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282 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1996
In Christianity and Paganism in the Fourth to Eighth Centuries (1997), Ramsay Macmullen shows us that paganism died hard, if at all. This goes against the central argument of a newer, much larger book by Alan Cameron: The Last Pagans of Rome (2010). I have not read Cameron’s book, which is over 800 pages long, but I have read two positive reviews, including one by the renowned scholar of Late Antiquity, Peter Brown. Macmullen actually published a response to Brown’s review in The New York Review of Books, to which Brown responded defensively in turn (https://www.nybooks.com/articles/2011...). As I understand it, Cameron’s main arguments are that the Church defeated paganism swiftly and thoroughly; without state support, the tired old religion gave up and died; clergymen became the new guardians of classical culture. These arguments are presented as a novel challenge to the orthodox view, yet Macmullen, writing over a decade earlier, describes similar arguments in his opening pages and sets out to disprove them. The title of Macmullen’s book shows how much more credit he gives to the tenacity of paganism, which apparently lingers on to the eighth century.
The main reason that Macmullen and Cameron are so at odds is that they have different areas of focus. Cameron concentrates on the senatorial classes and the high priesthoods of paganism; Macmullen’s work is social history, even at times verging on anthropology. For anyone studying late paganism among the aristocracy (Cameron) or among the broader populace (Macmullen), the sources are scant. I only hope that Cameron gives as much attention to this fact as Macmullen does. Cameron argues that there was no pagan intellectual revival, no last stand of pagan senators. But how would we know, when there is only one surviving pagan historian post-400? Macmullen draws our attention to the incredibly expensive and time-consuming physical process of copying, which ensured that pagan writings were unlikely to be preserved or disseminated. Indeed, Christian authorities even went out of their way to destroy unedifying pagan works. Cameron says that the Christian elite embraced classical culture, but I wonder what he makes of the fact that the only reason that we have Livy’s writings is because the pagan Symmachus (much maligned by Cameron) commissioned a copy? Or that the only surviving text of Cicero’s De Re Publica was expunged for yet another copy of Saint Augustine? We may ask, along with the Church father Tertullian, “what has Athens to do with Jerusalem?”. Saint Jerome agonised over whether he was “a follower of Cicero and not of Christ” – plainly he could not be both. The classical literary tradition was indeed inescapable for the Christianised ruling classes, but they embraced it only reluctantly and with great difficulty. In contrast to these figures we have such valuable late pagan writers as Macrobius, Martianus Capella, Claudian, and Proclus. Literature and the literary classes are not, however, the subject of Macmullen’s study.
Macmullen perhaps finds some common ground with Cameron in the idea that most of the city-dwelling upper classes converted quickly; but Macmullen stresses that for the bulk of the empire’s population in the country, conversion took centuries, with frequent relapses. The process of conversion was from the top-down, beginning with Constantine. It was a progressively more violent process, but it was also frequently ineffective. Why else would a succession of increasingly exasperated emperors and bishops find it necessary to repeat the same anti-pagan rules? Paganism did not die when state support was withdrawn (as Cameron argues). Rather, it continued on with as much vitality as ever, offering ordinary people a greater variety of fulfilling spiritual practices than the rigid doctrines of Christianity could: “the old religion suited most people very well. They loved it, trusted it, found fulfilment in it, and so resisted change however eloquently, or ferociously, pressed upon them.” Macmullen dispels a few myths about Christianity, such as its supposed appeal to women and slaves. Both women and slaves had the opportunity to join pagan cults where they could mix freely with social superiors, or cults consisting only of their peers, in which they could rise to high priesthood. It is also forgotten that temples, like churches, provided poor-relief and refuge. “Taken as a whole,” Macmullen concludes, “paganism worked.” Naturally, paganism survived for longest in its least structured forms, away from centres of imperial authority. Macmullen estimates that half the empire’s population was Christian by 400 A.D., whereas Cameron says that it was “overwhelmingly Christian” in the 390s. As Cameron does not provide evidence for his estimation, and Macmullen does, I will trust the latter.
Macmullen partly attributes the rise of Christianity to the loss of an earlier class of intellectuals who upheld empirical thinking. He gives as examples Pliny, Plutarch, and Plotinus, who, while they were not atheists, sought natural explanations to natural phenomena. The Christian clergy, by contrast, shared the superstitious beliefs of their laity, seeing only divine explanations behind everything. According to Macmullen, this is the result of the massive expansion of the Roman bureaucracy, which empowered a new class of literate but not necessarily well-educated clerks. Perhaps there is something to be learned about our own times here—the ubiquity of middle management and dogmatic thinking—but for me this part of Macmullen’s argument is a little too speculative.
The last part of the book deals with the assimilation of paganism into Christianity. Of particular interest is the “graveside cult” of dinner parties in cemeteries. Perhaps the most important practice that paganism contributed to Christianity was the “cult of martyrs”. Following the Constantinian shift, the numerous new converts to Christianity were used to bringing their small problems to small gods (daimones), not the supreme deity. This accounts for the proliferation of martyria and saints’ shrines in the fourth century, where converts to Christianity could continue to seek help from superhuman beings. Macmullen only dedicates a few words to the endurance of paganism in art and literature, which is an intriguingly rich topic. Do allusions to the gods in artistic works still count as paganism in some way? When I read Roberto Calasso’s Le nozze di Cadmo e Armonia, I feel that paganism is alive and I am reading a work that has a profound spiritual connection to the old gods, but I am fairly sure the author has never sacrificed a bull to Zeus. The boundaries between culture and religion are not clear, and become even less clear when we bring up other terms like folklore, superstition, and belief.
Nevertheless, Macmullen does an excellent job treating a complex topic. Christianity and Paganism in the Fourth to Eighth Centuries is a work of social history, dealing mostly with the everyday practices of ordinary, illiterate people. The title does not make it obvious that the study is limited only to the Greco-Roman world, and Macmullen draws upon the third century possibly as much as the eighth. The book is extremely well researched and displays extraordinary erudition for such a small volume: in fact, about half of the book’s 282 pages are notes directing the reader to historical evidence.
Amid revisionist works that take a dim view of paganism, like Cameron’s The Last Pagans of Rome and Tom Holland’s Dominion: How the Christian Revolution Remade the World (2019), Macmullen reminds us that Christianity’s only real advantage over the plethora of paganisms was its intolerance: “ye shall destroy their altars, break their images, and cut down their groves: For thou shalt worship no other god: for the Lord, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God” (Exod. 34.13-14).
