This chapter discusses how knowledge is ordered in four theological treatises dating to the late sixth and early seventh centuries, the last phase of late Roman civilisation: Pamphilus’ Capita diversa, Leontius of Jerusalem’s Contra Monophysitas, Theodore of Raithou’s Praeparatio and De sectis, a transcript of lectures given by a monk called Theodore. These texts, which were written in Palestine and Egypt, defend the interpretation of the incarnation of the divine Word that had been given by the Council of Chalcedon against the attacks of opponents, in particular the Monophysites. They are not original contributions to the christological discourse but present material taken from earlier texts in such a way that it can be used in debates about doctrine.

In his discourse On Gluttony, the Syrian metropolitan Philoxenos of Mabbug shows that a glutton’s behaviour and attitude towards food and drink are rooted in false epistemologies of the self and God. This chapter shows that within this discourse Philoxenos tells the story of a gluttonous monk. By studying this embedded narrative of an imagined gluttonous monk, this chapter uncovers how Philoxenos uses rhetorical strategies to advance his thesis about the danger of gluttony: it perverts the monk and prevents the knowledge of God. Gluttony leads to heresy and death.

This chapter explores how late ancient institutions ordered the knowledge and ways of knowing that were associated with one of the central artefacts of the Christian community: its collection of sacred writings. I spotlight Origen, who was affiliated with a number of such institutions over his lifetime in Alexandria and later in Caesarea Maritima. I will examine how his philosophical schools gave shape and style to his exegetical project. I will also briefly reflect on the other institution with which he was affiliated: the church in Caesarea, where he was ordained as a priest. In a number of ways, I argue, philosophical schools left their imprint on Origen’s scriptural exegesis.

This chapter explores the striking coincidences between bureaucratic literature such as John Lydus’ On the Magistracies of Rome or the Notitia Dignitatum and the bureaucratic delineations that characterise texts of Proclus such as the Elements of Theology or the Platonic Theology. We meet in Proclus a taxonomic approach to epistemology itself, one in which the ordering power of the mind is projected on a cosmic level, in terms that must at least remind us of the delegation of power that we see in the governmental deployment of imperium, the right of command. In order to pursue this line of comparison, I compare a prominent form of knowledge-making in the fourth through sixth centuries CE, appearing in texts that enumerate lists, ranks, offices, and power dynamics, with the metaphysical schemata of Proclus. Rather than asking about the direction of influence, this chapter will instead seek to understand the epistemological implications of Proclus’ metaphysical taxonomy.

This chapter reframes the early Arian controversy in the context of the legacy of the Great Persecution and contemporary conflicts on visuality, divinity, and image. Arius’ controversial apophatic theology and his definition of the changeability of the Son reflect traditional anti-idolatry themes. These may be linked to values of lived religion in Alexandria, especially as illustrated by martyrs and ascetics in the uncertain new reign of imperial tolerance under Licinius. Placing Arius’ description of the Son into the context of Porphyry’s discussions on religious images, as cited by both Athanasius and Eusebius, suggests that he was defending broader cultural values and practices of monotheism against alleged materialism in Alexander’s definition of eternal generation and image.

In seventh-century Byzantium, the imperial panegyrist George of Pisidia and the peregrinating monastic theologian Maximus the Confessor represent two distinct ways of knowing and interpreting the new creation purportedly being realised in the empire. George envisions it largely in terms of the political and military exploits of the emperor Heraclius, Christ’s viceroy on earth. Maximus sees it instead as the work of the peerless agent of creation and redemption, Christ himself, whose unique politeia, embodying a whole new mode of creaturely being in the world, has inaugurated a new eschatological ordering of existence. Yet George and Maximus both engage primarily in theôria, a heightened spiritual vision of the created universe, integrating perspectives from biblical history, the contemplation of created nature, and the observation of current events. Each writer is a theoros of the new creation unfolding in the imperial and ecclesial foreground.

In this study, Jeremy L. Williams interrogates the book of Acts in an effort to understand how early Christian texts provide glimpses of the legal processes by which Roman officials and militarized police criminalized, prosecuted, and incarcerated people in the first and second centuries CE. Williams investigates how individuals and groups have been, and still are, prosecuted for specious reasons – because of stories and myths written against them, perceptions of alterity that render them subhuman or nonhuman, the collision of officials, and financial incentives that foster injustices, among them. Through analysis of criminalization in Acts, he demonstrates how critical race theory, Black studies, and feminist rhetorical scholarship enable a reconstruction of ancient understandings of crime, judicial institutions, militarized police, punishment, and sociopolitical processes that criminalize. Williams’ study highlights how the criminalization of Jesus’ followers as depicted in Acts enables connections with contemporary movements. It also presents the ancient text as a critique against the shortcomings of some contemporary understandings of justice and human rights.

Ambrose of Milan’s pastoral project of ‘building up the faith’ (adstruere fidem), evident in his preaching, is exemplified best in his hymns. Relating this project to his suspicions about dialectic, I argue that the hymns aim less to ‘destroy’ through analysis than to ‘construct’ through compelling imagery and a programme of sensitisation. By comparing the presentation of Christ’s miracles in his Expositio on Luke and in his hymn for the Epiphany, ‘Illuminans Altissimus’, I show how Ambrose renders abstract, narrative, and conceptual claims by means of personal, concrete, and actualising exempla that present his congregation with objects for ‘real assent’ (in the words of John Henry Newman). Such an approach distinguishes Ambrose’s hymns from the verse compositions of his Latin-speaking contemporaries, Hilary of Poitiers and Augustine of Hippo.

This chapter compares the epistemological assumptions of late-antique Prolegomena to Philosophy with those of the Didaskaliai of Dorotheus of Gaza, a sixth-century ascetic teacher. It focuses on the epistemic role of godlikeness, the claim that the goal of philosophy, understood in terms of either Neoplatonism or the monastic life, is to become like God. In both Neoplatonism and in Dorotheus’ teaching, the concept of godlikeness orders knowledge and promotes ways of knowing developed in order to bridge the gap between the politico-ethical and the spiritual, the practical and the theoretical. Comparing Dorotheus’ teachings with the Introductions to Philosophy identifies substantial shared epistemic assumptions. A key difference between the schemes is generated by the epistemic role of humility in Dorotheus’ account.

Cyprian of Carthage is the most fulsome and direct user of sacrificial language in relation to Christian worship and organisation up to his own time, even though his community experienced persecution under the emperor Decius via a decree of universal sacrifice. Cyprian’s De lapsis and his Letter 63 both use common knowledge about sacrificial ritual shared between Jews, Christians, and other Romans to make more specific points in controversies over reconciliation of apostates and use of wine in the Eucharist. Cyprian’s use of shared assumptions about ritual helps reveal shared ancient understandings about sacrifice, centred not on altruism or violence but on gift. His formulations also reflect how he, like Decius, was seeking to use older ideas of tradition and communal solidarity in the service of new challenges.

The ignominious death of Jesus on the cross was the starting point of the history of Christians. It could have meant the end of the followers of Christ, especially because soon the body of Jesus also disappeared. However, the Christians succeeded in interpreting the events for themselves by speaking of the resurrection of Christ and cultivating the expectation of his return (parousia). Such ideas seem strange to modern observers, but they were apparently convincing for enough contemporaries that the followers of Christ survived. However, they were continually dependent on words, because relics were initially lacking and only memories could help spread faith in Jesus.