In many respects, the work of Christian mission began when Jesus instructed the Twelve to go among “the lost sheep of the house of Israel” and proclaim the coming of the kingdom of heaven with accompanying miraculous signs.Footnote 1 Elsewhere in the Gospels, he dramatically expanded the scope of this mission by commanding his disciples to spread the faith to the ends of the earth.Footnote 2 In the ensuing decades, both celebrated apostles like Paul and unnamed missionaries responded by venturing throughout the Roman Empire and perhaps beyond it.Footnote 3 Yet, the spotty record of deliberate missionary activity between the second and fourth centuries CE has prompted a growing number of scholars to question the extent to which subsequent generations of Christians were committed to this task.Footnote 4 Even as the bishops of this era claimed descent from the apostles, there is surprisingly little evidence that they sponsored missions.Footnote 5 Nicene bishops, in particular, seem to have been remarkably ambivalent about missionary endeavors during the late fourth century, especially with respect to the barbarian peoples beyond the borders of the empire.Footnote 6 In fact, much of the evidence for Christian mission during this period has been rightfully characterized as “mission from below”—that is, conducted by freelance individuals, including slaves, prisoners, soldiers, traders, and wandering ascetics, who have been aptly described as “missionaries without a mission as such.”Footnote 7
In this climate of relative episcopal disinterest, John Chrysostom stands apart for his support of a number of missionary endeavors as the bishop of Constantinople (circa 397–404 CE). To the north, he promoted the Christianization of the Goths by sending missionaries across the Danube, overseeing the appointment of Gothic bishops beyond the Crimean peninsula, and even establishing a Gothic parish in the capital.Footnote 8 To the east, he concerned himself with the progress of missionary efforts in Persia.Footnote 9 Finally, during his exile, he devoted significant energy and resources to orchestrate a mission in Phoenicia.Footnote 10 It should be noted, however, that Chrysostom did not designate his endeavors as “mission” or his agents as “missionaries,” for the simple reason that such terminology was not extant among Greek-speaking Christians at this time.Footnote 11 Instead, he spoke in terms of activities related to the propagation of Christianity (for example, conversion of pagans, construction of churches, and so on) and referred to the local leader of a mission as its “manager” (oikonomos), while other missionaries were variously identified as presbyters, monks, and brothers.Footnote 12 And yet, the striking absence of similar efforts by his peers highlights his exceptional behavior. This peculiar willingness to initiate and oversee missionary endeavors has long been explained as the product of Chrysostom's “pure religious enthusiasm.”Footnote 13 J. H. W. G. Liebeschuetz further diagnosed his “missionary zeal” as “the expression of a personality exceptionally determined not to be swayed by the cultural (not racial) prejudice which induced the educated inhabitants of the Empire to despise mere barbarians.”Footnote 14 But such a characterization prompts an important question: were there no other fourth-century bishops with comparable religious zeal? Besides the fact that “zeal” is nearly impossible to accurately assess, the enormous output of contemporary theological literature and pastoral activity makes this claim highly dubious. It is, therefore, insufficient to claim that Chrysostom's religious zeal in and of itself explains his missionary activity.
This essay argues, instead, that John Chrysostom developed his distinctive outlook on mission during his formative years as a young presbyter in Antioch. The first section introduces Chrysostom's life in Antioch, during which he moved up through the ranks of the clergy and cultivated unusually close relationships with his episcopal mentors. The following three sections examine how these men sought to rekindle the see of Antioch's missionary aspirations. The missionary legacy of Antioch had begun, of course, with the city's role as a vital base of operations for the mission to the Gentiles during the apostolic age.Footnote 15 While in the centuries that followed the city was hardly known as a bastion of such activity, the Christians of Antioch remained well aware of the prestige of their missionary past. For instance, with the city poised to lose its metropolitan status following the Riot of the Statues in 387, Chrysostom reassured Antiochene Christians that their dignity was not derived from this title, but rather from their city's apostolic heritage, embodied in their role in spreading the Gospel to the ends of the earth.Footnote 16 And, as we shall see, Chrysostom's mentors undertook efforts to promote the Christianization of the Syrian countryside and asserted jurisdictional authority over regions outside of the Roman Empire.Footnote 17 These Antiochene endeavors also coincided with, and perhaps served as the impetus for, Chrysostom's promotion of the apostle Paul as Christianity's missionary exemplar.Footnote 18 The next section, therefore, explores Chrysostom's presentation of a scriptural rationale for mission, in which his unceasing desire to emulate Paul functioned as the mechanism that justified mission in his own day. I conclude with a case study of Chrysostom's oversight of a mission in Phoenicia, examining the extent to which he put these Antiochene missionary strategies into practice as a bishop himself.
I. The Young Apprentice: John Chrysostom and the See of Antioch
Born in the bustling metropolis of Antioch around 350, for most of his life, John Chrysostom served the city's bishop in one capacity or another. Or, more precisely, he served one of its bishops. The Christian community in Antioch fractured into several factions during Chrysostom's youth; when he was baptized (circa 368), he had to choose which of the city's three bishops would receive his allegiance.Footnote 19 He cast his lot with the Nicene Meletius, and the bishop soon enlisted the teenager as his personal aide.Footnote 20 Chrysostom served in this capacity for three years until he joined the ranks of the Antiochene clergy with his appointment as a lector (circa 371). The two were separated when Meletius was exiled again (circa 371–378), and at the same time, Chrysostom withdrew from the city to live as a monk in the nearby mountains. According to Palladius, Chrysostom's failing health eventually forced him back to the city.Footnote 21 But it is perhaps not coincidental that his return was simultaneous with Meletius's.Footnote 22 Chrysostom resumed his duties as lector, and after several years, Meletius promoted him to the diaconate (circa late 380/early 381).Footnote 23 The elderly bishop passed away later that year at the Council of Constantinople. The full extent of Chrysostom's ecclesiastical responsibilities during this period remains murky, but the longevity of his service and his close proximity to Meletius speaks to the sizable influence that the bishop would have exerted on Chrysostom's formation.
Chrysostom's tutelage was subsequently taken up by Flavian, who was consecrated as Meletius's successor. The new bishop had also been a faithful servant of Meletius, as well as an ascetic.Footnote 24 Therefore, it comes as no surprise that Chrysostom warmly embraced him.Footnote 25 Flavian was likewise fond of Chrysostom and eventually ordained him to the priesthood (circa 386). The bishop and the presbyter then labored closely together for twelve years until the latter was promoted to the see of Constantinople.Footnote 26 During his tenure as presbyter, Chrysostom was tasked with a range of typical liturgical duties, including teaching, preaching, and officiating the Eucharistic liturgy (especially if the bishop was absent), as well as various administrative tasks akin to those he had performed as a deacon. However, his pastoral responsibilities differed from his peers insofar as Flavian apparently selected him to serve as his personal assistant and the main preacher for the Nicene community in the city.Footnote 27 The particulars of his service, such as his specific congregational assignments (if any), remain debated. Yet one enticing possibility deserves mention. As a presbyter in Antioch, Chrysostom may have assisted to some extent with a mission in Phoenicia. This mission, its probable Antiochene origins, and Chrysostom's possible involvement will be addressed in the final section of the essay.Footnote 28 For now, however, I will turn to the activities of his episcopal mentors, who were, in their own ways, seeking to rejuvenate the missionary ambitions of the see of Antioch.
II. Christianizing the Syrian Countryside: The See of Antioch's Missionary Ascetics
Chrysostom's preference for employing ascetics as missionaries has long been recognized.Footnote 29 Likewise, the significant contribution made by ascetics to the conversion of the rural areas of the Roman Empire is well established.Footnote 30 But, in the latter case, these ascetics were, more often than not, engaged in freelance activity. Why, then, did Chrysostom prefer to utilize monks? Ivo Auf der Maur attributed this to the bishop's distinctive theology, which held that monastic spirituality culminated in missionary service.Footnote 31 But it seems doubtful that Chrysostom would have affirmed that missionary service, rather than pastoral ministry, was the apex of ascetic devotion. Moreover, Auf der Maur overlooks how Chrysostom's partiality for ascetic missionaries mirrors the behavior of his Antiochene episcopal mentor. Chrysostom followed in the footsteps of Flavian, who utilized ascetics as rural clergy to implement the Canons of Antioch's prescriptions for the Christianization of the countryside.
The Canons of Antioch, traditionally attributed to the Dedication Council in 341, provide an important window into the efforts of fourth-century bishops to address mission-related issues.Footnote 32 In particular, the issues of mission, episcopal jurisdiction, and pastoral expectations for the Christianization of rural districts are addressed in the eighth, ninth, and tenth canons, which concern rural clergy, especially country bishops (chorepiskopoi). These canons did not create some new type of rural clergy but operated under the assumption that such offices already existed.Footnote 33 Taken together, they signaled the council's intent to clarify the responsibilities, both pastoral and jurisdictional, of those participating in the countryside's Christianization. For instance, whatever provincial bishops had previously thought about their obligations to neighboring rural districts, the ninth canon firmly established that their office now required them to “take charge of the whole region.”Footnote 34 Moreover, this canon not only clarified rural bishops’ power over their districts, but also reasserted the authority of the metropolitan over the provinces. As a result, the see of Antioch's central role in managing the Christianization of the entire diocese was further inscribed.
These canons also reflected some anxiety about the rural clergy insofar as the eighth and tenth canons sought to rein in their autonomous power and privileges. But these efforts to restrict rural clergy should not be construed as an effort to abolish them. In fact, by tasking the chorepiskopoi with overseeing their rural churches and giving them the ability to appoint readers, subdeacons, and exorcists, the tenth canon confirms how much the council believed rural clerics were critical to the Christianization of the countryside.
While it is difficult to assess how these particular canons were treated in other jurisdictions, there is evidence to suggest that the see of Antioch implemented them during Chrysostom's formative years. Frans van de Paverd first teased out this activity from a pair of Chrysostom's homilies addressing the noticeable presence of Syriac-speaking Christians in the midst of the urban Greek-speaking congregation.Footnote 35 In these homilies, it seems fairly clear that these men “who have streamed into our assembly from the country . . . and [speak a] barbarous tongue” were some kind of Syrian clergy who lived the “angelic life.”Footnote 36 Yet they were not the monks who lived in close proximity to the city, because Chrysostom describes how these individuals had undertaken a long journey to join them.Footnote 37 The homilies provide no further details about their identity or the purpose of their visits. That said, van de Paverd compellingly argues that the ninth canon of Antioch provides the best explanation for their presence: these visitors were, according to this interpretation, country bishops and presbyters from the surrounding region tasked by Flavian with carrying out the Christianization of the rural districts under his jurisdiction.Footnote 38 Moreover, van de Paverd proposes that these visits likely occurred on an annual basis, because each visit seems to coincide with a martyr festival.Footnote 39 Since the tenth canon obliged the rural clergy to bring new candidates for ordination to the bishop, as well as to discuss any ecclesiastical matters with him, it makes sense that they would undertake trips to Antioch on a regular basis.
By employing these rural clerics to manage the Christianization of the Syrian countryside, Flavian (and possibly Meletius before him) appears to have implemented the localized mission strategy expressly mandated by the Canons of Antioch during Chrysostom's formative years in Antioch. Of course, neither the Canons of Antioch nor Chrysostom's homilies provide an explanation for Flavian's decision to utilize these individuals for this task, but it probably stemmed from the intensity of the ascetics’ loyalty to the bishop,Footnote 40 their ability to interact with fellow Syrians in the rural districts, and the asceticization of pastoral care in Antioch. Their selection was significant because it provided the template for missionaries that Chrysostom himself would later adopt: ascetics (often ordained as wellFootnote 41) who exhibited loyalty to the bishop in charge of the mission and possessed the necessary language skills to interact with the local population.
III. Desacralizing the Syrian Landscape: The Anti-Temple Campaign of the 380s
As bishop of Constantinople, Chrysostom appears to have supported the destruction of pagan temples as an integral part of mission work.Footnote 42 And, as we shall see, he probably instructed his missionaries in Phoenicia to destroy temples and build churches in their place. At first glance, this seems rather conventional, as the discourse of Christian mission in late antiquity frequently promoted the desacralization of the pagan landscape—that is, the destruction of temples—as a requisite first step in the Christianization of physical space. Numerous hagiographical accounts reframe the violence of the missionary saints toward these places of traditional worship as the triumphant purging of demonic occupying forces.Footnote 43 This discourse has been so compelling that the narrative of an early and decisive campaign of eradication in the fourth and fifth centuries remains well-ensconced orthodoxy in modern scholarship.Footnote 44 But the reality of such activity has recently come into question, especially as new archaeological findings are published. We are discovering that, contrary to this triumphal narrative, fourth-century paganism had already begun to neglect and abandon many of its temples without any connection to the rise of Christianity. More importantly, the actual destruction of pagan temples by Christians appears to have been rare and often much later than the narrative suggests.Footnote 45 Yet, if the eradication of pagan temples was not widely practiced, why did Chrysostom seem to think it was an essential part of missionary activity? Once again, his Antiochene formation may have played a significant role. More specifically, he would have learned firsthand from Flavian, who allegedly supported an outbreak of temple destruction in the Antiochene countryside, about the importance of eradicating pagan temples from one's episcopal jurisdiction.Footnote 46
According to the pagan orator Libanius, a gang of thuggish monks, who called themselves a rural police force,Footnote 47 conducted a widespread campaign of terror and destruction against the pagan temples and their estates in the countryside surrounding Antioch. Besides laying waste to the temples and assaulting pagan priests,Footnote 48 Libanius claims these monks ransacked estates, robbed peasants, plundered stores, stole livestock, and sometimes even confiscated the property itself.Footnote 49 Since he views the monks as the main culprits, Libanius understandably focuses on them. But he also scathingly targets two other complicit individuals. First, he criticizes an unnamed official whom he derides as “a scoundrel hated of the gods.”Footnote 50 Second, he declares that the destructive activity of these monks was endorsed, and possibly even orchestrated, by Flavian.Footnote 51
After the attacks had begun, some of the victims apparently sought justice and recompense in the episcopal court in Antioch. Yet, according to Libanius, Flavian not only ignored their pleas but even praised the looting monks.Footnote 52 The orator does not explain why these individuals tried to make use of the episcopal court, but it is reasonable to assume that they did so because they recognized some kind of association between the bishop and those who had wronged them. Perhaps they thought the bishop held some sway over them or believed he was responsible for the monks’ travesties and, as a result, owed them recompense. This alleged relationship may be of further significance for the nature of the monks’ campaign. At several points, Libanius acknowledges that the activity demonstrated a remarkable degree of strategy and organization.Footnote 53 It is, of course, possible that they were responsible for their own planning and coordination. But there is little question that the bishop, with his considerable clout and vast institutional support system, would have been an ideal candidate to supervise the monks’ campaign. There is also the curious fact that Libanius's thuggish monks were operating in the same rural districts as Flavian's missionary ascetics, raising the distinct possibility that they were one and the same. If so, Flavian would have necessarily exercised some measure of control over their activities. Finally, in the religious context of Antioch, which included multiple bishops with competing claims to authority, this campaign would have provided Flavian with the perfect opportunity to flex his muscles as the bishop of Antioch, just as Porphyry of Gaza purportedly used the destruction of pagan temples to show “both a new city image and the ascendancy of different benefactors who used new paradigms of prestige and authority.”Footnote 54 Given the circumstances, it seems unlikely that the monks described by Libanius would have been operating independently of Flavian. It is, therefore, doubtful that the bishop was merely an indifferent judge.
In the end, Libanius clearly wanted the emperor to know that Flavian was at least unwilling to stop the monks and thus, at a minimum, complicit in the destruction. The circumstances further suggest that the bishop actively aided the monks in their efforts to obliterate what Libanius considered “the soul of the countryside.”Footnote 55 But even if Flavian only offered his public endorsement of the monks’ campaign, the episode still reveals that Chrysostom's episcopal mentor supported the desacralization of the pagan landscape during the presbyter's formative years. And in light of the current reassessment of Christian attitudes toward pagan temples during this period, Flavian's embrace of the monks’ campaign offers a compelling explanation for why Chrysostom's own mission strategy would have entailed this possibly peculiar activity.
IV. Expanding Influence Abroad: Mission and the Second Canon of Constantinople (381)
One of the most surprising aspects of the missionary endeavors supported by Chrysostom in Constantinople is that many of them were extra-jurisdictional—that is, mission work carried out beyond the provincial boundaries of an episcopal see or, more importantly, beyond the boundaries of the Roman Empire. Panteleimon Rodopoulos has suggested that Chrysostom's motivation for this type of mission was driven by his desire to realize the primacy of the see of Constantinople as envisioned in 381 by the third canon of the Council of Constantinople.Footnote 56 While this canon may have functioned as a catalyst, it was the second canon that provided the critical mechanism for undertaking such endeavors.Footnote 57 More specifically, it established that mission was one of the only canonically acceptable instruments for exerting episcopal influence beyond established provincial boundaries. The significance of the second canon for Chrysostom's outlook on mission emerges from the canon's possible Antiochene formulation and, more importantly, its subsequent use by the bishops of Antioch.
At the conclusion of the council's proceedings in 381, the bishops submitted four canons to Theodosius for his approval, including a reaffirmation of the Nicene Creed, a clarification of episcopal jurisdiction, the elevation in episcopal ranking of the bishop of Constantinople to second behind Rome, and a complete renunciation of Maximus the Cynic's brief episcopate in Constantinople. These canons, with the exception of the first, demonstrate how the bishops assembled in Constantinople were chiefly concerned with clarifying the parameters of episcopal jurisdiction in order to halt the ongoing problems caused by bishops interfering in other provinces. In particular, these canons censured the bishop of Alexandria for his meddling, especially his recent and unwarranted participation in Maximus the Cynic's scandalous election.Footnote 58 In an attempt to prevent any further controversies, the bishops established a policy for jurisdictional boundary maintenance. The second canon demonstrates that the eastern bishops continued to adopt the principle of accommodation, with ecclesiastical organization modeled after the political organization of the Roman Empire.Footnote 59 Furthermore, as shown by the final clause, the bishops recognized that, in employing such an organizational structure, they also needed to address the anomalies created by the presence of barbarian churches. Thus the canon concluded: “But the churches of God among barbarian peoples must be administered in accordance with the custom in force at the time of the fathers.”Footnote 60
Some have posited that this “barbarian clause” signals the bishops’ begrudging acceptance of Gothic Homoian Christianity, especially within the empire, as the status quo.Footnote 61 But such a claim is problematic on two counts. First, the perceived need to accept Gothic Homoian Christianity is largely predicated on the belief that all Goths were Homoian, which was not the case.Footnote 62 With an ongoing competition between Homoian and Nicene factions over Gothic souls, it seems unlikely that these Nicene bishops would have ceded the field at this point. Second, although the bishops did not identify the locations of these barbarian churches, and increasing numbers of barbarians had settled within the bounds of the empire, this clause necessarily addressed the barbarian churches located outside of the Roman Empire. Otherwise, as Vlassios Pheidas has noted, it would have created chaos by contradicting the preceding instructions for respecting jurisdictional boundaries.Footnote 63
The barbarian churches in question were not only beyond the political boundaries of the empire but also associated irregularly with Roman bishops. And without established rules, jurisdictional crises followed. For example, in the 370s, the king of Armenia sought a new bishop from Anthimus of Tyana instead of from Basil of Caesarea, even though the Armenian church had been overseen by the bishop of Caesarea for decades.Footnote 64 The “barbarian clause,” therefore, attempted to avoid further problems by directing bishops to adhere to the established custom. Yet, since it did not explicitly enumerate what that entailed, it appears that whatever relations were first established between a bishop within the Roman Empire and a barbarian church, however unusual, should be maintained as the status quo.
Ralph Mathisen has suggested that the barbarian clause “may have resulted in opportunism by other ambitious Roman patriarchs.”Footnote 65 But the significance of the clause represents more than mere opportunism. The explosion of fourth-century councils that dealt with episcopal jurisdiction by restricting extra-jurisdictional influence and activity demonstrates the serious and persistent problems caused by bishops failing to respect the rules of jurisdiction.Footnote 66 One possible exception to this policy of boundary conservatism, however, appears to have been established in this clause. In other words, the creation of new relations with barbarians outside of the empire functioned as one of the only canonically acceptable instruments for extending episcopal influence beyond the territorial bounds of a see.Footnote 67 Because of the acknowledged abnormality of the relationship between a barbarian church and its Roman episcopal overseer, in these situations, Roman bishops were exempted from the normal restrictions against extra-jurisdictional activity so often prohibited in the fourth-century canons. Furthermore, a bishop's ability to extend his influence was not dictated by whether or not his province was contiguous with the barbarian territory where he sought to establish a mission.
This canon, and its barbarian clause, is also significant for the rebirth of Antiochene mission in two other ways. First, it was, in all likelihood, shaped by a distinctively Antiochene attitude toward mission. Even though Meletius died during the council and Nectarius probably oversaw the final publication of the canons, the former appears to have exerted his influence on the formulation of this canon prior to his death.Footnote 68 In fact, Socrates records that Meletius was still alive and presiding over the council when it grappled with the matters of jurisdiction.Footnote 69 It is also unlikely that any policy with such wide-ranging implications for jurisdiction could have been formulated without the presiding bishop's approval, which suggests that this new policy for regulating relations with barbarian churches would have been at least tacitly endorsed by Meletius. Moreover, if Meletius proposed this canon, it would represent an attempt to inscribe an Antiochene approach to mission on the wider church while simultaneously protecting the extra-jurisdictional ambitions of the see of Antioch. For these reasons, we cannot ignore the possibility that Meletius was involved in the formulation of the second canon. Second, the bishops of Antioch had already, for all intents and purposes, put the basic principle of the barbarian clause into practice through their claims of episcopal authority over regions outside of their immediate jurisdiction. More specifically, during Chrysostom's formative years, the bishops of Antioch sought to gain control over the entire diocese of the Orient and even asserted jurisdictional claims over Persia and Arabia.Footnote 70 Therefore, since Chrysostom honed his pastoral craft under bishops who used—and possibly even formulated—the second canon to increase the reach of their jurisdiction, he would have arrived in Constantinople armed with the conviction that his episcopal prerogatives entailed the expansion of his authority over barbarian regions beyond the empire.
V. Justifying Mission in Antioch: Chrysostom's Promotion of Pauline Mission
Chrysostom's sense of obligation to engage in mission was further influenced by his desire to emulate the apostle Paul as a missionary—a conviction that he notably articulated as a young presbyter in Antioch. Although his admiration of Paul has been recognized as a defining feature of his theology and pastoral care, Chrysostom's portrayal of the apostle as the exemplary Christian missionary, and the significance of this portrayal, remains largely overlooked.Footnote 71 His conception of Pauline mission is especially significant in light of the pervasive absence of a scriptural imperative for mission within early Christianity. In fact, despite the modern proclivity to construe Jesus's apostolic commission to spread the faith to the ends of the earth as an ongoing obligation for all Christians, early Christian writers did not see this obligation as ongoing.Footnote 72 Instead, the prevailing view was that the apostles had already fulfilled this task by successfully delivering the message of salvation to the nations.Footnote 73 The number of non-missiological interpretations of the apostolic commission texts, such as those offered by Tertullian, Cyprian, Epiphanius, and Eusebius, further confirms this belief.Footnote 74
Chrysostom's own view of apostolic mission appears, at first glance, to conform to this consensus. He embraced the notion that “twelve poor and uneducated men” had proclaimed the message of salvation to the whole world, even to those living at the ends of the earth.Footnote 75 He also offered a non-missiological interpretation of the apostolic commission in Matthew, emphasizing Jesus's command to teach.Footnote 76 Yet Chrysostom's theology of apostolic mission was much more robust and expansive than the status quo. For example, he employed the Matthean commission text to argue that if his congregation were to participate in the ongoing conversion of the nations, then God would remain faithful to them, because the promise of divine fidelity was made not only to the twelve apostles but also to those who follow after them.Footnote 77 Nowhere is his divergence from the prevailing view more apparent than in his conviction that Paul's missionary adventures ought to inspire new mission work in his own day.
This distinctive appraisal of Paul can be found throughout Chrysostom's homiletic corpus. For example, he describes Paul as one who had been commissioned just like the other apostles,Footnote 78 juxtaposes Paul's missionary success against the failure of the Greek philosophers to convert anyone,Footnote 79 and invites his congregation to imagine the scope of the twelve apostles’ mission work in light of what Paul accomplished by himself: “Do you see him running from Jerusalem to Spain? And if he took so large a portion, consider what the rest also wrought!”Footnote 80 But his most vivid portrayal of Paul as a missionary can be found in his seven homilies in praise of Paul.Footnote 81 These homilies, which were delivered in Antioch around 390, offer a striking portrait of the apostle's mission and enable the presbyter to justify a contemporary commitment to mission.Footnote 82
Chrysostom frames Paul as the Christian missionary par excellence because, whereas “angels are given charge of different nations,” the entire world was bestowed upon Paul. The apostle's missionary legacy reverberates centuries later because “not a single one of them [that is, the angels] so managed the nation with which he was entrusted as Paul did the whole world.”Footnote 83 Chrysostom also repeatedly affirms that Paul's scope was not merely limited to the known world of the empire. The apostle spread Christianity to “all the land upon which the sun casts its gaze”Footnote 84 and “set straight, not just the civilized world, but also the uninhabited territory; not just Greece, but the barbarian land, as well.”Footnote 85 This triumph was especially impressive because he “led the entire human race—Romans, Persians, Indians, Scythians, Ethiopians, Sauromatians, Parthians, Medes and Saracenes—singly to the truth; and in less than thirty years at that!”Footnote 86 Furthermore, whereas emperors and their armies could not defeat the barbarians abroad, Paul, whom Chrysostom describes as no more than an unskilled, poor, and undistinguished preacher with a non-alluring, scandalous message addressed to a bunch of nobodies, managed to conquer the whole world.Footnote 87 Even the opposition to Paul's mission was more daunting than what anyone else had faced. For instance, while Abraham confronted savage barbarians when he sought to rescue his nephew and several cities, Paul had to save “the whole world, not from barbarians, but from the very hand of the demons.”Footnote 88 For this reason, the fruit of Paul's missionary work was truly astonishing: “Taking on board wolves, he made them sheep, and taking on hawks and jackdaws, he completely transformed them into doves.”Footnote 89
Although Chrysostom celebrated Paul's mission as a resounding success, he still believed the work was not yet finished. By explicitly associating Paul's missionary activities with an appeal to emulate the apostle, Chrysostom demonstrated to his congregation that apostolic mission was not simply a thing of the past.Footnote 90 According to Chrysostom, contemporary mission-minded emulation would also benefit from an ascetic faith, as he portrayed Paul's own asceticism as a key feature of his preparation for global mission.Footnote 91 However, a miraculous faith was not required. Chrysostom, in fact, reassured his Antiochene audience that the imitation of Paul would not necessarily entail supernatural endeavors: “Now don't speak to me of the dead he raised, nor the lepers he cleansed. God will not demand any of these things from you.”Footnote 92 Instead, he admonished them, it was more important to embrace Paul's virtue and love for all humanity.Footnote 93
What did Chrysostom seek to accomplish with these homilies? Although the circumstances of their delivery and the makeup of the audience remain murky, several possibilities can be ventured.Footnote 94 Since the renewal of the see of Antioch's missionary ambitions coincided with the delivery of these homilies, this unusual promotion of Pauline mission appears to represent Chrysostom's leverage of the pulpit into support for Antiochene missionary endeavors. On a more personal level, his portrait of Paul may reflect Chrysostom's need to justify his own commitment to mission. For, as Margaret Mitchell has convincingly argued, Chrysostom's use of Pauline portraiture is an exercise in self-presentation.Footnote 95 Put another way, what Chrysostom says about the apostle is really what he wants to say about himself. But why would he need to justify such a commitment to mission at this point? The homilies could represent a simple demonstration of solidarity with his bishop. Yet it is entirely possible that Chrysostom had been personally involved with the administration of one or more Antiochene missionary endeavors. Given his role as Flavian's special assistant, it would make sense that his responsibilities included helping with the important missionary activities being overseen by his bishop. Moreover, as I will discuss next, it is possible that Chrysostom's exilic support for the mission in Phoenicia stemmed from his earlier involvement with it as an Antiochene presbyter. Finally, Chrysostom's efforts to recruit missionaries for his Phoenician and Gothic missions further suggest that these homilies could have additionally functioned as an appeal to the members of his Antiochene community, especially fellow clerics and those with ascetic sensibilities, to volunteer for the missionary endeavors supported by the see of Antioch.Footnote 96
VI. John Chrysostom's Mission in Phoenicia
Among the various missions that Chrysostom helped administer as the bishop of Constantinople, the well-documented mission in Phoenicia offers an ideal case study for examining his own approach to mission.Footnote 97 Roughly a dozen of the bishop's exilic letters help to illuminate the enterprise, and it is also described in Theodoret's Ecclesiastical History. Yet the two sources are difficult to harmonize. According to Theodoret, after the bishop of Constantinople learned about the persistence of paganism in Phoenicia, he organized and dispatched a group of missionary monks, armed with imperial rescripts and funded by wealthy women, to destroy temples in the region.Footnote 98 But this report raises more questions than it answers. Was Theodoret describing events that occurred during Chrysostom's tenure in Constantinople (and prior to his exile), for which we have no other corroboration? And if so, why would the bishop initiate a mission clearly outside of his jurisdictional authority? Alternatively, if the ecclesiastical historian was describing events that took place during Chrysostom's exile, would the emperor have really issued such an edict on behalf of a bishop with a history of jurisdiction issues and whom he had recently exiled for the second time? Theodoret's version of events was probably informed by Chrysostom's exilic correspondence, while also drawing upon his expectation that the destruction of Phoenician temples would have been imperially mandated and his awareness that Chrysostom oftentimes depended upon female patrons.Footnote 99 As a result, the exiled bishop's correspondence must be privileged and uncorroborated details in Theodoret's account should be treated with caution.
Why did Chrysostom, as an exiled bishop (of Constantinople, no less), concern himself with this mission in the first place? Contrary to Theodoret's depiction, it is highly unlikely that Chrysostom established the mission himself, because it was obviously outside of his jurisdiction. Instead, Chrysostom's correspondence indicates that the mission was already well underway when he became involved. While he fails to mention its origins, the circumstances suggest that it was originally an Antiochene mission. Thus, Chrysostom's involvement appears to have been sparked by the desire to help his former Antiochene faction maintain its control over the endeavor. According to Epistle 221, Chrysostom believed the Antiochene presbyter Constantius should have been in charge of the mission, presumably because Constantius was supposed to become the bishop of Antioch after Flavian's death.Footnote 100 But Chrysostom's enemies had thwarted his election.Footnote 101 And neither could Chrysostom trust the bishops of Phoenicia after Antiochus of Ptolemais joined the cabal responsible for his first deposition.Footnote 102 As a result, Chrysostom likely viewed his unusual intervention as a necessary measure to help safeguard the mission for his beleaguered ally.Footnote 103 Of course, it is a tantalizing possibility that this Antiochene mission had been established before Chrysostom departed the city for the imperial capital; alas, we do not know. But if the mission had predated his episcopal promotion, Chrysostom would have undoubtedly known about it. It is even possible, given the nature of his service to both Meletius and Flavian, that Chrysostom had been tasked with helping to facilitate the mission. In fact, the exiled bishop may have attributed the administration of the mission to Constantius if the Antiochene presbyter had inherited this responsibility from Chrysostom seven years earlier.Footnote 104 Furthermore, such an assignment would help to explain Chrysostom's promotion of Pauline mission during his tenure as an Antiochene presbyter. Either way, Chrysostom had obviously learned about the mission by the time of his exile, and as we shall see, he devoted considerable energy to overseeing it.
Shortly after Chrysostom's second and final deposition in June 404, he wrote a letter to Constantius, a presbyter in Antioch, addressing an ongoing mission in Phoenicia.Footnote 105 The bishop was worried the work might be derailed by pagan resistance and encouraged Constantius to continue his oversight. He did not explain precisely where these missionaries were operating, but with at least twelve bishops in the region, it stands to reason that the mission was targeting smaller towns and rural villages. In this letter, the bishop's enthusiasm for the project is particularly evident in a description of his recruitment to the cause of a hermit-monk living outside of Nicaea.Footnote 106 Three months later, Chrysostom sent three additional letters related to the mission. In the first, he thanked Nicoloas, a presbyter and monk in Zeugma, for sending extra monks to join the mission and recommended that the presbyter Gerontius be dispatched as well.Footnote 107 Given this request, it is understandable that he also beseeched Gerontius—the addressee of the second letter—to recruit additional men for the mission and informed him of Constantius's support.Footnote 108 In the third letter, Chrysostom encouraged the presbyters and monks who were working in Phoenicia and assured them that the requisite supplies for the mission would be dispatched.Footnote 109 The bishop also noted that he had made arrangements for the presbyter John, who presumably was taking over the local administration of the mission, to join them.Footnote 110 Later that winter, Chrysostom wrote to a wealthy layman named Alphius, who was probably from Antioch or Zeugma, in order to thank him for sending the aforementioned John and funding the presbyter's undertaking.Footnote 111 At the same time, the bishop wrote to Symeon and Mares, who were presbyters in charge of a monastery in Apamea, in the hope that they might be able to recruit additional monks for the mission in Phoenicia currently being led by John.Footnote 112 The mission subsequently suffered a setback when, according to Chrysostom, there was an outbreak of pagan violence against the missionaries and several were killed.Footnote 113 To prevent the mission from falling into further disarray, Chrysostom sought additional support in the summer of 405. He urged the presbyter Rufinus to depart at once for Phoenicia to restore order to the mission and seemed to think that the presbyter could quell the pagan hostility in the area.Footnote 114 He also wrote to another wealthy layman named Diogenes and requested that Aphraat (presumably a monk and/or presbyter) be dispatched to help with the management of the mission.Footnote 115 Chrysostom later revealed that the presbyter John had departed Phoenicia and joined him near the end of 405, and he thanked Nicoloas for his efforts on behalf on the Phoenician mission the following spring.Footnote 116 But, after this point, there is no further evidence that Chrysostom undertook any actions on behalf of the mission.
Drawing on this correspondence, we can ascertain several features of Chrysostom's mission strategy. First, he clearly exhibits a preference for employing monks and presbyters (oftentimes ascetics as well) as the primary agents of mission.Footnote 117 It is unclear if there were any language barriers between these missionaries and the Phoenician population, but Chrysostom's Gothic mission demonstrates that he did prioritize sending missionaries with the requisite language skills when necessary.Footnote 118 The missionaries in Phoenicia were also managed by a presbyter, while the bishop centrally orchestrated the mission's affairs. As the overall leader, Chrysostom was responsible for the coordination of the mission's administration (including selection of its managers), the recruitment of suitable missionaries, and the procurement of financial backing from wealthy lay patrons. It may be further significant that, despite Theodoret's suspect claim, the Phoenician mission (as well as Chrysostom's other missionary endeavors) appears not to have had imperial support.
The correspondence offers few specifics about the activities of these missionaries. Yet there are some notable descriptions of what Chrysostom expected of them. The bishop was primarily concerned with the construction of churches. In addition to his request that Constantius keep him apprised of such progress,Footnote 119 Chrysostom also implored Aphraat (via Diogenes) and Rufinus to finish the churches’ roofs before the coming winter.Footnote 120 This architectural urgency may have been prompted by Chrysostom's arrangements with Otreius, bishop of Arabissos, to send martyrs’ relics to Phoenicia around that time, presumably to be interred in these churches.Footnote 121 Additionally, Chrysostom tasked his missionaries with “the demolition of paganism.”Footnote 122 He did not clarify the meaning of this phrase when he asked for an update on its progress, so it may be nothing more than his way of describing the work of converting pagans in the region. However, it probably referred more specifically to the destruction of pagan temples. Indeed, such activity better explains the outburst of pagan violence directed at the missionaries. Of course, the request for a report does not necessarily imply an endorsement of such destruction. Yet ps-Martyrius, who had been a close companion of the bishop, reported that the bishop also dispatched “the chosen soldiers of Christ to distant parts to wage war against them through the destruction of temples and idols and through the planting of churches, for he knew that they were waging war equally on both fronts.”Footnote 123 It is feasible that this rendering of Chrysostom was motivated by the hagiographical topos of the holy bishop who triumphed over paganism, but it seems more likely that ps-Martyrius was reporting his firsthand knowledge of Chrysostom's instructions to his missionaries. Therefore, given the nature of Chrysostom's request to his missionaries and ps-Martyrius's recollection of the bishop's missionary endeavors, it appears that Chrysostom envisioned the destruction of pagan temples as part and parcel of the undertaking of Christian mission.
It is also important to recognize how Chrysostom's missionary undertakings related to matters of jurisdictional authority. Put another way, did the bishop expand his jurisdictional authority via mission? His involvement in Phoenicia was a bit unusual since it was likely predicated on his desire to help the displaced Constantius maintain control of the mission. Thus, this particular mission did not necessarily require the assertion of extra-jurisdictional claims, at least in the terms laid out in the second canon of Constantinople. At the same time, it would have been highly unusual for a bishop of Constantinople to exercise any kind of authority in the diocese of the Orient. Furthermore, looking beyond the Phoenician mission, Chrysostom's interest in the progress of mission work in Persia and, more importantly, his tireless efforts to promote the Christianization of the Goths outside of the empire clearly reflect a keen interest in the expansion of his extra-jurisdictional authority via mission.
VII. Conclusion
Given the spotty record of deliberate missionary activity orchestrated by Nicene bishops in the late fourth century, Chrysostom's missionary endeavors are peculiar and warrant explanation. To this end, I have focused on Chrysostom's formation in Antioch and its influence on his subsequent approach to mission as the bishop of Constantinople. What is most telling is that the key features of Chrysostom's mission strategy bear the hallmarks of the activities of his episcopal mentors in Antioch, who devoted themselves in varying ways to the rebirth of the see's missionary aspirations. First, Chrysostom's preference for missionary monks mirrors Flavian's employment of ascetically inclined, Syriac-speaking clergy to implement the Canons of Antioch, which expressly laid out the parameters for the oversight and administration of rural regions. Second, Chrysostom's promotion of the destruction of pagan temples emulates Flavian's own endorsement, and possible orchestration, of the monks’ campaign to obliterate the temples dotting the Syrian countryside, as described by Libanius. While our sources do not explicitly link these two strategies, Chrysostom's behavior suggests that his episcopal mentors operated under the assumption that Christianization entailed the interrelated tasks of tearing down paganism (spiritually and physically) and building up churches (in terms of converts and buildings). Such a conclusion is even more inescapable if Libanius's thuggish monks were the same rural clergy controlled by Flavian. Third, we can see glimpses of Antiochene antecedents in Chrysostom's use of presbyters to oversee the local administration of a mission while he managed its overall coordination, including recruitment and fundraising, although the dearth of evidence prevents further elaboration on this point. Fourth, Chrysostom's desire to expand his own extra-jurisdictional authority as the bishop of Constantinople, especially with his mission to the Goths, parallels the ambitions of his episcopal mentors. Finally, these various Antiochene efforts pivotally coincided with Chrysostom's promotion of mission, which entailed urging others to emulate the apostle Paul. All told, this overall assessment is significant for the broader study of John Chrysostom because, along with the work of Wendy Mayer and Justin Stephens, it further supports privileging Chrysostom's formative experiences in Antioch as we seek to understand his later actions as the bishop of Constantinople.Footnote 124 Ultimately, Chrysostom's peculiar commitment to mission did not stem merely from his religious enthusiasm, but rather was the product of his Antiochene formation as well as of his own unparalleled commitment to emulation of the apostle Paul, who was, in his estimation, Christianity's missionary exemplar.
