The three volumes reviewed here are offered as (I hope) a representative ‘cross-section’ of recent Polish scholarship on Late Antiquity. Chronologically and thematically related, they also usefully illustrate something of current methods and styles of research. (A wider survey of interests is most conveniently represented by recent issues of Palamedes: A Journal of Ancient History, published jointly by the University of Warsaw and Lockwood Press.)

The volume on Constantinople (Inhabitants of the Capital of the World) comprises three chapters, each by a different author. The chapter by Andrzej Kompa (‘Mieszkańcy Konstantynopola w oczach intelektualistów miejscowej proweniencji — The Inhabitants of Constantinople in the Eyes of Intellectuals of Local Provenance’ (3–306)) is particularly noteworthy — not least for its size! K. has selected thirty-six Constantinopolitan authors who lived in the city for at least ten years. K. admits that this criterion is arbitrary, but against the mobility of intellectual élites in Late Antiquity, it sets some kind of workable lower limit for the time that might be expected for a new inhabitant to familiarize himself with the city. It is important to note that K. has excluded Procopius from his selection. He does not follow others (for example, Baldwin in ODB III, 1732) who have suggested that Procopius lived all his adult life in Constantinople.

For K., his chosen authors are mostly descriptive in nature, rather than evaluative. The few direct value judgements depend largely on attachments to ‘circles of self-identification’ (302) with regard to the state, religion, religious affiliation, language or a sense of local patriotism. It is thus very difficult (for example) to establish any consensus on the ordinary inhabitants of the city from the tangle of descriptions collected by K. on collective behaviour (which often took the form of revolts). Opinions were neutral in the case of the church historians, Socrates and Sozomen, but more critical views were expressed by Zosimus, John Lydus and Marcellinus comes. K. analyses the words denoting a populace (πλήθος, δῆμος, λαός and ὄχλος) and argues, quoting numerous examples, that the first three were used generally synonymously, but — depending on the author and the context — they might also carry different value judgements. Only ὄχλος was almost always derogatory.

The authors surveyed by K. were principally concerned with the following groups or their representatives: officials and courtiers, low-ranking clergymen and bishops, the middle classes (K.’s preferred term), artisans and merchants, slaves and actors. On the whole, they disliked officials and courtiers and wrote about them with undisguised criticism, often associating them with intrigue and bribery and accusing them of responsibility for the deplorable condition of the state. John Lydus is the best case in point, even though his opinions are greatly varied: either extremely positive (Peter the Patrician) or utterly negative (John the Cappadocian). K. discusses Lydus’ use of the term πλήϑος (232) (for example, Mag. 1.3, 1.2, 2.9, 2.4) and argues that it was used with reference to incompetent and poorly educated officials rather than ‘les gens simples’ or ‘the common people’ (as suggested in the translation in Dubuisson and Schamp's Budé edition (2006), vol. 1, 32; vol. 2, 53; and Bandy's edition (1983), 97, 105, 135, 143).

Views on the ‘middle classes’ (by which K. generally means the professions) are also not uniform. They range from critical (officials) to markedly deferential (lawyers, doctors, rhetoricians, philosophers). The latter is observable in all the texts surveyed. For K., this is an indication of the intellectual — rather than anti-intellectual — tendency of late antique literature. In none of the texts surveyed does K. find any instances of open contempt for artisans and merchants. This he explains (for the most part) by the cursory and contextual nature of the references (these did not call for value judgements), the impact of Christian thought (which repeatedly voiced its approval of artisanship) and, last but not least, the considerable demand for artisan products in Constantinople (which emphasized their importance). Respect for the artisan professions can also be observed in the metaphors frequently used in speeches, homilies and political texts, which alluded to artisan and commercial activities (the best example is Themistius, Or. 22.277). Generally speaking, attitudes towards the lower social classes, including slaves and servants, are positive. Negative opinions refer to those on the margins of society: criminals, false prophets or soothsayers. Actors receive openly critical treatment — both from Christian (Sozomen, Socrates) and pagan historians (Zosimus), who clearly associated them with moral corruption.

In sum, K. offers a thorough and meticulous survey of an impressive range of texts (quoted in both the original and in translation). The thematic division of the material means (unavoidably) that discussion of particular groups is split across the work — demanding close attention from the reader. But careful effort is amply repaid. What results is an important and detailed account of the social history of Constantinople based on the first-hand experience of those authors who lived in the city.

The chapter by Mirosław Jerzy Leszka (‘Konstantynopolitańczycy w obliczu klęsk elementarnych i zagrożeń ze strony barbarzyńców — Constantinopolitans in the face of Natural Disasters and Barbarian Threats’ (307–46)), discusses the reactions of the inhabitants of the capital when faced with earthquakes, fires and epidemics. The general conclusion is that the townsfolk at such occurrencies turned to religion and organized processions, prayers or sacrifices. However, L. contends, the frequency of such descriptions also stems from a tendency in ancient and Byzantine authors to exploit natural disasters to serve particular ideological purposes.

The final piece in this volume by Teresa Wolińska (‘Ciemna strona miasta – przestępczość we wczesnobizantyńskim Konstantynopolu — The Dark Side of the City: Crime in Early Byzantine Constantinople’ (347–80)), offers a discussion of various crimes: unlawful acts against individuals or property, fraud, domestic and sexual violence, sacrilege, administrative corruption and political murder. Given the large number of inhabitants, their varied social and cultural backgrounds, and only very limited policing, W. views Constantinople as a relatively safe city.

The Battle of the Milvian Bridge: Consequences divides fifteen contributions into four sections: (1) ‘Polityka i państwo — Policy and the State’; (2) ‘Religia i kościół — Religion and the Church’; (3) ‘Kultura artystyczna — Artistic Culture’; (4) ‘Prawo i armia — Law and the Army’. Although the thematic and chronological scope is fairly wide (it covers the whole of the fourth century), the focus is firmly on Constantine and the ‘Constantinian revolution’. Just as is observable in international scholarship, so too in Poland there are two distinct camps: one contends that Constantine played a key rôle in the Christianization of the Roman world, while the other downplays his importance, placing the (much slower) ‘revolution’ in a longer period from the so-called Edict of Toleration by Galerius in 311 to the anti-heretical and anti-pagan legislation of Gratian and Theodosius I at the end of the fourth century. In this book, the ‘revisionist’ voice is the louder. Aside from the more frequently rehearsed arguments against the centrality of Constantine to a history of late antique Christianization, three discussions (which seem to me interesting and innovative) are particularly worthy of note.

First, in the section ‘Politics and the State’, Adam Ziółkowski (‘Polityka religijna cesarstwa – „wynalazek” przełomu konstantyńskiego — Religious Policy of the Empire: an “Invention” of the Constantinian Revolution’ (43–62)) returns to an idea first suggested by Otto Seeck (Zeit. für Kirchengeschichte 2 (1891), 381–6), who argued that the Edict of Milan had never been issued. (One of the reasons being that the Edict of Toleration issued by Galerius in 311 — to which Constantine had been one of the signatories — was still in operation throughout the Empire in 313.) The traditional approach of M. V. Anastos (‘The Edict of Milan (313): a defence of its traditional authorship and designation’, Revue des Études Byzantines 25 (1967), 13–41) is flatly rejected by Z. as ‘an old-fashioned attempt to return to the old days’ (92). In his view, Constantine had ‘unintentionally inaugurated the process of imperial interference in the life of the community of believers’ (the Synod of Arles, the Council of Nicaea), following the Roman principle according to which the emperor (in his capacity as the pontifex maximus) mediated in matters of religion (47). The actual shift took place in the second half of the fourth century: the attempt of Constantius II to enforce a new creed in 359 is identified as ‘the first experiment in Caesaropapism’ (60). For Z., the religious and intolerant state comes into force with the religious edicts of Gratian and Theodosius I. The chief reason: both belonged to the first generation raised in a strongly Christianized environment, which excluded heretics and pagans.

Secondly, in the section ‘Religion and the Church’, Ewa Wipszycka (‘Kościół egipski czasów tetrarchii i kościół Konstantyna. Nowe źródła – nowe hipotezy — The Egyptian Church under the Tetrarchy and the Church of Constantine: New Sources – New Hypotheses’ (151–82)) studies the newly discovered (in 1999) Ethiopian canonical-liturgical collection, or, more precisely, the fourth/fifth-century text known as Historia Episcopatus Alexandriae (HEpA). She argues that the structures of the Church of Alexandria had been in place long before the reign of Constantine: HEpA attests to as many as sixty-four bishoprics in Egypt before a.d. 300 (compared to the seventy known from the Council of Nicaea in 325), including twenty in the Delta (out of twenty-five known in 325). HEpA stands apart from many hagiographical texts, martyr acts and the narrative of Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History in not confirming the all-encompassing scale of the Great Persecution in Egypt. (Note, for example, the freedom with which Meletius, Bishop of Lycopolis, travels from Upper Egypt down to Alexandria; the fact that only three provincial governors associated with the persecution are mentioned by name; and that the number of victims listed in HEpA for the whole of Egypt ranges from 642 to 660.) W. argues that the persecutions were patchy (affecting a specific city or municipality) and depended on a number of conditions, including the attitude of local officials. HEpA also exonerates Meletius, who is portrayed in conventional ecclesiastical historiography as a villain (as a result of the charges hurled at him by Athanasius). According to W., Meletius ‘acted in good faith’ (167). There is no evidence confirming, in the period of persecutions, or after they had ended, that Meletius aimed to seize power in Alexandria. On the contrary, by ordaining his own bishops he ‘sought to break away from the hegemony of Alexandria and adopt a different model for the Church’ (167; observing that the oldest and most respected bishop should be the leader, as was the practice in Africa, Numidia and Mauritania). As W. demonstrates, HEpA is an important text — and not least because it offers an alternative account of the Christianization of Egypt from that promoted by Constantine and his ecclesiastical supporters.

Thirdly, in the section ‘Artistic Culture’, Elżbieta Jastrzębowska (‘Maksencjusz: ostatni czy pierwszy twórca rzymskiej architektury późnoantycznej — Maxentius: the Last or the First Creator of Late Antique Roman Architecture’ (203–19)) sets out to demonstrate that as regards monumental architecture, the achievements of the age of Constantine copy patterns already developed under Maxentius. The architectural characteristics of all the churches founded in Rome by Constantine were derived from the Basilica Nova of Maxentius (the same orientation and spatial layout with the apse around the altar). J. also argues that the construction of the oldest of all churches in Rome, the Basilica Apostolorum, was begun under Maxentius — situated on a plot of land given by that emperor to the Church and built by the same contractors who worked on the imperial residential complex on the Via Appia (so much so that the decoration of the windows of these two buildings was identical).

At least in the view of its author, Henryk Pietras, Sobór nicejski (325). Kontekst religijny i polityczny (The Council of Nicaea (325): Religious and Political Contexts) sets out to dispel the ‘myth’ created by Vasiliev (History of the Byzantine Empire (1928)) and perpetuated by Simonetti (La crisi ariana nel IV secolo (1975)) which suggests that the Council of Nicaea was convened by Constantine to condemn Arius. P. identifies the people ‘at fault’ in creating this impression as primarily anti-Arian: Sozomen, Socrates and Theodoret of Cyrrhus, who based their discussion of the subject on the strongly anti-Arian reports left by Athanasius of Alexandria. By contrast, the thematic scope of the letter of Constantine addressed to the bishops after the Council (ed. Opitz, Athanasius Werke III (1934), 54–7 (= Urkunde 26)) was limited to questions of the date for the proper celebration of Easter and the common profession of faith. Two other letters of Constantine (ed. Opitz, Ath. Werke III (1934), 47–51 (= Urkunde 23) and 52–4 (= Urkunde 25)) which condemned Arius, are dismissed by P. as spurious and forged after Athanasius’ death. Had they been authentic, P. argues, Athanasius would have used them in his fight against the Arians and Meletians — and there is no evidence that he did so.

P. offers his own chronology of events. The Arian controversy erupted in 323 at the earliest; it had an entirely local character and made an insignificant impact on the Church (a reinterpretation of Eus., VC 2.61.4–5); Constantine learnt of the dispute between Arius and Alexander in September 324 at the earliest; after 20 September the emperor wrote a letter appealing for reconciliation; Hosius of Cordoba delivered the letter to Alexandria only in spring 325 (no earlier because of the mare clausum from November 324 to March 325); the mission of Hosius foundered, so he returned to Nicomedia in spring 325; it was then too late to convene a synod to deal with Arius (according to P. the first session was held on 19 June) and thus the Council must have been planned earlier and for other reasons. P. suggests that in autumn 324 Constantine summoned the bishops for the opening ceremony of the celebrations for the twentieth anniversary of his reign. Only on that ‘splendid occasion’ did he intend to neutralize the Meletian schism, determine the date of Easter and work out a single profession of faith (137).

Both the fundamental contention of P. as well as the arguments used by him (summarized only briefly above) have been previously considered by scholars, but here they receive a particularly clear and coherent treatment. P.’s discussion — bold and revisionist — has met with an equally robust response. The first reactions of Polish scholars appeared soon after publication. W. Stawiszyński, Vox Patrum 34 (2014), 567–72 and S. Bralewski, Vox Patrum 36 (2016), 75–97 rejected P.’s suggestion of Constantine's vicennalia as the reason for convening the Council. The Donatist schism (not the Meletian!) and the controversy over the date of Easter were instead advanced as the principal reasons for convening the Council.

As with these various aspects of the fourth century (particularly the period of the first Tetrarchy and of Constantine), the history of Constantinople is one of the most important research topics currently studied by Polish academics in the field of Late Antiquity (cf. also M. J. Leszka and K. Marinow (eds), Miasto na skrzyżowaniu mórz i kontynentów. Wczesno- i średniobizantyński Konstantynopol jako miasto portowe [Metropolis between Seas and Continents: Early and Middle Byzantine Constantinople as a Port City] (Byzantina Lodziensia 22), Łódź: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Łódzkiego, 2016). As yet, Polish scholarship has not provided a settled vision of this century of profound change. The vibrant intellectual debate on these topics continues — and will bear further fruit in the form of new interpretations.