wife: “Ἐχρῆν σε µετὰ φιλανθρωπίας αὐτὸν προτρέψασθαι, καὶ µὴ

διὰ τοσούτων βασάνων· ὅτι νυµφίος ἐστί, καὶ οὐκ ἔχει πλείους ἡµέρας εἴκοσι ἐξότε τὸν γάµον

ἐξετέλεσε, καὶ ἔχει τὴν γαµετὴν νέαν ἔτι οὖσαν” (PTM, p.741.§3; “You need to lure him using

acts of love and not so many tortures. For he is newly-wed and there have passed no more than

twenty days since he got married and he has a bride who is still young”). Thus marriage is

here viewed negatively, as a torturer’s tool against a pious man. Maura is advised to comb her

hair, to beautify her body and to wear jewellery so as to thwart Timotheos’ desire to go

through with his martyrdom. Seen in the light of the preceding analysis regarding Timotheos’

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capacity of vision, the order given to Maura is rather odd. Timotheos cannot in fact see Maura.

So when Maura appears in front of him, what does he see and how? Ὁ δὲ ὠσφράνθη τῶν µύρων τοῦ κόσµου τῶν ἱµατίων αὐτῆς, καὶ ἀναβοήσας ἔφη· “Ποῦ ὁ πατήρ µου ἐστί, Ποικίλιος ὁ Πρεσβύτερος;” Ὁ δὲ παρεστὼς λέγει αὐτῷ· “Τί βουλει µακάριε υἱέ;” Ἀποκριθεὶς δὲ ὁ ἅγιος Τιµόθεος, εἶπεν, “Δέοµαί σου, πάτερ, ἐργόν ἀγαθὸν ἐργάσαι εἰς ἐµέ, καὶ κοµίσας µαφόριον περίβαλέ µου τὸ πρόσωπον, ἵνα ἐκκλίνω ἀπὸ τοῦ θανάτου τῆς ὀσµῆς ταύτης· αὕτη γάρ ἐστιν ἡ ὀσµὴ τοῦ θανάτου, ἣ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους κατασπῶσα εἰς ἀπώλειαν, αὕτη ἡ ὀσµὴ γεέννης πρόξενος, ἡ κακῆς ἐπιθυµίας µήτηρ, ἡ διαβόλου σύνδροµος, ἡ ἁγίων ἐχθρὰ, τὸ µῖσος τῶν δικαίων.” (PTM, p.741.§4)

He scented the fragrances from her ornamented clothes, and with a loud voice he said, “Where is my father, Poikilios the Elder?” And he [Poikilios] came and said to him, “What do you want, my blessed son?” And the holy Timotheos replied and said, “I beseech you, father, do an act of kindness to me, bring me a head cover and wrap my face in it, so that I can escape from the death of this scent. For this is the scent of death, that which carries men away to perishment, that scent is the cause of Gehenna, the mother of foul desire, the comrade of devil, the adversary of saints, the heatred of the righteous.”

As illustrated in the passage, Timotheos employs here the same kind of vision he used before

during his prayer. Maura’s beautiful face, seen through Timotheos’s spiritual-mental vision, is

seen as the face of death. Maura is perceived by the martyr through her fragrant scent as a

further torture. In contrast to the other tortures, which the protagonist suffers with pleasure,

this one he asks to be spared from. He begs his father to cover his face with a cloth, so that he

cannot smell what he senses as the smell (for him rather the stench) of death.

It is only after this appearance of Maura that we are informed in passing of the fact

that, even though the heroine has been married to Timotheos for twenty days, she is still a

virgin (“κόρη”, PTM, p.741.§5; “maiden”): “Ἀδελφέ µου Τιµόθεε, δια τί µε οὕτω προέδωκας, πρὶν σε ὑπ’ ἐµοῦ προσδοθῆναι; οὕτω γὰρ ἡµέραι εἴκοσίν εἰσιν, αφ’ οὗ συνεζεύχθηµεν, καὶ οὕτε πεῖραν ἔσχες τῶν ἐµῶν ἠθῶν, εἰσὶ δὲ καὶ ἐπὶ τῆς οἰκίας τόποι, οὓς οὐδέπω ἔγνων, οὔτε µὴν ἄλλῳ συνεκοινώνησα λόγῳ, οὔτε κοινῆς µετέσχον τραπέζης· τήκοµαι δὲ τῷ κλαυθµῷ ὁρῶσά σε βασανιζόµενον, καὶ οἰκτείρω σε τοιαῦτα πάσχοντα χωρίς τινος αἰτίας, ὀδυροµένη διὰ τὰς τοιαύτας σου τιµωρίας, ὅτι ἔτι µε κόρην οὖσαν, χήραν καταλείπεις.” (PTM, P.741.§5)

“My brother, Timotheos, why did you give up on me like this, before you offer me a chance? There have already passed twenty days since we got married, and you have gained no experience of my morals; besides, there are places in the house, that I have not seen yet, nor have I exchanged any other words (with you) or have shared the table (with you). Yet I melt with tears watching you being tortured, and I pity you for suffering this without any cause, and I wail because of your punishments, for while I am still a maiden, you leave me behind a widow.”

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Hence, as is the case with the PGE, the issue of virginity is also here viewed as secondary

compared to martyrdom and to the wife’s change of heart. Timotheos’ response to his wife is

remarkable: “Ἀδελφὴ µου Μαῦρα, ἐθεασάµην σε ἐξερχοµένην ἐκ τοῦ οἰκήµατός σου, καὶ τὸν

διάβολον ἐκπορευόµενον ἐκ δεξιῶν σου, ἔχοντα ἐν τῇ χειρὶ αὐτοῦ κλειδίον στρεπτόν, στρέφον

τὴν καρδίαν σου εἰς τὸν κόσµον” (PTM, p.741.§6; “My sister, Maura, I saw you coming out of

your house, and the devil walking by your right side, holding in his hand a turning key, which

turned your heart toward the world”). Even though the hero cannot see, he employs once again

his spiritual vision and “sees” his wife exiting her house escorted by the devil. The vivid

image concludes with the devil using a key he holds to turn Maura’s attention toward worldly

affairs. Thus, for Timotheos his wife is a servant of the devil. We are not given any

information on whether Maura is already a Christian or pagan. However, her words and

behaviour make her unclean in the eyes of Timotheos who sees her as non-Christian. The

couple’s relationship is thus in crisis. To change her husband’s perception of her, Maura

decides to “convert”, that is, to turn to the Christian faith and to embrace Timotheos’s desire:

“κἀγὼ ταῦτα προκρίνω ἃ καὶ σὺ ἠγάπησας” (PTM, p.742.§6; “I, too, embrace those (things)

that you have loved”). After Maura’s decision, the couple’s marital problems are solved and

their relationship, along with their gendered positions as husband and wife, is reinstated—as in

the PGE—through the wife’s conversion.

Adrianos and Natalia  The preceding analysis has established a rough scheme regarding the protagonists’ interaction

in the texts under investigation. According to this, the wife’s conversion (literal or

metaphorical) appears to reinstate the spouses’ roles within the familial unit, as well as their

gender performance. In this text this scheme acquires a new dimension. The heroine that

features in this story, Natalia, is already a Christian (PAN, p.221.§8). It is the husband,

Adrianos, who is a pagan and who at the beginning of the narrative becomes a Christian,

having witnessed the magnanimity and courage of a group of Christians throughout their

suffering. However, a first impression given by the textual form is that this conversion is not

given much importance as, unlike in the two previously analysed texts, it is here narrated in

passing in two short paragraphs (PAN, p.220.§6-7). This at first glance; because a closer look

through the theoretical lens we have so far established, reveals intriguing grounds of

comparison between these texts.

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Like in the PTM, there is not much information given regarding the couple’s

relationship before the martyrdom scene, since the narrative begins with the husband’s

conversion and immediate arrest (PAN, p.220.§7). Natalia is not present at this point. She is

informed of her husband’s arrest by one of his servants (PAN, p.221.§8). My attention in this

section is concentrated on an episode that takes place some days after Adrianos’ arrest when

the martyr escapes from prison for a while (PAN, p.222.§13). The episode, suggestive of the

parameters that define the couple’s shared identity, is worth quoting in full:

Πορευοµένου δὲ αὐτοῦ ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ, ὁρᾷ τις αὐτὸν ἐκ τῆς πόλεως τῶν γνωρίµων, καὶ δραµὼν ἀπήγγειλε Ναταλίᾳ τῇ συζύγῳ αὐτοῦ, λέγων· “Ἀπελύθη ὁ κῦρις Ἀδριανός, καὶ ἰδοὺ παραγίνεται· ἐγγίζοντα γὰρ αὐτὸν καταλέλοιπα ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ.” Ἡ δὲ ἠπίστησε, λέγουσα· “Τίς ἀπολύσει αὐτὸν ἐκ τῶν δεσµῶν ἐκείνων; µὴ γένοιτο χωρισθῆναι αὐτὸν τῆς µακαρίας συνοδίας ἐκείνης.” Καὶ ἔτι λαλούσης αὐτῆς, ἰδοὺ καὶ ἕτερός τις τῶν οἰκετῶν παρεγένετο, λέγων· “Ὁ κύριός µου ἀπελύθη, καὶ ἰδοὺ ἐλήλυθεν.” Ἡ δὲ διεταράχθη, νοµίσασα, ὅτι τὸ µαρτύριον ἀπέδρα, καὶ ἔκλαιε σφοδρῶς. Ἰδοῦσα δὲ αὐτόν, καὶ καταλιποῦσα τὰ ἐν χερσὶν αὐτῆς, ἀνέστη καὶ ἀπέκλεισε τὰς θύρας κατ’ αὐτοῦ, καὶ ἐβόα, λέγουσα· “Πόρρω γένοιτο ἀπ’ ἐµοῦ ὁ ἐκπεπτωκὼς τοῦ Θεοῦ, ὁ ψευσάµενος κύριον τὸν Θεὸν αὐτοῦ· µή µοι γένοιτο στόµατι λαλῆσαι ἀρνησαµένῳ τὸν Θεὸν αὐτοῦ, µηδὲ ἀκοῦσαι λόγον ἀπὸ γλώσσης δόλον ποιησάσης τῷ Δηµιουργῷ αὐτῆς.” Καὶ λέγει αὐτῷ αὐστηρᾷ τῇ φωνῇ· “῏Ω ἄθλιε πάντων ἀνθρώπων, τίς σε ἠνάγκασε πράγµατι τοιουτῷ ἐπιχειρῆσαι, ὅπερ οὐ προηρήσω πληρῶσαι; τίς δὲ ἀπεσχοίνισέ σε τῆς εἰρηνικῆς καταστάσεως; πῶς δὲ ἀπέδρας πρὸς τῆς ἐπαναστάσεως τοῦ πολέµου, καὶ τὰ ὅπλα ἔρριψας οὐχ ἑωρακὼς τὸν ἀντίπαλον; πῶς δὲ καὶ ἐπλήγης, µήπω βέλους κατὰ σοῦ πεµφθέντος; Κἀγὼ δὲ ἐθαύµασα, εἰ ἐκ γένους ἀθέων, καὶ ἐκ πόλεως ἀσεβῶν ἀγαθόν τι ἐξανύεται, καὶ ἀπὸ ἔθνος φονευτῶν θυσία τῷ Θεῷ καθαρὰ προσφέρεται· οὐ γὰρ ἐνεχώρει τὸν ἀέρα ταῖς αἱµατεκχυσίαις µιαίνοντα καθαρὸν θυµίαµα προσφέρεσθαι τῷ Θεῷ. Ἐγὼ δὲ τί ποιήσω ἡ ἀθλία, ἡ συντυχοῦσα ἐξ εὐσεβῶν ἀσεβεῖ; οὐδὲ πρὸς ὥραν ἠξιώθην γυνὴ κληθῆναι µάρτυρος· ἀλλ’ εὐθώς παραβάτου σύζυγος ἐγενόµην· πρὸς ὀλίγον µοι ἡ καύχησις γέγονε, καὶ εἰς αἰῶνα τὸ ὀνειδός µου ἔσται· πρὸς ὥραν ἐν γυναιξὶν ἐµακαρίσθην, καὶ ἰδοὺ πορεύοµαι κατησχυµµένη ἐν αὐταῖς.” Ὁ δὲ µακάριος Ἀδριανὸς ταῦτα ἀκούων ἠνείχετο· σφόδρα γὰρ εὐφραίνετο ἐπὶ τοῖς λόγοις αὐτῆς· ἠπείγετο δὲ πλέον πληρῶσαι ἐκείνο, ἐφ’ ὧ καὶ ἔσπευσεν· ἅµα δὲ καὶ ἐθαύµαζεν, ὅτι γυνὴ τοιαῦτα λαλεῖ, καίτοι νέα οὖσα τῇ ἡλικίᾳ, καὶ τῷ γάµῳ νεωστὶ προσοµιλήσασα· µῆνες γὰρ ἦσαν οὔπω δεκατρεῖς τῆς συνοικήσεως αὐτῶν. Ὅτε δὲ εἶδεν ἐν τῷ παντὶ γενοµένην αὐτήν, τότε λέγει αὐτῇ· “Ἄνοιξόν µοι, κυρία Ναταλία· οὐ γάρ, ὡς σὺ ὑπολαµβάνεις, τὸ µαρτύριον πέφευγα· µὴ γένοιτο· ἀλλὰ παραλαβεῖν σε ἥκω τοῦ παραστῆναι τῇ τελειώσει ἡµῶν, καθώς σοι συνεταξάµην.” Ἡ δὲ ἠπίστει αὐτῷ, λέγουσα· “Ἰδοὺ ψεύδεταί µοι ὁ ἄλλος Ἰούδας. Πορεύου ἀπ’ ἐµοῦ, ἐπεὶ ἐµαυτὸν διαχειρίζοµαι· αὐτὸ γάρ µοι λοιπὸν πρόκειται.” Ὥρας δὲ πλείστης διαγενοµένης, λέγει αὐτῇ· “Ἄνοιξόν µοι, κυρία, ἐπεὶ ἀπέρχοµαι µὴ ἑωρακώς σε, καὶ πενθήσεις πάντα τὸν χρόνον τῆς ζωῆς σου, µὴ θεασαµένη µε πρὸ τῆς ἐξόδου µου· ἀνάδοχον γὰρ δέδωκα τὸν τῶν ἁγίων χορόν· καὶ ἐὰν ζητηθεὶς µὴ εὑρεθῶ, ὑποστῆναι ἔχουσι σὺν ταῖς ἰδίαις καὶ τὰς ἐµὰς βασάνους, καὶ οὐχ ὑποµένουσι· νεκροὶ γάρ εἰσι λοιπὸν ἐξ ὧν ἔπαθον ὑπὸ τοῦ τυράννου.” Ὅτε δὲ ἤκουσεν ἡ µακαρία ὡς ἀληθῶς, ὅτι ἀνάδοχον δέδωκε τὸν τῶν ἁγίων χορόν, καὶ ὅτι µέλλουσι θλίβεσθαι δι’ αὐτόν, εὐθέως ἤνοιξεν αὐτῷ, καὶ προσεκύνησαν ἀλλήλους. (PAN, pp.222-223.§13-16)

While he was walking in the street, one of the townsmen who happened to know him saw him and rushing he notified Natalia his wife, saying: “Lord Adrianos was set free

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and he promptly arrives; for I left him in the street while he was approaching.” She, as she did not believe (him), said: “Who would set him free from those fetters? God forbid that he separated himself from that holy company.” And while she was speaking, look another one of the servants came saying: “My lord was set free and look, he has arrived.” And she became upset because she thought that he escaped martyrdom and she began wailing. And when she saw him, she dropped everything from her hands, got up and shut the door in his face, and she was shouting, saying, “Let him, who had fallen away from God go away from me, he who lied to God his lord. God forbid that I speak with my mouth to someone who has denied his God, or that I listen to any words from a tongue that has deceived its Creator.” And she said to him with a disparaging tone: “You most wretched from all men, who forced you to attempt such a thing, which you executed before giving any thought to it? Who separated you from the peaceful tranquility? And how did you flee before the onslaught of war and you surrendered the weapons without facing the adversary? How did you become injured, when no arrow has yet been shot against you? And I admired that even if coming from a family of non-believers and from a city of impious, something good is carried out and from a nation of murderers a clean sacrifice is offered to God. For the air, polluted by bloodshed, could not offer God clean incense. And what will I do, the wretched one, who (born) from pious ones I am joined to an impious? Not even for an hour did I have the honour to be called wife of a martyr. But rightaway I became spouse of an offender. For a little while was the glory but the shame will last forever. For an hour I was blessed among the women and look, now I walk ashamed among them.” And the blessed Adrianos beared listening to these; for he was very delighted because of her words. But he was more hasty to fulfill that, which he set out to do. But he simultaneously admired that a woman said these things, despite being young and newly-wed. For there were not even thirteen months from the time they started living together. But when he saw that she reached the highest point, then he said to her: “Open to me, lady Natalia, for I did not forfeit martyrdom, as you think, God forbid. Instead, I came to take you with me so that you could be present to our ending, like I promised you.” But she did not believe him and said: “Look, the other Judas is lying to me. Go away from me because I manage myself now; for this is what lies before me from now on.” And after long time had passed, he said to her: “Open to me, lady, for I will leave without seeing you and you will mourn for the rest of your life without seeing me before my end. For I gave as my surety the chorus of the saints. And if I am sought for and not found, they will endure their own tortures and mine and they cannot bear it; for they are as if dead from what they have suffered from the tyrant.” And when the blessed one heard that truly, he gave as surety the chorus of the saints, and that they were about to suffer because of him, she opened rightaway and they kissed each other.

As the passage shows, dense clouds do show up to darken this couple’s relationship as well,

and, as in the cases analysed above, the problem that surfaces concerns Christian faith. In

particular, when informed that Adrianos is on his way home, Natalia bursts into tears,

interpreting this return as her husband’s relapse to his old faith as a token to avoid martyrdom.

Thus, as soon as Adrianos arrives, Natalia reproaches him and states that she wants nothing to

do with him. Furthermore, she shuts the door in his face, telling him that he has disgraced her.

This is a highly emotional scene, which, to my knowledge, is found in no other Passion. Why

does Natalia become so upset?

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Seen through the theoretical framework established so far in this thesis, which views

the two holy protagonists creating a shared spiritual identity, Natalia herself could provide us

with the answer. More specifically, if the spouses share an identity in spiritual terms, one’s

performance naturally affects the other’s spiritual self. And since in this case the only

performing body is Adrianos—as it is he who is arrested and about to be martyred—his

foregoing of martyrdom undoes his previous conversion to Christianity and condemns Natalia

as well. In other words, because Natalia is convinced that Adrianos has avoided martyrdom

and because she shares his performance, she is equally convinced that she will be condemned

to shame forever (“πρὸς ὀλίγον µοι ἡ καύχησις γέγονε, καὶ εἰς αἰῶνα τὸ ὀνειδός µου ἔσται·

πρὸς ὥραν ἐν γυναιξὶν ἐµακαρίσθην, καὶ ἰδοὺ πορεύοµαι κατησχυµµένη ἐν αὐταῖς”; PAN,

p.222.§14). Because Natalia’s spiritual identity is dependent on her husband, her afterlife

status is also bound with his actions. Hence, in this case too, the crisis in the couple’s

relationship arises on account of religious orientation; this time because conversion is

misinterpreted as having being undone. Consequently, Natalia needs to be reassured that this

is not the case, in order for the spouses’ marital relations to be restored. At which point, we

also learn that this shared identity runs also the other way round: Ἔφη δὲ αὐτῇ ὁ µακάριος Ἀδριανός· “Μακαρία εἶ ἐν γυναιξίν, ὅτι σὺ µόνη ἔγνως ὠφελῆσαι τὸν ἄνδρα σου, φίλανδρος γενοµένη ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς· µεγαλυνθείῃ ὁ στέφανός σου· σὺ γὰρ τὴν νίκην ἐκαρπώσω, καὶ ἐµαρτύρησας µὴ παθοῦσα·” (PAN, p.223.§16)

And the blessed Adrianos said to her: “You are blessed among the women, because only you knew how to benefit your husband, becoming a lover of your husband on earth. May your crown become even greater. Because you have yielded the victory and you have martyred without suffering torture.

As illustrated in Adrianos’ words, he is equally dependent on Natalia. Her stance, her advice,

her encouragement are definitive for what he is about to go through. If Natalia contributes in a

way that proves beneficial throughout this ordeal, that is, if she is shown to be “φίλανδρος”

she will be crowned a martyr without actually suffering martyrdom.

Bodies in Pieces and Specular Wholes

This section focuses on the scene of martyrdom in the three narratives under investigation.

Speaking about a martyr’s body as a “body in pieces” would seem to have been directly

inspired by what Byzantine Passions present us with. Passion scenes are, more often than not,

bloody. However, the “body in pieces” actually also forms part of Lacan’s theory of the mirror

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stage (Lacan 1991: 54; 2006a). This theoretical apparatus refers to the moment at which the

child perceives, through the whole image of the adult he sees, or through the idol that he sees

in the mirror, his own body as a concrete unity. This concept has been used in Chapter One in

order to examine the ways in which a protagonist discovers his spiritual lack by confronting

another protagonist’s image of wholeness. Hence, for example, we discussed the case of

Nonnos who realises he significantly falls behind his spiritual goal after he casts eye on

Pelagia for the first time. Because of the image he sees, Nonnos strives to undo his lack and

become whole.

I would like to revisit Lacan’s concept, this time from a different angle. According to

Lacan the “body in pieces”, i.e. the subject’s original experience of himself, becomes in his

mind a unified image through the image of the Other. In this way, through the medium of the

Other, the subject discovers an anticipated unified identity of himself. However, this image

that the subject establishes, is not symmetrical with how his body really is at that given

moment. In simpler fashion, the subject cannot actually see his own body from the outside.

Hence, what Lacan calls the subject’s “temporal futurity”, the projection in the future of the

self-image, does not coincide with the present image of the body. Instead, the subject sees

what he will have been. Hence, the subject’s body is projected as an exteriority on/through the

body of the Other. But this exteriority is simultaneously interiority, a bodily image formed by

the subject itself. Consequently, the body we end up with is an ambiguous one; a body which

is Other but also self, a body that dwindles somewhere in between the present tense and the

future perfect.

In what follows, I shall be arguing that in the Passions under discussion the reverse

phenomenon takes place but results in the same state that Lacan describes. More specifically, I

will attempt to show that the subject in the scene of martyrdom perceives his or her own image

of totality by coming across the Other’s partialized and mutilated body. This interlocked

image created by the bodies of the spouses underlines the coupled nature of their

relationship—a relationship that extends in the ambiguous afterlife mentioned in the previous

section. Since this image of totality is formed through a body that is dragged at center stage,

tortured and gazed at, I will also draw upon Butler’s theory of performativity.

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Galaktion and Episteme

Let us pick up with our heroes at the point where we left them. We have examined the ways in

which conversion to Christianity eased out Galaktion and Episteme’s marital turbulences,

assigning to each spouse his or her normative gender and social role. The process wielded in a

time of peace, during which the spouses devoted all their time in serving God at the monastery

in which they resided. Tranquility was not, however, meant to last, since Galaktion is arrested

and led in front of the pagan judge. Galaktion’s moment of arrest is worth briefly considering,

in order to evaluate Episteme’s reaction to this event.

A martyr’s arrest is not usually narrated in detail in Passions.263 Strictly speaking,

neither it is described here. The hagiographer does devote a considerable space to this episode

but what seems to interest him is not Galaktion’s arrest per se. What he casts his focus on is

Episteme. The character drawn of Episteme up to this point is of a woman with an extremely

strong emotional attachment to her husband, who craves his attention and who does everything

in her power to remain by his side. We see a similar treatment of the heroine when she hears

that Galaktion has been arrested and is being led to his death: καὶ ὡς ἤκουσεν, ὅτι ὁ κύριος αὐτῆς Γαλακτίων ἀπέρχεται δεδεµένος ἐπὶ τὸν ἄρχοντα τοῦ τυφθῆναι, πεσοῦσα παρὰ τοὺς πόδας τῆς διακόνου, λέγει πρὸς αὐτήν· “Εὖξαι ὑπὲρ ἐµοῦ δέσποινά µου· ἰδοὺ γὰρ ἀλγεῖ µου ἡ καρδία πάνυ, ὅτι τὸν κύριόν µου Γαλακτίωνα ἦραν οἱ θεοµάχοι πρὸς τὸν παράνοµον καὶ ἀσεβέστατον ἄρχοντα. Καὶ ἰδοὺ πορεύοµαι κἀγώ, ἵνα σὺν αὐτῷ τελειωθῶ.” (PGE, pp.39-40.§12)

When she heard that her lord Galaktion was being taken, bound, to the governor to be beaten, she fell at the feet of the deaconess, saying to her, “Pray for me, my mistress. For look, my heart is greatly pained because the god-warring men have taken my lord Galaktion to the cruel and sacrilegious governor. And look, I am setting forth so that I may die with him.” (Alwis 2011: 291)

Let us note that such an emotionally charged language between two protagonists related by

blood or in any other way is not characteristic of the genre. Expressions that showcase a strong

emotional bond such as “ἀλγεῖ µου ἡ καρδία πάνυ” (PGE, p.40.§12) are typically absent from

Passions. Instead, the usual phenomenon is for one martyr to rejoice for others’ decision to

undergo martyrdom or for the hagiographer to bypass it without any comment on the heroes’

                                                                                                               263 See e.g. the seminal work of Delehaye 1966 (1921); id. 1991. See also the studies included in Efthymiades (ed.) 2011.

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emotional state.264 Actually, Episteme’s reaction is, we could say, quite shockingly impious. It

betrays an orientation to earthly relationships, which directly contrasts a candidate martyr’s

determination to forgo all earthly matters. Moreover, such a reaction shows a kind of spiritual

weakness, which is attributed to the female gender as we saw, for example, when analysing

Athanasia’s interaction to the death of her children.

Episteme’s reaction must have been also perceived as improper by her deaconess who,

seeing her supplicant’s weakness, hesitates to grant her permission so as to join Galaktion in

martyrdom: “Μή, τέκνον µου Ἐπιστήµη, µὴ ἀπέλθῃς, µήπως οὐχ ὑποµείνῃς τὰ βασανιστήρια

καὶ ἀρνήσῃ τὸν Χριστόν, µολύνῃς δὲ καὶ τὴν παρθενίαν σου” (PGE, p.40.§12; “Don’t, my

child Episteme, don’t go, lest you cannot bear the tortures and deny Christ and defile your

virginity” [Alwis 2011: 291-292]). The deaconess’ objections are not without ground since,

observing how Episteme reacts upon Galaktion’s arrest, she has no guarantee over the

heroine’s emotional strength when her husband or she herself suffers torture. Moreover, the

arguments that Episteme attempts to put forward to her deaconess as reasons for which she

desires to undergo martyrdom are, in austere theological terms, wrong. She wants to die with

Galaktion so as not to be separated from him: “Μὴ γένοιτό µοι µεῖναι ὄπισθεν τοῦ κυρίου µου Γαλακτίωνος ὥραν µίαν· δι’ αὐτοῦ γὰρ ἔγνων τὸν Χριστόν, Θεὸν ὄντα ἀληθινὸν καὶ δηµιουργὸν πάσης πνοῆς· δι’ αὐτὸν κατέλιπον πάντα, πλοῦτον, γονεῖς, κτήµατα, καὶ πᾶσάν µου τὴν περιουσίαν, πολλὴν οὖσαν σφόδρα, ἵνα µὴ χωριστῶ αὐτοῦ µήτε ἐν τῷ νῦν αἰῶνι µήτε ἐν τῷ µέλλοντι.” (PGE, p.40.§12)

“May I not live one hour behind my lord Galaktion. For through him I came to know Christ as true God and Creator of all living beings. Because of him I abandoned everything—wealth, parents, property and all my wealth, which was very great, so that I would not be separated from him in the present age or the future one.” (Alwis 2011: 292)

This woman leaves everything behind in order to gain a place beside Galaktion, which place,

as she had been reassured, is forever and ever. Hence, she cannot, as she says, imagine being

separated from him, not even for an hour. The same words she repeats in the next lines, when

she runs after Galaktion shouting to him: “Βραυευτὰ τῆς σωτηρίας µου, δι’ οὗ Θεὸν ἀληθινὸν ἔγνων τὸν Χριστόν, µή ἐγκαταλίπῃς µε τὴν ταπεινήν, ἀλλ᾽ αἴτησαι τὸν Κύριον, ἵνα σύν σοι τελειωθῶ, καὶ ἀχώριστοι ἐσόµεθα ὡς ἐν τῷ νῦν αἰῶνι καὶ ἐν τῷ µέλλοντι.” (PGE, p.40.§12)

                                                                                                               264When, for example, the husbands of Daria and Cecilia are arrested, there is no mention of the heroines becoming upset or reacting in any other way. See below pp. 274-276. Episteme’s emotional state even climaxes as we shall discuss further on.

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“Awarder of my salvation, on account of whom I came to know Christ as true God, do not forsake me, the humble one, but ask the Lord that I may die with you and we will not be parted in the present age or the future one.” (Alwis 2011: 292)

Episteme’s emotional bond with her husband is, as this passage also illustrates, stronger than,

say, the more spiritually oriented stance that other heroines examined here display. These

heroines will be shown to view martyrdom, unlike Episteme, as the utter and most noble

expression of faith. By contrast, what Episteme cares about is not to be left alone in this world

without Galaktion (“µή ἐγκαταλίπῃς µε”). And if she can’t have him, she will die with him.

Even more suggestive in this respect is the metaphrastic version, in which Episteme

repeats twice (in her address toward her abbess and to Galaktion) that her decision to stick by

her husband’s side, is part of an agreement between them. Her language assumes the form of a

quasi-legal contract. So, the narrator reports, Episteme says to her abbess: Εἶναι γὰρ ἐκ

πλείονος αὐτοῖς συµπεφωνηµένον τοῦτο, µὴ τῆς ἀπ’ ἀλλήλων διαστῆναί ποτε γνώµης καὶ

διαθέσεως (PGE [metaphrastic version], p.105.§14; They have reached this agreement a long

time ago, that they will never be parted in will or disposition). She next addresses Galaktion as

follows: “Κύριέ µου, ἐβόα, καὶ τῆς ἐµῆς ὀδηγὲ σωτηρίας, µἠ παραιτήσῃ µε τὴν σήν, µηδὲ ὧν

συνεθέµεθα πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἀµνηµονήσῃς” (PGE [metaphrastic version], p.105.§14; “My

lord, she was shouting, and my guide to salvation, do not desert me who am yours, nor forget

that which we agreed”). The agreement the two spouses have metaphorically signed

(“συµπεφωνηµένον”, “συνεθέµεθα”) refers, of course, to Galaktion’s promise that they will

not be separated. This promise is put forth by Episteme as an argument according to which, if

Galaktion goes through with the martyrdom without her, he will have betrayed her.

Moreover, what could be inferred from Episteme’s reaction is that it is not actually her

own desire to become a martyr which she fulfills; it is rather her husband’s desire that she

embraces. He has decided to die, she cannot live without him—hence, she will die too. Thus it

also comes as logical equation what she states next, namely that she follows Galaktion’s lead:

“Κύριε, κατ’ ἴχνος σου πορεύσοµαι· καὶ εἴ τι ὁρῶ σε πράττοντα, ποιήσω κἀγώ” (PGE,

p.40.§13; “Lord, I will travel in your footsteps and if I see you doing something I will do it

too” [Alwis 2011: 292]). Besides, it is him that Episteme considers to be her saviour. By

converting her he has become her husband, and by becoming her husband (note that he is also

the one who baptized her) he has led her to salvation (“Βραυευτὰ τῆς σωτηρίας µου”, “τῆς

ἐµῆς ὀδηγὲ σωτηρίας”).

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To summarise the conclusions drawn so far, we have seen a woman in emotional

breakdown, who performs her feminine, fragile gender in the utmost degree. As a woman she

follows her husband, who, performing his male gender, leads the family unit. Actually this

statement is also confirmed in the scene of the interrogation, since it is the husband who does

all the talking, while Episteme remains silent throughout.

Episteme’s silence during the interrogation serves to also highlight another narrative

moment, the time in which she finally breaks her silence. This happens while Galaktion is

flogged and Episteme suddenly exclaims: “Ὦ ἀσπλαγχνία τυράννου, ὢ ἀπανθρωπία ἄρχοντος·

ἄθλιε, πῶς οὐκ ἐλεεῖς τοιαῦτα ὡραῖα µέλη καταναλίσκων ταῖς µάστιξι, φεῖσαι τοῦ νέου, ὦ

µιαρὲ καὶ ἀκάθαρτε” (PGE, p.40.§13; “O merciless tyrant, O heartless governor. Wretch, how

can you not pity such beautiful limbs, which you consume by scourges? Spare the goung man,

O brutal and foul one” [Alwis 2011: 292]). Several issues are worth commenting regarding

this passage.

In typical accounts of Passions, the persons closely related to the martyr, if also

Christian, encourage the martyr and glorify him or her for the strength he or she exhibits. Such

a treatment is illustrated, for example, in the Passion of the siblings Eulampios and Eulampia,

or, remarkably, in the Passion of Iulitta and her baby boy Kyrikos.265 Episteme behaves in the

opposite way. Not only does she not urge her husband to be strong but she cries, she protests,

she begs. And as this was not enough to create a peculiar impression to the recipient, Episteme

also admires Galaktion’s beautiful body (“τοιαὐτα ὡραῖα µέλη”, PGE, p.40.§13), and wonders

how the torturer could show such cruelty when seeing such an exquisite body.

To be accurate, such a reaction is not uncommon in Byzantine Passions. However, it is

always related to the response of the bystanders when seeing a female martyr being tortured

and it implies a kind of sadistic enjoyment.266 For example, in the Passion of Febronia,267 the

spectators, moved by the brutality effected on the young body, beseech the judge not to go

through with his plan to cut off her breasts: “οἱ ὄχλοι ἐβόων παρακαλοῦντες τὸν δικαστὴν καὶ

λέγοντες· ‘δεόµεθά σου κύριε συγχωθηθείῃ τῇ νέᾳ ἡ τιµωρία αὕτη’” (Passion of Febronia,

p.385.§27; The crowds gave a groan and they supplicated the judge with the words: “My lord

judge, we beseech you, let the girl be spared of this torture”). Put bluntly, Episteme’s reaction

is not what one would expect from a nun.                                                                                                                265 Regarding Eulampios and Eulampia see p. 9 and fn. 12. For Kyrikos and Iulitta see above, pp. 146-147. 266 See Constantinou 2005, 31-48 for a discussion of this particular issue and for additional examples. 267 (BHG 659), Chiesa 1990.

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It would not be arbitrary to suggest, moreover, that Symeon Metaphrastes must have

also found Episteme’s response rather shocking, since in his version he tries to ease out this

awkward exclamation by adding the following phrase: “νεαροῖς οὕτω µέλεσι, καὶ πολλοῖς

ἀσκήσεως πόνοις τετηγµένοις” (PGE [metaphrastic version], p.105.§16, my emphasis; “such

tender limbs, which are worn out by the vigorous struggles of ascesis”). In revising the text,

Symeon attempts to undo the sexual tension that underlies Episteme’s protest by making her

admiration refer to the ascetic discipline that Galaktion’s body has suffered. Thus this is a

scene with apparent sexual overtones. Moreover, we see that Episteme’s emotional attachment

to her husband is here also stressed. There still remains an additional issue at hand, however,

for the approach of which Lacan’s concept of the mirror stage could open up an interpretative

angle.

Let us thus take a step back and ask: Why does Episteme react in this manner? Indeed,

her reaction appears almost hysterical. Characteristic in this respect is the term Oursos, the

torturer, uses to describe her: “µαινάδα” (PGE, p.40.§14; “menad” [Alwis 2011: 292]).268 The

term, put simply, describes a woman who “goes crazy”, or, what is of most interest for our

analysis, who loses herself.269 Hence, to pose the question once again in this light: why does

Episteme lose herself?

The process of Episteme’s formation of her self-identity appears quite similar to the

way Lacan describes the subject to be forming his unified self-image. Episteme had through

her pairing up with Galaktion constructed an image of totality that extends in this life and the

next. The only way for her identity (as wife, as Christian, as female) to exist is through the

image she projects, of her and Galaktion as a unit in an unspecified eternal future. Under this

lens we could reassess Episteme’s hysteria.

Upon seeing Galaktion’s body-parts (“µέλη” [PGE, p.40.§13]) brutalized and his death

approaching, her image of totality (the image of afterlife rejoicing she owes to her husband’s

contribution) is in danger of collapsing. Galaktion’s suffering body-parts endanger this unified

picture she has projected of her and Galaktion as together forever by tearing his body away

from her. She is about to be left behind, while her husband will cross over to the afterlife. It is

                                                                                                               268 We have already discussed this term in detail in Chapter One. Mary, Abraham’s niece, was referred to in the same way when she lost her virginity to a monk (see above, p. 95). 269 Later on it is Oursos who is referred to as “µανείς” (PGE, p.41.§14), when he realises that he has no control over the martyr. Even though the word means “go crazy with anger”, that is, it does not exactly gave the same meaning as “menad”, nevertheless it comes from the same verb, “µαίνοµαι” and it is not unlikely for the hagiographer to attempt here an interplay between the semantics of the two words.

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this same fear she has expressed when Galaktion was arrested (“µή ἐγκαταλίπῃς µε” [PGE,

p.40.§12], “ἵνα µὴ χωριστῶ αὐτοῦ” [PGE, p.40.§12]).

The only available solution for Episteme is, therefore, not to seize forming part of the

extended bodily unit that she and Galaktion form. If this body is to be partialized, hers needs

to be too. Indeed, this is the moment when Episteme joins her husband in suffering. She is first

stripped naked but the audience becomes blindfolded, hence the heroine is not seen naked

(PGE, pp.40-41.§14). Remarkably, from this point on the narration shifts to the third person

plural, as the saints are tortured together: “ὀξύνατε καλάµους καὶ ἐµβάλετε εἰς τοὺς ὄνυχας αὐτῶν.” Ποιησάντων δὲ τῶν ὑπηρετῶν τὸ κελευσθὲν αὐτοῖς, ἔκαµνον οἱ ἅγιοι σφοδρῶς· καὶ ἐβόων λέγοντες· “Γνῶθι, ὦ τύραννε, ὅτι Χριστῷ τῷ υἱῷ τοῦ Θεοῦ λατρεύοµεν, τοὺς δὲ θεούς σου καταπατοῦµεν.” Ὁ ἄρχων λέγει τοῖς ὑπηρέταις· “Κόψατε τὰς χεῖρας αὐτῶν, ἵνα µὴ βλασφηµῶσιν.” Κοπτοµένων δὲ τῶν χειρῶν αὐτῶν, ἐβόων οἱ ἅγιοι· “Ἀνάστα, Κύριε, βοήθησον ἡµῖν, ὅτι τῷ σῷ πόθῳ τρωθέντες ἠκολουθήσαµέν σοι.” Ὁ δὲ κάκιστος καὶ δεινὸς ἄρχων πάλιν διετάξατο κοπῆναι αὐτῶν καὶ τοὺς πόδας. Κοπτοµένων δὲ τῶν ποδῶν αὐτῶν, ἐβόων οἱ ἅγιοι· “Ἀνάθεµα τοῖς θεοῖς σου, τύραννε, εὐλογητός δὲ ὑπάρχει ὁ Κύριος ἡµῶν Ἰησοῦς Χριστὸς εἰς τοὺς αἰῶνας.” Τότε ὁ ἄρχων ἔδωκεν κατ’ αὐτῶν τὴν ἀπόφασιν τοῦ ἀποτµηθῆναι αὐτούς. (PGE, p.41.§14-15)

“Sharpen reeds and push them into their nails.” When the servants had done what he ordered, the saints suffered exceedingly but shouted, “Know, O tyrant that we worship Christ the Son of God and we trample on your Gods.” The governor said to the servants, “Cut off their hands, so that they do not blaspheme.” When their hands had been cut off, the saints shouted, “Arise, Lord, help us, because we have followed You, wounded by desire for You.” The evil and terrible governor again ordered their feet to be cut off as well. When their feet had been cut off the saints shouted, “Anathema to your gods, tyrant. Our Lord, Jesus Christ is blessed forever.” Then they governor gave the sentence to behead them. (Alwis 2011: 293)

Episteme’s wish seems, as the passage nicely illustrates, to have become true. Both saints have

managed to earn the crown of the martyr, and both feature together in the narrative’s title.

Episteme now joins the tortured body and is allowed along with her husband to exchange their

mutilated bodies with the crown of martyr. Through the body in pieces Episteme has now

become part of, she is about to conquer a concrete, unified body, her desired totatlity,

projected in an ambiguously located future—the afterlife.

Timotheos and Maura

In this text the “body in pieces” as a reflection of totality is materialized somewhat differently

from the PGE. Focusing on Timotheos’s bodily performance, one draws the conclusion that

the body which confronts Maura is already a body-in-pieces. Timotheos’s eyes have been

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ripped out as soon as he was pierced with the heated iron staffs (PTM, p.741.§2). Following

this, the martyr was first tied on a wheel, and then untied so as to fall hanging upside down,

while a heavy stone tied up on his neck added additional weight (PTM, p.741.§2). It is in this

bodily state that the hero confronts Maura, a diametrically opposite figure in terms of body

and bodily contours. Beautiful, whole, and fragrant, she stands before him in the best bodily

state she could have ever been.

However, employing his mental vision, Timotheos does not see this picture, namely a

whole concrete body. Maura’s whole body is translated in Timotheos’s visual field to a

disintegrated figure, pierced through with something worse than heated iron, namely the

devil’s key. In this way, put against each other, the figures of the two spouses illustrate in a

magnificent way the contrast between their fields of vision. Maura sees in Timotheos a

suffering, partialized body that approaches death and she is deeply distressed: “οἰκτείρω σε

τοιαῦτα πάσχοντα χωρίς τινος αἰτίας, ὀδυροµένη διὰ τὰς τοιαύτας σου τιµωρίας” (PTM,

p.741.§5; “I pity you for suffering this without any cause, and I wail because of your

punishments”).

By contrast, Timotheos sees in Maura through his mental eyes a decomposing body

that already embodies death, an infectious kind of death in fact, since her disastrous qualities

can be spread to those around her: “αὕτη γάρ ἐστιν ἡ ὀσµὴ τοῦ θανάτου, ἣ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους

κατασπῶσα εἰς ἀπώλειαν, αὕτη ἡ ὀσµὴ γεέννης πρόξενος, ἡ κακῆς ἐπιθυµίας µήτηρ, ἡ

διαβόλου σύνδροµος, ἡ ἁγίων ἐχθρὰ, τὸ µῖσος τῶν δικαίων” (PTM, p.741.§4; “For this is the

scent of death, that which carries men away to perishment, that scent is the cause of Gehenna,

the mother of foul desire, the comrade of devil, the adversary of saints, the heatred of the

righteous”). Hence, in Lacanian terms, Maura’s whole body signifies for Timotheos a future

self-image of disastrous partialization. For the martyr to undo this dangerous potential of the

approaching female body, he has to make sure that this body disposes of its disastrous

qualities. This is exactly what the text illustrates after Maura’s “conversion”.

After Maura is persuaded by Timotheos to embrace the Christian faith and to become

a martyr, her body subtracts its death-like quality in a remarkable fashion. The young woman

is counter-proposed by Arianos a glorious marriage with one of his rich dignitaries, on the

condition that she denied her newly acquired faith (PTM, p.742.§8). Upon her denial, Arianos

orders her hair to be pulled out (PTM, p.742.§9). Let us remember that it is this bodily part,

her hair, she previously beautified first, combing it in order to tempt Timotheos. This is

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exactly the narrative analogy the hagiographer strives, I believe, to create, since we observe

Maura herself explicitly stating it. More specifically, the heroine perceives her torture as

relieving her from this exact sin she performed against Timotheos, and also from the potential

spreading of this sin to any of the spectators tempted because of her beautiful hair (PTM,

p.742.§9).

A similar reaction is illustrated right after Maura suffers her next torture. Arianos

orders her fingers to be cut out (PTM, p.742.§10). Once again Maura gladly accepts the torture

as relieving her from the sinful hands that had been previously employed to beautify her body: Ἀγανακτήσας οὖν ὁ Ἡγεµὼν ἐπὶ τῇ ἀποκρίσει αὐτῆς, ἐκέλευσε τοὺς δακτύλους αὐτῆς κοπῆναι, καὶ ἀπορριφῆναι. Μαῦρα εἶπεν, “Καὶ ἐν τοῦτο σοι χάριτας ὁµολογῶ· ἐκέλευσας γὰρ κοπῆναί µου τοὺς δακτύλους, εἰς οὒς περιέθηκα ἑµαυτῇ κόσµον δελεασµοῦ. Γίνωσκε, οὖν, µὴ εἰδέναι σε ὃ ποιεῖς ἐπ’ ἐµέ· τοῦτο γὰρ δεύτερόν µου ἁµάρτηµα, καὶ διὰ ταύτης τῆς κολάσεως ἀφεθῆναι ἐποίησας.” (PTM, p.742.§10)

Enraged with her answer, the hegemon orders that her fingers be cut off and thrown away. Maura said: “And for this I admit my gratitude. Because you ordered that my fingers be cut off, around which I put jewels to tempt. Therefore know, that you do not understand what you are doing to me. For this was my second sin and you spared me from this punishment.”

The partialized body, viewed under a Lacanian lens, appears to carry much significance for the

hagiographer’s textual construction. Specifically, the sin appears to be transferred on the body-

part that had performed this sin. In turn, by removing the sinful body-part the sin is undone.

Hence, the image of the body-in-pieces becomes the image of a pure body. Having removed

what is sinful out of it, this body is relieved from every action performed by the sinful parts

which used to form part of it: Ὁ δὲ Πρεσβύτερος Ποικίλιος βλέπων τὴν ὑποµονὴν αὐτῆς (οὐ γὰρ ἦν πόῤῥω ἀπ’ αὐτῆς) ἔφη αὐτῇ, “Ὦ Μαῦρα, γενναία καὶ ἀγαθή, πῶς ἦσθα, θύγατερ ὅτε ἐξέκοπτόν σου τοὺς δακτύλους καὶ ἔῤῥιπτον;” Μαῦρα εἶπεν, “Ὥσπερ πολλάκις ἑώρακας ἄνθρωπον ἐν κήπῳ καθύγρῳ λάχανα ἀνασπόντα ἀπὸ ῥίζης αὐτῶν, οὕτω κᾀγὼ ἔβλεπον τοὺς δακτύλους µου ἀποκοπτοµένους, καὶ οὐκ ᾖσθόµην.” (PTM, p.742.§10)

And the elder Poikilios, seeing her patience (as he was not far away from her) said to her: “O, Maura, brave and good, how did you feel, daughter, while they were cutting off and throwing away your fingers?” Maura said, “Like you watch many times people uprooting vegetables in a very wet garden, in this way I too, was watching my fingers been cut off and I felt nothing.”

As the passage shows, Maura does not feel any pain. It is as if like the removed bodily parts

do not belong to her. They are seen as parts of an independent other body that belongs to the

past, separated from the pure mutilated body that illustrates the heroine’s present identity. The

same happens when Maura is put in a tub with boiling water; she perceives this as her ultimate

purification, as cleansing her from every sin that has been left stuck on her body:

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Ἀρειανὸς προσέταξεν δώδεκα στρατιώτας ὑποκαῦσαι µέγαν λέβητα, καὶ βληθῆναι τὴν ἁγίαν Μαῦραν ἐν αὐτῷ· ἦν δὲ ὁ λέβης κοχλάζων καὶ ἀναβρύχων ὡς ἦχος βροντῆς. Καὶ βληθείσης αὐτῆς ἐν τῷ λέβητι, ἑωρᾶτο στήκουσα µέσον αὐτοῦ, µηδὲν παθοῦσα δεινόν· οὕτω γὰρ ἤρξατο λέγειν πρὸς τὸν Ἡγεµόνα. “Καὶ ἐν τούτῳ σοι χάριτας ὁµολογῶ, προσέταξας γάρ µε λούσασθαι καὶ καθαρισθῆναι τῶν προπεπληµµεληµένων ἁµαρτηµάτων, ὧνπερ ἐν τῷ κόσµῳ τούτῳ πρώην ἔδρασα· καθαρᾷ οὖν καρδίᾳ προσελθοῦσα τῷ Θεῷ, λήψοµαι τὸν στέφανον τῆς ζωῆς· ἅ γὰρ ὑπό σου πάσχω, εἰς σωτηρίαν µοι τὴν ἐν Χριστῷ γίνεται. Πλὴν οὔπω ζέσαντος τοῦ λέβητος, σπεύσας τάχιόν µε ἐποίησας κατελθεῖν· πάνυ γὰρ ψυχρά ἐστι τὰ ὕδατα τοῦ λέβητος, καὶ οὐκ ᾐσθόµην τῆς θέρµης, ὡς οὐ δὲ τῶν πρώτων βασάνων.” (PTM, p.742.§11)

Arianos ordered twelve soldiers to light a fire under a big furnace and put the holy Maura in it. And the furnace was boiling and clapping like the sound of a thunder. And when she was put in the furnace, she was seen standing in the centre of it, suffering no harm. And she began saying to the hegemon the following: “For this I also admit my gratitude to you, for you ordered that I be washed and cleaned from all the sins which I commited in the past in this world. Thus going to God with a clean heart, I shall receive the crown of life. For what I suffer from you is translated into my salvation by Christ. Only you rushed quickly to make me get into the furnace before it was brought to a boil. For the waters of the furnace are very cold and I cannot feel the heat, just like (I could not feel) the previous tortures.”

Maura possesses a “dead” body, a body that feels nothing.

Maura’s body-in-pieces, possessing the ability to feel nothing, hence to suffer

everything, is all too powerful for Arianos to defeat. It is this discarded remnant of a body,

previously represented by Timotheos’ flesh, which ultimately features in the eyes of Maura as

the image of total unity, of utmost power. As the torturer realises the power of the heroine’s

body he is about to convert (PTM, p.743.§12). However, he is overcome by the devil once

again and resorts to inflicting further tortures on the heroine’s body (PTM, p.743.§13). Hence,

Arianos confronts Maura announcing his plan to fill her mouth with burning coal. Hearing

this, the heroine is overcome with pleasure since, as she says, this torture will cleanse her from

every sin her lips and tongue had committed: “ἐκέλευσας γάρ µου ἀνθράκων γεµισθῆναι τὸ

στόµα, ἐπὶ τὸ εἰς τέλος πάσας τὰς ἀνοµίας µου καὶ ἁµαρτίας, ἅς διὰ χειλέων καὶ γλώσσης

ἐπληµµέλησα, ἐξαληφθῆναι” (PTM, p.743.§13; “for you ordered that my mouth be stuffed

with coal so that finally all my offenses and sins, which I committed with my lips and my

tongue, be extinguished”). Speech is perceived as having performative qualities. The speaking

body can commit sins as well. Having been purified by every sinful bodily manifestation, the

saint’s speech is about to be also cleansed.

Thus as the above exposition also indicates, the major part of the actual martyrdom

concerns Maura’s body being dragged at center stage and torn into pieces. This body does not

miraculously heal its broken parts as is the case with most female martyrs. Instead, these

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body-parts are seen as a disease that needs to be eradicated. In order for Maura to reach

totality, she has to adopt the visual perspective that Timotheos expressed, namely, that it is the

partialized, mutilated, suffering body which equals unity, life, infinity. And in order to adopt

this visual perspective, our heroine needs to cut loose her infectious body-parts. It is only in

this way that the heroine can maintain her position as Timotheos’ wife and reunite with him.

Consequently, Lacan’s theoretical concept, reversed and employed as a reading practice,

reveals a valuable axis of this text’s signifying universe—namely, that what is seen visually as

broken, is total on an other visual level.

However, there is a further aspect of the narrative worth considering, and this is the

way the author imagines this interplay between the spouses that concludes on the level of the

afterlife. As aforementioned, the major part of the text is overtaken by the mutilation of

Maura’s body. The tortures that the young woman suffers are not so much emphasized in

sexual terms, as happens in other legends of female virgin martyrs, in which the violence

inflicted on their bodies offers the audience a sadistic enjoyment.270 The emphasis in the case

of Maura lies on the purification of the female body instead.

Nevertheless, the hagiographer does define his two protagonists based on a gender-

based interaction. More specifically, from the point when Maura’s tortures begin, Timotheos

hardly appears in the story. He neither speaks, nor otherwise engages in any bodily

performance. He only reappears in the closing act of the story, when the two spouses are

crucified facing each other (PTM, p.743.§16). They encourage each other for nine days and

nights. Nevertheless, even though both spouses are referred to as giving strength to one

another, it is actually only Maura who appears to speak in the story, while Timotheos remains

silent throughout the scene.

In fact, Maura herself introduces the gender dimension of the couple’s performance as

she addresses the audience: “οἱ ἄνδρες τὰ τῶν ἀνδρῶν ἔργα ποιεῖτε, αἱ γυναῖκες τὰ τῶν

γυναικῶν εἰς σωφροσύνην καὶ ἁγνείαν” (PTM, p.743.§14; “You men, perform deeds of men,

and the women perform those of women leading to continence and chastity”). Of particular

interest is also the last sentence of the text, which also comes from Maura’s mouth. The

heroine this time preaches to the bystanders in the following way: “Ἀδελφοί, µνήσθητε ὅτι

ἐποιήσαµεν τὰ τοῦ κόσµου τούτου, καὶ πάλιν ἐτελέσαµεν τὰ τοῦ Θεοῦ, καὶ ληψόµεθα τὸν

ἄφθαρτον στέφανον παρὰ τοῦ Κυρίου ἡµῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ” (PTM, p.744.§19; “Brothers,                                                                                                                270 See Constantinou 2005: 34-38; Wilson 1995.

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remember that we performed what is related to this world, and still we performed those which

concern God, and we shall receive the incorruptible crown by our Lord Jesus Christ”). As

reflected in the passage, worldly affairs have in this text finally come to peace with the two

protagonists’ spiritual orientation. This reconciliation has been effected through the

protagonists’ bodily performance and the way in which the protagonists perceive this

performance. The focus has been particularly on Maura, who is the one who speaks and

performs in the largest part of the text.

But what will Maura have gained when all is said and done? “Καὶ ἰδοὺ ἀφίσταται ἕτερος εἰς σχῆµα καινοπρεπές, οὗ τὸ πρόσωπον αὐτοῦ ἔλαµπεν ὡς ὁ ἥλιος· καὶ ἐκράτησέ µε τοῦ χειρός, καὶ ἀνήγαγέ µε εἰς οὐρανόν, καὶ ἔδειξέ µοι θρόνον ἐστρωµένον, ἔχοντα στολὴν λευκήν, καὶ στέφανον κείµενον ἐπάνω αὐτοῦ. Ἐγὼ δὲ ἐκπλαγεῖσα, εἶπον, ‘Τίνος ἐστὶ ταῦτα, Κύριε;’ Καὶ λέγει µοι· ‘Ταῦτά ἐστι τὰ νικητήριά σου, καὶ ὁ θρόνος αὐτὸς καὶ ὁ στέφανός σοι ἡτοιµάσθησαν.’ Καὶ ἀνήγαγέ µε ἀνώτερον ὀλίγον, καὶ ὑπέδειξέ µοι θρόνον ἕτερον ἔχοντα στέφανον ἐπάνω αὐτοῦ, καὶ λευκὴν στολήν. Καὶ λέγω αὐτῷ, ῾Τίνος ἐστὶ ταῦτα, Κύριε;’ Καὶ λέγει µοι, ‘Ταῦτά ἐστι Τιµοθέου, τοῦ ἀνδρός σου.᾽ Ἐδεήθην δὲ αὐτοῦ λέγουσα, ῾Διὰ τί πόῤῥω ἀπέχουσιν ἀλλήλων οἱ θρόνοι;’ Καὶ λέγει µοι· ῾Πολλὴ διαφορὰ µεταξύ σου καὶ τοῦ ἀνδρός σου· οὐκ οἶδας ὅτι ἕνεκεν αὐτοῦ καὶ τῆς προτροπῆς αὐτοῦ ἔλαβες τὸν στέφανον; Ἄπελθε οὖν, ἀνάκαµψον εἰς τὸ σῶµά σου ἕως ὥρας ἕκτης· αὔριον γὰρ ἔρχονται Ἄγγελοι τοῦ Θεοῦ ἐπὶ τὰ πνεύµατα ὑµῶν, καὶ φέρουσιν αὐτὰ ἐνταῦθα. Ἀλλὰ γίνεσθε γρηγοροῦντες, µὴ πάλιν ὁ ἐχθρὸς πολεµήσῃ ὑµᾶς.’” (PTM, p.744.§18)

“And behold, there appeared another one in novel shape, whose face was bright like the sun. And he took me by the hand and he led me up to heavens, and he showed me a draped throne, on with lay a white vestment and a crown. And I, stunned, said: ‘Whose are these, lord?’ And he told me: ‘These are your prizes, and the throne and the crown have been prepared for you.’ And he carried me a little higher, and he showed me another throne, on which lay another crown and a white vestment. And I said to him: ‘Whose are these, Lord?’ And he told me: ‘These are your husband’s, Timotheos.’ And I said to him: ‘Why are these thrones so far away from each other?’ And he told me: ‘There is much difference between you and your husband. Don’t you know that it is because of him and his exhortation that you have received the crown? So go, revive in your body until the sixth hour. For tomorrow there will come Angels of God to take your souls and they will bring them here. But be alert, in case the enemy attacks you again.’”

As the passage shows, despite the cruel tortures our heroine goes through, and despite the fact

that she holds the center of attention throughout the text, her ticket to heaven is (as she is

explicitly informed by the divine apparition) of second-class compared to her husband’s. We

have previously followed another female wife, Episteme, who firmly believed that she would

be united with her husband forever. In the case of Episteme, the afterlife allocations formed

through dreams had remained ambiguously hanging. This vagueness allowed the protagonists

to imagine the afterlife relation between them almost at will.

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In the case of Timotheos and Maura, on the other hand, things are quite different. Here,

the heroine is explicitly told in the above divine apparition that whatever she may do, she will

always be a woman—even in the afterlife. And, as a woman, she will always be downsized in

glory, i.e., an inevitable future perfect identity. Maura cannot get rid of her gender in the way

that Melania has done, for example. Maura’s identity will always be interlocked with that of

her husband but this relationship has been, and will be gender-defined. And in terms of

hierarchy the husband, even if given fewer lines to perform, usually wins.

Adrianos and Natalia

This third couple, approached through the body politics as featured in the scene of martyrdom,

reveals new horizons of interpretation when brought in dialogue with the other two couples. A

first interesting line of investigation is the scene of Adrianos’ arrest.

As aforementioned, the scene of arrest is narrated in detail also in the PGE. We have

already seen that Episteme answers the news of Galaktion’s arrest with an emotional

breakdown, begging him not to desert her and, eventually, deciding to die with him. Let us

now compare Episteme’s touching reaction to Natalia’s: Εἷς δὲ τῶν οἰκετῶν Ἀδριανοῦ, εὐθέως δραµὼν εἰς τὴν οἰκίαν ἀπήγγειλε τῇ γυναικὶ αὐτοῦ Ναταλίᾳ λέγων· “Ὁ κύριός µου σιδηρωθεὶς ἀπηνέχθη εἰς τὴν φυλακήν.” Ἡ δὲ ἀναστάσα διέρρηξε τὴν ἐσθῆτα αὐτῆς, καὶ ὠλόλυξε µετὰ φωνῆς, καὶ εἶπε κλαίουσα τῷ παιδί· “Τίς ἡ αἰτία, δι’ ἣν ἐνεκλείσθη ὁ κύριός µου;” Ἔφη πρὸς αὐτὴν ὁ παῖς· “Τινὰς εἶδε βασανιζοµένους ὑπὲρ τοῦ ὀνόµατος τοῦ λεγοµένου Χριστοῦ, καὶ µὴ βουλοµένους ἐπιθῦσαι· καὶ µὴ ἀναγκασθείς ὑπό τινος, παρεκάλεσε τοὺς ταχυγράφους τάξαι αὐτοῦ τὸ ὄνοµα µετὰ τῶν ἀνδρῶν ἐκείνων, εἰπών· ‘Ὅτι ἡδέως µετ’ αὐτῶν ἀποθνήσκω.’” Λέγει αὐτῷ ἡ γυνή· “Καὶ οὐκ ἔγνως διατὶ ἐβασανίσθησαν οἱ ἄνδρες ἐκεῖνοι;” Ἔφη αὐτῇ ὁ παῖς· “Εἴρηκά σοι ὅτι ἐπειδὴ οὐκ ἐβουλήθησαν ἐπιθῦσαι, διὰ τοῦτο ἐβασανίσθησαν.” Τότε περιχαρὴς γενοµένη ἡ µακαρία Ναταλία, ἀναστᾶσα ἤλλαξε τὴν διαρραγεῖσαν αὐτῆς στολήν· καὶ δροµαῖα ὥρµησεν εἰς τὸ δεσµωτήριον πρὸς αὐτόν. Ἦν γὰρ γονέων πιστῶν θυγάτηρ, καὶ ἐφοβεῖτο ὁµολογῆσαι διὰ τὴν τότε ἐπικρατοῦσαν ἀσέβειαν. Καὶ εἰσελθοῦσα εἰς τὸ δεσµωτήριον προσπίπτει τοῖς ποσὶν αὐτοῦ, καὶ λέγει αὐτῷ, καταφιλοῦσα τὰ δεσµὰ αὐτοῦ· “Μακάριος εἶ, κύριέ µου Ἀδριανέ, ὅτι εὗρες, ἃ µὴ κατέλιπόν σοι οἱ γονεῖς σου· ἀληθῶς οὕτως εὐλογηθήσεται πᾶς ἄνθρωπος ὁ φοβούµενος τὸν κύριον. Νῦν κύριέ µου ἀµέριµνος ἀπέρχῃ εἰς ἐκεῖνον τὸν κόσµον, προαποτιθέµενος ἐαυτῷ πλούτον, ὃν εὑρήσεις ἐν καιρῷ τῆς χρείας, ὅταν οἱ πολυκτήµονες ἐνδεεῖς ὦσι, καὶ οἱ ἐνδεεῖς, πλούσιοι, ὅταν οὐκ ἔστι τοῦ δανείσασθαι καιρός, καὶ τοῦ ἐν χρήσει λαβεῖν, ὅτε οὐδὲν οὐδένα ῥύεται ἀπὸ τῆς κολάσεως, οὔτε τίς τινι προστήσεται, οὐ πατὴρ υἱῷ, οὐ µήτηρ θυγατρί, οὐ πλούτος τῷ συνάξαντι αὐτόν, οὐκ οἰκέται τοῖς δεσπόταις αὐτῶν, οὐ φίλοι φίλοις· πᾶντες γὰρ τὰ ἴδια φορτία βαστάσουσι. Σὺ δὲ, κύριέ µου, τὰ σαυτοῦ µεθ’ ἐαυτοῦ ἔχων πορεύῃ, κοµιζόµενος τὰς ἐπαγγελίας. Νῦν ἀπέρχῃ τεθαρρηκώς, οὐδὲν τῶν µελλόντων δεινῶν φοβούµενος·

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ἄλλως χρέος τὸν µισθόν σου ἀπαιτήσεις παρὰ τοῦ δικαίου Κριτοῦ. Καταπεπάτηταί σοι τὸ πῦρ καὶ τὰ λοιπὰ κολαστήρια.” (PAN, p.221.§8-9)

One of Adrianos’ servants, running rightaway to the house notified his wife Natalia, saying: “My lord has been led to prison in chains.” And she stood up and ripped her clothes and she wailed with a loud voice and, crying, she said to the boy: “What is the reason for which my lord has been incarcerated?” The boy said to her: “He saw some people being tortured in the name of the so-called Christ and denying to sacrifice. And without been forced by anyone, he asked the notaries to put his name together with those men, saying: “Because I will gladly die with them.” And the woman said to him: “And you don’t know why those men were tortured?” The boy said to her: “I told you, because they didn’t want to sacrifice, that is why they were tortured.” Then filled with joy, the blessed Natalia stood up, changed her torn garment and rushed to the prison for him. For she was the daughter of Christian parents, and she was afraid to confess it because of the impiety that prevailed then. And entering the prison, she fell to his feet and she told him, while kissing his fetters: “You are blessed, my lord Adrianos, because you found what your parents did not bequeath to you. Truly, in this way every person who fears the Lord will be blessed. Now my lord, go unconcerned to that world, having put aside beforehand wealth for you, which you will find at the time of need, when those with many possessions will be destitute, and the destitute rich, when there will be no time to borrow, or to receive what is on loan, when nothing will spare no one from hell, nor will one shield another, nor a father the son, nor a mother the daughter, nor the wealth the one who gathered it, nor the servants their lords, nor friends their friends. For everyone will carry their own load. And you, my lord, keeping what is yours with you, set out bringing promises. Now set out with courage, without being afraid of anything of the future sufferings. Or else you will demand as a debt your wage from the fair Judge. You have trampled the fire and the rest of the punishments.”

Brought against Episteme’s response, Natalia’s cold, almost inhuman reaction creates for the

modern reader so sharp a contrast that falls close to black humour. Natalia does have an

outburst at first, ripping her clothes off. But as soon as she finds out the reason of Adrianos’

arrest, not only does she not become upset but, filled with joy, she runs to the prison not to

suffer martyrdom with her husband as Episteme, but tο congratulate him for his decision. We

are then offered several lines in which Natalia explains to her husband why it is okay to die

and urges him not to hesitate.

The contrast becomes even starker a few paragraphs later. As we have seen, both

Maura and Episteme are distressed during the time when their husbands are tortured.

Particularly in the case of Episteme, we have seen the heroine jumping in and interrupting the

martyrdom scene, reproaching the judge because he has shown no pity to her husband’s

beautiful body. Natalia has a different opinion regarding her husband’s beautiful body: “Ὅρα,

κύριέ µου, µὴ τερφθῆς τῇ καλλονῇ τοῦ σώµατός σου, µὴ δὲ πρὸς τὸ εὐειδὲς τῆς ἡλικίας σου

πρόσχης· ταῦτα γὰρ πάντα τροφὴ σκωλήκων εστί” (PΑN, p.222.§12; “Be careful, my lord, do

not take delight in the beauty of your body, and do not pay attention to the nice appearance of

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your age. For all these are food for worms”). For Natalia, Adrianos does possess an attractive

body but for her, as it should for him, this body is simply food for worms. Undeniably,

approached through modern primness, this woman appears cold-hearted. However, this text

insists, as aforementioned, on the strictly shared nature of this couple’s identity. This heroine

what we might call more aggressive than the other two heroines we have followed so far.

Indeed, we have already seen her slam the door in her husband’s face when she suspects him

to be, as she calls him, a coward. Viewed under the perspective of a shared identity, however,

we could say that Natalia simply strives to make sure that this identity, which Adrianos

constructs with his performance for both of them, is the best he can. And it is to this bodily

performance that I shall now turn, viewed through the Lacanian framework of the body-in-

pieces.

Adrianos’ first ordeal is to be thrown in the same prison where the group of holy

fathers that effected his conversion was held: “Ἦν δὲ τὰ σώµατα αὐτῶν σεσηπότα ἀπὸ τῶν

πληγῶν, ὡς καὶ σκώληκας ἐξ αὐτῶν ἐξέρχεσθαι καὶ ἕρπειν καθ’ ἑνὸς ἑκάστου αὐτῶν” (PAN,

p.224.§17; And their bodies were decaying from the wounds so that even worms came out of

them and crowled on each one of them). As the passage reveals, this is a space of

decomposition, of filth, of bodily disintegration. The holy men’s bodies rot while they are still

alive and worms crawl out of their wounds. Remarkably, the only one not found in this state is

Adrianos, an observation highlighted by the hagiographer: ἕστηκε δὲ Ἀδριανὸς ἀκµαῖος,

δυνάµενος πᾶσαν ἐρώτησιν ὑποστῆναι (PAN, p.224.§18; But Adrianos stood vigorous, potent

to go through every question). This information serves to lay a net of antithesis with the image

of Adrianos’s body presented in the paragraphs that follow.

Adrianos is brought to trial tied up (PAN, p.224.§18). He carries on his shoulders a

wooden beam (PAN, p.224.§19). When he, as expected, refuses to comply with the judge’s

orders, he is beaten, this signaling the beginning of his cycle of tortures (PAN, p.225.§21).

Immediately after Natalia is informed that her husband’s martyrdom has begun, she rushes in

prison to notify the holy fathers of the update (PAN, p.225.§21). As a matter of fact, Natalia

holds a very active role throughout her husband’s ordeal. What she hears happening during the

interrogation, Natalia reports to the fathers: “Πάντα δὲ, ὅσα ἤκουε παρὰ τοῦ τυράννου, καὶ

ἀπηκρίνατο ὁ ἅγιος, ἀπήγγελλεν ἡ µακαρία Ναταλία τοῖς ἁγίοις” (PAN, p.225.§22; And

everything, all that she heard by the tyrant and <everything> the saint replied the blessed

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Natalia reported to the saints). In a way, she acts as the intermediary between Adrianos and the

other martyrs. We are thus constantly reminded of Natalia’s presence in the narrative.

Indeed, Natalia retains the same active role even while Adrianos’ body has begun to be

violently treated. The details we are presented with are gruesome compared to the other two

texts under consideration. For example, it is vividly narrated, how because of the fierce

beating, parts of Adrianos’ flesh fall on the ground while blood runs out of his wounds (PAN,

p.225.§21). The martyr is next beaten on the abdomen so hard that his intestines spread out on

the ground: Τότε ὀργισθεὶς ἐπὶ πλεῖον ὁ τύραννος, ἐκέλευσε κατὰ τῆς κοιλίας αὐτοῦ τύπτεσθαι αὐτὸν ὑπὸ τεσσάρων. Ἐπὶ πολὺ δὲ τυπτοµένου αὐτοῦ, ὡς ἐθεάσατο ὁ παράνοµος τὰ σπλάγχνα αὐτοῦ ἐκχεόµενα ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν, προσέταξε κουφισθῆναι αὐτὸν ἀπὸ τῶν βασάνων. (PAN, p.225.§23)

Then enraged even more, the tyrant ordered that he be beaten on the stomach by four (attendants). And after a long beating, when the unlawful saw his inwards spread out on the ground, he ordered that he be relieved from the tortures.

At this point Natalia acts as her husband’s support both physically, touching his nape (in a

gesture of affection not characteristic of the personality she has displayed so far) and

psychologically, by encouraging him (PAN, p.226.§24). But of even more interest are

Natalia’s actions after Adrianos, following these tortures, is again thrown into prison, severely

injured (PAN, p.226.§25). Notably, she dries with her bare hands the blood from his wounds

(PAN, p.226.§25). Her act acquires importance when viewed in the broader network of her

actions. Namely, even when, at some point in the narrative, women are banned from entering

the prison and relieving the prisoners from their pain, Natalia is disguised as a man and

continues to take care of Adrianos (PAN, p.227.§26). Thence, up to now we have seen Natalia

displaying a very active participation as a supporter during her husband’s martyrdom. She may

not suffer martyrdom herself, as Episteme does, or take center stage at the scene of

martyrdom, as Maura does, but she is nevertheless stuck by her husband’s side. As previously,

women are men’s helpers. That is why, after her “service” is about to conclude with Adrianos’

death, she literally demands her afterlife reward: Καὶ µετὰ ταῦτα ἐκαθίζετο παρὰ τοὺς πόδας τοῦ ἁγίου Ἀδριανοῦ, παρακαλοῦσα, καὶ λέγουσα αὐτῷ· “Δέοµαί σου, κύριε, µνήσθητι τῆς συζύγου σου, ὅτι συνήργησά σοι ἐν τῷ µαρτυρίῳ, καὶ ἤλειψά σε πρὸς τοὺς ἀγῶνας, καὶ πρόξενός σοι ἐγενόµην τοῦ στεφάνου τούτου. Παρακάλεσον οὖν τὸν Δεσπότην Χριστόν, ἵνα παραλάβῃ µε µετὰ σοῦ, ἵνα ὥσπερ κοινωνοὶ ἐγενόµεθα ἐν τῷ µοχθηρῷ, καὶ φιλαµαρτήµονι τούτῳ βίῳ, οὕτως καὶ τῆς µακαρίας ἐκείνης καὶ ἀπόνου λήξεως κοινωνήσωµεν ἅµα· ναὶ παρακαλῶ, ταύτην πρώτην αἴτησιν λάβε παρὰ θεοῦ, ἔστω σοι αὕτη ἀπαρχὴ τῶν ἰκεσιῶν σου· οἶδα γὰρ ὅτι παρέξει σοι ταύτην τὴν αἴτησιν ὁ Χριστός· φιλεῖ γὰρ

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αἰτεῖσθαι παρ’ ὑµῶν τὰ τοιαῦτα. Οὐ γὰρ ἀγνοεῖς, κύριέ µου, τὴν ἀκολασίαν τῆς πόλεως ταύτης, καὶ τὴν ἀσέβειαν τοῦ βασιλέως· µήποτε ὑποβληθεὶς ὁ τύραννος ζεύξῃ µε τινὶ τῶν ἀθέων, καὶ µιάνωσιν ἀσεβεῖς τὴν κοίτην σου τὴν ἁγίαν· σῶσον τὴν γυναῖκα σου. ἐδιδάχθης γὰρ τοῦτο παρὰ τοῦ ἀποστόλου· δός µοι τοίνυν µισθὸν τῆς σωφροσύνης τὴν µετὰ σοῦ τελευτήν· µάθωσιν εὖ ποιεῖν τοῖς ἑαυτῶν ἀνδρᾶσιν αἱ γυναῖκες, ὁρῶσαι σου τὴν πρὸς ἐµὲ στοργήν.” (PAN, p.227.§27)

And after that she sat down by the feet of the holy Adrianos, beseeching him and saying to him: “I beg you, lord, remember your spouse, for I contributed to your martyrdom, and I anointed you for your fights and I procured this crown for you. So ask Christ your lord to receive me with you, so that as we became partners in this wicked and sin-loving life, in the same way we will also share that blessed and painless ending. Yes, I beseech you, take this as a first request to God, let this be the beginning of your supplications. For, I know that Christ will grant you that request, because he loves to receive requests of this sort from you. For, you are not unaware, my lord, of the licentiousness of this city, and the impiety of the emperor lest the tyrant, prompted, joins me to one of the ungodly and some impious ones defile your saintly bed. Save your wife. Because you have been taught this by the apostle. So give me a wage for continence after your death. Let the wives learn to do good by their husbands, seeing your affections toward me.”

As inferred from the passage, Natalia considers her absolution from the possibility of a second

marriage, along with the salvation of her soul, as an act of affection on behalf of Adrianos, or,

in other words, as something owed to her. Natalia considers herself to be Adrianos’ coach

(“πρόξενός σοι ἐγενόµην τοῦ στεφάνου” [PAN, p.227.§27]). Hence, as a coach, she shares in

his victory and expects an equal share in his holy identity.

It is in this same capacity, as Adrianos’ coach, that Natalia leads her champion to his

last cycle of tortures. Let us bring to mind once again here Episteme’s and Maura’s actions as

they see their husbands being torn into pieces in front of them. We have seen both Episteme

and Maura initially striving to bring their husbands’ ordeal to an end, using every means

available to them—intervention (Episteme), or temptation (Maura)—even if this means may

have appeared unorthodox. But even when they realise that their husbands’ mutilated bodies

actually signify an image of totality, which they, too, share, and decide to undergo martyrdom,

both women use their speech as a means to comfort their husbands.

Natalia’s approach is, once again, rather different. Not only does she not beg for her

husband’s tortures to stop, but she even begs the executioners to “finish” her husband “off”

first, before the other martyrs, because she is afraid that he might avert martyrdom: “Δέοµαι

ὑµῶν ἔνθεν πρῶτον ἀπὸ Ἀδριανοῦ ἄρξασθε.” Τοῦτο δὲ ἔλεγε, φοβουµένη µήπως ὁρῶν τοὺς

ἁγίους πρὸ αὐτοῦ τὴν πικρὰν ταύτην ὑποµένοντας βάσανον, πτοηθεὶς δειλανδρήσῃ (PAN,

p.227.§29; “I beg you, thereupon, start first from Adrianos.” She was saying this because she

was afraid lest he, watching the saints suffering this bitter torture before him, becomes

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terrified and retreat). Certainly, Adrianos may be the suffering body here, but Natalia is in fact

the iron woman behind the man, the one who pulls the strings. And she does this in order to

make sure that this body-in-pieces will fulfill its purpose and bring about the desired future

totality. Actually, as we near Adrianos’ death, Natalia becomes even more aggressive,

especially if her stance is set against that of Maura and especially that of Episteme: Ὅτε δὲ ὑπέθηκε τὸν ἄκµωνα, λαβοῦσα ἡ Ναταλία ἥπλωσε τοὺς πόδας Ἀδριανοῦ ἐπὶ τοῦ ἄκµωνος· καὶ δυνάµει µεγάλῃ κρούσαντες, ἀπέτεµον αὐτοῦ τοὺς πόδας, συντρίψαντες τὰ κῶλα αὐτοῦ. Καὶ λέγει πρὸς αὐτὸν ἡ Ναταλία· “Δέοµαί σου, δοῦλε τοῦ Χριστοῦ, ἐν ὅσῳ ἔτι ἐµπνέεις, ἔκτενόν σου τὴν χεῖρα, καὶ ἀροῦσιν αὐτὴν ἀπὸ σοῦ, ἵνα ἴσος καὶ ἐν τούτῳ τοῖς ἁγίοις γένῃ· πλεῖον γάρ σου ἐτιµωρήθησαν ἐκεῖνοι.” Καὶ ἐπιδοὺς αὐτῇ τὴν χεῖρα, ἐπέθηκε τῷ ἄκµωνι. Κρούσαντες δὲ ἀπέτεµον αὐτήν. (PAN, pp.227-228.§29)

And when he put the slab under him, Natalia took Andrianos’ legs and stretched them on the slab. And they struck with great force and they cut his legs off, after they crushed his limbs. And Natalia said to him: “I beseech you, servant of Christ, while you still breath, stretch your hand, and they will take it from you, so that you become in this as well equal to the saints. For they were punished more than you.” And ceding his hand to her, she laid it on the slab. And they struck and cut it off.

As, rather strikingly for our modern horizon of expectations, this passage illustrates, Natalia

helps the executioners crash her husband’s limbs by stretching them out herself.271 But this

absolute sweetheart doesn’t stop there. After Adrianos’ legs have been cut off and his limbs

crushed, she declares to his face that, compared to the other holy men, he hasn’t scored high

enough with this torture. Hence, she prompts Adrianos to also offer his arm to the executioner,

which she herself gladly once again lays on the bench to be cut off. But most chillingly, after

Adrianos’ hand has been cut off, she steals it and annotates her body with her dead husband’s

dripping blood: Ἡ δὲ µακαρία Ναταλία τὴν ἀποτµηθεῖσαν χεῖρα τοῦ ἁγίου Ἀδριανοῦ ἦρε λαθραίως, καὶ ὑπεζώσατο αὐτήν. Βαστάζοντες δὲ οἱ δήµιοι τὰ σώµατα τῶν ἁγίων καὶ καλλινίκων µαρτύρων, ἐπορεύοντο ἐµβαλεῖν αὐτὰ εἰς τὴν πυράν· ἦσαν γὰρ ἐκκαύσαντες κάµινον λαυροτάτην. Ἡ δὲ µακαρία Ναταλία ἠκολούθει ὄπισθεν, ὑποδεχοµένη τὰ ἀποστάζοντα αἵµατα ταῖς χερσί, καὶ ἤληφεν ἑαυτήν. (PAN, p.228.§30)

And the blessed Natalia secretely took the hand of holy Adrian which had been cut out, and girt it. And the executioners, carrying the bodies of the holy and gloriously triumphant martyrs, were heading to throw them in the pyre. For they had heated a furnace to extreme temperature. And the blessed Natalia followed behind, welcoming the dripping blood with her hands, and anointed herself.

Natalia’s rather disturbing actions toward her other half may again appear in a different light

under Lacan’s interpretive lens. This time she literally causes the loss of Adrianos’ hand and

                                                                                                               271 Cf that it is these beautiful limbs that Episteme pities just before.

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annotates herself with his blood.272 In the framework we are considering, of the broken body

serving as an image of totality, couldn’t Natalia’s vampirish-resembling actions be an

additional reminder that the wife shares the power exerted by the martyr’s mutilated body?

Natalia seems to draw on Adrianos’ power, or even usurpating his power (she, too, claims the

crown of the martyr although she is not, strictly speaking, one) by covering herself with his

blood and by stealing his hand. The same hypothesis is also supported by a detail provided

later on, namely that Natalia wraps Adrianos’ hand in a purple cloth and keeps it in her bed by

her head (PAN, p.229.§33). The marriage bed is, undoubtedly, the locus par excellence that

signifies the marital relationship. By keeping a piece of her dead husband by her head (the

husband is traditionally considered to be the head of the family unit),273 Natalia proclaims in

an illustrative manner that her own body and that of Adrianos form a unity, which extends

beyond physical death.

The hypotheses made so far as part of this analysis are also affirmed in the last part of

the PAN. Adrianos’ dead body is burnt in a furnace but remains intact. It is then collected by a

pious man and, along with the bodies of the other holy martyrs, is moved by ship to a safe

place. Natalia, however, refuses to cede Adrianos’ hand because, as she says, in case the

saints’ bodies are discovered by the impious emperor, she doesn’t want to give up hope: Ἡ δὲ µακαρία Ναταλία ἔµεινεν ἔχουσα τὴν χεῖρα τοῦ ἁγίου Ἀδριανοῦ. ἔλεγε γάρ· “Μήποτε, φανερωθέντων τῶν λειψάνων µακαρίων µαρτύρων, εὑρεθῶ προδιδοῦσα τὴν ἐλπίδα µου·” καὶ λαβοῦσα τὴν χεῖρα, ἐνείλισεν ἐν πορφυρίδι, βαλοῦσα µῦρα, καὶ ὑπέθηκε τῇ κλίνῃ εἰς τὸ µέρος τὸ πρὸς κεφαλῆς, µηδενὸς γινώσκοντος. (PAN, p.229.§33)

And the blessed Natalia stayed keeping the hand of the holy Adrianos, because, she said: “Lest the relics of the blessed martyrs are discovered and I am found to have betrayed my hope.” And taking the hand, she wrapped it in a purple cloth, adding perfumes, and she placed it under the mattress to the side where the head lies, without anyone being aware of this.

Natalia professes in the passage what she has repeatedly stated throughout the text, namely

that holding on to a body part, to the body-in-pieces, she preserves her own hope for salvation.

Following the translation of her husband’s body, Natalia is offered a marriage proposal

by a rich noble man (PAN, p.229.§33). The young woman requests a three-month extension,

during which time she plans to escape to the place where the saints’ bodies have been laid to

rest. She, therefore, desires to reunite with Adrianos’s body: “µὴ δῷς εἰς µιασµὸν τὴν

                                                                                                               272 Cf. that this is the second time Natalia annotates her body with her husband’s blood. The last time Natalia visited her husband in prison she dried using her bare hands, the blood from his wounds. 273 For the husband as head of the household see Constantinou 2015a.

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ὁµόζυγον καὶ ὁµόσωµον Ἀδριανοῦ τοῦ σοῦ δούλου” (PAN, p.229.§34; “Don’t allow for the

one who is joined to your servant Adrianos and is one body with him to be defiled”). The

passage is telling, in that it encapsulates the gist of the preceding analysis, namely, that Natalia

considers that she is one body with Adrianos. Thence, since she forms part of this body-in-

pieces, she asks for mercy as a reward for each body-part her husband has sacrificed: “ἵλεως

Κύριε, εἰ ἐπιλύσῃ τῶν δεσµῶν, ὧν ἐπειράθη διὰ τὸ ὄνοµά σου τὸ ἅγιον; ἵλεως Κύριε, εἰ

ἐπιλύσῃ τῶν ποδῶν τῶν κλασθέντων ἐκείνων, καὶ τῆς ἀποτµηθείσης χειρός;” (PAN,

p.229.§34; “Be merciful, Lord, or do you forget the fetters by which he was tried because of

your holy name? Be merficul, lord or do you forget those broken legs and the cut off hand?”).

According to the passage, sharing the broken body means sharing the reward.

Suggestive in this respect is also the last episode of Natalia’s earthly life. She boards a

ship, guided by the spirits of the holy men who were martyred with her husband. She leaves

everything behind except Adrianos’s hand: “πάντα καταλιποῦσα, µόνην τὴν χεῖρα τοῦ ἁγίου

ἔλαβε µεθ’ ἑαυτῆς” (PAN, p.229.§35; “leaving everything behind, she only took with her the

saint’s hand”). Her suitor sends soldiers after her but a great storm prevents them from

reaching her (PAN, pp.229-230.§36). Subsequently, a demon attempts to misguide the crew of

the ship, leading them to the wrong direction, but Adrianos appears in spirit and exposes the

deceipt. Natalia is the only one who can see Adrianos and she is filled with delight because of

his apparition: Ἀναστᾶσα δὲ ἡ µακαρία Ναταλία ὁρᾶ τὸν ἅγιον Ἀδριανὸν παράγοντα αὐτούς,

καὶ περιχαρὴς γενοµένη, ἐβόα λέγουσα· “Ἰδοὺ καὶ ὁ κύριός µου Ἀδριανός.” Καὶ οὐκέτι ὤφθη

αὐτοῖς ὁ ἅγιος (PAN, p.230.§37; And she stood up and saw the holy Adrianos coming to them

and, filled with joy she cried out and said: “Look, there is my lord Adrianos”. And they

couldn’t see the saint). After they had reached the place of burial, Natalia lays Adrianos’ hand

next to his body: “καὶ λαβοῦσα τὴν χεῖρα, ἔθηκεν αὐτὴν ἐγγὺς τοῦ σώµατος τοῦ ἁγίου

Ἀδριανοῦ” (PAN, p.230.§37; And taking the hand, she placed it next to saint Adrianos’ body).

In a considerably touching gesture, the wife finally pieces the mutilated body of her husband

back together. Along with the missing body-part he lacks in order to be whole (the hand), she

also brings his missing part of identity, her own self.

Having brought her mission to an end, Natalia can finally rest. And indeed, she falls

asleep right after. Adrianos appears in her dream and, after reassuring her that she has earned

the reward she so desired, he takes her soul: “Εἰρήνη σοι, δούλη τοῦ Θεοῦ, καὶ θύγατερ τῶν

µαρτύρων· δεῦρο οὖν ἀπολάµβανε τὸ ὀφειλόµενόν σοι χρέος.” Καὶ εὐθέως παρέδωκε τὸ

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πνεῦµα αὐτῆς τῷ Κυρίῳ (PAN, p.230.§38; “Peace to you, servant of God and daughter of the

martyrs. So come, enjoy the debt that is owed to you”). And immediately she surrendered her

spirit to the Lord). Natalia is laid to rest next to her husband. Captured in an image of body

parts puzzled together, the two martyrs’ bodies, side-by-side for eternity, voice the issue

explored in this chapter: bodies in pieces and specular wholes.

In sum, the three Passions examined in this section exploit quite differently the quality of

featuring two married saints, instead of one holy figure, as protagonists. Even though the

implications that arise from installing two protagonists instead of one are materialized in a

distinct manner in each text, the three Passions yet appear to be preoccupied with the same

issues. All three bring to the forefront and problematize the relationship between the spouses

as the determining factor behind the formation of the holy identity. A decisive step to

understand the constructive parameters of the partners’ relationship in each narrative was

provided by Butler and Lacan’s theories. The use of these two frameworks has allowed us to

bring the two texts into a constructive dialogue without undermining their individual merits.

In these terms, Butler’s concept of performativity has enabled us to demonstrate that

gender and body are in the three Passions understood performatively. In the PGE the two

heroes become spouses and acquire gender through the way they behave to each other. In the

PTM the main emphasis is laid on the disastrous potential of the female, again orchestrated

performatively—through Maura’s behavior. Later on, this same female body performs in the

text in a catharctic manner, exonerating itself from every sin by subtracting its body-parts. In

the PAN we have followed the mechanisms that arrange the male performance as a means to

form a holy identity, which both protagonists share.

Lacan’s concept of the body of the other as a self-image of totality has proved fruitful

in understanding the ways in which the mutilated body was perceived by the three couples in

exactly the opposite way—as an image of wholeness and purity. In the PGE this was

fashioned as a desperate need on the part of the heroine to participate to her husband’s

suffering. In the PTM it assumed a dimension of purification through partialization. On the

contrary, in the PAN the fundamental principle was keeping the body-parts as relics instead of

shedding them. Thus the shared identity of the partners was made to assume full power only

after all the body-parts have been put back together.

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Karen Winstead in her extant study of female martyr legends, has argued that such

Passions share a common message, namely that relationships between men and women are

disastrous (Winstead 1997: 50). What I believe the above analysis demonstrates is that there is

a type of male-female relationship in Byzantine hagiography, in which this statement is

denied—the Passions of spouses. The earthly relationship between men and women is initially

presented in these narratives as dangerous; but then it is revealed as constructive of a

spiritually concrete identity that unites the spouses.

Another point that should be made is that all three hagiographers seem to reconcile in

the end worldly affairs with divine affairs. Their narratives show that participation in the

earthly bond of marriage need not exclude one from the holy. In the PGE the author urges his

recipients to follow the example set by his protagonists (PGE, p.35.§1), while in the PTM the

heroine addresses the audience prompting them to combine worldly affairs with spirituality.

We could, thence, argue that these hagiographers’ vision is one of liveable categories (in the

way Butler defines the term). In their view married couples form a bond that can be earthly

and spiritual, and in which the tension between the two worlds is effaced. This is not the case

with an other group of spouses to which we turn next and with whom the tension between the

world and the divine persists to the end.

Beyond Boundaries: Virgin Couples

Introduction Gray is a mixture of black and white. Life and death have no middle ground between them. But I do not know where to put the “syneisaktoi”, as everyone calls them, among the married or single, or save them a place somewhere in the middle… Marriage is a legitimate and honorable condition; but still it belongs to the flesh. Liberty from the flesh is a better condition by far. Yet if marriages are non-marriages, O beloved ones, you will live in ambiguous unions.

Gregory of Nazianzus, Epigrams, 89A-90B274

The above epigram from Gregory is exceptional in that it encapsulates all the thorny issues

that come concomitant with the object of this section, namely the so-called “virgin

                                                                                                               274 Quoted also in Elliott 1993: 16, from whom the translation is also taken.

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couples”.275 The term refers to married couples who do not proceed to the consummation of

their wedlock but decide instead to live as “virgin spouses”. Three Byzantine virgin couples

will form the case studies of this section, Julian and Basilissa, Chrysanthos and Daria, and

Cecilia and Valerian.276 All three texts relate the stories of spouses who preserve their

virginity within the institution of marriage and then undergo martyrdom in defense of their

Christian faith. Living as virgin couples, these spouses fail to establish a sanctioned bond (as

gray might do in Gregory’s metaphor), or remain distinctly separate (as life and death in

Gregory’s terms). Relationships such as this were generally viewed with suspicion by bishops

and clerics, especially in the West where the phenomenon was much more widespread (Elliott

1993; Gorman 2001: 43). One of the main reasons for the clerical writers’ concern was that

there was no guarantee that the spouses would keep their vow of chastity. But even in

narratives such as the Passions of virgin spouses, in which keeping the vow of chastity is

central, because it is a prerequisite for the couples’ achievement of holiness, a number of

problems arise.

The main issue of concern in composing such texts is that marriage, virginity and

holiness cannot under normal circumstances coexist. One cannot normally be virgin, married

and holy at the same time for these categories are conflicting according to normative human

standards. These clashing concepts must then, in texts such as these, somehow be negotiated

to be brought under the same narrative roof. The three hagiographers in question have thence

faced, while writing their texts, a problem of negotiating boundaries. The term “boundary”

refers here to the limit between normative categories or pairs, which are considered either

naturally established (such as life and death, self and other), or socially formed (such as

celibacy and marriage). Pairs such as these are mutually exclusive; hence validating one

means automatically discarding the other. The problem with the Passions in question is that

they problematize the mutually exclusive nature of such pairs, affirming conflicting concepts

at the same time. This, of course, is characteristic of many Medieval literary genres in general

(Kay 2001), but one could say, especially of hagiographical literature due to the fact that holy

protagonists exceed what is taken as normally human. However, what is different in the texts

                                                                                                               275 For aspects of the church fathers on the subject and the development of this and related phenomena such as syneisakteism (i.e., the cohabitation of a male and a female ascetic) especially in the West see e.g. Crouzel 1971; D’Izarny 1953; Elliott 1993 (esp. pp.16-50); Hartney 1999; Leyerle 2001. 276 Julian and Basilissa: Passion of Julian and Basilissa (hereafter PJB), Halkin 1980. Chrysanthos and Daria: Passion of Chrysanthos and Daria (hereafter PCD), AASS Oct. XI 1864. Cecilia and Valerian: Passion of Cecilia and Valerian (hereafter PCV), in Halkin 1987. All references are made to these editions.

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studied here is that the tension between antithetical concepts is continuously brought to the

forefront and scrutinized as such, i.e. as unresolvable. The way each hagiographer presents

these issues in his text consists the focus of the following analysis.

To pursue these questions I shall use again Butler’s theory of performativity in relation

with Lacan’s idea that subjective identity is formed through the image of the other.

Additionally, I shall supplement my launch pad with the spatial theory of liminality to

approach spaces of significance in the texts under consideration.

The concept of liminal space was first introduced by Arnold van Gennep (1977 [1908])

and developed by Victor Turner (1969, 1974, 1982). Initially coined to describe the

transitional phase in rites of passage, the term eventually came to refer to a space in-between

two important phases, a “no-man’s land” in which social norms are suspended (Dale and

Burell 2008: 239; Viljoen and van der Merwe 2007). Such spaces can acquire universal social

values and usually mark a transition from lower to higher status (Turner 1969: 110, 167). This

in-between status of the liminal sphere imbues it with a sense of uncertainty, freedom and

secrecy.277

The following analysis observes the stories of the three couples as they unfold,

focusing on three particular thematic strands: the scene of marriage, the scene of martyrdom

and the scene of death. My effort is to show that each of these scenes is constructed through

gender-based performances and is marked by a liminal space—the marriage chamber, the

prison, and the place of death or burial. As I hope to demonstrate, the couples’ holy identities

surface as a product of blending traditional boundaries. My analysis of the three scenes is

followed by an examination of the texts’ broader intertextual and extratextual network.

Viewing the texts beyond their narrative boundaries allows us to trace evidence of common

cultural codes regulating how the spousal relationships of these narratives produce meaning.

 

                                                                                                               277 The preoccupation with spatial liminality has boomed in recent years in disciplines that range from education (Cook-Sather 2006), medicine (Pearce 2003) and geography (Andrews and Roberts 2012), to marketing (Mehta and Beck 1991), anthropology-sociology (Augé 2008; Shortt 2014; Thomassen 2012), and literary criticism (Du Plooy 2007; West-Pavlov 2009).

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The Texts

The PJB has come down to us in three tenth-century manuscripts. 278 Alwis makes a

convincing point arguing that the PJB as we know it must be a synthesis of two separate parts,

a Passion of Julian written first, and a Life of the two saints written later. The part comprising

the two saints’ Life must have been of Latin origin and added as a prequel to a Greek Passion

of Julian, thus forming a new version from which the PJB originates (Alwis 2003; 2011: 5-6,

27-34). The argument that the PJB is a literary unit made up of two separate parts might be

also strengthened by the literary findings of the present analysis. Alwis gives a date between

325 and 431 for the composition of the Passion, and between 431 and 525 for the Life. She

also points to the seventh-century as the period in which the complete narrative was in

circulation (Alwis 2003; 2011: 5-6, 27-34).

The narrative commences by introducing Julian, son of Christian parents with financial

muscle in their town, Antinoopolis in Egypt. Julian desires to remain single but succumbs to

his parents’ pressure to marry after a divine apparition which reassures him that the right wife

has been chosen for him. Thus the marriage ceremony with a maiden named Basilissa takes

place. On their wedding night Julian and Basilissa take a vow of celibacy. Thenceforward the

two spouses convert their house into a double monastery where they tend and teach a

multitude of people. Time passes and Markianos the governor leads a persecution against the

Christians, launched during the reign of Diocletian and Maximian. Before the threat reaches

the couple Basilissa dies by divine will. Julian is arrested and led before Markianos. The saint

converts Markianos’ son, his wife and his soldiers. Despite the excruciating tortures he suffers,

the saint’s body is preserved unharmed. This infuriates Markianos who beheads Julian and the

converted crowd. Julian’s death sparks an earthquake, while Markianos himself finds a tragic

death devoured by worms. The martyrs are buried in a church and the site becomes

miraculous.

The PCD is also of unknown authorship, while there is no information about its date of

composition (de Gaiffier 1947: 174). It relates the story of a man named Polemios, of

Alexandrian origin who settled in Rome along with his son Chrysanthos under the emperor

                                                                                                               278 There survive earlier Latin renditions of the text. See Alwis 2011: 5-6 and fn. 13 for full references to these versions.

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Numerian. Polemios was a consul with the financial means to offer his son an excellent

education. Going through a number of writers and philosophers, Chrysanthos discovers

Christianity and converts. Enraged when he finds out, Polemios tries to change his son’s mind

but every attempt results in failure. Polemios’ last resort is to employ a beautiful virgin, Daria,

to seduce Chrysanthos but the latter persuades the maiden to live with him in chastity instead.

The couple’s lifestyle and teaching causes the protest of numerous townspeople that leads to

the saints’ arrest. After a number of tortures the two spouses are buried alive in a sandpit.

The Byzantine Greek PCV is an adaptation from the Latin of the legend of the famous

Roman martyr Cecilia (Keynes 1980: 191-192). Some scholars believe her story to be a fiction

(Elliott 1993: 64), while others argue that Cecilia’s legend probably some historical basis. The

saint must have been martyred according to the latter opinion at the end of the second century

under the emperor Alexander Severus (Mombrizio 1910, I: 332-341). There is no information

regarding the date of composition or the author of the Byzantine version.279

Cecilia is born to a wealthy family in Rome. Regardless of her financial and social

position, she is an extremely humble and pious Christian. Despite her desire to preserve

herself chaste and to take Christ as her bridegroom, she is betrothed to a young man named

Valerian. On their wedding night she persuades her husband to convert to Christianity and

they preserve their union unconsummated. On the next day the two spouses convert Valerian’s

brother, Tiburtius, as well, and thereafter the three of them spend their days performing pious

activities. Things change when Valerian and his brother are arrested because they defy the

emperor’s edicts to leave the bodies of convicted Christians unburied. The two brothers are

summoned in front of the dignitary Maximus, whom they eventually convert. After the

martyrs’ decapitation, Cecilia is arrested too. She is brought to trial, but she is eventually

executed in her bath with three blows. Before her death the saint converts a large crowd and

her house is transformed into a church.

                                                                                                               279 On the development of Cecilia’s cult see Connoly 1995 and Delehaye 1936: 73-96. See also de Gaiffier 1947: 169 for parallel themes which the Cecilia legend shares with other stories. See also Elliott 1993: 63-65 for a summary of the relevant information regarding the Latin Passion and additional bibliography. For the few information we have about the Greek Passion see Halkin 1987: 88; Ehrhard 1936-1952 I: 482.

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The Scene of Marriage

Marriage or Virginity?

Julian and Basilissa The PJB opens with the hagiographer inserting as a foundational axis of his story the

unbridgeable division between worldly affairs and divine affairs: “ἀκούσητε πόση δόξα ἐστὶν

τὸν κόσµον καταλιπεῖν” (PJB, p.244.§1; “so that you may hear […] how much glory there is

in leaving the world behind” [Alwis 2011: 186, with minor modifications of my own]).

Whoever wants to have “glory”, i.e. divine renown, needs to leave the world behind, following

the example set by the saints. The story introduced by this prologue then creates to the reader

the expectation that it will reflect this idea. The same belief is reflected in the first paragraph

of the narrative, which introduces Julian. Born to a Christian family and deeply educated in

the Holy Scriptures, he is careful not to be “stuck” in the world because, as he says, whoever

is distracted by worldly affairs cannot appear as a valuable asset in the eyes of God:

“Ἀνεγνώκει γὰρ τὸν πάντων διδάσκαλον τῶν χριστιανῶν, ὅτι τὸ σχῆµα τοῦ κόσµου τούτου

παρελεύσεται· καὶ ἵνα µὴ µετὰ τοῦ κόσµου ἀκόσµως παρέλθῃ οὕτως ἑαυτὸν τίµιον τῷ θεῷ

παρεῖχεν ὥστε τὴν τοῦ κόσµου σοφίαν µωρίαν λογίζεσθαι” (PJB, p.245.§2; For he read from

the teacher of all Christians, “the fashions of this world would pass by”. And lest he pass by

with the world in an unseemly way, he offered himself worthy to God so that he might

consider worldly wisdom foolishness [Alwis 2011: 187]). Armed by the words of Paul that he

repeats (1 Cor. 7:31, 3:19), Julian declares that he despises the world. He is thence determined

to erase himself from the world so as to be as close as possible to God: “Ἐφ’ ὅσον ἐν τούτῳ

τῷ κόσµῳ ὑπάρχω, ξενιτεύω ἐκ τοῦ θεοῦ” (PJB, p.245.§2; “As long as I exist in this world, I

am a foreigner to God” [Alwis 2011: 187]). Hence, worldly affairs appear through the

authoritative speech of a leading church father to be a clear impediment to salvation.

However, the next paragraph shakes the strict boundaries set between the affairs of this

world and the affairs of God. Another excerpt with divine signature is introduced, this time

through the mouth of Julian’s parents who put pressure on their son to get married:

“Γλυκύτατον ἡµῶν καὶ σεβάσµιον τέκνον, ἄκουε τῶν σῶν γονέων τὴν ὑγιαίνουσαν παραίνεσιν, ὅτιπερ ἐν τῷ σεπτῷ νόµῳ τοῦ Χριστοῦ παρὰ τοῦ µακαρίου ἀποστόλου τοῦ πάντων χριστιανῶν διδασκάλου διδαχαῖς πνευµατικαῖς ἐκδιδασκόµεθα. Λέγει γὰρ τεκνογονεῖν, οἰκοδεσποτεῖν, µηδεµίαν παρέχειν ἀφορµὴν τῷ πονηρῷ. Διό σε προτρέποµεν οὐ τοσοῦτον εἰς τὸ ἡµῖν συναινέσαι ὅσον ἵνα τῷ νόµῳ τῷ δεσποτικῷ πιστὸς εἶναι φανῇς.” (PJB, p.246.§3)

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“Our sweetest and honourable son, listen to your parents’ healthy advice, given that we have been taught in the sacred law of Christ with spiritual teachings according to the blessed apostle, the teacher of all Christians. For he says, ‘bear children, build a home, offer no pretext for the evil one’. For this reason we urge you not so much as to agree with us, but so that you appear faithful to the Lord’s law.” (Alwis 2011: 187)

It appears that the hagiographer has intentionally installed an unsurpassable barrier between

worldly affairs and divine affairs in order to erode this same structure just after, since the

words paraded by Julian’s parents are once again Paul’s (1 Tim. 5:14).280 As we shall see,

referring to an authoritative speech in order to support one’s opinion in favour of marriage or

celibacy, which is what happens in the PJB is not an element of the next text we shall consider

shortly, the PCD. In this latter case parental pressure is also an element of the plot but the

father’s reasoning is grounded on his desire to secure his son’s future and the good name of

the family (PCD, p.471.§4). In Julian’s case, on the other hand, the parents give as a pretext

for their own desire an apostolic edict. This pretext, is, however, unsettled at the end of the

paragraph, as the author in a rather ironical gesture adds: “Ταῦτα ἔπραττον οἱ γονεῖς ὅπως τὸ

ἑαυτῶν σπέρµα ἀναστήσωσιν, ὅπερ τέλος ἔχειν ἐπίστευον εἰ µὴ τῇ αὐτοῦ γεννήσει

ἀνακαινισθῇ” (PJB, p.246.§3; The parents were acting thus in order to resurrect their own

seed, which they believed would come to an end unless it were to be renewed by his begetting

offspring [Alwis 2011: 187]). It is actually, he explains, the parental desire to leave a legacy

behind. The authorial interjection leaves the reader or the listener hanging with an ambiguous

impression against marriage. Thus it seems that the hagiographer of the PJB has a taste of

intentionally setting in motion an interplay between clearly defined boundaries which he then

blurs.

Actually, creating an ambiguous impression against marriage in relation to complete

devotion to God is an element that appears in other Byzantine hagiographical narratives as

well. For example, in the Life of Elizabeth the Wonderworker, the heroine is about to be given

to marriage despite her protests but her father dies leaving her free to pursue her pious

vocation.281 Matrona, Theodora of Thessaloniki, and Athanasia of Aegina are all married

saints. Matrona escapes her husband to live first as a cross-dresser in a male monastery and

then as a nun.282 Athanasia of Aegina wants to become a nun but is forced to marry (Life of

                                                                                                               280 Baudouin de Gaiffier argues that the arguments of Julian’s parents are borrowed in a version of St. Alexis (de Gaiffier 1945: 49-52). 281 Life of Elizabeth the Wonderworker ([BHG 2121], Halkin 1973: 256). 282 Life of Matrona ([BHG 1221], AASS Nov. III. 1910, 790-813).

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Athanasia of Aegina, p180.§1).283 Her husband is, however killed in battle sixteen days after

their marriage, leaving Athanasia a widow. At some point Athanasia gets married for a second

time, persuading her husband to become a monk shortly after, while after his death she takes

the monastic vow as well (Life of Athanasia of Aegina, pp.181.§2-182.§3). In a similar vein,

Theodora of Thessaloniki becomes a nun as soon as her husband dies (Life of Theodora of

Thessaloniki, pp.103.§19-106.§20).284 Mary the Younger and Thomais’ husbands, on the other

hand are impious, and the two women are sanctified because of the suffering they endured

within the institution of marriage (see above p. 208). Abraham and Alexios escaped their

brides to devote themselves to God.285 Philaretos the Merciful stays married but his wife is

also impious, this making the saint’s task of almsgiving all the more difficult and remarkable

thus leading him to the achievement of holiness (see above p. 178). All these saints are freed

of their marriage one way or another. Either the husband dies, or men and women escape

before or after the marriage is actualised, or again, the husbands or wives are impious, this

discrediting the value of marriage compared to the pious husband or wife’s tasks. By contrast,

in the cases of holy couples studied here, the tension between worldly affairs and divine affairs

is preserved to the end since husbands and wives stay within the marriage union until their

death. Moreover, both members of the couple are in this case virtuous, thus the possibility of

the one assuming the role of the other’s “torturer” in impeding his or her pious tasks is

thwarted. Consequently, both the institution of marriage and the saints’ orientation toward

God are of high esteem in these texts, this accentuating the tension between the two. This is

even more highlighted by the hagiographers who insist on repeatedly discussing the

conflicting nature of earthly affairs VS divine affairs either through authorial interjections or

through the mouth of their protagonists, or again, through the way they stage their plots.

To return to the PJB, the conflicting vibes given off by the narrative regarding the

status of marriage in relation to God’s will are reflected in Julian’s response: Τὰς τῶν γονέων τοίνυν ἐπαχθείας µὴ ὑποµένων καὶ τῶν φίλων τοῦ πατρὸς καὶ συγγενῶν συµβουλίας ἀποφράττων ὁ µακάριος, τοῖς συµβουλεύουσιν ταύτην ἔδωκε τὴν ἀπόκρισιν· “Οὐδὲ τοῦ ἐπιγήµασθαί µοι ἔστιν εὐχέρεια, οὐδὲ τοῦ ἀρνήσασθαι ἐξουσία εἰς τοῦτο ὃ προτρέπετέ µε· δι᾽ ὅπερ ἑπτὰ ἡµερῶν διορίαν αἰτῶ· καὶ καθὼς ὁ θεὸς ἀξιώσει µε ἐµπνεῦσαι, ἀπόκρισιν ἀπ’ ἐµοῦ δέξεσθε.” (PJB, pp.246-247.§3)

                                                                                                               283 Life of Athanasia of Aegina ([BHG 180]), by Lydia Carras, in Moffatt 1984: 212-224). 284 Life of Theodora of Thessaloniki ([BHG 1737], Paschalides 1991: 66-188). See above pp. 147-154 for a discussion of this text. 285 For Abraham see above, pp. 82-83. For Alexios Life of Alexios ([BHG 52m] by François Halkin and André-Jean Festugière, in Halkin 1987: 80-93). For a discussion of Alexios see Constantinou 2013 and de Gaiffier 1947.

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Unable to bear the pressure of his parents and barring the advice of his friends, his father and relatives, the blessed one gave this reply to those who adviced him: “It is not easy for me to marry nor do I have the authority to reject what you urge. For this reason I ask for a space of seven days and as Good deems worthy to inspire me, you will receive my answer.” (Alwis 2011:187-188)

The dilemma Julian faces is the contradictory coexistence of two mutually exclusive but

divinely sanctioned institutions—marriage (and, by extension, parental obedience) and

celibacy.286 The dead-end reached at this narrative point is solved supernaturally. Julian prays,

begging God to offer him a solution that will enable him to preserve his virginity: “ᾔτει ἐκ τοῦ

θεοῦ ἵνα µὴ τὴν ἐπηγγελµένην παρθενίαν οἱᾳδήποτε µιάνῃ προφάσει” (PJB, p.247.§4; <he>

asked God <to ensure> that he would not pollute his momised virginity under any pretext

[Alwis 2011: 188]). Julian’s prayer introduces another major thematic strand of the three texts

under consideration, namely virginity. In two of the three texts scrutinised in the previous

section the spouses were also virgin couples but either we are informed about the fact much

later (PTM) or it appears as an afterthought (PGE). In any case it is not given much value.

Here, by contrast, the issue is laid out as a precondition for what Julian will decide as he

specifically prays for this.

A divine apparition offers Julian a solution:

“Ἀνάστα µὴ φοβηθεὶς µηδὲ τὴν συµβουλὴν τῶν ῥηµάτων ἢ τὴν προαίρεσιν τῶν γονέων δεδοικώς. Λήψει γὰρ σύζυγον, οὐχ ἥτις χραίνουσά σε ἀπ’ ἐµοῦ χωρίσει, ἀλλὰ διὰ σοῦ παρθένον οὖσαν, καὶ σὲ καὶ αὐτὴν ἐν τοῖς οὐρανοῖς παρθένους ἀναδέξοµαι· πολλὴ γάρ µοι δι’ ὑµῶν σωφροσύνη ἀφορισθήσεται· πολλοὶ νεανίσκοι καὶ παρθένοι διὰ τῆς ὑµετέρας διδασκαλίας ζωῆς οὐρανοπολῖται δειχθήσονται. Παρέσοµαί σοι οἰκῶν ἐν σοὶ ἵνα πάσας τὰς τοῦ σώµατος ἐπιθυµίας καὶ τὸν πόλεµον τῆς σαρκὸς καταστρέψω. Καὶ αὐτὴν τήν σοι συνηµµένην µεταστρέψω εἰς τὸν ἐµὸν πόθον καὶ σὴν ἀκόλουθον ποιήσω. Καὶ ἐκεῖ µὲν ἐν τῷ κοιτώνι τῷ ὑµῖν προητοιµασµένῳ ὄψεσθέ µε µετὰ ἀγγελικοῦ χοροῦ καὶ ἀναριθµήτων παρθένων ἑκατέρας φύσεως, οὓς ἡ µὲν φύσις ἐποίησεν ἀνοµοίους, ἡ δὲ πίστις ἡ εἰς ἐµὲ ὁµοίους ἀπεργάζεται· ὧν σὺ µιµητὴς εἶναι γνωσθήσῃ.” (PJB, p.247.§4)

“Get up, do not be afraid nor fear either the advice of these words or your parents’ choice. For you will have a wife who will not separate you from Me by defiling you, but through you she will remain a virgin and I will receive both you and her in Heaven as virgins. For My sake, chastity will be greatly distinguished through you. Many young men and girls will be shown citizens of heaven through the lesson of your life. I will be present in you, dwelling in you, in order to destroy all the desires of the body and the war of the flesh. I will convert her (the girl) who is united with you towards desire for Me and I will make her your follower. And there, in the marital bed that has been prepared for both of you, you will see me with a chorus of angels and countless

                                                                                                               286 In Chapter One we saw that Abraham does not protest to the marriage union as Julian does. Instead, he proceeds to marriage and then escapes the union. In the case of Melania we saw a heroine who does protest but does not succeed in avoiding marriage.

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virgins of each gender, whom though nature made dissimilar, faith in Me makes similar. You will be known as an imitator of them.” (Alwis 2011: 188)

This supernatural occurrence is worth some commenting. First, the two divine figures who

speak confirm that indeed a wife possesses the power to drive a man away from Christ.287

Second, the passage reveals a gender-based hierarchy in the achievement of holiness. Julian

will not be defiled by his wife since they will both remain virgin. But it is through Julian that

the wife will preserve her virginity, which comes to mean that the wife’s salvation is a product

of Julian’s good will. And, Christ continues, in this way, those created by nature as

“dissimilar” will have been made similar by faith. In other words, a woman and a man are by

definition unequal. The verb “ποιῶ” used for nature’s work, denotes an act which is once done

and completed, something which is difficult to transform. The verb “ἀπεργάζοµαι”, on the

other hand, which is used to describe the inferior’s effort (in this case the woman’s) to reach a

higher standard (the man’s), signifies a constant process toward a goal. Thus in order for a

woman to become what she is not by nature, equal to a man, constant effort is required.

To return to Julian’s dilemma, the problem is supposedly solved by God’s intervention,

which offers the protagonist some relief. However, a closer look reveals that the divine

solution forms part of the hagiographer’s (by now well-known) device of blurring boundaries.

Instead of actually choosing one option, which would have meant cancelling the dilemma,

divine will tells the hero to do both. Hence, instead of being undone, the dilemma is

legitimised as a third option, despite the internal tension of the two parts constituting it

(virginity and marriage).

Chrysanthos and Daria

The very first sentence of the PCD, like in the PJB, sets earthly affairs against divine affairs: Τὴν ἱστορίαν τῆς ἀθλήσεως τῶν προγεγονότων ἁγίων πρὸς ἡµετέραν οἰκοδοµὴν καὶ ὠφέλειαν ὁ Θεὸς ηὐδόκησε παραστῆσαι, οὐχ ἵνα ἐπαίνοις θνητῶν ἐκείνοις κορέσῃ οὕστινας ἀθανάτου εὐωχίας ἡξίωσεν, ἀλλ’ ἵνα ἡµᾶς τῷ ἐκείνων ὑποδείγµατι ἐκδιδάξῃ τῶν ἡδονῶν τοῦ παρόντος βίου περιφρονεῖν καὶ ὑπὲρ πορισµοῦ τῆς αἰωνίου δόξης τὴν πρόσκαιρον καὶ παράγουσαν θλίψιν µὴ δεδιέναι. (PCD, p.469)

God wanted the story of earlier saints to be known for our edification and benefit, not that he might nourish with mortal praises those whom he deemed worthy of eternal

                                                                                                               287 Cf. the PTM in which as we saw Maura was employed as the torturer’s means to drive the martyr away from his faith. Later on we shall see Daria in the PCD being used in the same way against Chrysanthos’s religious determination.

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feasts, but to teach us by their example to despise the charms of this present age and not to fear pain and momentary distress in the search of everlasting glory.288

In order to gain eternal glory man needs to leave the pleasures of the world behind. The phrase

is astoundingly similar with the first sentence of the PJB quoted in the above. The plot opens

with Chrysanthos, only-son of a pagan father of status. Extremely bright and educated,

Chrysanthos discovers the Christian truth and converts. Infuriated, Chrysanthos’s father

becomes his first torturer, throwing the young man in a dark and filthy room and leaving him

there to starve (PCD, p.471.§4). Firm in his newly acquired beliefs, however, Chrysanthos

perceives his father’s actions as a means of discipline instead of punishment: πρὸς γυµνασίαν

µᾶλλον ἢ τιµωρίαν ἑαυτοῦ ἀπεδέχετο τὸ γινόµενον (PCD, p.471.§4; <Chrysanthos> accepted

this more like practice instead of punishment).

Following this episode, an interesting development takes place. While the rumours

about the Christian disposition of such a prominent youth spread, a certain man advices

Chrysanthos’s father to change his tactic, saying: “Εἰ βούλει τὸν υἱὸν σου ἐκ ταύτης τῆς

ὑποθέσεως ἀποσπᾶσαι, µᾶλλον αὐτὸν ἐν τρυφῇ καὶ ἡδοναῖς διάγειν παρασκεύασον· καὶ τινι

εὐειδεστάτῃ κόρῃ καὶ συνετῇ πρὸς συζυγίαν σύναψον, ἵνα, µαθὼν ὅτι ἐστὶν ἀνήρ, ἐπιλάθηται

τοῦ εἶναι Χριστιανός” (PCD, p.471.§4; “If you want to deliver your son from this practice

[Christianity], then distract him instead with delights and pleasures and marry him to any very

elegant and very wise young girl so that when he learns how to be a husband, he will forget

that he is a Christian”). The passage is an emblematic reflection of the way sexual

relationships are perceived in narratives of chaste couples. Learning how to be a man sexually

means forgetting how to be a Christian. Or, in the analytical framework we have been

establishing, worldly affairs contrast divine affairs. It is noteworthy that the same idea, of sex

as disastrous for a saintly protagonist’s spirituality is also found in female martyr legends

(Constantinou 2005: 34-48; 2015). The pagan torturers usually develop an erotic interest

toward their female victims. This is absent, however from the legends of male martyrs.

Women were considered more prone to offers that reflected their “female” interests, such as

marriage and jewellery. Male martyrs are offered money or honours instead (Constantinou

2005: 22-23). But, as the above passage from the PCD suggests, the male martyrs examined in

this section, are made such offers in order to renounce their faith. Hence, in Passions such as

this, men are also considered prone to more “female” sins, which involve the body.                                                                                                                288 There is a translation of the Medieval English and the Latin versions of the PCD (Upchurch 2007: 86-99, 218-249). I have consulted these translations but unless otherwise indicated, all translations are my own.

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The idea that sexual relations are disastrous for a man’s spirituality is pursued further

as Chrysanthos’s father sets up a luxurious setting in order to seduce Chrysanthos: Ἀκούσας δὲ ταῦτα ὁ Πολέµιος κελεύει τρίκλινον σηρικοῖς κοσµηθῆναι ἱµατίοις καὶ προσαγαγὼν τὸν υἱὸν αὐτοῦ ἐκ τοῦ σκοτεινοῦ οἰκήµατος ἐνέδυσε πολύτιµον ἐσθῆτα, καὶ ἔθετο ἐν τῷ τρικλίνῳ. Ἐπιλεξάµενος δὴ εὐειδεστάτας παρθένους ἐκ τῆς θεραπείας αὐτοῦ καὶ κατακοσµήσας ἐσθῆτι, καὶ κόσµῳ καλλωπίσας συνέκλεισεν ἅµα τῷ Χρυσάνθῳ κελεύσας ἐν πάσῃ τρυφῇ διάγειν, ἀπειλήσας ταῖς παρθένοις ὅτι, ἐὰν µὴ αὐτὸν ἀποσπάσωσιν ἐκ τοῦ Χριστιανικοῦ σκοποῦ πρὸς τὰς ἡδονὰς αὐτὸν καθελκύσασαι, κακῶς ἀπολέσει αὐτάς. Ἤγετο οὖν ἐν παιγνίοις κορῶν ὁ ἄνθρωπος τοῦ Θεοῦ ἀµετάθετον ἔχων τὸν λογισµόν, τῆς τε ἀπολαύσεως τῶν ἐδεσµάτων καταφρονῶν, ταῖς τε παρθένοις ὡς ἀσπίσι προσέχων. Ἔκειτο δὲ χαµαὶ εἰς προσευχὴν ἀκίνητος· τὰ δὲ περιλήµµατα αὐτῶν, καθάπερ βελῶν τρώσεις, τῷ θυρεῷ τῆς πίστεως ἀπεκρούετο. (PCD, p.472.§5)

When Polemios heard this, he ordered dining-rooms to be made ready by decorating them with silk tapestries. Taking Chrysanthos out of that filthy and foul dwelling, he dressed him in costly garments, and putting him in a dining-room, he chose five very beautiful young maidens from among his maidservants and arrayed them in very elaborate garments and accouterments and put the girls together with Chrysanthos and ordered that they spend their time <enjoying> every luxury. And he threatened the virgins that if they do not part him from his Christian purpose by making him indulge with them, he will have them killed in a horrible way. And the man of God was dragged to the play of the girls unmoved in spirit, and despising the delights and recoiling from the maidens as if they were vipers. And he lay still on the ground in prayer. And with his shield of faith he repelled their embraces and kisses as if they were shots of arrows.

The dark and filthy cell where Chrysanthos was previously constrained is replaced by a

splendidly decorated room specifically organised to lure Chrysanthos into indulging in sexual

pleasures. The virgins chosen by Chrysanthos’s father are thus employed as a means of

torture. Indeed the whole scene recalls tortures in Passions, in which the martyr is immobilized

(“Ἔκειτο δὲ χαµαὶ [...] ἀκίνητος”; PCD p.472.§5) in prayer. We have seen a very similar

incident in the PTM when Maura was sent to lure Timotheos.

The divine interferes in Chrysanthos’s case, like in Julian’s, to solve the deadlock the

hero reaches. In this respect, a miracle makes the virgins fall asleep when entering

Chrysanthos’s chamber and wake up when exiting it (PCD, pp.472.§6-473.§7). Thus in this

narrative the authorial statements, the characters’ discourse and the plot layout are carefully

arranged to reveal virginity as a matter of urgency. This is nicely reflected in Chrysanthos’s

prayer:

“Ὅπου σὰρξ καὶ αἷµα καὶ νεότητος εὐπρεπὴς ἰδέα, ὅπου νεότης, καὶ ἐρεθισµὸς ὀφθαλµῶν· ἐκεῖ καὶ δυναστεία δεσποτική, καὶ προτροπὴ αἰσχρότητος ἐξουσιαστικῆς· ἐκεῖ κόσµος δελεάζων ὀφθαλµοὺς χρυσίῳ καὶ µαργαρίταις συγκείµενος καὶ λίθῳ τιµίῳ καὶ ἀρωµάτων εὐωδίᾳ· ἐκεῖ περιλήµµατα τῆς καταπόσεως τοῦ θανάτου πρόξενα·” (PCD, p.472.§6)

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Where there is flesh and blood, and the beauty of youth, where there is youth there is also provocation for the eyes. There <is also> the power of authority and the allurement of indecent power. There are ornaments to entice the eyes together with gold and pearls and precious stones and fragrant perfumes. There are embraces that cause <one to be> devoured by death.

What the hero suggests is that fleshly pleasure is death. We see here reflected an idea that

reappears in some contemporary theorists, among them Lacan. Lacan connects libido to death.

He believes that by engaging in the sexual act, man comes across the cycle of reproduction

and mortality. Hence, lurking behind sex is, for Lacan, always death (Lacan 1995; 1979: 197-

198). Chrysanthos states something similar here. An “animated” flesh, that is, a body in which

sexual urges have not been eliminated is enslaved to the world and, consequently, to death. In

a similar vein, by embracing virginity Chrysanthos believes to have removed himself from the

world, and, consequently, to have defeated death.

Cecilia and Valerian

In this third narrative we are initially, already from the title, only introduced to Cecilia and not

to a male protagonist as in the two previous cases: “Βίος καὶ µαρτύριον καὶ θαύµατα τῆς ἁγίας

παρθενοµάρτυρος Κικιλίας καὶ τῶν σὺν αὐτῇ ἁγίων µαρτύρων” (PCV, p.89; “Life and passion

and miracles of saint Cecilia, virgin and martyr and the saints who were martyred with

her”).289 Valerian is included in the list of the “rest of the martyrs that were also tortured with

her”, this hinting at the prominence of Cecilia against her husband. The same practice is

followed in the prologue. After a long sentence which summarises the heroine’s spiritual feats,

a second paragraph introduces Valerian in a rather negative way: “Αὕτη γνώµῃ καὶ προτροπῇ

τῶν γεννητόρων µνηστεύεταί τινι νεανίᾳ τῶν εὐπατριδῶν καὶ πλουσίῳ, ᾧ Βαλλεριανῷ

τοὔνοµα· ὅστις νεανίας ἐξεκρεµάτο µὲν ἐξεστηκὼς τῷ πρὸς αὐτὴν ἀπλήστῳ πόθῳ καὶ τὸν

καιρὸν τοῦ γάµου κατήπειγεν” (PCV, p.89.§2; Upon the will and advice of her parents she was

engaged to a young man, noble and rich, whose name was Valerian. He became insanely filled

with insatiable lust for her and was attached to her and hastened the day of the wedding).

Valerian’s reference in the narrative is of him “burning with lust”, and in fact “losing his mind

in his arrogant lust” over Cecilia, an admittedly un-saintly attribute.

                                                                                                               289 There is a translation of the Medieval English and the Latin versions of the PCV (Upchurch 2007: 72-85, 172-217). I have consulted these translations but unless otherwise indicated, all translations are my own.

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In Cecilia’s case the episode leading up to her wedding ceremony does not take up

much space since, unlike the two male heroes studied before, Cecilia as a woman does not

really have a choice. While her male counterparts are required to give their consent, either by

being persuaded (Julian) or seduced (Chrysanthos), Cecilia is given to marriage. Nevertheless,

we are told that she did not desire this union, as she wanted to preserve herself undefiled for

Christ: “Ἡ δὲ τὸν πρὸς Χριστὸν ἐγκάρδιον διατηροῦσα λανθάνειν ἐµηχανᾶτο τέως τόν τε

µνηστῆρα καὶ τοὺς γεννήτορας” (PCV, p.111.§2; But in the meantime she, preserving in her

heart her desire for Christ, was planning to escape her fiancé and her parents). The wedding is,

however, actualised despite Cecilia’s unwillingness, leaving her desperately praying to God to

preserve her virginity: “ἐκείνη, πρὸς µόνον τὸν οἰκεῖον ἀποσκοποῦσα περικαλλέστατον τῶν

ψυχῶν ἐραστήν, διὰ παντὸς διετέλει δεοµένη διατηρηθῆναι τὸ ταύτης σῶµα καὶ τὴν ψυχὴν

σὺν τῷ πνεύµατι ἀµόλυντον καὶ ἀµίαντον” (PCV, p.90.§2; She, having her mind fixed only to

the proper and most beautiful lover of the souls, kept praying all the time for her body and her

soul, along with her spirit to be preserved unpolluted and undefiled). This development creates

much more suspension than the two previous cases as to how the story will unravel, since

Cecilia’s preservation of chastity is now necessarily dependent on Valerian’s consent. As

night falls and the wedding festivities are brought to a closure, Cecilia and Valerian enter the

bedroom alone (PCV, p.90.§3). It is to this space that we turn next, extending this suspension

for a while, in order to infiltrate first Julian and Basilissa’s bedroom.

The Marriage Chamber as a Liminal Space

Julian and Basilissa

Following Julian’s consent to marry, Basilissa is chosen as a suitable bride for him (PJB,

pp.248-249.§5). Before detailing the development of their relationship, the author tells us:

“Καὶ προσαχθεῖσαν ἐκ τοῦ θαλάµου τὴν νύµφην δέχεται ἱλαρῶς, µεθ’ ἧς καὶ ἀγάλλεται ἐν τῷ

δεσπότῃ” (PJB, p.249.§6; And when the bride was brought to him from her room, he received

her cheerfully and rejoiced in the Lord with her [Alwis 2011: 189]). Julian accepts Basilissa as

a bride in Christ. Immediately after the author presents in an extended episode what happens

in Julian and Basilissa’s chamber on their wedding night.

If liminality defines, as aforementioned, an ambivalent space, transitional between two

significant stages, I would then view Julian and Basilissa’s marriage chamber as such a space.

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First of all, the space is activated to denote its special significance. In these terms, in the PJB

the hagiographer tells us: ὀσµὴ κρίνων τε καὶ ῥόδων ἐφάνη, ὥστε δοκεῖν τὴν παρθένον ἐν τοιούτῳ εἶναι τόπῳ ἐν ᾧ εἰώθασιν τὰ τοῦ ἔαρος ἄνθη ποικίλαις ὀσµαῖς ἀνατέλλειν […]. Ἡ παρθένος εἶπεν· “Καιροῦ ὄντος τοῦ χειµῶνος καὶ τῆς γῆς συνεχούσης πάντα τὰ ἄνθη, οὕτως ἐν τῷ κοιτῶνί µου τούτῳ ὀσµὴ πάντων ὑπάρχει, ὥστε ταύταις ταῖς ἡδυτάταις ὀσµαῖς ἡδυνθεῖσα φρίττω, ὥστε µὴ παντελῶς ἐπιθυµεῖν τὴν τῆς στρωµνῆς συνάφειαν.” (PJB, pp.249-250.§6)

The scent of lilies and roses appeared in there so that it seemed that the girl was in such a place where spring flowers gave off different scents […]. The girl said, “Although it is winter and the earth withholds all the flowers, yet in this, my bedroom is such a scent of everything (all flowers) that I shiver by taking pleasure in such pleasant scents and I do not wish to have sex (go to bed) at all.” (Alwis 2011: 189)

As the passage reveals, space in this episode is not perceived as an abstract construct but as an

active device, which fulfills a very specific narrative function: it substitutes Basilissa’s sexual

desire with the beautiful scent. Once again in the text vending virginity as an essential attribute

is rendered as pivotal. But at the same time, what happens in this space comes to be translated

by Julian on another level: “Ἡ εὐωδεστάτη ὀσµὴ ἥτις σοι ἐφάνη, ἥτις οὐδὲ καιρὸν ἔχει οὐδὲ

χρόνους, ὅστις ἑκάστῳ τῶν καιρῶν δίδωσι χάριν, αὐτός ἐστιν ὁ Χριστὸς ὁ δεσπότης, ὅστις

ἐστὶν ἐραστὴς σωφροσύνης, ὅστις τοῖς τὴν ἀκεραιότητα τοῦ σώµατος φυλάττουσι ζωὴν

ἀποδίδωσιν αἰώνιον” (PJB, p.250.§6; “The most beautiful scent that appeared to you is

independent of season and time. It is He, Christ the Lord, Who issues grace to each of the

seasons, He Who is a lover of chastity, He Who grants eternal life to those who guard the

integrity of their body” [Alwis 2011: 189]). This scent is timeless, equated with Christ. In this

way the active space is divinized, hosting Christ himself instead of hosting the sexual act.

Another parameter that deserves some reflection in this episode is the way the two

protagonists are perceived to act in this space. Julian enters the chamber as an “athlete”,

prepared for a battle against flesh.290 Basilissa, on the other hand, needs to be prompted

through the miraculous activation of space and through Julian’s guidance to embrace virginity.

Her role is, we could say, more passive compared to the male hero. Indeed Julian persuades

his wife to accept living in celibacy with him, grounding his reasoning on religious

argumentation and by promising that if Basilissa followed his instructions, she would gain                                                                                                                290 The hagiographer explicitly refers to his protagonist in this way: “Ὁ δὲ µακάριος Ἰουλιανὸς οὕτως τὴν ἡµέραν προσεδόκα τῶν γάµων ὡς ἀγαθὸς ἀθλητὴς ἡττωµένης τῆς ἐπιθυµίας τοῖς οὐρανίοις σπεύδων ἀρέσαι” (PJB, p.249.§5; Thus the blessed Julian longed for the day of their marriage like a good athlete, with lust overcome, and he hastened to become agreeable to Heaven [Alwis 2011: 189]); and “Μεταξὺ τηλικούτων βαρβαρικῶν ἐθνῶν ἔκαµνεν ὁ τοῦ Χριστοῦ ἀθλητὴς ὁ µακάριος Ἰουλιανός” (PJB, p.249.§5; Feeling wearied among such barbarous people, the athlete of Christ, the blessed Julian [Alwis 2011: 189]).

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eternal life. This was not the case with the wives studied in the previous section, Episteme and

Maura, whose reasons to embrace their husbands’ beliefs had to do with securing the bond

between them and their husbands. At the same time, however, this double aspect of virginity

and marriage also reflects the protagonists’ shared identity. In particular, the flowers which

spread their scent in the room are the lily, symbol of virginity, and the rose, symbol of

martyrdom (Elliott 1993: 69).291 Simultaneously, the crowning of the two protagonists with

wraths evokes classical marital rites of double crowning of the newlyweds, thus they

symbolise the union of Julian and Basilissa (Ritzer 1970: 135-137, 206-209).

Julian and Basilissa’s pact is confirmed by a grand celestial appearance (“Βεβαίωσον

τοῦτο, δέσποτα”; PJB, p.250.§6; “Confirm this Lord” [Alwis 2011: 189]). In this scene Christ

appears escorted by a multitude of white-garmented men,292 while on the other side of the

chamber, Virgin Mary appears with an assembly of female followers. Christ’s escorts address

Julian and those of Mary Basilissa: Καὶ ἐκ τοῦ µέρους τοῦ βασιλέως ἐκράζετο· “Ἐνίκησας, Ἰουλιανέ, ἐνίκησας.” Καὶ ἐκ τοῦ µέρους τῆς βασιλίσσης ἐκράζετο· “Μακαρία εἶ, Βασίλισσα, ἥτις οὕτως συνῄνεσας ταῖς σωτηριώδεσιν παραινέσεσιν καὶ τὰς ἀπάτας τοῦ κόσµου ἀποπτύουσα πρὸς τὴν αἰώνιον δόξαν σεαυτὴν προητοίµασας.” (PJB, p.250.§7)

“You have won, Julian, you have won” was cried aloud from the King’s side. From the side of the queen was cried, “You are blessed, Basilissa, who consented in this way to the salvific advice, spurning the illusions of this world, preparing yourself for everlasting glory.” (Alwis 2011: 190)

While Julian is once again referred to as an athlete who has won in battle, Basilissa is glorified

for she has consented to Julian’s proposal. One can detect a notable wordplay here as the

Virgin Mary, referred to as “queen” (“βασιλίσσης” [PJB, p.250.§7]) directly alludes to our

heroine, Basilissa. By consenting to her husband’s advice, Basilissa will become, as is later on

stated, worthy of her name (“Βασίλισσα, τοῦ σοῦ ὀνόµατος ἀξία”; PJB, p.255.§12; “Basilissa,

worthy of your name” [Alwis 2011: 192]). In this she will be equal to status (i.e. queen) to the

archetypal Queen, the Virgin.293 Nevertheless, it is once more highlighted that it is because of

Julian that Basilissa achieves salvation. The gender-defined character that imbues the episode

is intensified by the fact that Julian is addressed only by males and Basilissa only by females.

                                                                                                               291 In Cecilia and Valerian’s case both flowers also appear. See Hunter 2007 and Stevenson 1982 for marriage rites. 292 The word “λευχειµονούντων” (PJB, p.251.§7) may signify angels or celibate men. The word is usually reserved for angels in supernatural apparitions. However, there appear two groups of saintly virgins in the room, men on the one hand and women on the other (PJB, pp.251-252.§7). In this context, it is more probable that the word refers to members of Christ’s company, namely celibate men. 293 The author exhibits a general taste in wordplays. See below p. 273 for an additional example.

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At the same time, the supernatural apparition of two separate groups points to a gender-

oriented afterlife being drawn in the text, which rather upsets the impression given that Julian

and Basilissa rejoice in heaven together.

The two saintly groups are separate, even as they appear in the terrestrial sphere, since

each group enters the room from a different side. But as so often happens in this Passion, as

soon as any solid impression of boundary is created, it is undone. The same happens with the

afterlife as is imagined in this episode. Thus the phrase that follows the description of the

saints’ allocation in the afterlife, which is gender-oriented, refers to both saints, classing them

this time as equals: “Οἱ στρατιῶταί µου, οἵτινες ἐνίκησαν τὴν ἀρχαίαν τοῦ ἑρπετοῦ ἡδονήν, ἐκ

τοῦ ἐδάφους ἐπαιρέσθωσαν καὶ προσεχεῖ καρδίᾳ τὸ βιβλίον τῆς αἰωνίου ζωῆς τὸ προκείµενον

τῇ προητοιµασµένῃ αὐτοῖς στρωµνῇ ἀναγνώτωσαν” (PJB, p.251.§7; “My soldiers, who

defeated the ancient serpent’s pleasure, let them rise from the ground and with an attentive

heart read the book of Eternal Life, which is set out on the bed prepared for them” [Alwis

2011: 190]). Julian and Basilissa form part of the same team, Christ’s troops, since they have

defeated lust. This clause implies that Julian and Basilissa will form part of the same team in

the afterlife. This impression of afterlife togetherness is strengthened further, as the two saints

are joined together by the supernatural beings (“ἔζευξαν αὐτούς”; PJB, p.251.§7; “they united

them” [Alwis 2011: 190]). Consequently, the afterlife presented this far is hopelessly fluid to

capture.294

By defeating lust Julian and Basilissa earn their ticket to eternal life. Astoundingly,

eternity is, as the aforementioned quotation shows, represented by a holy book. This book

comes to substitute the wedding bed (as it lays on the bed), and, by connotation the sexual act.

It is germane to note that the speech contained in the book exercises a binding power on the

two protagonists’ holy identities, this bestowing a performative quality on discourse (Butler

1993: 224-226). Julian is instructed to read aloud the written speech contained in the book, the

orders of the Holy Trinity (“ὅπερ ἡ µία τριὰς κελεύει”; PJB, p.251.§7; “what the one Trinity

commands”). What Julian reads in the book is expected to be realised in the afterlife regarding

the spouses’ holy identity. Hence it concerns a future perfect type of identity, which is

                                                                                                               294 Even the title of the text is indecisive in this respect, introducing in a first phrase Julian alone, then complementing a second phrase that mentions both Julian and Basilissa: “Βίος καὶ µαρτύριον τοῦ ἁγίου Ἰουλιανοῦ· ταῦτά ἐστιν τὰ πάθη τῶν µαρτύρων Ἰουλιανοῦ, Βασιλίσσης καὶ τῶν λοιπῶν” (PJB, p.243; “The Life and martyrdom of Saint Julian. These are the sufferings of the martyrs Julian, Basilissa and the others” [Alwis 2011: 186]). These issues will be picked up again in the last part of this section.

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symbolized by two wraths, invisible to the human eye, the saints are crowned with—a reward

yet to be gained. A similar speech act is performed by Basilissa when she is prompted by a

divine vision to read aloud an inscription on a bright column that miraculously appears. The

script on the column concerns, like the book here, Basilissa’s and her desciples’ status in the

afterlife: Ταῦτα ἐπεξιούσης τῆς ἁγίας Βασιλίσσης, ὁ τόπος ἐν ᾧ ἦσαν συνηγµέναι ἐσείσθη· καὶ ἐφάνη ἐν ὄψει αὐτῶν στῦλος φωτὸς ἐν ἑαυτῷ ἔχων χρυσοῦν ἐπίγραµµα· καὶ φωνὴ ἐκ τοῦ στύλου προῆλθεν µετὰ λαµπρότητος καὶ ὀσµῆς εὐωδίας· καὶ τὸ σηµεῖον τοῦ σταυροῦ ἐξέλαµψεν λέγον αὐτῇ· “Βασίλισσα, τοῦ ὀνόµατός σου ἀρχηγέ, ὅπερ γεγραµµένον ἴδῃς ἀνάγνωθι.” Τοῦ δὲ ἐπιγράµµατος ἡ γραφὴ ἐν τούτοις ἦν· “Τάδε λέγει ὁ πρῶτος καὶ ἔσχατος· πᾶσαι αἱ παρθένοι ὧν σὺ γέγονας ἡγεµὼν σκεύη καθαρά εἰσιν καὶ εὐπρόσδεκτα τοῖς ὀφθαλµοῖς µου· οὐδὲ γὰρ ἐν ταύταις ἀδόκιµόν τι εὗρον, ἃς σὺ καθάρσει δικαιοσύνης καὶ πυρὶ δοκιµασίας ὡς χρυσοῦν καθαρὸν παρέσχες.” (PJB, p.257.§14)

While Basilissa was narrating these things, the place in which they were gathered shook. And in front of them appeared a pillar of light on which there was a golden inscription. And a voice came from the pillar with splendour and a beautiful smell. The sign of the cross shone, saying to her, “Basilissa, leader according to your name, read what you see written.” The inscription read as follows: “So says the first and the last. All the virgins of whom you have become a leader are purified vessels and pleasing to My eyes. For I have not found anything unsatisfactory in them, whom you have offered as pure gold, purified by righteousness and the testing fire.” (Alwis 2011: 193)

Thus the written speech is actualised through Basilissa’s mouth, making a fact of holiness the

stated declarations.

In a similar vein the divine authority represented by the book on Julian and Basilissa’s

bed joins the protagonists in a queer relationship which is, furthermore, not exactly

monogamous. Christ, signaled by the scent and the book on the wedding bed, appears to be

somewhat interchangeable with each spouse. The book that lies on the wedding bed, a space

unquestionably associated with the body and its sexual conduct, in combination with the

divine scent, makes the spousal triangle with Christ both sexualized and asexual. Kinship

positions thus become fairly fluid in this liminal sphere. This queer relation with divine quality

is further stressed a few lines later: “καὶ προσεδόκων ἰδεῖν τὸ συνοικέσιον ὅπερ ἐνόµιζον

ἀνθρώπους ἐζευκέναι, ἀγνοοῦντες καὶ µὴ αἰσθανόµενοι θεῖον γεγενῆσθαι τὸ πᾶν συνοικέσιον”

(PJB, p.252.§8; They longed to see the marriage that they thought had joined these persons.

They were ignorant and unaware that the whole marriage had become divine” [Alwis 2011:

191]). An ambiguous union, divinely sanctioned, that aims at creating a false impression, a

secret: “Οὗτοι δὲ οἱ µακάριοι ἤρξαντο, πνεύµατι καὶ οὐ σαρκὶ καρποφοροῦντες, τὸ µυστήριον

τῆς θείας χάριτος τὸ ἐν αὐτοῖς ἱδρυµένον κρύπτειν, ὅπως ἐκ τοῦ δεσπότου Χριστοῦ καὶ τῶν

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ἀγγέλων γνωσθήσεται τὸ παρ’ αὐτῶν πραττόµενον” (PJB, p.252.§8; Bearing fruits in spirit

not in flesh, these blessed ones began to hide the mystery of the divine grace, which was

established in them, so that it might become known from Christ the Lord and the angels, what

was accomplished by them” [Alwis 2011: 191]).

All in all, Julian and Basilissa’s decision to embrace virginity throws them in a

transitional phase from a lay self to a spiritual self. This transition is effected in a liminal

space, the marriage bedroom, marked by the joining of incommensurables. In this space

natural laws are suspended. For instance, the flowers emit a timeless scent, i.e. boundaries of

time are eroded. They are of divine origin but crown the two saints on earth before they

achieve holiness. Moreover, life, namely what is known as human physical existence is

intruded by the divine figures who lead the afterlife, namely the life that extends beyond the

limits of earthly existence. Additionally, Christ and the Virgin are escorted by saintly figures

who have completed their mortal cycle and now inhabit the afterlife. This afterlife is presented

here as an ambivalent blend of gender-divided groups and/or uniform teams. Julian and

Basilissa are in ambiguously referred to as settling in this afterlife together and separately.

Boundaries between concepts such as written speech, articulate speech and action are also lost

as inscriptions are read loudly by the protagonists and materialized. Kinship positions are also

permeated in the context of virgin marriage with spouses not performing the main task of

spousal union, sex. The defiance of boundaries permits a joining of incommensurables as

queer as the bond just established.

Chrysanthos and Daria

Upon his failure to distract his son from his newly acquired faith, Chrysanthos’ father mourns

him as if he were dead. A friend of him advices him in the following way: “Οὗτος τὴν µαγικὴν

ὑπὸ τῶν Χριστιανῶν µεµάθηκε, καὶ κατὰ ἁπλουστέρων κορῶν εὐχερῶς ἐνίσχυσε ταῖς

ἐπῳδαῖς. Ἀλλὰ πεπαιδευµένην τινὰ καὶ συνετὴν ἀπόστειλον πρὸς αὐτόν, καὶ δυνήσεται αὐτὸν

πρὸς τὸ σὸν θέληµα καὶ πρὸς τὰς ἑαυτῆς ἡδονὰς ἑλκῦσαι” (PCD, p.473.§7; “Chrysanthos has

learned sorcery from the Christians, and for that reason he easily prevailed against the very

simple-mined girls by uttering magic spells. But send him some learned and intelligent female,

and she will be able to incline him to your will and her whims” [Upchurch 2007: 227, with

some modifications of my own]). Unlike the case of Timotheos and Maura, the woman

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employed in this narrative as a man’s distraction needs, according to the passage, to have more

than good looks—she has to be smart and argumentative. This woman is apparently Daria,

who is sent to Chrysanthos in utmost splendor:

Τότε καλλωπισθεῖσα ἐσθῆτι λαµπρᾷ καὶ κόσµῳ πολυτελεῖ, εἰσῄει πρὸς τὸν Χρύσανθον ἐκλάµπουσα µετὰ παῤῥησίας καὶ λόγοις παρακλητικοῖς κολακεύουσα καὶ πολλὴν πιθανολογίαν ἀπάτης αὐτῷ προσφθέγγεται, γλυκύτητι ῥηµάτων τρέψαι αὐτὸν βουλοµένη τῆς προθέσεως. (PCD, p.473.§8)

Then adorned with a brilliant dress and luxurious jewels, she went in to Chrysanthos sparkling and she addresses him with outspokenness, blandishing him with comforting words and deceitful speculations, attempting through the sweetness of her words to drive him away from his purpose.

She is specifically employed, as the passage shows, to “deceive” Chrysanthos, that is, to lure

him away from Christ, thus delayering him from the spiritual status he has reached so far.

However, Chrysanthos’s bedroom eventually functions as a liminal space. As such, it has the

opposite effect of what Daria intends, leading both protagonists to a transformation from a

lower spiritual status to a higher one. In these terms, the protagonists enter a debate laid out as

a rhetorical competition with religious content, which extends in six large paragraphs (PCD,

pp.474.§9-476.§14). Daria defends the pagan religion, while Chrysanthos counterargues

against it, proclaiming Christianity as the true religion. Thus in the case of this couple, unlike

the heroes and heroines studied in the previous section, the spouse does take time to detail

arguments in order to bring about the heroine’s conversion.

Chrysanthos, as the grand winner in this verbal confrontation, concludes the debate by

offering Daria the choice to take Christ as her bridegroom instead of him and to have her name

written in “the book of eternal life” (PCD, p. 476.§14). But in order for this union to be

successful, Daria has to take Chrysanthos as her earthly spouse. Hence, remarkably, as in the

case of Julian and Basilissa, Christ “invades” the monogamous spousal relation as Daria’s

divine lover. Moreover, a supernatural (metaphorical in this case) book appears in the saints’

bedroom as reward for their vow of chastity, announcing the protagonists’ holy identity in the

afterlife. Instead of a torturer’s accomplice, Daria thus eventually becomes Chrysanthos’s

attendant. By agreeing to become his wife but live in chastity with him, she aids Chrysanthos

to please his father so as to leave the saint in peace. Daria thus fascilitates Chrysanthos to

pursue his pious vocation without any distractions: “Ὡς οὖν ὁ Χρύσανθος τὴν ἐλευθερίαν τῆς

τοῦ πατρὸς ἐξουσίας ἔλαβε διὰ τοῦ ὀνόµατος τῆς συζυγίας” (PCD, p.476.§14; And when

Chrysanthos took charge of his father’s administration through marriage [Upchurch 2007: 237,

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with some modifications of my own]). Interestingly, unlike most hagiographical narratives,

which, as aforementioned describe how the protagonist is liberated through the cancellation of

the marriage union, here the hero is liberated through marriage. The transition to a queer union

of virgin marriage is laid out in similar terms as in the PJB: “Ταῦτα τοῦ Χρυσάνθου

διαλεγοµένου, ἐπίστευσεν ἡ Δαρεία, καὶ συνεβουλεύσαντο ἀµφότεροι προσποιήσασθαι τὸ

ὄνοµα τῆς συζυγίας, διαµένειν δὲ ἐν τῷ φόβῳ τοῦ Κυρίου καὶ ἐν τῇ πολιτείᾳ τῆς παρθενίας”

(PCD, p.476.§14; When Chrysanthos continued these arguments, Daria believed and they

decided together to take up the pretense of marriage but to live together in fear of the Lord and

in chaste conduct [Upchurch 2007: 237, with modifications of my own]). The spouses

“pretend” to be a conventional husband and wife, preserving under the sham label a much

queerer truth—a chaste marriage.

Cecilia and Valerian

In the case of Cecilia and Valerian what happens in the bedroom presents an interesting

variation compared to the respective episode in the PJB and the PCD in many aspects. A first

case in point is that this time it is the female protagonist who desires to preserve her virginity

and thus attempts to obtain her husband’s consent. Thus it is Cecilia who undertakes the role

of the religious teacher. More specifically, as soon as the two spouses enter the bedroom,

Cecilia threatens Valerian that if he touches her, her guardian angel will smite him: “Γνῶναί σε βούλοµαι ὅτι µοι φίλος ἄγγελος πέφυκε θεοῦ φοβερός, ὅστις ὑπερβάλλοντι ζήλῳ τῷ ἐµὸν σῶµα φυλάττει. Οὗτος, εἰ ὅλως βραχύ τι ὑποπτεύσειεν ὅτι σύ µε µεµολυσµένῳ ἔρωτι χρᾶναι προσέρχῃ, παρευθὺ τὸν ἀκάθεκτον αὐτοῦ θυµὸν ἐπάξει ἐπὶ σέ· δι’ οὗ µαρανθήσεταί σου το ἄνθος τῆς ἀκµαιοτάτης νεότητος. Ἐὰν δὲ γνῷ ὅτιπερ ἁπλῶς καὶ παναµόµῳ µε πόθῳ ποθεῖς καὶ τὴν ἐµὴν ἀµόλυντον παρθενίαν παραφυλάττεις, τὴν ἴσην ὡσαύτως ἀγάπην ἣν ἔχει πρὸς µὲ καὶ πρὸς σὲ ἐπιδείξεται καὶ τῆς χάριτος αὐτοῦ πάσης ἐν ἱλαρότητί σοι µεταδώ<σει>.” Ἐν τούτοις τοῖς ῥήµασι καθάπερ τισὶ βέλεσι φόβου θεοῦ Βαλλεριανὸς τὴν καρδίαν βληθεὶς πρὸς Κικιλίαν ἠµείβετο· “Εἰ βούλει, φιλτάτη, πιστεῦσαί µε τοῖς παρὰ σοῦ λαλουµένοις, δεῖξόν µοι τοῦτον τὸν ἄγγελον ὃν λέγεις, ὅπως περὶ τούτου δοκιµάσας ἐναργῶς τὸ ἀληθὲς γνώσωµαι. Καὶ τότε προθύµως ἃ προτρέπῃ πληρώσω. Εἰ δ’ ἄλλον ἄνδρα τινὰ ποθοῦσάν σε πύθοιµι, κἀκεῖνον µετὰ σοῦ ξίφει θᾶττον συναποσφάξω.” Πρὸς ὃν ἡ πανολβία παρθένος µετὰ συνέσεως πολλῆς ἀποκρίνεται· “Εἰ βούλῃ, φίλτατε νεανία, ταῖς ἐµαῖς συµβουλίαις πεισθῆναι καὶ καθαρισθῆναι τῷ τῆς παλιγγενεσίας λουτρῷ πάσης κηλίδος ψυχῆς ἅµα καὶ σώµατος, ὁµολογῆσαί τε φυλλάττειν τὴν πίστιν ἑνὶ θεῷ µόνῳ τρισυποστάτῳ παντοκράτορι, τότε δυνήσῃ τὸν θεῖον θεάσασθαι ἄγγελον.” (PCV, p.91.§3-4)

I want you to know that I have a fearful angel of God as my friend, who guards my body with extraordinary zeal. He, if he has the slightest suspicion that you approach

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me with the purpose of treating me with disgraceful lust, immediately will thrust his unstoppable rage on you. And by this the beauty of your vigorous youth will wither. But if he knows that you desire me in a simple and totally pure manner and you preserve my virginity undefiled, the same love that he has towards me will also show to you and he will gladly bestow on you all his grace.” Shot through the heart with the fear of God by these words like by some arrows, Valerian responded: “If you want me, my dearest, to believe what you have said, show me this angel that you mention, so that reassured by this, I will clearly learn the truth. And then I shall willingly fulfill what you propose. But if I find out that you desire another man, I will slaughter him and you with my sword.” To whom the most blessed virgin responded with much wisdom: “If you want, my dear young man, to follow my advice and be cleansed by the rejuvenating bath from every stain in your soul and body, and you agree to be faithful to the one God the pantokrator Who has three substances, then you will be able to see the divine angel.”

It is actually somewhat humorous considering that the madly in love Valerian, intimidated by

the threat of the angel agrees to Cecilia’s request and then as an afterthought answers the

virgin back with a naïve threat in case she had an other lover. This image of Valerian is in fact

aligned to his profile as presented so far, that of a superfluous youth. Actually, Valerian’s

personality is portrayed in similar terms to that of Daria before her conversion. Daria is also

depicted as a shallow maiden who attempts to distract Chrysanthos from his pious vocation

through her sexuality and her speech. Basilissa, on the other hand, who is already a Christian,

is not portrayed in a negative manner before she takes the vow of chastity. Thus it seems that

the protagonists’ profiles are linked to their religious beliefs. Therefore, it is not surprising that

Valerian gives his consent to be baptized not for any pious reason but in order to see the angel

as proof that Cecilia has not been unfaithful. This development extends the liminal sphere of

the bedroom to the space where Valerian is baptized.

Valerian is sent by Cecilia to pope Urban, who agrees to baptize him (PCV, p.92.§4).

Like in the two cases analysed before, there appears also in this Passion a miraculous script: Ἔδοξε γὰρ ὁρᾶν ἔµπροσθεν αὐτοῦ πρεσβύτην τινὰ παριστάµενον, φοβερὸν τῷ σχήµατι, τῇ δὲ µορφῇ ὑπερφέροντα, λευχειµονοῦντα τοῖς ἐνδύµασι καὶ πινακίδιον ἐπὶ χεῖρας κατέχοντα, χρυσέοις γράµµασι κεχαραγµένην περιέχοντα γραφήν. Ὅστις τῆς χειρὸς παραχρῆµα λαβόµενος τὸν κείµενον ἐπανίστησι· προτρέπεταί τε διαναστάντα τῆς κεχρυσωµένης τὸ ὕφος γραφῆς ἀναγνῶναι καὶ δι’ αὐτῆς ἐπιγνόντα τοῦ µυστηρίου τὸ µέγεθος τῆς ἐπηγγελµένης καθάρσεως µετασχεῖν ἀξιωθείη· δι’ ἧς δυνήσεται κατὰ τὴν ὑπόσχεσιν Κικιλίας κατιδέσθαι τὸν ἑκάστῳ τῷ πιστεύοντι δεδοµένον παρὰ θεοῦ φύλακα τῆς ζωῆς ἄγγελον. Ἡ δὲ περιοχὴ τῆς ἐν τῷ πινακιδίῳ κεχρυσωµένης θεογράφου γραφῆς ἦν αὕτη· “Εἷς θεός, µία πίστις, ἓν βάπτισµα· εἷς θεὸς καὶ πατὴρ πάντων ἐν υἱῷ µονογενεῖ καὶ ἁγίῳ πνεύµατι προσκυνούµενος ὁ ἐπὶ πάντων καὶ ἐν πᾶσιν ἀµήν.” (PCV, p.92.§4-5)

It seemed to him that he saw standing in front of him an old man, fearful in shape, superb in appearance, clad in white, who had in his hands a tablet with an inscription engraved in gold letters. He immediately took the one who was lying on the ground by

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the hand and raised him. And when he stood up he urged him to read the gold inscription and through this to gain knowledge of the magnitude of the mystery of the promised purification which he would be deemed worthy to receive. Through this, according to Cecilia’s promise, he would be able to see the angel, who is given by God to each believer as a lifeguard. And the God-written golden inscription on the tablet read like this: “One God, one faith, one baptism. One God and father of all, worshiped by everyone and present in everything along with his only-begotten Son and the Holy Spirit.

Valerian is prompted to read what is written on the tablet and he is, in this way, initiated to the

Christian faith. After this event Valerian returns to the marriage chamber a spiritually

transformed man. He enters the liminal space of the bedroom for a second time but this space

has now also changed:

Ἣν παραγενόµενος εὗρεν ἐν τῷ κοιτώνι προσευχοµένην· ἄγγελόν τε κυρίου κατεῖδεν ἐνεστῶτα ἔγγιστα αὐτῆς ἐξαστράπτοντα φλογοειδέσι πτέρυξι καὶ µορφῇ σπινθηροβολούσῃ, δύο στεφάνους περικαλλεῖς ἐν ταῖς χερσὶ κατέχοντα ἐκ ῥόδων καὶ κρίνων συµπεπραγµένους, ὧν τὸν µέν ἕνα τῇ Κικιλίᾳ δεδωκε, τὸν δὲ ἕτερον τῷ Βαλλεριανῷ λέγων· “Τούτους τοὺς στεφάνους οὓς ἐκ τοῦ παραδεῖσου τοῦ θεοῦ λαβὼν ἄρτι πρὸς ὑµᾶς ἐκόµισα, προσῆκον ὑµῖν ἐστι καρδίᾳ καθαρᾷ καὶ σώµασιν ἀµώµοις ἀνεπάφους φυλάξαι, ὧν ἐναργὲς γνώρισµα τῆς ἀκηράτου ἐνεργείας ὑµῖν πρὸς τελεωτέραν ὑπάρξει πληροφορίαν, τὸ µηδαµῶς µηδέποτε µαρανθήσεται, µήτε µὴν τὴν ἡδύτητα τῆς εὐωδίας ἀποβαλεῖν. Οὐ τοῦτο δὲ µόνον, ἀλλ’ ὅτι καὶ ἀθέατοι τοῖς πολλοῖς διατηρηθήσονται, παρ’ ἐκείνοις µόνοις θεώµενοι τοῖς καθ’ ὑµᾶς τὸ τῆς ἁγνείας κάλλος ποθήσασι. Πρὸς σὲ δὲ µάλιστα, Βαλλεριανέ, νῦν ἀπεστάλην ὡς προτιµήσαντα τὴν τῆς παρθενίας καθαρότητα τῆς ῥυπαρᾶς ἐµπαθείας, ὅπως ὁποίαν ἂν βουληθείης αἰτήσῃ καὶ λήψῃ.” (PCV, p.93.§5)

Arriving there he found her in the bedroom praying. And he saw an angel of the lord standing very close to her, radiant, with fire-like wings and sparkling appearance, holding two extremely beautiful wraths in his hands, garlanded with roses and lilies. He gave one to Cecilia and the other to Valerian saying: “These wraths, which I received by God from Heaven, I now bring to you, and it is befitting to treasure them intact with clean heart and pure bodies. For which a clear sign will without doubt prove your undefiled state, the fact that they shall never and in no way wither, or lose their sweet fragrance. But not only this, but also the fact that they stay invisible to the many, and they can only be seen by those who, like you, desired the beauty of chastity. And especially to you, Valerian, because you preferred the cleanness of chastity to filthy passion, I was now sent so that whatever wish you desire, you can ask and you can receive.”

As is apparent from the passage, space is also in this text activated, filled with light and the

scent of flowers and populated by an angel. Cecilia and Valerian are, like Julian and Basilissa,

joined together, this designating the shared nature of their identity. Valerian is by this point a

spiritually bettered man. Being such, he perceives this queer reality of spiritual marriage he

has just become part of as the only truth. In similar terms, he understands what he has lived

before his conversion to have been an illusion. As he tells his brother Tiburtius: “Ὡς ἐν ὀνείρῳ

µὲν µέχρι τοῦ παρόντος ἐζήσαµεν, ἀδελφὲ φίλτατε, θεοῖς ψευδωνύµοις ἐν ἀπάτῃ πολυπλανοῦς

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εἰδωλοµανίας λατρεύσαντες. Νῦν δὲ θεοῦ χάριτι τὴν ἀληθῆ θεογνωσίαν ἐπεγνωκότες τὴν

ἀληθινὴν ζωὴν ζῆν ᾑρετισάµεθα” (PCV, pp.94-95.§7; “Up to the present we lived as if in a

dream, dear brother, worshipping falsely named gods according to the deceit of much-erring

idolatry. But now by the grace of God we gained knowledge of the true God and chose to live

the true life”). The liminal space is revealed to act also in this case in a transformative manner.

Valerian enters the bedroom a lustful pagan and exits it a pious Christian. Cecilia and Valerian

enter the bedroom as single protagonists and exit it as a couple with a queerly shared identity.

After the virgin unions in the three narratives have been established, there follows in

all three a short description of the spouses’ lifestyle before their torture. We could draw certain

conclusions based on the husbands and wives’ behaviour during this time, which appears to be

gender-based too.

In these terms, the male protagonists are subjects of both speech and action, which they

employ to show their piety and to guide other people who become their disciples. Julian, along

with his wife, transforms his house into two monasteries and becomes the spiritual father of

over ten thousand monks (PJB, p.254.§10). Chrysanthos converts numerous pagans and

persuades them to lead a chaste life (PCD, p.479.§15). Valerian delivers alms to the needy and

buries martyrs (PCV, p.98.§10-11). The female protagonists, on the other hand, perform

mainly using their speech. Their performances are restricted to their discourse, through which

they influence other virgins or women and drive them away from marriage or their husbands.

This is the case with both Basilissa (PJB, p.254.§10) and Daria (PCD, p.479.§15). In fact, so

unsettling is the saints’ preaching in favour of virginity for their society, that in the case of

Chrysanthos and Daria it sparks a revolt against the two saints: Ἀθρόως δὲ ἀναφύεται τις στάσις ἐν τῇ πόλει, καὶ κρατοῦσιν οἱ δῆµοι Κελερῖνον τὸν ὕπαρχον δηµοσίᾳ. Καὶ οἱ νέοι ἐβόων· “Τὰς µνηστευοµένας ἡµῖν διὰ Δαρείας ἀπωλέσαµεν οἱ ἄνδρες τὰς γυναῖκας.” Αἱ γυναῖκες ἐβόων· “Τοὺς ἄνδρας ἀπόλλυµεν διὰ Χρυσάνθου, καὶ τέκνα οὐκ ἕτι ἕξοµεν.” (PCD, p.479.§15)

Suddenly, turmoil was stirred up in the city and the citizens brought the matter publicly to Kelerinos, who served the prefect of the city. And the young men shouted: “We have lost our fiancées because of Daria, the men <have lost> their wives.” And the wives shouted: “We are losing our husbands because of Chrysanthos and we are not going to have any other children.”

Cecilia, on the other hand, does not appear to influence an audience before her arrest and trial.

But when her husband dies, she too showcases her dependence on gener conventions since it is

only then that she takes up the “male” role in the household, i.e., she becomes in charge of the

family property which she disseminates to the poor (PCV, p.106.§18).

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The type and size of the audience that the saints influence with their actions and

discourse is also gender-specific. The husbands’ audience consists of the paupers that receive

their alms (Valerian) as well as of monks and laymen that receive their preaching (Julian,

Chrysanthos, Valerian). The female protagonists’ audience, on the other hand, is restricted to

their virgin disciples. The origin and status of these disciples are in all cases unspecified.

However, in the PCD we could infer that it is socially varied, since it is made up of numerous

of their fellow citizens (PCD, p.479.§15). Concomitant with the audience is, naturally, the

realm in which the protagonists’ performance is set. The husbands’ performance can extend to

the public domain. Such is, for example, the case of Valerian who buries the bodies of

Christians.295 Wives, on the other hand, are more restricted and teach within the limits of their

residence. A case in point is the example of Cecilia. When Valerian departs from their

residence in order to receive baptism from pope Urban, Cecilia does not desert her private

sphere of action to escort him (PCV, pp.91.§4-92.§5).

The wives, therefore, seem to base their performance of piety on the virtue of their

sealed body, which they disseminate to others in the form exhortations, i.e. as a discourse

about the body.296 This statement is reflected in Cecilia’s discourse: “διετέλη δεοµένη

διατηρηθῆναι τὸ ταύτης σῶµα καὶ τὴν ψυχὴν σὺν τῷ πνεύµατι ἀµόλυντον καὶ ἀµίαντον·

‘Γενηθήτω, ψάλλουσα, κύριε, ἡ καρδία µου ἄµωµος ἐν τοῖς δικαιώµασί σου, ὅπως ἂν µὴ

αἰσχυνθῶ’” (PCV, p.90.§2; <she> kept praying all the time for her body and her soul, along

with her spirit to be preserved unpolluted and undefiled. “Let my heart, she chanted, Lord, to

stay clean according to your commandments, so that I will not be brought to shame”).

Virginity, and especially female virginity, is thus a structural component of these narratives.

                                                                                                               295 In other renditions of the narratives the other male protagonists enter the public sphere as well. For example, in the middle English version of the PJB, Julian is referred to as distributing his landed estate to the destitute (PJB [English], Upchurch, p.56.§9). 296 The importance of virginity for the wives portrayed here is also underlined when we consider other Lives of holy wives. For example, Mary the Younger donates young girls their dowry in order to get married (Life of Mary the Younger [BHG 1164], AASS Nov. IV. 1925, 704). Virgin wives, by contrast, persuade young girls to remain virgins. The importance of virginity is, as aforementioned, also illustrated by the existence of Lives such as the Life of Mary of Antioch ([BHG 1045], AASS Maii VII. 1688) who are sanctified because of their virginity. As Constantinou observes, even though male chastity is also applauded, the general practice in Byzantine hagiography is not to detail it because it is treated as self-evident and because pious men achieve holiness in ways that have to do with subverting the social rules regulating the male gender (Constantinou 2010: 124). For example they decline social status and money offers. As will be examined further on, this insistence on female but not so much male virginity is spread throughout the Passions of virgin couples as well.

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The Scene of Martyrdom

The episodes relating a protagonist’s martyrdom are, naturally, focused on the suffering body.

Through the suffering body, as I will attempt to show next, the couple’s shared identity is

manifested. This practice was also apparent with the couples studied in the previous section,

Galaktion and Episteme, Timotheos and Maura, Adrianos and Natalia. However, as we shall

see, the way that this connection is narratively established in the PJB, the PCD and the PCV

differs significantly from the three couples previously studied. The shared identity of the

protagonists scrutinized here arises as a product of problematising boundaries.

Performing the Martyr

A peculiar characteristic of all the three Passions studied here is the fact that the shared

identity established between the protagonists in the scene of marriage is challenged several

times by the hagiographers themselves as the plots unfold. In the scene of torture this shared

identity is again challenged as the spouses are separated. The male martyrs either team up with

other males and are tortured with them (Julian with Kelsios, his torturer’s son, and Valerian

with his brother Tiburtius), or they are taken to different locations from their wives to be

tortured (Chrysanthos). Moreover, the treatment of the male bodies studied in this section is

diametrically different from what we have seen in the torture scenes of the previous section.

While the same degree of violent force is inflicted on them, these three bodies do not bend.

They remain whole throughout the tortures.

A first case in point is Julian. The martyr is led before the proconsul Markianos (PJB,

p.262.§20). Markianos accuses Julian of being a sorcerer, since he retains that the saint drives

people away from the custom religion using as a means his magic art. After a long verbal

debate with the judge, Julian suffers his first torture, being beaten with rough staffs: “Ἐκτείνατε αὐτὸν καὶ ῥάβδους σκληρὰς καὶ δεσµὰ φέρετε καὶ πάντα τὰ µέλη αὐτοῦ διασπαράξατε.” Τούτων δὲ γινοµένων, ἐκ τῶν τυπτόντων εἷς, πληγὴν ἐπιφέρων τῷ ἁγίῳ, τὸν ὀφθαλµὸν ἀπώλεσεν, ὅστις καὶ φίλος ἦν τοῦ ἄρχοντος καὶ τοῖς βασιλεῦσι γνώριµος. Ταῦτα ὁρῶν ὁ Μαρκιανὸς ἐπεβρυχήσατο λέγων· “Τοσοῦτον ἴσχυσεν ἡ µαγεία ἡ σὴ ὥστε σὲ µηδὲν αἰσθάνεσθαι καὶ τοὺς τῶν ἄλλων ἐκβάλλειν ὀφθαλµούς;” Ἰουλιανὸς εἶπεν· “Μαρκιανέ, ὁρᾷς ὅτι τοῦτό ἐστιν ὅπερ ἄνω ἔλεγον, ὅτι τυφλὸς καὶ νοσῶν καὶ πλανώµενος εἶ; Ὅµως, ἐαθείσης τῆς χαλεπότητος ἧς κατ’ ἐµοῦ πράξῃς, ἄκουσον ἃ προτίθηµί σοι.” Μαρκιανὸς εἶπεν· “Εἰ ὑπὲρ τῆς σῆς σωτηρίας ἐστίν, ἀκούω ἡδέως.” Ἰουλιανὸς εἶπεν· “Συγκάλεσον πάντας οὓς ἔχεις τῶν θεῶν τῶν σῶν δεδοκιµασµένους ἱερεῖς· καὶ ἐπικαλέσονται τοὺς θεοὺς τοὺς ἑαυτῶν περὶ τοῦ

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ἐκτοπισθέντος ὀφθαλµοῦ, ἵνα ἀποκαταστήσωσιν τῷ σέβοντι αὐτοὺς τὴν ὅρασιν. Εἰ δὲ µὴ ἰσχύσωσιν, ἐγώ, τοῦ ὀνόµατος τοῦ Χριστοῦ µου ἐπικληθέντος, οὐ µόνον τὸν ἐκβληθέντα ὀφθαλµὸν ἀποκαταστήσω, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοὺς τῆς καρδίας αὐτοῦ ὀφθαλµοὺς φωτίσω.” (PJB, p.265.§23)

“Stretch him out, bring unyielding rods and fetters and tear all his limbs to pieces.” When this was being done, one of those beating him lost an eye <when he was> landing blows on the saint. He was a friend of the governor and known to the emperors. Seeing these things, Markianos roared, “Is your magic so strong that you do not feel anything and cut out the eyes of others?” Julian said, “Markianos, do you see that this is what I said earlier? That you are blind, diseased and misled? Nevertheless, leaving aside this very bad thing which you are doing to me, listen to the things that I propose to you.” Markianos said, “If it is on behalf of your salvation, I will listen gladly.” Julian said, “Call together all the priests of your gods whom you have sanctioned. Let them summon their gods concerning the eye that has been removed so that they restore the sight of their worshipper. If they do not manage <to do this>, by invoking the name of my Christ, I will not only restore the discarded eye but also enlighten the eyes of his heart.” (Alwis 2011: 197)

As vividly illustrated in the extract, despite the brutal force inflicted on Julian, the one who is

harmed is rather his adversary, a soldier who is also a dear friend of Markianos. One of the

staffs pierces through this soldier’s eye so that the man is blindfolded. The martyr’s body, on

the other hand, remains unharmed designating in this way the power of the Christian God.

This power-play between God’s representative and the lay commander’s assistant is

interesting in yet another respect. Two magnificent wordplays lay out a network of antithesis

between Julian’s power and the pagan judge’s powerlessness.

The first is reflected in the above-quoted passage. In this, the eyes of the body become

the eyes of the soul. By healing the man’s physical eye, Julian states that he will heal the eye

of his soul, since the man will be able to see clearly who the true God is. Consequently, the

maiming of the man’s soul, for which sin is responsible, will be undone. This association of

the physical eye with the eye of the soul is dissimilar to the treatment followed in the cases of

the heroes studied in the previous section. Instead of stressing the distinction between different

levels of vision, the hagiographer of the PJB equates the two in an effort to show that, in his

text, keeping the body whole matters. In this way the author perhaps underlines in yet another

way the purity of a body which, as he stated before, “has not been defiled by a woman” (PJB,

pp.251-252.§7). The confrontation between God’s representative and the pagan judge’s

attendants continues in the same episode with a second wordplay: Τότε ὁ ἄρχων, πρὸς τὸν οὕτως ἀληθῆ λογισµὸν ἀπορήσας, ἐκέλευσεν πάντας τοὺς ἀρχιερεῖς παραγενέσθαι· καὶ λέγει πρὸς αὐτούς· “τοὺς θεοὺς τοὺς ἀθανάτους ὄψεσθαι ἱερουργικαῖς τιµαῖς, ἵνα τῷ ἀποστάτῃ αὐτῶν Ἰουλιανῷ δείξουσιν τὴν οἰκείαν ἀρετήν, τὸν ὀφθαλµὸν ἀποδιδόντες τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ, ὅπως καὶ αὐτὸν εἰς τὴν οἰκείαν ἀρετὴν προσλάβοιεν.” Ταῦτα ἀκούσαντες εἰσέρχονται οἱ λίθοι πρὸς τοὺς λιθίνους τὰς τοῦ

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λίθου κελεύσεις πληροῦντες· καὶ τῇ χαλεπωτάτῃ θρησκείᾳ τοὺς δαίµονας ἐξευµενίσαντο, ταύτην δεξάµενοι ἐν τοῖς ναοῖς τὴν ἀπόκρισιν· “Ἀναχωρήσατε ἀφ’ ἡµῶν, ὅτι ἡµεῖς τῇ διηνεκεῖ καµίνῳ ἀφωρίσθηµεν. Τοσοῦτον γὰρ ἰσχύει πρὸς τὸν θεὸν ἡ Ἰουλιανοῦ παράκλησις ὥστε, ἀφ’ οὗ εἰς τὰς βασάνους συνεσχέθη, ἑπταπλασίων ἐγένετο ἡµῖν ἡ κόλασις.” (PJB, p.266.§24)

Then the governor, at a loss before this true reasoning, ordered all the chief priests to attend. And he said to them, “…you will see the immortal gods with ceremonial honours, so that they will show their (own) virtue to the apostate Julian by restoring the eye to the man, so that they may also receive him (Julian) to their own virtue.” When they heard this, the stones (priests) approached the stone idols, fulfilling the commands of the stone (Markianos). And they propriated the demons with very evil worship receiving this answer in the temples, “Withdraw from us, because we are caset away in a perpetual furnace. For Julian’s entreaty to God is so strong that from the moment he was detained for torture, our punishment has multiplied sevenfold.” (Alwis 2011: 197-198)

By executing the stonehearted Markianos’ orders, the servants become themselves stones in

the service of stone-gods. Again, it is by canceling distinctions that the author chooses to

portray the powerlessness of Julian’s pagan adversaries.

As the torture leaves Julian’s body unbroken and the pagan gods broken, the enraged

torturer orders Julian to be drenched with urine (PJB, p.267.§26). However, as soon as the

urine touches Julian’s flesh it is transubstantiated to holy water. Next the martyr is paraded in

chains around the city (PJB, p.268.§27). It is at this point that Kelsios, Markianos’ only son,

converts and joins Julian in torture. Julian’s (and Kelsios’, his teammate’s) body remains

unbreakable also throughout a number of other excruciating tortures: they are both thrown in

boiling tar (PJB, pp.281-282.§45), the nails of their hands and feet are soaked in oil and lit

with fire (PJB, p.293.§59), an attempt is made for their head to be skinned (PJB, p.293.§59),

and they are thrown to the beasts but instead of devouring them, the beasts lick his feet (PJB,

p.294.§60). The martyrs are finally decapitated (PJB, p.294.§61).

A similar treatment we see with Chrysanthos. The martyr is surrendered to a tribunal

named Klaudios who orders seventy soldiers to torture the saint as follows: Τότε οἱ στρατιῶται ὑγροῖς αὐτὸν νεύροις δεσµοῦσιν, ὅπως ταῦτα ξηραινόµενα διαδύνωσιν ἄχρι τῶν ὀστέων αὐτοῦ σφιγγόµενα. Παραχρῆµα οὖν ὡς ἐδέθη, καὶ συνεσφίγγη πάντα τὰ δεσµὰ διελύετο, ὡς µὴ φθάνειν ὀφθαλµοὺς κατανοῆσαι τὴν ὀξύτητα τῆς διαλύσεως τῶν νεύρων. Ἀντιµηχανώµενοι δὲ οἱ στρατιῶται τὰ νεῦρα συνέσφιγγον διαφόροις τρόποις δεσµεύοντες αὐτὸν καὶ ξένοις ἐφευρεσήµασιν. Ὡς δὲ ἐπαύοντο αἱ χεῖρες τῶν δεσµοῦντων, ταχύτερον λόγου τὰ δεσµὰ διελύετο. Τότε θυµωθέντες οἱ στρατιῶται ἐµβάλλουσιν αὐτὸν εἰς ποδοκάκην καινὴν κάτοζον καὶ τρίτῳ κεντήµατι τὰς κνήµας αὐτοῦ ἠσφαλίσαντο. Ἑστηκότων δὲ τῶν στρατιωτῶν ἐνώπιον αὐτοῦ καὶ ὀνειδιζόντων αὐτόν, συνεσάπη τὸ ξύλον τῆς πέδης, καὶ εἰς κόνιν µετεβλήθη. Ἄραντες δὲ οἱ στρατιῶται κατέχεον αὐτοῦ οὖρον λέγοντες· “Τὰ φάρµακά σου ἄρτι ἀπώλεσας”. Ἀντὶ δὲ δυσωδίας εὐωδία διεδόθη ὥς τινος τῶν εὐόσµων περιχυθέντος. Καὶ ἄραντες αὐτὸν ἐκεῖθεν, δέρουσι µόσχον, καὶ περιβάλλουσιν αὐτὸν

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γυµνόν, καὶ περισφάξαντες, ἔστησαν ἐν τῷ ἡλίῳ. Δι’ ὅλης δὲ τῆς ἡµέρας ἐν τῷ σφοδρῷ καύµατι καὶ ἐν τῷ ἐκκαίοντι ἡλίῳ οὐδ’ ὅλως ἐξηράνθη ἡ δορά, οὐδέ ἐλυµήνατο τὸν τοῦ Θεοῦ ἄνθρωπον. (PCD, p.480.§16)

Then the soldiers bound him with rawhide strips so that as the thongs gradually dried out, they would shrink and cut Chrysanthos to the bone. But as soon as he was bound and tightly restrained, all the bounds came untied so that the soldiers could not figure out with their eyes how the strips untied so fast. And the soldiers fought against this happening contriving different ways to tie the strips and also restraining him with novel inventions. But once those who were tying him up removed their hands from the bond, no sooner was it said than done that whatever they bound him with came untied. Then, angered, the soldiers threw him into a freshly cut and very knotty set of wooden stocks to squeeze his legs into a third small hole. When they stood in front of him and jeered at him, every bit of the (green) wood was made to disintegrate and turned to ashes. The soldiers then picked him up, drenched him in urine and said, “Now give up your sorcery!” But the stinking water was turned into fragrance. And then they took him away from that place and, skinning a calf, they sewed him naked in the hide and positioned him facing the sun. Not only would the hide not shrink after drying all day in the scorching heat and under the hottest sun, but (the hide Chrysanthos was in) did not harm the man of God in any way. (Upchurch 2007: 239, with modifications of my own)

Chrysanthos is firmly tied with wet branches that miraculously break; he has his legs

restrained on a machine of torture, but the fetters are undone, he is thrown urine and then sewn

in an ox-hide again remaining unharmed. Subsequently, he is again beaten this time with

rough staffs which soften when they come in contact with the martyr’s flesh (PCD,

p.480.§17). As his death approaches, the protagonist is hanged but once again survives the

torture completely untouched (PCD, p.483.§26).

Valerian’s scene of martyrdom is peculiar in that its largest part is devoted to a verbal

debate between the prefect Almachius, on the one hand, and Valerian and his brother Tiburtius

on the other (PCV, pp.98.§11-104.§16). Long expositions concerning religious truth, as well

as preaching to the bystanders in a highly rhetorical style appears to be a structural component

of the PCV in general. Such sermonizing speeches are scattered throughout the text and

Valerian’s trial is no exception. In this spirit, the naïve Almachius is only able to express short

questions and responses, while Valerian and Tiburtius’ speeches consist of long sentences

embellished with metaphors, parables, quotations and sophisticated vocabulary. From this

vantage point, what seems to be in the center of the narration is the speaking body. But again,

in line with the analytical framework outlined in the above, this body is totally pure and as

such it cannot be broken. In Valerian’s case this is materialized in a body that cannot be

silenced or defeated verbally. This is very nicely reflected in the only incident in which the

martyr undergoes an actual physical torture:

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Ἐπὶ τούτοις τοῖς ῥήµασιν τὸ τῆς ὀργῆς ἀνδράποδον λίαν ὀργισθεὶς προσέταξε ῥοπάλοις τὸν µάρτυρα τύπτεσθαι. Ἐκεῖνος δὲ σφοδρῶς ῥαβδιζόµενος µετὰ περιχαρείας ἤρξατο λέγειν· “Ἰδοὺ καιρὸς ὃν πάνυ διψῶν ἐπεθύµουν, ἰδοὺ νῦν ἡµέρα ἣν ἰδεῖν πάλαι ἐπεπόθουν, ἰδοὺ σωτηρίας ὥρα πάσης ἑορτῆς ἐµοὶ χαριεστέρα.” Τυπτοµένου δὲ τοῦ γενναίου µάρτυρος, ὁ κήρυξ κράζων ἐβόα· “Θεοὺς καὶ θεὰς µηδόλως θέλε βλασφηµεῖν.” Ἐκεῖνος δὲ µεγαλοφωνέστερον πρὸς τὸν περιεστηκότα λαὸν ἔλεγεν· “Ἄνδρες πολῖται Ῥωµαίων, ὁρᾶτε µήτις ὑµᾶς ἐκ τῆς ἀληθοῦς ὁµολογίας Χριστοῦ τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ σωτῆρος τοῦ κόσµου µετακινήσῃ, ἀλλὰ στῆτε ἀνδρείως καὶ πάντας θεοὺς λιθίνους καὶ ξυλίνους, χρυσοῦς τε καὶ ἀργυροῦς καὶ χαλκοῦς, οὓς ὁ ἔπαρχος πλανώµενος σέβεται, εἰς πῦρ βαλόντες χωνεύσατε. Αἰωνίου γὰρ πυρὸς ἀνάλωτον παρανάλωµα γενήσονται πάντες οἱ θρησκεύοντες αὐτοῖς.” (PCV, p.103.§16)

Upon these words the slave of anger, being enraged of anger ordered the martyr to be beaten with clubs. While he was fiercely beaten with the clubs, he started saying with great joy: “Look, there <has arrived> the time which I longed for with great thirst, look now is the day I desired to see from long ago, now is the hour of salvation that is for me more pleasing than any feast.” And while the brave martyr was beaten, the herald shouted very loudly: “Do not at all blaspheme against the gods and the goddesses.” But he, with even louder voice was saying to the bystanders: “Men, citizens of Rome, be careful not to be moved by anyone away from the true faith of Christ the God and saviour of the world but stand bravely and destroy all the gods, stone and wooden and golden and silver and copper ones, which the prefect respects, by throwing them into fire. For everyone who believes in them will be eternally consumed by fire.”

In the passage, we are not told whether the martyr felt any actual physical pain during the

torture or not. What seems to interest this hagiographer, like the other two, is to show the

unbroken quality of the hero’s body. He achieves this by notifying us that not only was

Valerian not silenced, but, additionally, while the herald was trying to speak, Valerian was

shouting louder addressing the audience in a sermonized manner. Hence, despite the different

ways in which the three hagiographers organise their texts in the scene of torture, they all

seem to comply with the following: the male martyr’s body must remain whole.

The treatment of the female martyrs’ bodies presents some similarities but mostly

differences, with the way those of their male counterparts are treated. More specifically, while

most emphasis in the case of the male martyrs is laid on the way their bodies remain

untouched while suffering physically, in the case of the female protagonists the focus is on

their preaching capabilities. Unlike Episteme, Maura and Natalia, Cecilia, along with Basilissa

and Daria appear in the narratives to possess superb rhetorical skills.

We have already seen that speech is the means Cecilia employs to defend her virginity

on her wedding night, communicating to her husband the threat of her guardian angel. She

also delivers long sermons to Valerian and his brother concerning the truth of the Christian

faith. Basilissa exhorts her virgin disciples before her death delivering a long and dense

oration (PJB, pp.256-257.§13). Daria enters a long debate with Chrysanthos concerning highly

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abstract ideas, such as the truth of religion, while she is referred to as being highly educated

(PCD, p.473.§7, pp.474.§9-476.§14). While Basilissa, however, dies before the persecution

begins, the two female protagonists of the other two narratives, Daria and Cecilia, assume the

role of the martyr and demonstrate their exceptional handling of argumentative speech during

the scene of martyrdom as well. Actually, the focus of the hagiographers is exactly on the two

heroines’ speech rather than on their physical torture.

A first indication that supports this hypothesis is the choice of the two hagiographers to

submit their heroines to a limited number of tortures. More often than not, the female suffering

script of Byzantine Passions is characterized by a great variety of tortures which are,

moreover, oriented toward treating the female body in a sadistically sexualized fashion.297 The

tortures the two heroines suffer conform to this tendency of handling the female body in a

sexualized manner. Daria is sent to a brothel (PCD, p.482.§22), while Cecilia is thrown in a

bathtub with boiling water, a space with sexual connotations (PCV, p.111.§23).298 Such

tortures that cause a sexual titillation to the audience and expectations of sensual descriptions

are absent in the treatment of the male body which is, as we have also seen in the case of

Julian, Chrysanthos and Valerian, oriented in humiliating this body or exterminating its power

of speech.

However, the tortures that Cecilia and Daria suffer are not many in number or type.

Cecilia’s torment is restricted to the bath scene. Daria is attacked by the male customers of a

brothel, and later on an attempt is made for another unspecified torture to be inflicted on her

but whoever tries to touch her has his hands paralysed (PCD, p.483.§26). This lack of variety

in the torture scripts of the two protagonists also diverts significantly from the treatment of the

heroines discussed in the previous section. Maura and Episteme are, for example, both

mutilated in various ways.

Moreover, the two heroines appear to sustain their performance by evoking the

protective power of the divine rather than by displaying a power that directly emanates from

their miraculous bodies as was the case with their husbands. To be more specific, Daria’s

performance is sustained by the divine force that intervenes in order to preserve her virginity

                                                                                                               297 For example other female heroines that feature in the genre are boiled, burned, drenched with urine, have their breasts, hands and feet cut off or their teeth and hair pulled out. See Constantinou 2005: 19-58 for analyses of these texts and reference to specific examples. See also Barnes 1968, Frend 1965 and Perkins 1995 for the usual structure of Passions. 298 The bath is generally a space that propels sensual scenes and descriptions in Byzantine literature. This is more characteristic in the genre of the romance (Agapitos 2004).

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inviolate. A lion is thus sent by God to the brothel to block the door and attack the potential

rapists (PCD, p.482.§22). A similar development appears in Cecilia’s case since, while the

heroine is boiled, every indication of movement is cancelled. Her body is portrayed as lying in

tranquility, cocooned rather than actively resisting the torture: Ἔµεινεν οὖν ἡ καλλίνικος παρθενοµάρτυς ἐφ’ ὅλον χρόνου νυχθήµερον ἔνδοθεν τοῦ λουτροῦ κάτωθεν ὑποκαιοµένου τῇ τῶν ξύλων ἐξεπίτηδες πολυΰλῳ φλογὶ µηδὲν ὅλως παθοῦσα δεινόν. Τετήρηται γὰρ ἀβλαβὴς ὑπὸ θείας φρουρουµένη χάριτος ὡς µὴ µόνον αἰσθοµένη τινὸς στενοχωρίας ἢ ὀλιγωρίας, ἀλλ’ οὐδὲ µικρᾶς νοτίδος ἐξ ἱδρῶτος ἴχνος ἐπιφεροµένη τῷ σώµατι. (PCV, p.111.§23)

And the most blessed virgin and martyr stayed for a night and a day in the bath, which was purposefully heated by the woods with abundant fire, without any harm happening to her. For she was preserved unharmed as she was guarded by divine grace so that not only did she not feel any distress or faintheartedness, but also not even a small drop of sweat landed on her body.

What the passage describes differs significantly from what we have seen happening with the

male martyrs, whose fetters are for example, theatrically broken or who restore the vision of

blind men or who, and even, as we shall later see, cause earthquakes to happen. The choice of

the hagiographer not to focus on the heroine’s bodily performance but rather on her speech as

will be shown next is highlighted when compared to the Passion of Marina of Antioch.299

Marina also suffers the “fierce bath”: “Καὶ ἐγένετο σεισµός, καὶ [...] αὐτῇ τῇ ὥρᾳ ἐλύθη τὰ

δεσµὰ τῆς ὁσίας. καὶ ἀνῆλθεν ἀπὸ τοῦ ὕδατος εὐχαριστοῦσα καὶ δοξάζουσα τὸν θεόν”

(Passion of Marina of Anthioch, p.39, lines 4-8; There occurred a great earthquake and […]

immediately the bounds of the holy maiden came untied and she came out of the water

thanking and glorifying God). While Cecilia is “captured in-frieze” lying still, Marina’s

hagiographer narrates that his heroine employs both her discourse and a dynamic bodily

movement to manifest her power. Hence, the bodily tortures of Daria and Cecilia are

somewhat downplayed since the focus of the hagiographers seems to be elsewhere. It is

exactly to what the hagiographers appear to highlight that I turn next.

What causes the intervention of the supernatural in both the case of Daria and Cecilia

is the necessity to protect the integrity of the virginal body, either metaphorically, from rape,

or literally, from deformation. At the same time, the virginal status of their body seems to be

what induces the heroines’ transformation into objects of desire. The fact that Daria is a virgin

and not a common prostitute is what sparks the customers’ desire and drives them towards

                                                                                                               299 Passion of Marina of Antioch ([BHG 1165], Usener 1886: 15-47).

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her.300 However, this development is also the kernel, which creates the context that enables

Daria to convert the heathen. The medium she employs is her speech: Ὁ δὲ λέων, καταλιπὼν αὐτόν, ἀνελθὼν ἀνέπεσεν ἐν τῇ εἰσόδῳ, ἵνα µὴ ἕτερός τις δυνηθῇ εἰσελθεῖν. Καὶ λέγει ἡ Δαρεία· “Ἰδοὺ τοῦ λέοντος ἡ ἀγριότης ἀκούσασα τὸ ὄνοµα τοῦ Χριστοῦ εὐλαβήθη τὸν Θεόν, καὶ σὺ ἄνθρωπος λογικὸς ἐν τοσαύταις αἰτίαις διάγεις ἄθλιε, καὶ ἐν οἷς πενθεῖν σε ἔδει, ἐν τούτοις καυχᾶσαι.” Ἐκεῖνος δὲ προσπεσὼν αὐτῇ, ἤρξατο βοᾷν καὶ λέγειν· “Κέλευσόν µε ἐξελθεῖν ἀβλαβῆ, κἀγὼ κηρύξω πᾶσι τὸν Χριστὸν Θεὸν ὑπάρχειν ἀληθινόν, ᾧ σὺ λατρεύεις, καὶ οὐκ ἔστι παρὲξ αὐτοῦ Θεός.” Καὶ ἐκέλευσεν ἡ Δαρεία τῷ λέοντι συγχωρῆσαι αὐτῷ ἐξελθεῖν. (PCD, p.482.§24)

Then the lion moved away from the man and placed himself right in the doorway so that no one else could enter. Then Daria says: “Look, when the fierce lion heard the name of Christ, he showed reverence for God. And do you, a rational man, busy yourself in such crimes that you even boast about this, for which you, wretched one, ought to be deplored?” Then he fell down in front of her and began to cry out saying, “Order that I leave here unharmed so that I too may declare to all that Christ, whom you worship, is himself the only true God and there is no other God except Him.” And Daria ordered the lion to allow him to leave. (Upchurch 2007: 245-247)

As inferred from the passage, the desire for Daria’s virginity is what creates the opportunity

for conversion, effected through the heroine’s preaching.

Cecilia’s ability to preach and handle religious arguments is even more prominent than

that of Daria. Cecilia becomes, like her husband, a speaking subject during the scene of

martyrdom. More specifically, the heroine is brought to trial not because of her faith but

because the judge desired to confiscate her fortune (PCV, p.106.§18). Nevertheless, once she

is brought before the lay commander Cecilia grabs the chance to declare her faith and enter an

extended dialogue with the judge on the subject. So extraordinary are her verbal skills that she

is referred to with a terminology associated to classic rhetoric and church fathers.301 In fact,

Cecilia’s skillful handling of speech infuriates the judge in many instances.302 A sample of the

heroine’s capability in handling verbal arguments is the following:

“Ὤ κατακριτοῦ κριτοῦ ἀσύνετος προτροπὴ καὶ συµβουλὴ κατῃσχυµµένη, δι’ ἧς πρὸς ἄρνησιν ἐκκαλεῖται θεοῦ καὶ ἀθώαν ἀποφῆναί µε κατεπαγγέλλεται, ὥσπερ ἂν εἴτις τινὰ πρὸς φόνον ἄδικον ὁρµᾶν ἐπιτρέποι καὶ φονικῆς αἰτίας ἀνεύθυνον ἔσεσθαι µαταίως διϊσχυρίζοιτο.” (PCV, p.109.§21)

                                                                                                               300 The same happens in the case of other female martyrs, such as Agatha (Passion of Agatha [BHG 37], PG 114, 1332-1345). 301 See e.g. “δηµηγορούσης” (PCV, p.107.§19; “speaking rhetorically”), “θεοπνεύστοις ῥήµασι” (PCV, p.107.§19; “God-inspired words”). Great speeches delivered in court are usually known as “δηµηγορίαις”. Words inspired by the saintly spirit are usually referred to as coming from the mouth of saintly men. See for example Nonnos’s speech analysed above pp. 38-39. For women teachers in Byzantine hagiography see Blamires 1995 and Constantinou 2008. 302 See e.g., “Πόθεν σοι ἡ τοσαύτη παρρησία;” (PCV, p.107.§19; “Wherefrom comes this outspokenness of yours?”; again p.110.§22).

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“O, foolish exhortation and shameless advice of a judge worthy of judgement, with which he invites me to deny God and he promises to declare me innocent, like one who would jump to commit an unfair murder and vainly declare to be immune from the charge of murder.”

In this short quotation are synthesized elements characteristic of high-style speech, such as

extended sentences, wordplays (κατακριτοῦ κριτοῦ), similes (ὥσπερ ἂν εἴτις τινὰ πρὸς φόνον

ἄδικον ὁρµᾶν ἐπιτρέποι), conditional clauses (ὥσπερ ἂν...ἐπιτρέποι, <ὥσπερ

ἂν>…διϊσχυρίζοιτο) and optative mood of past tense (ἐπιτρέποι, διϊσχυρίζοιτο).303

The spectators’ compassion for the forthcoming annihilation of Cecilia’s virginal body

is, like in the case of Daria, the reason that drives a large crown to listen to her preaching and

convert.304 Interestingly, Cecilia’s verbal skills are also prominent in the episode of her death.

The torture she is put through does not silence her but instead she exhorts her audience

throughout the time she is left in the bath. Her speech cannot be silenced. As a speaking body

throughout the text, Cecilia dies a speaking body while praying (PCV, p.112.§24).

Virginity and speech thus form the kernel of these heroines’ value within the

economics of holiness. As Cecilia states again in a highly stylized speech, her body is her

ticket to heaven: “Οὐκ ἔστι τοῦτο, ὦ ἄνδρες, ὅπερ ὑµεῖς κακῶς εἰδότες ὑπολαµβάνετε νεότητα ἀπολέσαι, ἀλλὰ µᾶλλον καλῶς ἀνταλλάξαι· δοῦναι πηλὸν καὶ ἀντιλαβεῖν χρυσόν, ἀποβαλέσθαι φθορὰν καὶ κερδῆσαι ἀφθαρσίαν, δοῦναι οἶκον ἐπίκηρον καὶ κληρονοµῆσαι σκηνὴν ἀκήρατον, προέσθαι τὰ ἀπολλύµενα καὶ εὑρέσθαι τὰ µένοντα, παραδραµεῖν τὰ πρόσκαιρα καὶ παραλαβεῖν τὰ αἰώνια. Αὕτη γάρ ἐστιν ἡ πασῶν πραγµατειῶν µεγίστη καὶ κερδαλεωτέρα· αἵµατος βραχυτάτου βασιλείαν ἀσάλευτον ἐν οὐρανῷ ὠνήσασθαι.” (PCV, p.107.§19)

“There is no issue here, men, like you think because of ignorance, of losing my youth, but rather to make a good exchange for it. I give clay and take gold in exchange, I lose decay and win immortality, I give up a perishable house and inherit an unperishable residence, I leave aside the ephemeral and receive the eternal. For this is the major and most profitable deal of all. To buy an unmovale kingdom in heaven with a slight amount of blood.”

                                                                                                               303 On levels of speech in Byzantine literature see Ševčenko 1981 and all the essays included in Hinterberger 2014. 304 Cecilia’s body causes a similar passionate response on the part of the audience even before the martyr is sentenced to death: “ἦν ἰδεῖν ἅπαντας τοὺς ἀκούοντας πρὸς δάκρυα καὶ θρῆνον κεκινηµένους παράκλησιν προσάγοντας καὶ συµβουλὴν µαταίαν, µηδαµῶς ἀνασχέσθαι παραδοῦναι εἰς ἀπώλειαν τὸ τῆς προσούσης αὐτῇ νεότητος ἄνθος µηδὲ τὴν τῆς εὐπρέπειας ὡραιότητα τοῦ σωµατικοῦ κάλλους γνώµης ἑκουσιότητι παραπέµψαι θανάτῳ” (PCV, p.107.§19; “and you could see everybody who listened to her to resort to tears and lament, beseeching her and vainly advising her not to accept in any way to deliver to perish the bloom of her youth, or to send to death voluntarily by her decision the comely beauty of her body”).  

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The pivotal function of speech and virginity in these narratives especially regarding the female

protagonists is starkly reflected through the example of Basilissa. Basilissa does not undergo

martyrdom. Instead, when the persecution begins, she dies through God’s intervention in order

for her virginity not to be violated. In this case, therefore, the protective function of divine will

renders visible the mechanisms through which Basilissa’s holy identity is ensured. Since

preserving the heroine’s sealed body is imperative, the divine power evoked causes a

withdrawal of the performing body, should the risk of its defilement not be neutralized in any

other way. However, Basilissa does not lose her power of speech since she appears after her

death to her husband and delivers Christ’s order to count the martyr among the just in the

afterlife (PJB, p.293.§58).

The Prison as a Liminal Space

The prison appears in two of the three Passions that come under the focus of this section, the

PJB and the PCD. In the form in which the prison is normally defined, namely, as a specific

space designed to restrain criminals, is always related in the two Passions with restraining the

male body. Concerning the female prison, this acquires, as we shall see, a different form,

describing not a standard prison but a space made private and used as a space of

imprisonment.

The first time Julian appears imprisoned in the PJB is in “mobile” form, as he is led

bound with iron fetters around all his limbs throughout the city. Kelsios witnesses a

miraculous transformation as soon as he casts eye on the martyr. He sees Julian crowned with

a crown brighter than light and escorted by a multitude of attendants with white apparel and

three men like gold in the likeness of eagles (PJB, p.268.§27). In the space of the mobile

prison the boundaries between freedom and imprisonment, humiliation and glory are utterly

confused. The one who is supposedly ridiculed and constrained is viewed by the son of his

adversary in imperial glow.

Moreover, the mobile prison becomes static from this narrative point. Julian is

repeatedly (seven times) withdrawn from prison and thrown back into it. The prison acts as a

transitional space between interrogation and torture—that is, between the martyr’s speech

performance and bodily performance. This space is a place of decomposition and filth:

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ἐκέλευσεν ἐν ἐνδοτάτῃ φυλακῇ ἀποκλεισθῆναι ὅπου τὰ τῶν κατακρίτων µέλη, πολυχρονίᾳ τῇ τηκεδόνι καταναλισκόµενα, φρικτῶν σκωλήκων ἐσµοὺς ἀνέβρυον, καὶ ὀσµὴ πάσης ὀσµῆς χείρων. Εἰσάγονται οἱ µακάριοι µάρτυρες, οὓς προηγουµένη ἡ χάρις τοῦ δεσπότου τὸν φρικτὸν τόπον τερπνὸν ἀπετέλεσεν· καὶ µετέβαλον τὸ σκότος εἰς φῶς, ὀσµὴν εὐωδίας ἐκπέµποντες. (PJB, p.273.§33)

He ordered them to be shut away in the deepest prison where the limbs of the condemned had been wasting away for a very long time, being consumed by swarms of horrible worms and <where there was> a stench worse than all smells. The blessed martyrs were led there, <with> the grace of the Lord leading the way for them rendering the horrible place agreeable. And they turned the darkness into light, sending forth a sweet fragrance. (Alwis 2011: 201)

The holy company, the passage tells us, is thrown in a dark cell in which lay the decomposed

corpses of previously tortured outlaws. It is meant to act in a preventing manner, inciting fear

to those who defy the emperor’s orders. However, it acts in exactly the opposite way since its

liminal function makes it a place where boundaries and natural laws are suspended. First of

all, as the above-quoted passage shows, the space is transformed to its exact opposite. In fact,

it is this miraculous spatial transformation that causes the conversion of the prison-guards and

a multitude of soldiers (PJB, p.273.§34). This development underlines the active participation

of space in the scene of martyrdom. In this liminal space the human and the divine blend in a

gesture which reveals the power of the Christian God by employing as a means the torturer’s

supposed place of seclusion.

In this extended cycle of imprisonment-interrogation-torture another distinction that is

blurred is the one that kinship positions. The first time Kelsios casts eye on Julian and

witnesses his miraculous transformation from prisoner to a glorious crowned man the boy’s

response to what he sees is remarkable. Kelsios declares Julian as his father, shaking the blood

bond with Markianos. Among others he states: “Σὲ γινώσκω πατέρα δευτέρας γεννήσεως, ὃν ὁ

δεσπότης µου Χριστὸς δείκνυσιν. Μαρκιανὸν δὲ τὸν πατέρα τὸν ἐµόν, τὸν ἐχθρὸν τῶν

ἀνθρώπων καὶ τῶν τῆς ἀληθείας δούλων διώκτην, ἀρνοῦµαι καὶ περιφρονῶ” (PJB, pp.269-

270.§29; “I recognise you, father of my second birth, whom Christ my master reveals. I deny

and despise Markianos my father, the enemy of men and the persecutor of the servants of

truth” [Alwis 2011: 199]). Kin relations are redefined as Kelsios denies his blood father and

recognizes Julian as his “new” father. In fact, the scene unravels in an uncanny way as the

child sticks on Julian, firmly holding him and when the guards attempt to separate them, their

hands rot: “Διὰ τῶν εὐχῶν τοῦ ἁγίου µάρτυρος συνέβη ὥστε τοῦ ἐκτείναντος τὴν χεῖρα ἐπὶ τὸ

χωρίσαι αὐτὸν ἐκ τῆς τοῦ ἁγίου Ἰουλιανοῦ περιπλοκῆς εὐθὺς τὰς χεῖρας σήπεσθαι” (PJB,

p.270.§30; And so it happened […] through the prayers of the holy martyr, that the hands of

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the person stretching out to separate the boy entwined with saint Julian, immediately began to

putrefy [Alwis 2011: 200]). A peculiar type of “enforced” kinship seems to be at work. An

artificial earthly bond is established to mark the power of God by obliterating the blood-bond

of Kelsios and his father. From then on Julian and Kelsios form an inseparable team and are

tortured together. A characteristic reflection of this is the following: “Ὁ δὲ ἅγιος Ἰουλιανὸς

καὶ ὁ παῖς ἑνὶ δεσµῷ ἐκρατοῦντο, οἱ δὲ λοιποὶ βαρυτάταις ἁλύσεσιν εἵλκοντο” (PJB,

p.279.§42; Saint Julian and the child were constrained in one bond; the others were dragged

by very heavy chains [Alwis 2011: 204]). While other martyrs are chained separately, Julian is

even here bound with Kelsios. In the interrogation that follows or precedes each imprisonment

of Julian, Kelsios states the same: “Ἀρνοῦµαι τὸν πατέρα καὶ τὴν µητέρα” (PJB, p.270.§29; “I

deny my father and mother” [Alwis 2011: 200]).305 This repeated declaration of whom Kelsios

considers to be his blood relative and whom not undeniably brings kinship relations under

scrutiny.

The above scene establishes a phenomenal power-play in the narrative with the kinship

with Kelsios as trophy and Julian and Markianos as adversaries. More specifically, from that

point onward, Markianos gradually becomes more furious as he realizes that he lost his only

son to Julian. The word “µονογενής” (only son) is repeatedly stated in the debates between

Julian and Markianos thenceforward.306

Remarkably, each redefinition or reestablishment of kin relationships in the PJB takes

place in the liminal sphere of the prison. First, Kelsios declares Julian as his father while the

latter is fettered in a type of mobile prison. Next, Kelsios requests to be granted some private

time with his mother. Markianos consents, ironically believing that due to their bond, the

mother will succeed in turning Kelsios away from Christ. As soon as the woman enters the

prison, space is again activated: Εὐθὺς δὲ ἐκινήθη ὁ τόπος ἐν ᾧ ἧσαν· καὶ λαµπηδὼν λαµπροτέρα ἀργύρου ἐφάνη καὶ ἡ εἰωθυῖα ὀσµὴ τοῖς ἁγίοις παρεγένετο καὶ φωνὴ ψαλλόντων ἐν τῷ ἀέρι ἀντήχει· “Ἀληθῶς ὁ θεὸς εὐσεβὴς ὁ δικαιῶν τὰς ψυχὰς τὰς ἁµαρτωλάς.” Ταῦτα ἡ γυνὴ ἀκούουσά τε καὶ ὁρῶσα ἐβόα· “Οὐδέποτε ἐν ταῖς ἡµέραις τῆς ζωῆς µου τοιαύτην εὐώδη ὀσµὴν εὗρον, οὐδὲ βαλσάµου καὶ νάρδου. Οὕτως γὰρ αὕτη ἡ καλὴ ὀσµὴ ἀνεκτήσατό µε ὥστε τῶν πόνων πάντων ἐπίλησίν µοι ὑποµεῖναι καὶ οὐδὲν ἄλλο µέλλειν γινώσκειν ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ µου εἰ µὴ αὐτὸν εἶναι τὸν ἀληθῆ θεόν, ὑπὲρ οὗ ὁ ἐµὸς υἱὸς ἀγωνίζεται.” (PJB, p.284.§48)

                                                                                                               305 The same is stated in PJB, p.272.§32; p.280.§43; p.287.§51; p.288.§53. 306 PJB, p.268.§28; p.271.§31; p.275.§36; p.276.§37; p.280.§43; p.283.§47.

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Immediately the place where they were, moved. And a brilliant light appeared, brighter than silver and there was a scent particular to saints, and a singing voice resounded in the air: “Truly, God is pious, <He> Who makes sinful souls righteous.” Hearing and seeing both these things, the woman shouted, “Never in all the days of my life have I found such a sweet fragrance, never in the delightful gardens of lilies or roses or crocuses nor of balsam and spikenard. For the beautiful scent refreshes me in such a way that I forget all worries. I will know no other thing in my heart except the true God, on behalf of Whom my son contends.” (Alwis 2011: 206)

The canceling of opposites (darkness/light, stench/scent, grieving/chanting) effects the

mother’s conversion. Notably, because of this active space, which caused her conversion, the

previously discarded mother is reclaimed as mother again: “Ἀληθῶς νῦν ἀληθῆ σε µητέρα

γινώσκω καὶ οὔτε σὺ ἀπώλεσας τὸν υἱὸν οὔτε ἐγὼ τὴν µητέρα” (PJB, p.285.§49; “Now I truly

know you as my true mother and you have not lost your son nor I, my mother” [Alwis 2011:

207]).307 But before kinship line is brought back to normal, it again becomes shaky: “ἣν ὁ

µακάριος υἱὸς αὐτῆς Κέλσιος ἀνεδέξατο, πατὴρ αὐτῆς γεγονὼς ἐν τῷ βαπτίσµατι” (PJB,

p.286.§50; and her blessed son Kelsios received her, having become her (god)father in the

baptism [Alwis 2011: 208]). Kinship positions are utterly fluid, culminating in a strange

tangle: a repelled blood father (Markianos) and mother, a new father (Julian) and re-

recognition of blood mother, a son who is son and father.

The liminal sphere of the prison is also the place where every holy baptism in the text

takes place. A remarkable example is the baptism of Kelsios and the converted soldiers. In this

episode, seven Christian brothers and a priest guided by a vision go to the prison where the

martyrs are held to baptise the converted. As the prison doors are locked, an angel intervenes

to let the pious company in (PJB, p.274.§35).308 In this way the supernatural breaks in on the

earthly sphere through the liminal space of the prison.

The same happens when Basilissa, who has died before Julian’s martyrdom, appears in

the prison and announces Julian his future glory (PJB, p.293.§58). Additionally, the sphere of

the prison from a private secluded place of punishment becomes gradually enlarged and

                                                                                                               307 Repeated later on:

“Εὐχαριστῶ τῷ δεσπότῃ τῷ τὸν καρπὸν τῆς προαιρέσεώς µου τελειώσαντι, ἵνα εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα κτήσωµαι τὴν µητέρα, καὶ αὐτὴ ἐµὲ κτήσεται υἱόν. Ἀπὸ ταύτης τῆς ἡµέρας γνῶθι, ἡγεµών, ὑπὲρ τοῦ εἰς Χριστὸν πόθου καταφρονεῖν ἡµας ταύτης τῆς ζωῆς. Δι’ ὅπερ οὔτε ἐγώ σε οἶδα πατέρα οὔτε αὐτὴ ἄνδρα.” (PJB, p.287.§51)

“I give thanks to the Lord Who has accomplished the fruit of my resolution, so that I will possess my mother forever, and she will possess me, her son. Know that from this day on, governor, that on account of longing for Christ we despise this life. Wherefore, neither do I know you as a father nor she as a husband.” (Alwis 2011: 208)

308 See also the baptisms in PJB, p.279.§40; pp.284.§48-286.§50.

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populated. Joined first by Kelsios, later the multitude of converted soldiers, the seven

Christian brothers and a priest, Julian’s holy company is also supplemented by a heathen

whom Julian had miraculously resuscitated (PJB, p.279.§40). The company is completed with

Kelsios’ mother (PJB, pp.284.§48-285.§49).

A similar liminal function seems to fulfill the prison as it appears in the PCD.

Chrysanthos is, like in the case of Julian, repeatedly thrown in and withdrawn from the prison.

Similarly to Julian, before being thrown in the prison for the first time Chrysanthos appears

fettered, this time with wet branches which are, nevertheless, as aforementioned dissolved as

soon as they come in contact with the saintly body (PCD, p.480.§16; quotation above, p. 274).

This development hints at the fact that, as with Julian, the normative function that a prison is

designed to fulfill, restraining criminals, does not work with Chrysanthos.

As the soldiers’ repeated attempts to torment the martyr are thwarted, Chrysanthos is

thrown chained in a dark prison: Καὶ περιθέντες αὐτῷ κλοία καὶ ἁλύσεσι δεσµεύσαντες, ἐνέκλεισαν ἐν σκοτεινῷ τόπῳ· παραχρῆµα δὲ διελύθησαν αὐτοῦ τὰ δεσµά, καὶ φῶς ἔλαµψεν ἐν τῷ οἰκήµατι, ὡς λαµπάδων τινῶν ἔνδοθεν καιοµένων. Τότε µηνύουσι οἱ στρατιῶται τῷ τριβούνῳ Κλαυδίῳ πάντα τὰ γενόµενα, καὶ παραγενόµενος ἐπὶ τὸν τόπον καὶ θεασάµενος τὸ φῶς, ἐκέλευσεν αὐτὸν ἐξελθεῖν πρὸς αὐτόν. (PCD, p.480.§16-17)

<The soldiers> chained him around the neck with a collar, and likewise bound him with chains, and locked him away in a very dark place. But instantly the chains were loosened, and such light shone in the place that the soldiers thought many torches were ablaze there. Then the soldiers report all that happened to their tribune Claudios. And when he came to the place himself and saw the light, he ordered Chrysanthos to be brought out to him. (Upchurch 2007: 239-241)

As the passage reveals, Chrysanthos’s prison works astoundingly similar to that of Julian. The

space is transformed as the human and the supernatural blend. The tribunal, the soldiers, the

tribunal’s wife and his two sons convert therein, this transforming the prison from a despicable

medium of torture to a space of worship with multiple occupants (PCD, pp.480.§18-481.§19).

The same happens the second time Chrysanthos is thrown in a static prison: Καὶ ἐνέβαλον αὐτὸν ἐν τῇ τοῦ Τουλιανοῦ φυλακῇ. ῏Ην δὲ αὕτη βαθυτάτη καὶ βορβορώδης καὶ πλήρης δυσωδίας, ἐπειδὴ τὰ κανάλια ἐκεῖθεν διήρχοντο, καὶ ζοφώδης δὲ λίαν, ἔνθα ἦν ὁ Χρύσανθος σιδηροδέσµιος γυµνός […]. Τῷ Χρυσάνθῳ ἡδύσµατα καὶ φῶς θεῖον ἐχορηγεῖτο. (PCD, p.482.§22)

And they confined him in the Tullian jail. This was extremely deep and dirty and filled with an awful stench because the tunnels of the swers flowed through there, and it was very dark, and therein Chrysanthos had been shackled with iron naked […]. But Chrysanthos was provided with a holy fragrance and divine light. (Upchurch 2007: 245, with modifications of my own)

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Chrysanthos is thrown in a dark cell which, like the martyr’s body, does not obey natural laws.

Hence, in the case of the two male martyrs the prison stabilizes in various ways (kinship

redefinition, spatial transformation, pagan conversion, unharmed body) the martyr’s identity.

The common criminal thrown in the cell comes out a powerful witness of Christian faith.

The two female martyrs’ prisons also acquire a liminal function which is, however

realised in ways different from what happens in the case of their male counterparts. A first

distinguishing feature of male and female prisons in these texts is the fact that in the case of

two heroines, the restricted space they are sentenced to is not a normative prison but a space

made to act like one. In the case of Daria this is the brothel she is sent to and in the case of

Cecilia the bath at her house. Both women are led there by guards, which intensifies the sense

of imprisonment. Both of these spaces where female protagonists are imprisoned are

characterised by lack of motion on the heroines’ part and by the canceling of vision on the

spectators’ part.

A peculiar development that appears in the martyrdom-scenes of the two female

heroines is the distinctly private character that these episodes acquire. Byzantine Passions that

involve female protagonists, often include a scene in which the female body is displayed to the

gaze of a large audience (Constantinou 2005: 19-58; Gravdal 1991: 21-41). The accounts

considered here, however, constantly present the possibility of revelation only to repeatedly

refuse it as the heroines are never seen or described naked. Daria is constrained in a brothel,

this feeding voyeuristic expectations on the part of the spectators. The heroine is, however,

found confined in a room with a lion-bodyguard, which, by blocking the entrance, bars Daria’s

body from circulation to the male gaze. A private region is thus created inside the public

domain of the brothel, robbing Daria’s audience from any visual or physical access to her. A

similar treatment appears in Cecilia’s Passion. She is put into a bath, thus triggering the

expectations of a possible description of her naked body to the reader or listener. The author

does not, however, take advantage of his chance thus neutralizing any sexual pleasure that

could be extracted from the episode. Moreover, Cecilia’s decapitation takes place in the

presence of only one executioner; she thus suffers a curiously private death.

Both private spaces in which the heroines are found are, therefore, characterized by

limited number of spectators who can actually see what is happening. However, these same

spectators who cannot see are able to hear the two heroines’ speech and convert. These

deviations from the typical curriculum of female Passions could be possibly explained on the

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basis of the heroines’ simultaneous roles as wives and martyrs. The treatment of these

women’s bodies may be adjusted to the fact that although married (therefore, legally and

socially property of a man) they were never revealed to their husbands. Therefore they are not

displayed to other men. Their bodies are sealed from the time they consent to their virginal

marriages. Hence, it is possible that in the case of these women the narrative law is stretched

to its limits to adjust to the virgin wives’ status.

As is the case with their male counterparts, the space of prison secures the identity of

the female martyr. Both women are sent to their respective prisons sentenced to death

(Cecilia) or dishonourment (Daria). Instead of marking the heroines’ destruction, however, the

prison becomes a space of conversion that testifies to the martyrs’ power as virgins and

preachers. Hence, in both the case of male and female martyrs the prison acts as a liminal

space that secures their identity as powerful martyrs. The ways, however, this is enacted in

each case seem to aquire a gender-specific dimension.

The Moment of Death

As the previous analysis has shown, the PJB, the PCD and the PCV seem to display a special

concern with boundaries. Each hagiographer materializes the scandalous juxtaposition of

incommensurable ideas in ways that vary in terms of style, form, content. However, what

seems to be common in all three narratives is that they remain ultimately indecisive, not

providing any closure to the conflicts they present us with. Instead, boundaries are traversed so

that irreconcilable pairs are brought queerly together and left there hanging in their incessant

tension. Crucial in understanding this mechanism at work has proved to be the concept of

liminality. The hagiographers seem to explore the literary possibilities of the border

experience, a process which culminates in all three cases in the portrayal of death.

The scene of death is an a priori liminal sphere between a person’s physical experience

and the unknown beyond. Fascinatingly, all three hagiographers show a taste in extending this

moment of death in ways that throw an interesting light on the spouses’ shared identities. As

aforementioned, husbands and wives, if tortured, are not tortured together. Moreover,

Chrysanthos and Daria are the only spouses who suffer death together at the same time. All

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the other spouses die separately from each other. From this vantage point, we expect death to

be, as naturally is, a private and personal experience for each spouse.

Let us first turn to Valerian, who suffers death by decapitation along with his brother

Tiburtius. At the moment of the two brothers’ death, Maximus, the converted head-

executioner informs the crowd of the following vision he witnesses: “Ὧν τὰς µακαρίας ψυχὰς

καθάπερ παρθένους ἀπὸ θαλάµου λαµπροφορούσας ἑωρακέναι κατηξίωται ὁ µακαριώτατος

Μάξιµος κατ’ αὐτὴν τὴν ὥραν τῆς αὐτῶν τελειώσεως ἀγκάλαις ἀγγέλων ἐγκολπίους

ἀναλαµβανοµένας πρὸς οὐρανὸν” (PCV, p.105.§17; Whose blessed souls, at the hour of their

death, the most blessed Maximos was deemed worthy to see in the form of brightly-clad

virgins exiting the chamber and carried up to the sky in the arms of angels). The souls of the

two men appear as virgins exiting the bridal chamber. The vivid portrayal of virgins moving

out of the secluded space where sexual activity is supposed to take place with their virginity

intact beautifully encapsulates Cecilia and Valerian’s queer status as virgin spouses. In this

superb glory the soul of the virgin spouse exits the body as pure as it entered. The same

reference is found when Julian and Kelsios die. Intriguingly, the adjective “virgin” is, as

aforementioned, used in all three narratives almost exclusively for the wives. In accordance

with this argument is the vocabulary employed to address the saints with the female martyrs

usually referred to as virgins and the male rarely attributed this feature.309 The pronouns that

refer to the image of the virgin souls in both Julian and Valerian’s case are feminine. Thus it is

a virgin “female” soul referring to the male body, this somewhat bending gender binarism.

Moreover, we have seen that throughout their narratives the three hagiographers reflect upon

their protagonists’ shared identities, problematizing what this queer status of virginal marriage

means, i.e., togetherness or not, in this life and the next. In all three cases the issue is left

inconclusive. In this light, it would not be arbitrary to suggest that this male body, which is

about to die with a pure “female” virgin soul, might be a further allusion to an ambivalent

shared holiness of virgin husband and wife. Such a hypothesis could also be supported by the

fact that, just before Julian’s death Basilissa appears to announce to her spouse his future holy

identity. The form she appears in is exactly the form in which Maximus sees Valerian and

Tiburtius’ souls—as a bright virgin (PJB, p.293.§58). Be that as it may, undoubtedly the

concept of gender at the moment of death and in the afterlife is left perplexingly fluid. This

fluidity is further intensified by Basilissa’s appearance and address to Julian. Basilissa’s voice,                                                                                                                309 For the adjectives used to refer to the protagonists of these three Passions see Appendix.

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emanating from a dead body overspills the boundaries of death that concern this body since it

persists beyond death. And by persisting beyond death this voice makes Julian realise that he

still lacks something in order to achieve spiritual totality—the death effected by martyrdom.

This blending of voice, hearing, life death and gender makes the moment of death in the PJB a

compelling experience for the reader or listener.

Compelling is also Cecilia’s moment of death: Ἣν ὁ ἀποσταλεὶς ἀπηνὴς σπεκουλάτωρ ἐπὶ τρισὶ πατάξας πληγαῖς καὶ µὴ δυνηθεὶς ἀποτεµεῖν, κατέλιπεν ἔτι ζῶσαν ἀποστάζουσαν αἵµατος πλῆθος ἐφ’ ἡµέραις τρισίν. Ὅπερ οἱ διὰ τοῦ λόγου αὐτῆς πιστεύσαντες ὄχλοι προσερχόµενοι ἐν καθαροῖς ὀθονίοις ἀπέµασσον πίστει λαµβάνοντες καὶ φυλάσσοντες ἑαυτοῖς εἰς ἁγιασµόν. (PCV, p.112.§23)

Whom the cruel executioner who was sent to her struck three times and as he was not able to kill her, left her there still alive, dripping a large amount of blood for three days. Which (blood), the crowds who believed due to her preaching, arrived there in faith and with clean sheets collected and kept to them as a relic.

The executioner does not manage with his blow to sever the martyr’s head and thus Cecilia

lives for three days in the bathtub in a zombie-like situation of “almost dead”. Her blood is

gathered as a saintly relic while the heroine is still in this limbo between life and death. Both

Valerian and Cecilia are buried in “used” tombs, i.e., tombs occupied by other bodies, this

further perplexing the boundaries between self and other in this liminal spatiotemporal sphere.

Another death left half-finished is that of Chrysanthos and Daria. The two saints are

buried alive in a sandpit: ἐκέλευσεν αὐτοὺς ἔξω τῆς πόλεως ἀπαχθῆναι τῇ ὁδῷ τῇ καλουµένῃ Σαλαρία, καὶ ὀρυγῆναι βόθρον, καὶ ἐµβληθῆναι ἐκεῖ ἀµφοτέρους, καὶ λίθοις καὶ γῇ καταχωσθῆναι. Ἀπαχθέντες δὲ οἱ ἅγιοι Χρύσαντθος καὶ Δαρεία κατήχθησαν ἐν τῷ βόθρῳ, καὶ ψαλλόντων αὐτῶν καὶ προσευχοµένων τῷ Θεῷ κατεχώσθησαν. Καὶ γέγονεν αὐτοῖς ἥ τε κοινωνία τοῦ µαρτυρίου καὶ ἡ ταφὴ καὶ ἡ κόλασις ἀδιάζευκτος, καὶ καθῶς γεγόνασιν ἐν τῷ παρόντι βίῳ, σύζυγοι πνευµατικοί, οὕτω καὶ τὴν µετάστασιν τοῦ βίου ἔσχον ἐν ὁµονοίᾳ. Καὶ προσεδέξατο αὐτοὺς ὁ Θεὸς θυσίαν ζῶσαν, καὶ ὁµοθυµαδὸν ἀπειλήφασι τοὺς στεφάνους. (PCD, p.483.§26)

He ordered the saints to be led out of the city to the Salarian Way, and a sandpit to be dug, and both of them to be put there and buried alive with rocks and dirt. Then the saints Chrysanthos and Daria were taken there and thrown in the pit and buried as they continued singing psalms and praying to God. And they were inseparably united in martyrdom and burial and punishment, and in the same way in which they had been joined in spirit as spouses in the present life, they also moved to the other life in unanimity. And God accepted them as a living sacrifice, and united they attained the crowns.

Indeed, this is a death left open and uncertain for God receives the two saints as a “living

sacrifice”. Simultaneously, the passage clearly designates Chrysanthos and Daria’s tomb as an

intersubjective space, shared between the two spouses. The open nature of the two saints’

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death is rendered visible by the animated state of their tomb, a locus where miracles are

performed. This is valid in all three narratives since the tombs become the means through

which saintly authority is preserved despite the removal of the saint’s body. Thus even though

the two spouses were tortured separately, they share the same tomb. In a way the saints are

transubstantiated into their tombs. However, let us note here that in the case of couples this

statement acquires an interesting twist for the following reason: it is not straightforwardly

clear, or distinguishable which of the two saints (or, if both, separately, or as a unit) performs

the miracles. In the case of Chrystanthos and Daria in particular, these boundaries between self

and other are even more confused. Christian pilgrims visit the miraculous tomb and are,

following the pagan emperor’s orders, walled alive suffering in this way a forced martyrdom.

This leaves the saintly tomb with multiple occupants, not exactly “owned” by the one(s) who

are supposed to perform the miracles.

Julian and Kelsios’ moment of death is even stranger since the two bodies are

mummified through God’s will: καὶ ἐκ τοῦ πλήθους τῶν σκηνωµάτων µὴ γνωρίζοντες τὰ λείψανα, κλίναντες τὰ γόνατα καὶ προσευχόµενοι εἶδον τὰς ψυχὰς τῶν ἁγίων ἐπάνω τῶν σωµάτων ἐν σχήµατι παρθένων οὔσας· καὶ οὕτως συνελέχθη τὰ λείψανα τῶν ἁγίων. Τῇ δὲ τοῦ θεοῦ χάριτι οὕτως ἔδοξεν ὥστε τὸ αἷµα τῶν ἁγίων περὶ τὸ ἴδιον σῶµα παγῆναι, ἵνα µὴ ἡ γῆ τὸ στόµα ἀνοίξῃ πρὸς τὸ δέξασθαι τὸ ἅγιον αἷµα, ἐπειδὴ τῷ αἵµατι τῶν µυσαρῶν ἦν κεκορεσµένη. (PJB, p.295.§63)

And because they did not recognise the remains from the crowd of corpses, bending their knees they prayed and saw the souls of the saints in the form of virgins above their bodies. And so the remains were collected. And by the grace of God it appeared that the blood of the saints was congealed to each body lest the earth opened its mouth to receive the saintly blood, because she had already been sated by the blood of the filthy. (Alwis 2011: 212)

This exquisite quotation captures all the conceptual strands we have pursuing so far. Julian

and Kelsios are preserved, never dead, yet never undead. Death breaks in on life as the saints’

blood friezes inside their bodies. This vampirish status marks a move toward a situation in

which any sense of boundary is literally inexistent. The body captured here is a body not

exactly animated, but also a body that loses life without gaining death. Moreover, the limits of

this body are hopelessly lost as an ambivalently gendered soul that is separated from it stands

above it, and is still tied to it.

Thus the three hagiographers bring the theme of death under the microscope reflecting

on its boundaries and implications. What they portray is that going beyond boundaries on the

verge of the formless means posing questions which are inevitably left unanswered.

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Beyond Narrative Boundaries

Although perhaps a bold move, considering the larger intertextual and extratextual network in

which these texts produce meaning may prove rewarding. As shown in so many different ways

in the preceding analysis, the texts in question plot their meaning by corroding boundaries

between foundational categories of social existence. This statement holds true when we turn to

the texts’ peripheral elements such as the rubrics and other extratextual and intertextual

evidence.

For example, when examined together, the three texts reveal a peculiar intertextual

relationship, since words of one protagonist are repeated almost verbatim by the protagonist of

another narrative. In these terms, Cecilia’s words during her interrogation are also articulated

by Kelsios in the PJB during his own interrogation: “Πᾶσα ἀνθρωπίνη ἐξουσία ἔοικεν ἀσκῷ πνεύµατος πεπλησµένῳ, ὃς ἐάν τινι µικρᾷ ῥαφίδι διακεντηθῇ, πᾶν τῷ ἐν αὐτῷ φύσηµα διαπνεῦσαν ἐκκενοῖ καὶ τὴν ἐξ ὄγκου θᾶττον ἢ λόγος ὑποµένει ταπείνωσιν.” (PCV, pp.108-109.§20)

“Every human authority resembles a wineskin filled with air, which if pierced with a small pinch, loses all air that is in it and suffers the humiliation of losing its volume faster than words could describe.”

and: “Τίς γάρ ἐστιν ἡ δόξα ταύτης τῆς ζωῆς, εἰ µὴ ὡς ἀσκὸς πεφυσηµένος φαινόµενος τοῖς ὀφθαλµοῖς καὶ ἔσωθεν διάκενος, οὕτως καὶ ἡ δόξα τοῦ αἰῶνος τούτου, ἐν ᾗ ἡµεῖς τὴν πρόσκαιρον ἔχοµεν ἐξουσίαν καὶ τὴν αἰώνιον τοῦ θεοῦ δυναστείαν οὐ γινώσκοµεν;” (PJB, p.269.§28)

“For what is the glory of this life but a wineskin seeming fully inflated (to the eyes) but empty within? In the same way <what is the use of> glory of this time in which we have ephemeral power, <when> we do not recognise the eternal power of God?” (Alwis 2011: 199)

The same happens with the words of Basilissa when she comes across the beautiful scent of

flowers in the marriage chamber, which we also hear through the mouth of Tiburtius when he

is first found in the chamber of Cecilia and Valerian.310

Furthermore, the PJB is divided by a rubric into two parts, Life and Passion (PJB,

p.259). As mentioned in the introduction, there has been suggested that the two parts have

been composed separately, each having its roots in a different tradition, Latin or Greek.

Moreover, the other two texts we are considering have as their protagonists martyrs that

originate from the Western tradition. All three texts are, additionally included in the tenth-

                                                                                                               310 On this latter episode see also the discussion in Alwis 2011: 32-33.

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century (c. 990) corpus of the Life of Saints, written by the Anglo-Saxon monk Aelfric in

vernacular prose.311 We also meet them in the Latin corpus of the Legenda Aurea and its Old

French rendition, the Légende Dorée.312

In presenting all these evidence, I am not suggesting that there is a conscious

intertextual connection between these texts. However, all the above, along with the fact that

the three texts appear so often together and also taking into consideration the preceding

literary analysis shows that there may be a common sociocultural framework informing their

production and reproduction. This may also be supported by the fact that throughout the many

linguistic traditions the texts are found in, they appear to have remained remarkably

consistent. This may indicate that they somehow reflect a preoccupation with unsettling

boundaries of existential categories that underpins the broader culture of the medieval world.

In conclusion, the blending of opposites that these texts portray indicates that any attempt to

capture them theoretically although fruitful necessarily remains half-finished. These narratives

were designed to be unstable. Thus even though invited by their intriguing content any

interpretive approach cannot fully, wholely or precisely expose their overflowing nature. Their

case marks a move beyond theory, even beyond comprehensive interpretation in that the

hagiographers stitch together all the issues dealt with in this thesis in three magnificently queer

textual constructions, which produce meaning while undoing all meaningful distinctions.

The use of theoretical concepts taken from Lacan and Butler, complemented by the concept of

spatial liminality has allowed us to reveal intriguing grounds of comparison between the

individual texts studied in each of the three sections. The particular issues of comparison

between individual texts, which come up in the course of examining each section, have been

already discussed. However, the preceding analysis also alerts us of the fact that interesting

axes of comparison may be spotted in the bigger picture as well, that is between the three

groups of texts.

A first observation that merits some discussion is that in all the Passions and Lives of

spouses studied in this chapter, a recurrent theme dealt with is the status or form of the spousal

                                                                                                               311 PJB [English], Upchurch 2007: 54-71; PCD [English], Upchurch 2007: 86-99; PCV [English], Upchurch 2007: 72-85. 312 PCD [Latin], Maggioni 1998: 1071-1073; PCV [Latin], Maggioni 1998: 1180-1187; PCD [French], Dunn-Lardeau 1997: 999-1001; PCV [French], Dunn-Lardeau 1997: 1083-1090. The PJB is not included in the Legenda Aurea or the Légende Dorée but there is a Latin version of the text edited by Upchurch (PJB [Latin], Upchurch 2007: 114-171; see also Farmer 1997 for these saints.

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relationship per se. Naturally, each hagiographer presents the relationship between the

protagonists differently, since the story of each couple varies in terms of plot. However, a

number of general comments could be made, which come as a result of the theoretical

approach attempted here. In this light, an issue brought up in all three groups of texts and

worth commenting on is the sexual relationship between the spouses. The first section

followed couples with consummated sexual relations; the second couples with either

consummated or unconsummated relations, while the third section was exclusively concerned

with couples that preserved their chastity.

In the texts analysed in the first and second section, sex was presented as a habit or an

option easily given up. More specifically, in the first section sexual relationships and marriage

in general were viewed rather negatively, with both the hagiographer of the LMY and the LAA

considering marriage and the establishment of familial bonds concomitant with it as a form of

imprisonment to worldly affairs. In the LMY this was stated explicitly in Melania’s speech and

also indicated by her desperate request to her husband to preserve their union unconsummated.

On an other level, we saw Athanasia in the LAA displaying a rather impious stance because of

her strong emotional attachment to her children. Both couples are freed from the burden of

worldly affairs through the death of their children. Thereupon the spouses lead an ascetic life

leaving the world behind for good. In the second section an ambivalent attitude toward

marriage is held, while no attention is paid to whether the couples in the PGE, the PTM and

the PAN have preserved their virginity or not. Marital problems are present in all three cases

under considerection in the second section. Significantly, in all three texts these problems are

solved, as we saw, through the husband’s or the wife’s conversion to Christianity—literal or

metaphorical. In the third section the dilemma between marriage or celibacy is also presented

and argued both for and against through the mouth of the hagiographers. In these cases the

three authors opt for a rather farfetched solution to the problem posed at the outset of their

plots, that of celibate marriage. Being simultaneously virgin and married these couples affirm

both options given. Hence, marriage is here given a positive colour as an institution non-

exclusive of bodily purity and of complete devotion to God.

These different ways of viewing the spousal relationship are reflected in the treatment

of the heroines’ bodies since, as previously discussed, it is the female gender that in the

Byzantine society is considered to be more vulnerable to sexual sins. In these terms, in the first

section where a negative stance is adopted against sex and its relation to worldly affairs, the

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non-virginal female bodies are chastised through ascesis and are transformed into a “manlier”

condition because of this maltreatment (Melania) or as a result of cross-dressing (Athanasia).

In the second section, where no particular attention is paid to the issue of chastity, the

heroines’ bodies (with the exception of Natalia who is not martyred) are allowed to be

mutilated and dismembered. The only female bodies that resist any transformation are those

studied in the third section, in which the theme of virginity is extensively treated. The bodies

of Basilissa, Daria and Cecilia remain strictly whole and untouched throughout the respective

narratives.

Related to these different views of spousal interaction appears to be also the process

through which the couples achieve holiness. In the first section the path to holiness appears to

be a very slow procedure because of the protagonists’ greater attachment to worldly affairs,

while in the second and third sections the couples’ holiness is evident from the beginning and

confirmed by divine visions that announce their afterlife glory. Interestingly, we have also

observed that five of the eight husbands studied in this chapter (Pinian, Timotheos,

Chrysanthos, Julian and Valerian) are given some attributes usually associated with the female

gender such as greater attachment to bodily adornment or being tempted by sexual urges.

Lastly, we have noticed the complementarity of husbands and wives’ shared identity being

negotiated in different ways in terms of kinship, body and hierarchy. The spouses move from

one kin position to another (first section), they stretch kinship bonds to their limits (second

section) or they occupy multiple (and most often contradictory) kin positions at once (third

section). They may behave more as a team (first section) or their actions may be more gender-

driven (second and third sections). These couples occupy the edges of cultural intelligibility

regarding notions such as gender, body, identity or even narrative, without, however

completely subverting them.

Constantly shifting, the concepts of kinship and pair in these Passions, nevertheless

balance in a bizarrely queer blend into the textual reality. Their harmonious dissonance seems

to “answer back” from a faraway past to contemporary psychoanalysis and gender studies by

posing yet another alluring enigma of kinship double/trouble besides Antigone: the holy

couple. Their example comes to dynamically reaffirm that mining the past for critical

resources to illumine modern thinking can be rewarding. But equally rewarding can be a

simultaneous process of approaching the past through the critical lens of theory.

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Conclusion: Seeking the Holy Double

Attempting to bring the strands explored in this thesis together by means of conclusion

appears to be so fragile a task as it was to tackle each one of them hermeneutically. Each of

the three categories examined in the previous chapters showcases a different understanding of

what a couple means and stages the coupled interaction differently. Attempting to sculpt a

definition of the couple that fits all types examined here was never my purpose. What I aimed

to do was to establish the concept as my anamorphotic lens. Turning to these narratives by

taking into account that they were designed to present two protagonists who interact and not

one has, I believe, enriched our knowledge of these texts. My method of doing this was taking

a step back, and recasting my eye on Passions and Lives through contemporary theory. So

what did we see by “looking awry” upon these texts? Let us return to the parameters laid out at

the beginning of our analysis—namely, the implications of establishing the “couple” in our

critical vocabulary for concepts such as identity, desire, holiness, earthly and divine kinship,

and hierarchy. Underwriting these parameters are the notions of gender and intersubjective

interaction.

In these terms, the texts examined in Chapter One reveal an acute preoccupation with

the sensory levels of vision and hearing. All three Lives, the LP, the LME and the LAM

operate by distinguishing different levels in the visual and hearing registers. The crucial

moment as portrayed in the narratives which form this chapter is the moment of encounter

between the male and the female protagonists. The heroes and heroines’ identities collapse at

this narrative point and are then reconstructed based on how they perceive with their senses,

and how they deal with the encounter with the Other. In this chapter the intersubjective

network seems to be gender-specific with different senses linked to the male protagonists and

other to the female protagonists. Based on what they hear, the heroines of Chapter One shed

their sinful past, are able to form (Pelagia, Mary from the LAM) or prove (Mary of Egypt) a

spiritual self and earn (Pelagia, Mary of Egypt) or regain (Mary from the LAM) a name. The

three monks are accordingly able to redefine their spiritual self after their seeing (Nonnos), not

exactly seeing (Zosimas) or failing to see (Abraham) in different levels of visual apperception.

Because of this encounter with the Gaze the three men realise that they lack something:

spiritual beauty (Nonnos), humility (Zosimas), the dove (Abraham). They are then able to

undo this lack by ensuring that a sexually transgressive female body has been restrained

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(Nonnos, Abraham) or has been transformed into a story (Zosimas). Given this, the female

withering body, one that was before repentance thriving, holds prime place.

The female body that has lost its status as such is brought at center stage also in the

first subgroup studied in Chapter Three. In this chapter, we follow Melania and Athanasia as

they subtract their feminine attributes and strive to prove a “manlier” self. Along with their

bodily femininity, these heroines also change behavioural characteristics that mark them as

female. In this way, the couples’ identities in this subchapter are structured by the protagonists

shifting positions in a tangled network of kinship. By becoming manlier Melania and

Athanasia simultaneously weigh down the scale of holiness and assume the position of brother

(Athanasia) or even father (Melania) to their husbands.

A different way of negotiating the holy identity as regards the body is presented in

Chapter Two and the last two sections of Chapter Three. In these, we also see a suffering

gendered body as constitutive of the holy identity but this time this is a male body. In Chapter

Two the broken male bodies of Symeon and Stephanos equal both their own and their

mothers’ holiness. Both Martha and Anna launch their sons in the “zone between two deaths”

and ensure their own salvation and that of Symeon and Stephanos by initiating them into an

incessant death in life. The holy identitiy is, therefore, also in this chapter a product of

intersubjective exchange. In this intersubjective network the gender of the child seems to be a

crucial matter. It is not any child that offers salvation the texts in question tell us, it is the male

child. The gender of the child is likewise crucial as a determining factor of how the mother-

child bond is treated and how it evolves when brought against divine affairs. If the child is a

girl, the bond needs to be discarded; if the child is a boy, kinship ties are invested with

importance. If, on the other hand, the focus shifts on the spousal bond, as in the cases of

Melania-Pinian and Andronikos-Athanasia, it is the death of the child that opens the path to

salvation.

With Chapter Three and especially its last two sections the issue of self and other in the

construction of the holy identity becomes fluid. The hagiographers’ negotiation of concepts

tied with the self and other interaction such as kinship and body is, in this respect, far from

straightforward. Here the outcome of the texts’ intersubjective orientation is a rather

ambiguously holy twosome. Melania and Athanasia end their lives as manly women with

Athanasia reaching a somewhat equal status to her husband and Melania overshadowing

Pinian, who falls short to satisfy the performative requirements of his gender.

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In the last two sections of Chapter Three the intersubjective exchange becomes even

more complicated. Let us turn first to the PGE, the PTM and the PAN. In the PGE and the

PTM we are presented with two heroines who overtly display emotional attachment to their

husbands. Two husbands (Galaktion and Timotheos) and one wife (Natalia) seem to be

extremely preoccupied with the issue of their partners’ conversion. Their partners’ spiritual

orientation is instrumental in how these three protagonists understand their spousal

relationship. To gain their affections, the partners need to convert. Accordingly, Episteme’s,

Maura’s and Natalia’s image of spiritual concreteness is structured by incorporating the image

of their husbands’ abused and fragmented bodies as its exact opposite—a visualization of

totality. In the last section of Chapter Three, with the PJB, the PCD and the PCV the attention

is cast on the shadowland created when boundaries are shaken and lose their status. In this

light, we begin with a joining of marriage and virginity and end up with a cocktail of opposites

blended together at a moment of death, which seems intentionally protracted. The suffering

body, male and female, is here kept by rule whole.

Another subject the narratives in question deal with, as the preceding analysis has

shown, is the hierarchical relationship of the protagonists within the couple. This subject is

negotiated either in terms of the protagonists’ earthly life or from the perspective of the

afterlife. In the Lives included in Chapter One, for example, a hierarchy of holiness seems not

to be explicitly established. We are nevertheless given some indications concerning the matter.

In the LP we are presented with a male protagonist who has the ability to look beyond the

prostitute’s appearance and lead her to salvation. It is to Nonnos that Pelagia owes her

salvation and it is he who, the narrative tells us, becomes the “mouth of God”. It would seem

then that, while the Life is devoted to Pelagia, there is a hint that, if a comparison were to be

made, the heroine may have achieved salvation but it is a salvation for which Nonnos gets the

credit. A similar and even clearer hierarchical relation is established between the protagonists

in the LAM. Mary, the heroine who exchanges her virtuous life with a life of prostitution, is

guided back to the path of salvation by Abraham, who ensures (by enclosing her in the inner

cell) that she will not relapse again. And while Abraham’s holiness is almost self-evident, the

hagiographer provides us with proof about Mary’s achievement of holiness. A different story

tells the LME, with Zosimas showcasing the example of a monk in need for correction. In the

scale of holiness portrayed in this text it is Mary who seems to excel in virtue and Zosimas the

one who first and foremost needs to be taught through her.

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Maybe the relationship which displays the most acute preoccupation with the degree of

holiness is that of mothers and their sons. In the narratives which belong to this category the

key-players are the sons. There is an explicit hierarchy established between mothers and sons,

clearly stated both in the LSymY and the LM and self-evident in the LStephY in which Anna’s

presence is not prominent from a certain narrative point onward. While Martha is shown the

reward promised to her in the afterlife, she is also reminded that the one meant to reach higher

when viewed in terms of the couple, is the son. The mother has offered that much so as to gain

a holy status but not as holy as that of the son to whom she owes her salvation.

When it comes to degree of holiness and kinship, these terms are also more fluid as we

move on to the narratives discussed in Chapter Three. At the beginning of these texts we are

provided with some indications that female protagonists conform to their female gender (e.g.

Melania and Cecilia) and to what the regulating edicts of this gender imply, such as ceding to

the marriage union. However, as the plots unravel we observe the female protagonists to

shutter the expectations of their gender. Consequently, the hierarchy that comes concomitant

with the regulating principles of gender is shaken. Melania is, for example, holier than her

husband. Especially with regard to the virgin couples studied in the third section, the

substantial corrosion of what constitutes the protagonists’ identity we observed, also affects

our inferences regarding the protagonists’ degree of holiness. Since the concepts of self,

(gendered) body and even narrative boundaries are shaken, there is no clear perception of the

protagonists’ hierarchical status in the afterlife. Somewhat different is the case of Episteme

and Maura studied in the second section. In the PTM and the PGE bodily boundaries and the

identity of self and other are challenged in the scene of torture, with the female protagonists

deciding to sacrifice their lives in order to preserve the union with their husbands. Episteme

exchanges her life so as not to be separated from Galaktion, while Maura’s employment as the

torturer’s attendant against her husband needs to be undone through the heroine losing her

sinful body-parts. Despite taking this decision and going through the martyrdom, however,

these heroines never quite shed their female gender so greatly emphasized in the two Passions.

In Episteme’s case the afterlife relation with her husband is left hanging, while in the afterlife

imagined in the PTM the heroine achieves a holy status but not as holy as that of Timotheos.

This latter text is the only one from those studied in Chapter Three which gives us explicit

information regarding the protagonsits’ degree of holiness.

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All in all, where do these observations lead us as regards the holy couple?

Undoubtedly, the couple is not a uniform term applied in all the Passions and Lives or

perceived, imagined and staged in the same way. I began my investigation by posing a series

of questions and I end it by admitting that most of these questions have not been answered.

Like the letter that always arrives, it is not the actual answer to these problems that matters. I

believe that these authors’ purpose was to reflect upon such complex matters as those studied

here without necessarily providing us with a solution or with a clear opinion. However,

establishing the concept of the couple in our critical vocabulary provides us, as I hope the

preceding analysis has adequately demonstrated, with a methodological guide to approach the

holy identity in texts such as the ones studied here. Enriched with concepts taken from

contemporary theory then, the concept of the couple incites a move from one protagonist to an

intersubjective network through which the self, the desire to rediscover or transform the self,

as well as the effort to “make” the holy self, are a product of exchange. The candidate saint, it

would seem, sees through the mirror of the Other back at himself, his double, a double in need

for an identity—that of the holy double. In the same way the Voice of the tale serves as the

readers/listeners’ mirror, inciting them to discover their lack and strive to undo this lack. The

one who looks or listens “awry” is able to reconfigure himself and orientate his behaviour as

to be improved. It is only the interested eye and ear that is able to perceive the story as a

double pointing to one’s self. Experiencing the story in this way makes each reading or

listening of the text a personal trajectory toward edification as much for the medieval audience

as for the contemporary scholar. Thus it is by looking awry at these texts that the letter of the

story can arrive at its destination.

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Appendix

Adjectives and Terms referring to the protagonists (PJB, PCD, PCV) Chrysanthos Daria Chrysanth

os and Daria

ἅγιος (PCD, p.481.§18) παρθένος (PCD, p.482.§23)

ἅγιοι (PCD, p.469; p.483.§26; p.484.§28)

ἁγία (PCD, p.482.§23; p.482.§24; p.483.§26)

µάρτυρες (PCD, p.469; p.484.§28)

Valerian Cecilia Valerian and Cecilia

νεόλεκτος στρατιώτης (PCV, p.98.§10) καλλίνικος (PCV, p.89.§1)

ἀγαθός ἀνήρ (PCV, p.98.§11) καλλιπάρθενος (PCV, p.89.§1; p.90.§3; p.95.§7; p.96.§9; p.107.§19; p.108.§20)

µάρτυς (PCV, p.102.§15; p.103.§15; p.103.§16; p.104.§16; p.104.§17; p.105.§17; p.106.§18)

πανολβία παρθένος (PCV, p.91.§4)

γενναῖος µάρτυς (PCV, p.103.§16) σώφρων (PCV, p.96.§8)

ἅγιος (PCV, p.104.§16; 105.§17) τρισολβία παρθένος (PCV, p.104.§17)

µακάριος µάρτυς (PCV, p.106.§18) καλλικέλαδος (PCV, p.104.§17)

φιλόχριστος (PCV, p.106.§18)

φιλοµάρτυς (PCV, p.106.§18)

σεβασµία (PCV, p.106.§18)

µεγάλη (PCV, p.107.§19)

ἀείπαις (PCV, p.108.§20)

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µάρτυς (PCV, p.108.§20 [x4]; p.109.§20; p.109.§21; p.110.§22[x4]; p.112.§24)

ἁγία (PCV, p.108.§20; p.109.§21; p.111.§23)

καλλιπάρθενος µάρτυς (PCV, p.111.§23)

καλλίνικος παρθενοµάρτυς (PCV, p.111.§23)

καλλίνικος παρθένος µάρτυς (PCV, p.112.§23)

ἁγία µάρτυς (PCV, p.112.§24)

ἀείµνηστος παρθενοµάρτυς (PCV, p.113.§24)

Julian Basilissa Julian and Basilissa

ὁσιώτατος µάρτυς (PJB, p.244.§1) παρθένος (PJB, p.248.§5; p.249.§6[x4]; p.250.§6)

ὅσιοι µάρτυρες (PJB, p.243.§1)

µάρτυς (PJB, p.259.§17; p.270.§30; p.273.§33; p.287.§51[x2])

µακαρία (PJB, p.250.§6; p.254.§10; p.257.§14; p.258.§15[x2])

µάρτυρες (PJB, p.244.§1)

µακάριος (PJB, p.244.§2; p.246.§3[x2]; p.249.§5[x2]; p.249.§6; p.250.§6[x2]; p.254.§10[x2]; p.259.§15; 260.§17[x2]; p.261.§18; p.262.§20[x3]; p.265.§23; p.266.§24; p.267.§25; p.271.§31; p.273.§33; p.273.§34[x2]; p.274.§35[x2]; p.275.§36; p.277.§39; p.279.§40; p.282.§46; p.284.§49; p.287.§53; p.290.§55; p.291.§56[x3]; p.292.§57)

ἁγία (PJB, p.254.§10; p.254.§11; p.255.§12; p.256.§13; p.257.§14; p.258.§15; p.259.§15; p.293.§58[x2])

ἅγιοι καὶ µακάριοι παρθένοι (PJB, p.252.§8)

ἀθλητής (PJB, p.249.§2[x2]) µακάριοι (PJB, p.252.§8; p.253.§9;

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p.253.§10) καλὸς ἀθλητής (PJB, p.245.§2; p.256.§12) ἅγιοι (PJB,

p.253.§10; p.254.§11)

καλὸς ἐργάτης (PJB, p.245.§2) σεβάσµιος νεανίας (PJB, p.246.§3) σεβάσµιος παῖς (PJB, p.277.§38) σεβάσµιον τέκνον (PJB, p.246.§3) σεπτὸς παῖς (PJB, p.247.§4) πιστὸς δοῦλος (PJB, p.247.§4) θαυµάσιος παῖς (PJB, pp.247-248§4) ἀγαθὸς ἀθλητής (PJB, p.249.§5) σεβάσµιος νεανίσκος (PJB, p.249.§6) ἅγιος (PJB, p.253.§10; p.254.§10; p.254.§11; p.259.§15; p.259.§17; p.260.§17[x3], p.262.§20; p.263.§21; p.265.§23; p.267.§25; p.267.§26; p.268.§27; p.269.§29[x2]; p.270.§29; p.270.§30[x2]; p.271.§31; p.273.§34, p.275.§36; p.276.§38[x2]; p.277.§38; p.277.§39[x2]; p.279.§41; p.279.§42; p.280.§42; p.281.§45; p.282.§45; p.282.§46; p.283.§46; p.284.§47; p.284.§48; p.285.§49[x3]; p.286.§50[x2]; p.289.§55; p.290.§55; p.290.§56[x2]; p.291.§57; p.293.§58; p.293.§59[x5]; p.294.§60[x2]; p.294.§61[x2]; p.294.§62; p.295.§63[x3]; p.296.§64)

πατήρ (PJB, p.259.§16)

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Bibliography

Abbreviations

AASS Acta Sanctorum AB Analecta Bollandiana BHG Bibliotheca Hagiographica Graeca, Halkin

1957 BZ Byzantinische Zeitschrift DOP Dumbarton Oaks Papers LAA Life of Andronikos and Athanasia LAM Life of Abraham and Mary LM Life of Martha LME Life of Mary of Egypt LMY Life of Melania the Younger LP Life of Pelagia LStephY Life of Stephanos the Younger LSymY Life of Symeon the Younger PAN Passion of Adrianos and Natalia PCD Passion of Chrysanthos and Daria PCV Passion of Cecilia and Valerian PG Patrologia Graeca PGE Passion of Galaktion and Episteme PJB Passion of Julian and Basilissa PTM Passion of Timotheos and Maura Texts Under Discussion

Passion of Adrianos and Natalia (Adrianos and Natalia)

(BHG 27), AASS Sept III 1750, 218-230

Passion of Cecilia and Valerian (Cecilia and Valerian)

(BHG 283c), in François Halkin (ed.) 1987. Six inédits d'hagiologie byzantine, Subsidia Hagiographica, 74 (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes), 88-132

Passion of Chrysanthos and Daria (Chrysanthos and Daria)

(BHG 313), AASS Oct. XI 1864, 469-484

Passion of Galaktion and Episteme (Galaktion and Episteme)

(BHG 665; date: possibly 10th c.), AASS Nov. III 1910, 35-41

Passion of Julian and Basilissa (Julian and Basilissa)

(BHG 970; date probably 6th), in François Halkin (ed.) 1980. “La Passion ancienne des saints Julien et Basilisse”, AB 98, 241-296

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Passion of Timotheos and Maura (Timotheos and Maura)

(BHG 1849), AASS Maii I 1680, 741-744

(BHG 1848z) in François Halkin (ed.) 1989. “Martyre des époux Timothée et Maura”, Hagiographica Inedita Decem, Corpus Christianorum, Series Graeca, 21 (Brepols; Turnhout: Leuven University Press), 25-29

Life of Abraham and Maria (Abraham and Maria)

(BHG 5), AASS Mart. II 1865, 932-937

Life of Andronikos and Athanasia (Andronikos and Athanasia)

(BHG 123a; between the 6th c and 11th c.), in Anne Alwis (ed.) 2011. Celibate Marriages in Late Antique and Byzantine Hagiography: The Lives of Saints Julian and Basilissa, Andronikos and Athanasia, and Galaktion and Episteme (London: Bloomsbury Academic), 250-268

Life of Martha, mother of Symeon Stylites the Younger (Symeon and Martha)

(BHG 1174; date: after 7th c. and before the end of 9th c.) in Paul van den Ven (ed.) 1962-1970. La Vie ancienne de S. Syméon Stylite le Jeune, 521-592, Subsidia Hagiographica, 32, 2vols., II (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes), 253-314

Life of Mary of Egypt (Zosimas and Mary of Egypt)

(BHG 1042; date 7th c.), PG 87, 3697-3725

Life of Melania the Younger (Melania and Pinian)

(BHG 1241; date: after 439 and before 485) in Denys Gorce (ed.) 1962. Vie de Sainte Mélanie: texte grec, introduction, traduction et notes, Sources Chrétiennes, 90 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf), 124-270

Life of Pelagia (Nonnos and Pelagia)

(BHG 1478; date: 5th c.) in Pierre Petitmengin et al. (eds.) 1981. Pélagie la Pénitente: metamorphoses d’une légende, 2vols. I: Les textes et leur histoire (Paris: Études Augustiniennes), 77-93

Life of Stephanos the Younger (Stephanos and Anna)

(BHG 1666; date: 807/9), in Marie-France Auzépy (ed.) 1997. La vie d'Étienne le Jeune par Étienne le diacre: Introduction, édition et traduction, Birmingham Byzantine and Ottoman Monographs, 3 (Aldershot: Variorum), 87-177

Life of Symeon Stylites the Younger (Symeon and Martha)

(BHG 1689; date: end of 6th c.) in Paul van den Ven (ed.) 1962-1970. La Vie ancienne de S. Syméon Stylite le Jeune, 521-592, Subsidia Hagiographica, 32, 2vols., I (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes), 1-224

Other Primary Sources

Basil of Ancyra, De vera virginitatis integritate

PG 30, 669-809

Clement of Alexandria, Paedagogus

in Henri-Irénée Marrou, Claude Mondésert and Chantal Matray (eds.) 1970. Le pedagogue, Clément d'Alexandrie: Introduction et notes de Henri-Irénée Marrou, traduction de Marguerite Harl, Claude Mondésert et Chantal Matray,

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Sources chrétiennes, 158, 3vols. (Paris : Éditions du Cerf)

Gregory of Nazianzus, Κατὰ γυναικὼν καλλωπιζοµένων

in Andreas Knecht (ed.) 1972. Gegen die Putzsucht der Frauen, Gregor von Nazianz: Verbesserter griechischer Text mit Übersetzung, motivgeschichtlichem Überblick und Kommentar von Andreas Knecht, Wissenschaftliche Kommentare zu griechischen und lateinischen Schriftstellern (Heidelberg: C. Winter), 18-37

John Chrysostomos, Hom. 4 Tit. 1

PG 62, 683

John Chrysostomos, Hom. 8. II Tim. 1

PG 62, 541

John Chrysostomos, Hom. 9. I Tim. 1

PG 62, 545

John Chrysostomos, Hom. 10 Gen. 4

PG 53, 86

John Chrysostomos Hom. 3. I Cor. 1

PG 61, 289-290

John Chrysostomos, Quod rgulares feminae viris cohabitare non debeant

PG 47, 519

Passion of Adrianos and Natalia [short version]

(BHG 29), in François Halkin (ed.) 1986. “Une passion grecque inédite des saints Adrien et Natalie (BHG 29)”, Hagiologie byzantine: Textes inédits publiés en grec et traduits en français, Subsidia Hagiographica, 71 (Brussels: Societé des Bollandistes), 47-55

Passion of Agatha (BHG 37), PG 114, 1332-1345

Passion of Anastasia [metaphrastic version]

(BHG 82), PG 116, 573-609

Passion of Catherine (BHG 30), in Joseph Viteau (ed.) 1897. Passions des Saints Écaterine et Pierre d'Alexandrie, Barbara et Anysia: Publiées d'après les manuscrits grecs de Paris et de Rome, avec un choix de variantes et une traduction latine (Paris: Émile Bouillon), 5-23

Passion of Cecilia (English) “Passio Sanctae Ceciliae virginis”, in Robert Upchurch (ed.) 2007. Ælfric’s Lives of the Virgin Spouses, Exeter Medieval Texts and Studies (Exeter: University of Exeter Press), 72-85

Passion of Cecilia (French) “Legende se saincte Cecille, vierge et martire”, in Brenda Dunn-Lardeau (ed.) 1997. Jacques de Voragine, La Légende Dorée: Edition critique, dans la revision de 1476 par Jean

ANDRIA ANDREOU

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Batallier, d’après la traduction de Jean de Vignay (1333-1348) de la Legenda Aurea (c. 1261-1266), Textes de la Renaissance, 19 (Paris: Honoré Champion), 1083-1090

Passion of Cecilia (Latin) “De Sancta Cecilia”, in Giovanni Paolo Maggioni (ed.) 1998. Iacopo da Varazze Legenda Aurea, Millenio Medievale, 6, 2 vols, II (Tavarnuzze: SISMEL, Edizioni del Galluzzo), 1180-1187

Passion of Chrysanthos and Daria (English)

“Passio Chrisanti et Dariae sponse eius”, in Robert Upchurch (ed.) 2007. Ælfric’s Lives of the Virgin Spouses, Exeter Medieval Texts and Studies (Exeter: University of Exeter Press), 86-99

Passion of Chrysanthos and Daria (French)

“Legende des saints Cristant et Darie”, in Brenda Dunn-Lardeau (ed.) 1997. Jacques de Voragine, La Légende Dorée: Edition critique, dans la revision de 1476 par Jean Batallier, d’après la traduction de Jean de Vignay (1333-1348) de la Legenda Aurea (c. 1261-1266), Textes de la Renaissance, 19 (Paris: Honoré Champion), 999-1001

Passion of Chrysanthos and Daria (Latin)

“De Sancto Crisanto”, in Giovanni Paolo Maggioni (ed.) 1998. Iacopo da Varazze Legenda Aurea, Millenio Medievale, 6, 2 vols, II (Tavarnuzze: SISMEL, Edizioni del Galluzzo), 1071-1073

Passion of Didymos and Theodora

(BHG 1742), AASS April III 63-65

Passion of Eulampios and Eulampia

(BHG 616), AASS Oct. V 1786, 69-78

Passion of Febronia (BHG 659; date: 7th c.), in Paolo Chiesa (ed.) 1990. Le versioni latine della Passio Sanctae Febroniae: storia, metodo, modelli di due traduzioni agiographichae altomedievali (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo), 368-395

Passion of Glykeria and Laodikos

(BHG 699), AASS Maii III. 1680, 12-15

Passion of Hesperos and Zoe (BHG 746), AASS Maii I 1680, 739-740

Passion of Indus [or Indes] and Domna

(BHG 822z), in Kleopas Koikylides 1907. Βίοι τῶν παλαιστινῶν ἁγίων (Jerusalem: Hiero Koino tou Panagiou Tafou), 60-82

Passion of Indus [or Indes] and Domna [metaphrastic version]

(BHG 823), PG 116, 1037-1081

Passion of Julian and Basilissa (English)

“Passio Sancti Iuliani et sponse eius Basilisse”, in Robert Upchurch (ed.) 2007. Ælfric’s Lives of the Virgin Spouses, Exeter Medieval Texts and Studies (Exeter: University of

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Exeter Press), 54-71

Passion of Julian and Basilissa (Latin)

“Passio Sanctorum martyrum Iuliani et Basilisse”, in Robert Upchurch (ed.) 2007. Ælfric’s Lives of the Virgin Spouses, Exeter Medieval Texts and Studies (Exeter: University of Exeter Press), 114-171

Passion of Kosmas and Damianos

(BHG 372), in Ludwig Deubner 1907. Kosmas und Damian: Texte und Einleitung (Leipzig: B. G. Teubner)

Passion of Kyprianos (BHG 454), AASS Sept. VII (1760), 222-245

Passion of Kyrikos and Iulitta (BHG 314), in Goedhart van Hooff (ed.) 1882. “Martyrium sancti Cyrici et Julittae”, AB 1, 194-200

Passion of Kyrikos and Iulitta [epistle]

(BHG 316), PG 120, 165-172

Passion of Kyros and John (BHG 469), PG 87, 3677-3689

Passion of Lucy (BHG 995), in Rossi Giuseppe Taibbi (ed.) 1959. Vite dei santi siciliani II: Martirio di Santa Lucia, Vita di Santa Marina: Testi greci e traduzioni, Testi, 6 (Palermo: Instituto Siciliano di Studi Bizantini e Neogreci), 50-70

Pasion of Marina of Antioch (BHG 1165), “Acta S. Marinae et S. Christophori”, in Herbert Usener (ed.) 1886. Festschrift zur fünften Säcularfeier der Carl-Ruprechts-Universität zu Heidelberg (Bonn: Universitäts-Buchdruckerei von Carl Georgi), 15-47

Passion of Paul and Iuliane (BHG 964), in Reinhold Trautmann and Robert Klöstermann (eds.) 1934. “Μαρτύριον της αγίας Ιουλιανής και Παύλου”, Zeitschrift für Slavische Philologie 11, 1-19

Passion of Pistis, Elpis, Agape and their Mother Sophia

(BHG 1637y) in François Halkin (ed.) 1973. Légendes grecques des “martyres romaines”, Subsidia Hagiographica, 55 (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes), 185-204

Passion of Sergios and Bacchos

(BHG 1624), in Johan van den Gheyn (ed.) 1895. “Passio antiquior SS. Sergii et Bacchi”, AB 14, 375-395

Passion of Theodote and her Sons

(BHG 1781), in Hippolyte Delehaye (ed.) 1937. “Passio sancte Theodote et filiorum eius”, AB 55, 220-225

Passion of Zenobios and Zenobia

(BHG 1884), AASS Oct. XIII 1884, 259-263

Gerontius, Latin Life of Melania the Younger

(BHL 5885; date after 439 and before 485), in Patrick Laurence (ed.) 2002. La vie latine de sainte Mélanie: édition critique, traduction et commentaire par Patrick Laurence (Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press)

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John Rufus, Life of Peter the Iberian [in Syriac]

(date: 476-518), in Cornelia B. Horn and Robert R. Phenix (eds.) 2008. The Lives of Peter the Iberian, Theodosius of Jerusalem, and the Monk Romanus John Rufus, Writings of the Greco-Roman World, 24 (Atlanta: Society for Biblical Literature), 2-280

Life of Alexis (BHG 52m), by François Halkin and André-Jean Festugière, in François Halkin (ed.) 1987. Six inédits d'hagiologie byzantine, Subsidia Hagiographica, 74 (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes), 80-93

Life of Antony (BHG 150), in Gerhardus Johannes Marinus Bartelink (ed.) 1994. Athanase d’Alexandrie, Vie d’Antoine: introduction, texte critique, traduction, notes et index, Sources Chrétiennes, 400 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf), 124-377

Life of Athanasia of Aegina (BHG 180), by Lydia Carras, in Ann Moffatt (ed.) 1984. Maistor: Classical, Byzantine and Renaissance Studies for Robert Browning, Byzantina Australiensia, 5 (Canberra: Australian Association for Byzantine Studies), 212-224

Life of Elizabeth the Wonderworker

(BHG 2121), in François Halkin (ed.) 1973. “Sainte Elizabeth d’Héraclée, abbesse à Constantinople”, AB 91, 251-264

Life of Eudokia (BHG 604), AASS Mart I. 1668, 875-883

Life of Euphrosyne (BHG 625; date: 6th-7thc.), in Anatole Boucherie (ed.) 1883, AB 2, 196-205

Life of Euphrosyne the Younger

(BHG 627; date 14thc.), AASS Nov. III. 1910, 861-877

Life of Euphraxia (BHG 631), AASS Mart. II 1668, 727-735

Life of Irene of Chrysobalanton

(BHG 952; date: after 980), in Jean Olof Rosenqvist (ed.) 1986. The Life of St. Irene, Abbess of Chrysobalanton: A Critical Edition with Introduction, Translation, Notes and Indices, Studia Byzantina Upsaliensia, 1 (Uppsala: Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis), 2-112

Life of Kyprianos and Iustine (BHG 452-453), in Ludwig Radermacher (ed.) 1927. Griechische Quellen zur Faustsage: Die Erzählung der Zauberer Cyprianus, die Erzälung des Helladius, Theophilus, Akademie der Wissenschaften in Wien, Philosophisch-historische Klasse, 206.4 (Wien; Leipzig: Hölder-Pichler-Tempsky), 73-113

Life of Macrina (BHG 1012; date: 382/3) in Pierre Maraval (ed.) 1971. Grégoire de Nysse, Vie de Sainte Macrine: Introduction, texte critique, traduction, notes et index, Sources

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Chrétiennes, 178 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf), 136-267

Life of Mary/Marinos (no BHG no.; date: 6th/7th c.), in Marcel Richard, “La Vie Ancienne de Sainte Marie surnommée Marinos”, Corona Gratiarum. Miscellanea patristica, historica et liturgica Eligio Dekkers O.S.B. XII Lustra complenti oblata, I (Brugge, 1975: M. Nijhoff), 83–94; repr. in Marcel Richard 1977. Opera minora, III no. 67 (Leuven: Brepols)

Life of Mary of Antioch (Anthemios and Mary of Antioch)

(BHG 1045; date: 5th-7th c.), AASS Maii VII. 1688, 50-58

Life of Mary of Egypt (Latin) in Jane Stevenson (ed.) 1975. “Vita Sanctae Mariae Egiptiacae”, in Poppe and Ross (eds.) 1975, 51-79

Life of Mary of Egypt (Synaxarion)

(BHG 1042a; 7th c.), in Konstantinos Doukakis (ed.) 1892. “Βίος καὶ πολιτεία τῆς ὁσίας µητρὸς ἡµῶν Μαρίας τῆς Αἰγυπτίας συγγραφεὶς παρὰ τοῦ ἐν ἁγίοις πατρὸς ἡµῶν Σωφρονίου Ἀρχιεπισκόπου Ἱεροσολύµων, µικρὸν δὲ ἁπλοποιηθεὶς ὑπό τινος ἑτέρου”, Μέγας Συναξαριστής ήτοι σµάραγδος του νοητού παραδείσου βιβλίον ψυχοφελέστατον µεγάλης συλλογής βίων πάντων των αγίων των καθ’άπαντα τον µήνα Απρίλιον εορταζοµένων (Athens: Kollaraki-Triantafillou), 6-23

Life of Mary of Egypt (French and Spanish)

in Hermann Knust (ed.) 1890. Geschichte der Legenden der h. Katharina von Alexandrien und der h. Maria Aegyptiaca nebst unedirten Texten (Halle a. S: M. Niemeyer), 315-346

Life of Mary the Younger (BHG 1164; date: ca. 903), AASS Nov. IV. 1925, 692-705

Life of Matrona (BHG 1221), AASS Nov. III. 1910, 790-813

Life of Sosanna (BHG 1673), AASS Sept VI. 1757, 153-159

Life of Symeon the Holy Fool (BHG 1677; 7th c.), in Andre-Jean Festugière in collaboration with Lennart Rydén (ed.), 1974. Vie de Syméon le Fou et Vie de Jean de Chypre, Bibliothèque archéologique et historique, 95 (Paris: P. Geuthner), 1-222

Life of Taïsia (BHG 1695) in François Nau (ed.) 1902. “Histoire de Thaïs: publication des textes grecs inédits et de divers autres textes et versions”, Annales du Musée Guimet 30, 86-112

Life of Theodora of Alexandria

(BHG 1727), in Karl Wessely (ed.) 1889. “Die Vita S. Theodorae”, in: Fünfzehnter Jahresbericht des K. K. Staatsgymnasiums in Hernals (Vienna: Verlag des K. K. Staatsgymnasiums in Hernals), 25-44

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Life of Theodora of Thessalonike

(BHG 1737; date: 894) in Symeon Paschalides (ed.) 1991. Ο βίος της οσιοµυροβλύτιδος Θεοδώρας της εν Θεσσαλονίκη. Διήγηση περί της µεταθέσεως του λειψάνου της οσίας Θεοδώρας: Εισαγωγή, κριτικό κείµενο, µετάφραση, σχόλια, Κέντρο αγιολογικών µελετών, 1 (Thessalonike: Ιερά µητρόπολις Θεσσαλονίκης), 66-188

Life of Thomais (BHG 2454; date: mid-10th c.), AASS Nov. IV 1925, 234-242

Life of Xenophon, Maria and their Sons

(BHG 1878; 10th c.), PG 114, 1014-1043

Manuel Philes, Carmina in Emmanuel Miller (ed.) 1855-1857. Manuelis Philae Carmina ex codicibus Escorialensibus, Florentinis, Parisinis et Vaticanis, 2vols: I

Maximos Holobolos, Verses in Emmanuel Miller (ed.) 1855-1857. “Τοῦ σοφωτάτου µεγάλου πρωτοσυγγέλλου κυροῦ Μαξίµου τοῦ Ὁλοβόλου στίχοι εἰς τὴν ὁσίαν Μαρίαν τὴν Αἰγυπτίαν”, Manuelis Philae Carmina ex codicibus Escorialensibus, Florentinis, Parisinis et Vaticanis, 2vols: II (Appendix), 373-375

Menologium Latyšev/kaiserliches Menologium A

in Vasilij Vasil'evic Latyšev (ed.) 1970 [1st ed. 1910/1911]. Menologii anonymi Byzantini saeculi X quae supersunt: fasciculos duos sumptibus Caesareae Academiae Scientiarum e Codice Mosquensi 376 Vlad, Subsidia Byzantina, 12, 2vols. in 1

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