The Paulicians

The Medieval Mediterranean

peoples, economies and cultures, 400–​1 500

Managing Editor

Frances Andrews (University of St Andrews)

Editors

Corisande Fenwick (University College London)

Paul Magdalino (University of St Andrews)
Maria G. Parani (University of Cyprus)
Larry J. Simon (Western Michigan University)
Daniel Lord Smail (Harvard University)
Jo Van Steenbergen (Ghent University)

Advisory Board

David Abulafia (Cambridge)

Benjamin Arbel (Tel Aviv)
Hugh Kennedy (soas, London)

volume 132

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/mmed

 The Paulicians
Heresy, Persecution and Warfare on the
Byzantine Frontier, c.750–​880

By

Carl Dixon

LEIDEN | BOSTON
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In memory of my grandparents
Bob, Marjorie, Con, and Geoff

∵
Contents

Preface ix
Figures xi

Introduction 1
1  Rethinking the Paulicians 10
2  One Heresy or Two? Paulicians in Armenia and Asia Minor 18
3  What Is the Paulician Heresy? Traditional Approaches 28

1 Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery: Paulicians in Greek Sources 54

1  Peter of Sicily’s History of the Paulicians 60
2  The History and the Persecutions of Theodora 71
3  The Brief History of the Manichaeans 77
4  The Letter of Theophylaktos Lekapenos to Peter of Bulgaria 86
5  The Treatise against the Paulicians 89

2 Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 99

1  Byzantine Understandings of Paulicians c.810–​900 100
2  Reinventing the Paulicians in Macedonian History Writing 109
3  Reinventing through Forgery i: The History of the Paulicians 121
4  Reinventing through Forgery ii: The Brief History 127
5  Forgery, Authority, and Authenticity in the 10th Century 136

3 The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief c.800–​835 140

1  The Didaskalie 144
2  Schism and the Legitimacy of the Didaskalos 152
3  Dualism and “the Grace of the Spirit” 158
4  Paulician Customs, Worship, and Organisation 170
5  Paulician Hamartocentricism and Apocalyptic 175
6  Historical Implications 182

4 Paulicians in the 8th Century: The Genesis of a Heresy c.750–​800 187

1  Paulicians and the Iconomachy 189
2  The Armenian Connection 201
3  The Byzantine-​Islamic Frontier in the Long 8th Century 209
4  Paulicians and Pastoralism 216
5  Labelling the Paulicians of Asia Minor 221
viii Contents

5 Paulicians in the Face of Persecution c.800–​845 232

1  Nikephoros i and the Paulicians 236
2  The Persecutions of Michael i and Leo v 240
3  The Paulician Response: Early Resistance and the Revolt of Thomas
the Slav 247
4  Paulicians in the Reign of Theophilos 253
5  The Persecutions of Theodora 271

6 Paulicians at Arms: The Islamic Alliance and Warfare against the

Byzantines c.845–​880 278
1  The Battle of Mauropotamos and the Paulician-​Islamic Alliance 279
2  Paulician Settlement and Raiding under Karbeas 286
3  An Emperor in the East?: Basil, Chrysocheir, and the Road to
War 298
4  The Last Raids of Chrysocheir and the Eclipse of Tephrikē 308

Epilogue 321
Appendix 1  The Dating Frameworks of the History of the
Paulicians 327
Appendix 2  The Career of Sergios in the History of the Paulicians 330
Map of Eastern Asia Minor c.870 334
Bibliography 335
Index 361
Preface

It was sometime in December 2013 that a jaded Masters student in St Andrews

turned to the Paulicians in what then seemed a fruitless quest for a research
proposal. These were not auspicious beginnings and the almost total neglect
of the topic for decades did not bode well, but it soon transpired I had stum-
bled upon a topic that occupied a fascinating place in the history of Christian
dissidence. By the time of my PhD viva in Nottingham four and a half years
later, I differed from the received wisdom on the nature of Paulician belief, its
relationship with earlier and later heresies, and the sources that described it.
Above all, it had become clear that existing work on the subject did not ade-
quately reflect the concerns of the 21st century and had not benefited from
the methodological and historiographical advances which had transformed
the study of medieval and late antique heresy on the one hand and the field of
Byzantine Studies on the other. In short, it was impossible to do full justice to
the topic without tackling all facets of the heresy as a totality and presenting
this in a way that resonated in the contemporary world. This book is a direct
result of those aims.
It should be acknowledged at the outset that there is a tension between
these motivations: revisionism and readability are not easy bedfellows after all.
The topic is a difficult one whose complexities I have not sought to downplay.
Instead, my approach throughout has been to signpost the relevance of the
topic to related fields and matters of contemporary interest in order to provoke
further discussion and, hopefully, place the Paulicians centre stage amid the
compelling debates surrounding religious deviance in the ancient and medie-
val worlds. The reader, as always, will be the judge of my success. Besides this
general proviso, a few editorial decisions require attention. I am a specialist in
neither Armenian nor Islamic studies and, while I have attempted to employ
consistent notation throughout, some inconsistencies undoubtedly remain. In
the case of Greek names, I have preferred to remain true to the original unless
the anglicised form is in common usage. Given the linguistic requirements
and recent obscurity of the topic, I have cited accessible translations wherever
these are available. The applicability of the label ‘Byzantines’ to the inhabi-
tants of the Roman Empire in the East has been a recurring feature of debate
in recent years, mainly in regard to the extent of the endurance of its Roman
traditions and the transformative potentialities of its evolving Christian iden-
tity. Our sources consistently call the populace of this polity ‘Romans’ and I am
generally in favour of acknowledging this identity wherever possible, but it
seemed pedantic to dispense with the term Byzantine altogether, particularly
x Preface

in a work which seeks to build bridges with those outside the field. Since there
are minimal possibilities for confusion in what follows with either Rome itself
or the Carolingians who also claimed a Roman inheritance, I have used the
terms Byzantine and Roman interchangeably throughout.
As is inevitable with such a protracted project, my debts are legion. The
foremost thanks are due to my PhD supervisors Mary Cunningham and Claire
Taylor, whose patience, expertise, and understanding resulted in that rarest of
things: an academically stressless doctoral degree. Next is Tim Greenwood, who
deftly managed the hapless Masters student they inherited. Any errors which
remain herein stem from my belligerent enthusiasm for the topic rather than
any failings on their part. The underlying research would have been impossible
without the funding provided by the Arts and Humanities Research Council’s
Midlands3Cities Doctoral Training Partnership, which supported me indefati-
gably at home and abroad during my PhD studentship. Further gratitude is due
to my former PhD colleagues in the Department of History at the University
of Nottingham and all those involved with the University of Birmingham’s
Centre for Byzantine, Ottoman and Modern Greek Studies, whose friendship
and input enriched this book considerably. Special attention must be singled
out for the late Ruth Macrides, a giant of her field whose intellectual brilliance
was nevertheless dwarfed by the energy, style, and compassion she exuded
as a human being. At Brill, the patient assistance of Marcella Mulder adroitly
guided the project through the administrative labyrinth between draft pro-
posal and end product. For support both personal and professional I owe grat-
itude to Stefanos Apostolou, Michele Baitieri, Camilla Bertini, Andy Fox, Matt
Hefferan, Mirela Ivanova, Hugh Jeffery, Nik Matheou, Marco Panato, Maroula
Perisanidi, Paz Ramírez, Chiara Ravera, Yulia Rozumna, Tom Sims, and Mariele
Valci. Hollie Johnson and Jacqueline Cordell lived with this monster through
its various mutations and may delight in its more apocalyptic or discursive
moments. Finally, I owe the greatest thanks to my family, Elaine, Steve, Mark,
Lauren, Evie, and Lennox, for indulging my inability to make conventional life
decisions or take myself seriously. This book is dedicated to the memory of my
grandparents, who would have understood very little of what follows, not least
why anyone would want to attempt the endeavour in the first place, but would
have proudly toasted its success over lunch in a Humberside pub nonetheless.
newgenprepdf

Figures

­f igure 1 
The persecution of the Paulicians under Michael i (c.811–​813) in the Madrid
Skylitzes. The three officials overseeing matters are on the left and the execution
of the “Manichaeans” is on the right.
image taken from the holdings of the biblioteca nacional de
españa.

­f igure 2 
The battle of Lalakaon/​Poson (863) in the Madrid Skylitzes. Petronas’ victorious
Byzantine forces are on the left and the army of ‘Amr al-Aqṭa‘ is on the right.
Although any Paulician presence at the battle remains conjectural, it marked a
turning point in the fortunes of war on the eastern frontier.
image taken from the holdings of the biblioteca nacional de
españa.
Introduction

Throughout the 9th century, the Paulicians were invariably either the Byzantine
Empire’s most restless subjects or its most unlikely enemies. By the reign of the
parvenu Basil i, decades of raiding had made their notoriety so great that the
emperor shed pious tears as he fixed three arrows into the severed head of
the Paulician leader Chrysocheir. Yet by the next decade, Diakonitzes, in whose
faithful lap the stricken Chrysocheir had expired, led a Paulician contingent in
southern Italy under imperial standards. At the century’s outset, the chronicler
Theophanes the Confessor complained bitterly about Emperor Nikephoros i’s
favour towards “the Manichaeans who are now called Paulicians” and noted his
satisfaction when a volte face in policy led the later rulers Michael i and Leo v
to persecute them with a severity not seen in the empire for centuries. A redux
of this persecuting zeal under the empress regent Theodora led the Paulician
Karbeas to take a radical step; forsaking his post in the imperial army, he allied
himself with the Islamic Emirate of Melitene and established a raiding alliance
against the empire that presaged the campaigns of his nephew Chrysocheir.
In the 10th century, after the era of the great raids was over, they were still
restive enough for Theodore ii, Bishop of Antioch, to beseech John i Tzimiskes
to remove them from his lands. This same emperor still felt they could be of
use, however, and sought to harness their martial tenacity to hold down the
empire’s troublesome northern frontier. On the eve of the Crusades, Alexios i
too sought their aid, this time against the invading Normans in Dalmatia, but
after their hasty abscondment following the battle of Dyrrhachium his efforts
were channelled into correcting their doctrinal eccentricities. Quite how
unorthodox these beliefs were is up for debate. According to the testimony
of ancients and moderns, theirs was a distinctly Christian brand of dualism
which credited the genesis of the cosmos not to God the Father, who ruled
only the heavenly realm, but to a second, malevolent deity; a teaching whose
offshoots would bear blasphemous fruit among the Bogomils of Bulgaria and
the Cathars of Lombardy and the Languedoc. Yet long after the inexorable
Ottoman advance into the Balkans, the 18th-​century traveller and letter-​writer
Mary Wortley Montagu wrote of Paulines in the old Paulician stronghold of
Philippopolis, who proudly showed her the church at which they claimed the
apostle Paul, their doctrinal inspiration, had once preached. An unusual claim
perhaps, but hardly one that spurns the fundamentals of Christian faith.
Much of this history remains patchy, neglected, and obscure. Much of this
history is not history at all, but embellishment, myth, or later polemic. Heresy
was, and is, an emotive subject rarely conducive to objectivity or accuracy.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2022 | DOI:10.1163/9789004517080_002

2 Introduction

Paulician narratives of their own history necessitate interpretive leaps which

seem far-​fetched today. In the account that remains to us, Constantine-​
Silvanos, the semi-​legendary figure whom the Paulicians venerated as their
first didaskalos (literally, a teacher), thought of Paul not as a long dead person-
age evoked only through the scriptures, but as a present reality, related to him-
self. To his students he said: “You are the Macedonians and I am Silvanos, who
has been sent to you by Paul.”1 Echoes of Paul, his letters, his journeys, and the
apostolic age suffuse the Paulician imagination: just as Constantine adopted
the name Silvanos from one of Paul’s disciples, so did his successors Symeon-​
Titos, Gegnesios-​ Timothy, Joseph-​ Epaphroditos, and Sergios-​ Tychikos. As
Constantine termed his community at Kibossa the Church of the Macedonians,
so did his successors establish and maintain the allegorically named churches
of the Achaeans, the Philippians, the Laodikaeans, the Ephesians, and the
Kolossians, all in succession to Paul’s foundation at Corinth.2 These communi-
ties ranged across much of northern and eastern Asia Minor, western Armenia,
and the Islamic emirates of Melitene and Tarsus, thereby setting the scene
which Karbeas, Chrysocheir, and their ilk would later wield to deadly effect.
Quite how a religious movement founded on didaskaloi and churches meta-
morphosed into a military power is unclear: our sources are rather ambigu-
ous on the point. In a similar vein, accounts of the earliest phases of Paulician
activity are so stylised that they immediately raise suspicions. Constantine-​
Silvanos, stoned to death by his adoptive son, is more than reminiscent of the
protomartyr Stephen, while his successor Symeon-​Titos, the former imperial
persecutor turned born-​again convert, martyred for his new-​found faith at the
same spot as Constantine, is like a second incarnation of Paul himself. Only
with the last Paulician didaskalos Sergios-​Tychikos, who wrote pastoral letters
with a distinctly Pauline verve, do we happen on a figure of certain historicity.
Paulician claims to an apostolic inheritance were known to the Byzantines,
or, to use the name that both they and the Paulicians would have used, the
Romans.3 Peter of Sicily, a bloodthirsty writer even by the standards of medieval

1 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 101, ed. Denise Papachryssanthou, trans. Jean Gouillard,
Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), pp. 42–​43. English translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the
Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds. Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), p. 78.
2 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 163, pp. 60–​61. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies,
p. 88; Treatise, 7, ed. and trans. Charles Astruc, Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), p. 84. English
translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds. Bernard
Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), pp. 93–​94.
3 For recent remarks on Roman identity in the Byzantine Empire, or Romanía, see Ioannis
Stouraitis, “Roman Identity in Byzantium: a Critical Approach,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift
107:1 (2014), pp. 175–​220; Ioannis Stouraitis, “Reinventing Roman Ethnicity in High and Late
Introduction 3

polemicists, acknowledged that the didaskalos Sergios claimed to be a student

of Paul, albeit while insisting that the Paulicians were actually none other than
Manichaeans and, as such, merited the death penalty prescribed for these her-
etics under earlier Roman legal codes.4 The later Roman writer Euthymios of
the Peribleptos, while writing against the obscurely named Phundagiagitae,
who are conventionally identified as Bogomils, noted that both they and the
Paulicians claimed that Paul was their inspiration, yet he too alleged that both
perverted his teaching into a dualist creed.5 In other instances, heresiologi-
cal texts are more reticent to link the Paulicians with the apostle. The Treatise
against the Paulicians, our earliest surviving Byzantine source against the heresy,
claims that they took their name from Paul, a resident of Samosata (Sumaysāṭ),
who propagated the heresy with his brother John. When exactly this Paul is
supposed to have lived is not apparent, although he bears an uncanny resem-
blance to the historical Paul of Samosata, the flamboyant Bishop of Antioch
(260–​268) who was driven from that city for his adoptionist views, that is, for
believing that Christ was originally an ordinary mortal man until his adoption
by the Father. The Treatise, however, immediately problematises the link with

Medieval Byzantium,” Medieval Worlds 5 (2017), pp. 70–​94; Anthony Kaldellis, The Byzantine
Republic: People and Power in New Rome (Cambridge, MA/​London, 2015), pp. ix-​xvi; Anthony
Kaldellis, Romanland: Ethnicity and Empire in Byzantium (Cambridge, MA/​London, 2019). For
our period, see now Douglas Whalin, Roman Identity from the Arab Conquests to the Triumph
of Orthodoxy (Cham, 2020).
4 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 87; 98, pp. 38–​39; 40–​43. Translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies, pp. 75; 77; Codex Iustinianus, 1:5:11; 1:5:16, ed. Paul Krüger, Corpus Iuris
Civilis, 2 vols, vol. 2 (Berlin, 1895), pp. 53; 55–​56. Translation: The Codex of Justinian: A New
Annotated Translation, trans. Fred H. Blume, ed. Bruce W. Frier, 3 vols, vol. 1 (Cambridge,
2016), pp. 200–​201; 208–​211; Ecloga: das Gesetzbuch Leons III. und Konstantinos’ V., 17:52, ed.
Ludwig Burgmann (Frankfurt, 1983), pp. 242–​243. English translation: The Laws of the Isaurian
Era: The Ecloga and its Appendices, ed. and trans. Michael T.G Humphreys (Liverpool, 2017),
p. 77. Manichaeism was a dualistic religion founded by the Babylonian prophet Mani (c.216–​
274/​77), who for some time gained a position of influence with the Sasanian Shahanshah
Shapur i (c.240–​270), before his downfall and eventual execution during the reign of
Wahram i (either 271–​274 or 274–​277). His faith swiftly gained ground in Roman lands, but
was fiercely persecuted from the time of Diocletian onward and was effectively extinct in the
empire from the 6th century. It was likewise suppressed under the Sasanians and the Islamic
caliphates, although it did remain a force in the lands between the Caspian Sea and the Tarim
Basin into our period, particularly among the Soghdians and later the Uyghurs. See Nicholas
J. Baker-​Brian, Manichaeism: An Ancient Faith Rediscovered (London, 2011); Samuel N.C. Lieu,
Manichaeism in the Later Roman Empire and Medieval China (Manchester, 1985).
5 Euthymios of the Peribleptos, Epistula, in Die Phundagiagiten: ein Beitrag zur Ketzergeschichte
des byzantinischen Mittelalters, ed. Gerhard Ficker (Leipzig, 1908), pp. 62–​63. English trans-
lation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds. Bernard Hamilton,
Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), p. 158.
4 Introduction

Paul, remarking that the Paulicians anathematise both him and Mani, the other
supposed founder of their belief, without hesitation.6 An association with Paul
of Samosata may not be entirely without merit –​the Armenian diminutive
‘the followers of the little Paul’ (the literal meaning of the term Paulician or
Paylikeank‘) may have denoted his followers in early Armenian texts –​but it
holds no discernible relevance to the Paulicians of 8th-​and 9th-​century Asia
Minor.7 The same is true of attempts to connect the name with the shadowy
Paul the Armenian, a figure who never ranked among the Paulician didaskaloi,
but still seems to have occupied an important role in their history. Ultimately,
it seems that the association with the apostle Paul provides the best clue to
their name. It must be stressed that the Paulicians did not use this moniker
among themselves, however. A Byzantine witness states their preferred end-
onym clearly: “They call themselves Christians and us Romans.”8 Scholars have
long puzzled over the origins of the Paulicians’ name without reaching a clear
consensus, but it is at least clear that the name –​and the beliefs underlying
it –​occasioned dispute, misunderstanding, and animosity.
The same concerns arise repeatedly whenever Paulicians are encountered
during our period. According to Paulician testimony, both Constantine-​Silvanos
and Symeon-​Titos found martyrdom under the indefatigable gaze of impe-
rial authorities and only quick thinking saved the later didaskaloi Gegnesios-​
Timothy and Joseph-​Epaphroditos from the same fate. The latter, in fact, seems
to have been harassed by both Byzantine and Islamic authorities at various
stages of his career. Stylised and mythical the surviving version of these events
may be, but the same is not true of the persecutions enacted and then halted
by the vacillating Michael i (811–​813) and reimposed under his successor Leo
v (813–​820).9 This persecution fell heavily on the Armeniakon thema, whose

6 Treatise, 1–​6, pp. 80–​83. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 93. On Paul of Samosata,
see Fergus Millar, “Paul of Samosata, Zenobia and Aurelian: the Church, Local Culture and
Political Allegiance in Third-​Century Syria,” The Journal of Roman Studies 61 (1971), pp. 1–​17;
Daniëlle Slootjes, “Bishops and Their Position of Power in the Late Third Century CE: The
Cases of Gregory Thaumaturgus and Paul of Samosata,” Journal of Late Antiquity 4:1 (2011),
pp. 100–​115.
7 The spellings of the term vary somewhat in Armenian. For the differences, see Vrej Nersessian,
The Tondrakian Movement: Religious Movements in the Armenian Church from the Fourth to
the Tenth Centuries (London, 1987), p. 12.
8 Treatise, 9, p. 85. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 94.
9 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, ed. Carl de Boor, 2 vols, vol. 1 (Leipzig, 1883), p. 494,
l. 31 –​p. 495, l. 15. English translation: The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, eds. and trans.
Cyril Mango, Roger Scott (Oxford, 1997), p. 678; Theodore the Stoudite, Theodori Studitae epis-
tulae, Ep. 94, ed. Georgios Fatouros, 2 vols, vol. 2 (Berlin, 1992), p. 214; Peter of Sicily, History of
the Paulicians, 175, pp. 64–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 90.
Introduction 5

name, contrary to what might be expected, does not necessarily connote sig-
nificant Armenian settlement.10 Armenian links were, however, clearly key to
the movement’s origins –​besides the origins of their name, the earliest sites
associated with them in imperial territory correlate well with migration routes
from Armenia, but it is simplistic to view them as quintessentially Armenian.
Leo v was himself known as ‘the Armenian’, yet he renewed their persecution.11
Paulician and Armenian identities did not overlap exactly, but instead attest a
more complex set of communal dynamics.
A similar complexity applies to the relationship between the Paulicians
and the iconoclast controversy, or, to use the contemporary Byzantine term,
the iconomachy.12 It was Leo v who reimposed iconoclasm in 815 after an
intermission of almost three decades, decreeing that religious images should
be removed from places of honour where they might deflect attention from
true manifestations of the divine, such as the cross or eucharist. If icons were
divinely favoured, the rationale of Leo and others went, why would God have
consistently given victory to the empire’s Islamic and Bulgar enemies over the
preceding decades? Historians have consistently attributed iconoclastic beliefs
to the Paulicians, explaining their sudden growth to prominence by positing a
loose alliance with Byzantine iconoclasts during the latter half of the 8th cen-
tury, with particular emphasis placed on the actions of the much-​maligned,
but fascinating and militarily astute, iconoclast emperor Constantine v (741–​
775).13 The thesis that Paulicians were iconoclasts sits very uneasily with their
persecution immediately after the restoration of iconoclasm, however. In fact,
the evidence suggests that the Paulicians did not fit straightforwardly within

10 On Armenians and the Armeniakon, see Kaldellis, Romanland, pp. 176–​ 177; Nina
G. Garsoïan, “The Problem of Armenian Integration into the Byzantine Empire,” in Studies
on the Internal Diaspora of the Byzantine Empire, eds. Hélène Ahrweiler, Angeliki E. Laiou
(Washington, D.C., 1998), pp. 53–​56; Peter Charanis, “The Armenians in the Byzantine
Empire,” Byzantinoslavica 22 (1961), pp. 203–​205. On the theme system, see Brubaker,
Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A History, pp. 723–​771, with literature.
11 On Leo v, see Leslie Brubaker, John F. Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​
850: A History (Cambridge, 2011), pp. 366–​385.
12 On the iconomachy, see the exhaustive Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast
Era, c. 680–​850: A History, or the more accessible Leslie Brubaker, Inventing Byzantine
Iconoclasm (London, 2012).
13 On Paulicians and iconoclasm, see Nina G. Garsoïan, “Byzantine Heresy.
A Reinterpretation,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 25 (1971), pp. 97–​105; Milan Loos, “Le mouve-
ment paulicien à Byzance,” Byzantinoslavica 24 (1963), pp. 267–​276; Leslie W. Barnard, “The
Paulicians and Iconoclasm,” in Iconoclasm: Papers Given at the Ninth Spring Symposium
of Byzantine Studies, University of Birmingham, March 1975, eds. Anthony Bryer, Judith
Herrin (Birmingham, 1977), pp. 75–​82.
6 Introduction

an iconodule-​iconoclast dichotomy at all, but were rather a convenient com-

mon enemy to invoke during the most acrimonious phases of the iconomachy.
They were targeted not only after Leo’s reimposition of iconoclasm, but also
after the ultimate reversal of Leo’s policy, when the empress Theodora, regent
for her infant son Michael iii (842–​867), restored icon veneration at the event
now known as the Triumph of Orthodoxy (843). The resulting persecution of
Paulicians was so intense that it drove many of them from the empire alto-
gether. Under the leadership of the aforementioned Karbeas, who served as
protomandator under Theodotos Melissenos, the general of the Anatolikon
thema, they defected to the redoubtable Emir of Melitene (Malaṭya) ‘Amr b.
‘Ubaydallāh b. Marwān al-Aqṭa‘ al-​Sulamī, with whose aid they established
themselves in the no-​man’s land between Roman and Islamic territory.14 From
here they would raid the eastern themata of the empire for decades, proving
a constant thorn in its side until the demise of Chrysocheir in 872 eliminated
them as a major threat. Their main stronghold of Tephrikē held out until its
eventual capture in 878/​79.
It hardly needs emphasising that this remarkable set of developments mark
the Paulicians as one of the most enigmatic religious phenomena in the east-
ern Mediterranean during the 9th century. At its outset they were practically
unknown, yet by its midpoint they had been persecuted twice and had aligned
themselves with the empire’s Muslim enemies. Within another quarter of a
century their defiance had reached unprecedented heights –​according to
the later Byzantine historian Genesios, Chrysocheir demanded the empire’s
Asiatic provinces for himself –​before their sudden and equally dramatic fall,
although, as we saw at the outset, Paulicians would remain a consistent, but
capricious, inclusion in Roman armies in later centuries.15 Paradoxes abound
in this account: the Paulicians are the devout Pauline Christians who allied
themselves with Muslims. In 815 they were led by Sergios-​Tychikos, a pacific
religious leader; in 845 by Karbeas, a turncoat from the imperial army. To many
modern historians, they are heterodox Armenians with long-​standing icono-
clast sympathies, but this hardly explains their treatment by Leo v: why would
an Armenian iconoclast persecute Armenian iconoclasts? Underneath all of
these contradictions there undoubtedly lies some amount of dissimulation

14 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati nomine fer-

tur Libri I-​IV, 4:16, eds. and trans. J. Michael Featherstone, Juan Signes Codoñer (Boston/​
Berlin, 2015), pp. 236–​237.
15 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:35, eds. Anni Lesmüller-​Werner, Hans
P. Thurn, (Berlin/​New York, 1978), p. 86. English translation: Genesios. On the Reigns of the
Emperors, ed. Anthony Kaldellis (Canberra, 1998), p. 107.
Introduction 7

and misconception. However, it also seems that we are dealing with a move-
ment of considerable dynamism and complexity, a movement so attuned to
aspects of provincial Roman society that it could expand swiftly and thrive in
many different areas and social contexts, in the process transcending its ori-
gins to accumulate internal tensions that prove mystifying, but fascinating, to
the historian.
Nothing attests this so convincingly as the striking volte faces which opened
this book. The Paulicians may have exasperated the likes of Basil i and Alexios
i, but these emperors also found plenty to admire, provided that the energy of
these warlike heretics could be channelled. Although it might not be immedi-
ately obvious, a similar ambivalence manifests in ecclesiastical views of them.
Peter of Sicily and Theophanes the Confessor may have clamoured for the death
penalty, but more clement views are found elsewhere. Theodore the Stoudite,
for instance, implored Michael i and Leo v for leniency on the Paulicians’
behalf, succeeding in alleviating their sufferings in the former case.16 While the
empress Theodora’s persecution slew a great host of Paulicians, the history now
known as Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, written a century after these events,
saw her actions as counterproductive folly which “brought many evils upon
our land.”17 While writing at the height of the Paulician menace, the patriarch
Photios was not quite so forgiving, decreeing the death penalty appropriate
for the unwavering, but repentance was still not a prospect he would rule out.
A more tolerant approach came to prevail in later centuries, as exemplified
in the letter of the patriarch Theophylaktos Lekapenos to Peter i of Bulgaria,
which notes that capital punishment must only be reserved for those who are
truly impenitent in their error.18 Although the history of Byzantine-​Paulician
interaction may initially seem one of bloodshed, in practice things were more
nuanced.
In the long term, the Paulicians proved something of a double-​edged sword
for the empire. Both John Tzimiskes and Alexios Komnenos attempted to wield
this blade against hostile invaders in the Balkans to varying degrees of effec-
tiveness. Their tendency to desert or switch sides was troubling enough, but

16 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 494, l. 33 –​p. 495, l. 15. Translation: The
Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, p. 678; Theodore the Stoudite, Theodori Studitae epis-
tulae, Ep. 455, vol. 2, p. 647, l. 82–​85.
17 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:16, pp. 236–​
237, l. 1–​22.
18 Theophylaktos Lekapenos, “L’epistola sui Bogomili del patriarca constantinopolitano
Teofilatto,” ed. Ivan Dujčev, in Mélanges E. Tisserant II (Vatican City, 1964), pp. 312–​313,
l. 55–​63. English translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450,
eds. Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), pp. 98–​99.
8 Introduction

their religious zeal presented a secondary threat, particularly in the form of the
indigenous heretical movement that they supposedly inspired: the Bogomils of
Bulgaria, who are accused of dualism by Slavonic and Byzantine writers alike.
According to the Slavonic sources, it was during the reign of the Bulgar Tsar
Peter i that the priest Bogomil first promulgated his doctrine, which would
have a long history east of the Adriatic.19 By the reign of Alexios the heresy had
infiltrated the empire and even the elite circles of Constantinople, thereby driv-
ing the emperor to take preventative measures against the wizened heresiarch
Basil, the movement’s figurehead in the capital. The Bogomil threat never trou-
bled the empire so seriously again, but a new dualist creed would later emerge
in the heart of western Christendom, where a handful of controversial texts
attest links between Bogomil missionaries and heretics in Lombardy and the
Languedoc. It was in the Languedoc –​and, more specifically, the County of
Toulouse and its dependencies –​that the heresy of the Cathars, or the good
men, sunk its roots deepest.20 Where the brutality of the Albigensian Crusade
(1209–​1229) failed to stamp it out, the newly founded institution of inquisition
succeeded in reducing it to a few isolated vestiges, but only after the society
of the region had been transformed by war and dislocation.21 This, in brief, is
the tradition of Christian dualism in the Middle Ages. Placing the Paulicians
within this lineage is not as easy as first appears; in many respects, they are the
black sheep of the family. In contrast to the ascetic Bogomils and Cathars, the
Paulician didaskaloi procreated and followed no dietary restrictions, whereas

19 Literature on the Bogomils is extensive in Eastern European languages, but the sub-
ject lacks a recent comprehensive overview. For the traditional intepretation, see
Dimitri Obolensky, The Bogomils: A Study in Balkan Neo-​Manichaeism (Cambridge,
1948) and more recently John Sanidopoulos, The Rise of Bogomilism and Its Penetration
into Constantinople: With a Complete Translation of Euthymios Zygabenos’ ‘Concerning
Bogomilism’ (Rollinsford, 2011), pp. 33–​67; Bernard Hamilton, “Introduction,” in Hugo
Eteriano: Contra Patarenos, eds. Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton, Sarah Hamilton
(Leiden, 2004), pp. 35–​56; Yuri Stoyanov, The Other God: Dualist Religions from Antiquity
to the Cathar Heresy (New Haven/​London, 2000), pp. 158–​183. A more sceptical account
is given by Michael Angold, Church and Society in Byzantium under the Comneni, 1081–​1261
(Cambridge, 1995), pp. 468–​501. For a recent study with literature, see Maja Angelovska-​
Panova, “Turning Towards Heresy: Bogomils and Self-​Defence,” Nottingham Medieval
Studies 63 (2019), pp. 81–​94.
20 See Malcolm D. Lambert, The Cathars (Oxford, 1998); Malcolm Barber, The Cathars: Dualist
Heretics in Languedoc in the High Middle Ages, 2nd ed. (Abingdon, 2013).
21 On the Albigensian Crusade, see Laurence W. Marvin, The Occitan War: A Military and
Political History of the Albigensian Crusade, 1209–​1218 (Cambridge, 2008); Mark G. Pegg, A
Most Holy War: The Albigensian Crusade and the Battle for Christendom (Oxford/​New York,
2008). On inquisition, see John H. Arnold, Inquisition and Power: Catharism and the
Confessing Subject in Medieval Languedoc (Philadelphia, 2001).
Introduction 9

their elites were not distinct from ordinary believers in terms of dress or life-
style. Their dualism, much like the Marcionites who are often held to have
influenced them, posited two coeternal principles, whereas most Bogomils
and Cathars considered the evil demiurge to be a fallen creation of the benev-
olent God.22 For this reason, the Paulicians are often considered an indirect
influence on what followed them. This scepticism may not go far enough.
Evidence adduced herein shows that, in our period at least, the Paulicians were
not dualists at all.
This contention naturally problematises the relationship between the
Paulicians and the dualists who were supposedly influenced by them. Leaving
this aside for the moment, even in our period the movement is not easy to pin
down. This is most apparent in the two faces of the Paulicians which appear
in our sources: one, the persecuted minority fleeing from outside interference
that is found in their own testimony; and the other, the inveterate troublemak-
ers who seek to overthrow the imperial order, as Byzantine chronicles, hagiog-
raphies, and heresiologies would present them. This difference in perspective
is, of course, hardly a surprise because it arises from the desires of both commu-
nities to denigrate their opponents’ claims to sanctity while extolling their own

22 The Manichaean interpretation of the sources was largely upheld until Gieseler pro-
posed Marcionite influences. For the latter, see Johann C.L. Gieseler, “Untersuchen über
die Geschichte der Paulikianer,” Theologische Studien und Kritiken, 2:1 (1829), pp. 103–​111;
Karapet Ter Mkrttschian, Die Paulikianer im byzantinischen Kaiserreiche und verwandte
ketzerische Erscheinungen in Armenien (Leipzig, 1893), pp. 104–​112; Adolf von Harnack,
Marcion: das Evangelium vom fremden Gott, 2nd ed. (Leipzig, 1924), pp. 382–​383; Henri
Grégoire, “Les sources de l’histoire des Pauliciens. Pierre de Sicile est authentique et
‘Photius’ un faux,” Académie Royale de Belgique, Bulletin Classe des Lettres, 5e série 22
(1936), p. 105; Felix Scheidweiler “Paulikianerprobleme,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 43 (1950),
pp. 366–​371; Milan Loos, “Deux contributions à l’histoire des Pauliciens. I: A propos des
sources grecques reflétant des Pauliciens,” Byzantinoslavica 17 (1956), pp. 22–​38; Ioannes
E. Anastasiou, “Οἱ Παυλικιάνοι, Ἡ ἱστορία καὶ ἡ διδασκαλία των ἀπὸ τῆς ἐμφανίσεως μέχρι τῶν
νεωτέρων χρόνων,” Ἑταιρεία Θρακικῶν Μελετῶν 75 (1959); Joseph Hoffman, “The Paulician
Heresy: A Reappraisal,” Patristic and Byzantine Review 2:2 (1983), pp. 251–​263; Ioan Petru
Couliano, The Tree of Gnosis: Gnostic Mythology from Early Christianity to Modern Nihilism
(San Francisco, 1992), pp. 189–​197. For the lone view which proposes Manichaean influ-
ence post-​Gieseler, see Johann Friedrich, “Der ursprüngliche, bei Georgios Monachos nur
theilweise erhaltene Bericht über die Paulikianer,” Sitzungsberichte der Philosophisch-​
Philologischen und Historischen Classe der K.B. Akademie der Wissenschaften zu München
( Jahrgang 1896) (1897), pp. 90–​98. The tendency to trace Paulician beliefs to late antique
movements is criticised by both Garsoïan and Nersessian, the former of whom notes
that this “forces us to conjure up phantom sects appearing and disappearing like the
Cheshire cat,” while the latter opines that such interpretations would only be possi-
ble “if history took place in an intellectual test-​tube.” See Garsoïan, “Byzantine Heresy.
A Reinterpretation,” p. 97; Nersessian, The Tondrakian Movement, p. 41.
10 Introduction

virtues. It also reflects the reality of the Paulicians’ gradual estrangement from
the empire following persecution during the 810s. But there is another sense
in which Paulician and Roman sources are more difficult to reconcile. For the
period before the persecution of the 810s, we are mainly reliant on Paulician
testimony, whereas from the period afterward we are increasingly dependent
on Roman texts. This period marks a shift in the Paulicians’ organisation which
is most troublesome to trace: the change from the religious leadership of the
didaskaloi to the militaristic adventurers Karbeas and Chrysocheir. The salient
question is whether this shift corresponds to a genuine sea change in Paulician
practices, or whether it is a mirage caused by the differing identification
strategies of our sources. To give an instructive example, since Karbeas was a
deserter from the Roman Army, it is possible that the labelling of his followers
as Paulicians reflects an attempt to deflect attention from an uncomfortable
mutiny of Roman troops. Although I am still not entirely convinced, on the
balance of the evidence it seems that the communities of Sergios and Karbeas
were meaningfully linked. There are indications of geographical continuity
between the two and, more pointedly, Sergios’ own remarks make clear that
there were militaristic Paulicians in his own day who frequently scorned his
authority. His testimony therefore suggests that the Paulicians’ two faces, their
militaristic and religious sides, are best characterised not as a binary conflict
between opposing factions, but rather as reflecting tensions which penetrate
to the very heart of Paulician identity. As a result, it is necessary to keep these
facets continually in mind, particularly because the tensions between the
two provide the only window into their evolution into a more martial threat
between the two major Byzantine persecutions; a process for which we sadly
lack Paulician sources. Most pertinently, it is by tackling internal contradic-
tions such as these that we can see dissident religion as a product of multidi-
rectional social interactions, based on contested power relations and different
norms of identification, rather than doctrinal matters alone. This will underlie
our approach going forward.

1 Rethinking the Paulicians

Given the richness of the above portrayal, it might rightly mystify some to learn
that study of the Paulicians has been neglected for decades.23 In many respects
they seem the perfect topic for a pluralistic, globalised, but fractious world in

23 See recently, however, Donka Radeva, Павликяни и павликянство в българските

земи: архетип и повторения VII-​XVII век (Sofia, 2015); Stefano Fumagalli, L’eresia dei
Introduction 11

which cultural and religious conflict have become inescapable facts of life.
Located at a confluence where religious dissent, persecution, and Christian-​
Muslim warfare all meet, where distinctions between the ethnic and the reli-
gious blur into insignificance, it is difficult to conceive of a medieval parallel
with such modern relevance. Yet historians have looked elsewhere for such
themes, to familiar reference points such as jihād or crusade.24 In part, the
obscurity of the Paulicians and the complexity of the sources which describe
them must be at play here, but the fundamental problem is that they have so
seldom been studied for their own sake. Instead, they have attracted atten-
tion for their influence on the later Bogomil and Cathar heresies, or to uphold
romanticised conceptions of Armenian religious identity that privilege the
nation’s status as the first polity to officially adopt Christianity. It is no coin-
cidence that as historians have become less interested in ethno-​national or
religious searches for origins such as these the Paulicians have receded sharply
from their focus. The transcontinental dualist thesis that links them with the
Bogomils and Cathars resonates rather less today than it did for much of the last
century. Academic concerns have shifted away from doctrinal influence and
towards the power of beliefs and practices to manifest and reproduce them-
selves in particular social contexts; identity –​that most nebulous of scholarly
constructs –​is relational, contingent, and plural; names are not descriptors of
codified belief systems, but connote dialectical processes of identity negotia-
tion, often between the dominant and the disenfranchised. In short, heresy has
become postmodern. The Paulicians have weathered this change worse than
most. Work on the subject has, a few notable studies aside, scarcely advanced
in the past half century. When interest is roused, the writer’s pen has com-
monly focused on the years when they were sandwiched between the empire
and the ‘Abbāsid Caliphate, which was steadily fragmenting throughout our
period into a ring of independent satellites around a core of nominal power.
This book is no exception. Where it differs from its predecessors is its attempt
to embed the Paulicians within this context and explain how the movement
could grow swiftly enough to play a crucial role in regional politics in just a few

Pauliciani: Dualismo religioso e ribellione nell’Impero Bizantino (Milan, 2019). My igno-

rance of Bulgarian has precluded use of the former here.
24 As a result, Byzantine conceptions of holy war have been a recurring concern. See Tia
M. Kolbaba, “Fighting for Christianity: Holy War in the Byzantine Empire,” Byzantion 68:1
(1998), pp. 194–​221; Ioannis Stouraitis, “Jihād and Crusade: Byzantine Positions Towards
the Notions of “Holy War,”” Byzantina Symmeikta 21 (2011), pp. 11–​63; John F. Haldon,
“Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Views on Islam and on Jihād, c.900 CE.,” in Italy and Early
Medieval Europe: Papers for Chris Wickham, eds. Ross Balzaretti, Julia Barrow, Patricia
Skinner (Oxford, 2018), pp. 476–​485.
12 Introduction

decades. Eschewing the traditional dualist identification, it understands the

Paulicians as largely conventional Christians who rose to prominence through
the charismatic fervour of their leaders and their ability to articulate the allure
of an apostolic life in a frontier society which was ripe for complex ethno-​cul-
tural interaction.
Most of all, this book is driven by the conviction that the Paulicians mat-
ter. Even the most outstanding and exhaustive scholarship on the Byzantine
Empire during our period mentions them only in passing.25 This neglect is,
sadly, not a surprise, stemming from an understandable desire to swiftly dis-
pense with a subject best known for intractable disputes about the nature of
the movement’s beliefs, or the authenticity of the sources that describe it. As
a result, study of the Paulicians remains something of an island, isolated from
the subjects –​and, more importantly, the methodological developments –​that
should rightly cross-​pollinate with it.26 The problem is exemplified most of all
by the decline of the old dualist Paulician-​Bogomil-​Cathar lineage. Although it
is still accepted by many historians, this is because the fundamental paradigms
for studying the Paulicians and Bogomils have not shifted for a generation or
more, which could not be further from the truth in the case of the Cathars,
if Cathars we may still call them. This latter field has seen an explosion of
interest in more recent decades, culminating in theoretical innovations which
have transformed the subject and largely emancipated it from the old dualist
metanarrative. In some cases, this emancipation has been overt and radical,
such that Languedocian dualism is seen as an indigenous phenomenon with
no links to its eastern predecessors, but, even in more traditional approaches,
the interest in dualist origins is often confined to brief introductory remarks.27
Due to this decreased interest in eastern origins, the methodological ingenuity

25 See, for instance, the scant mention of Paulicians in excellent works such as Brubaker,
Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A History; Juan Signes Codoñer, The
Emperor Theophilos and the East, 829–​842: Court and Frontier in Byzantium during the Last
Phase of Iconoclasm (Farnham, 2014); John F. Haldon, The Empire That Would Not Die: The
Paradox of Eastern Roman Survival, 640–​740 (Cambridge, MA, 2016).
26 A rare example of a collaborative approach is Andrew P. Roach, Maja Angelovska-​Panova,
“Punishment of Heretics: Comparisons and Contrasts between Western and Eastern
Christianity in the Middle Ages,” Journal of History (Macedonia) 47:1 (2012), pp. 145–​171.
27 For dualism as a native Languedocian phenomenon, see Mark G. Pegg, “The Paradigm
of Catharism; or, the Historians’ Illusion,” in Cathars in Question, ed. Antonio C. Sennis
(York, 2016), pp. 21–​52; Mark G. Pegg, “Albigenses in the Antipodes: An Australian and the
Cathars,” Journal of Religious History 35:4 (2011), pp. 577–​600; Robert I. Moore, The War
on Heresy: Faith and Power in Medieval Europe (London, 2012). On the scant interest in
eastern origins in more traditional approaches, see Barber, The Cathars, pp. 7–​32; Claire
Taylor, Heresy, Crusade and Inquisition in Medieval Quercy (Woodbridge, 2011), pp. 3–​8.
Introduction 13

associated with medieval heresy has rarely been applied to the Paulicians.28
The same is true of the enormous body of groundbreaking scholarship on reli-
gion in Late Antiquity, whose insights might also have enriched our under-
standing of Paulician doctrine and praxis.29 This is clearly regrettable, but,
on a more positive note, the comparative dearth of interest in the Paulicians
presents us with the opportunity to reinvent the subject on similar lines to the
excellent studies alluded to above, without needing to tackle the interpretive
baggage that accompanies a subject which has long remained in vogue.
This is my aim here. By weaving Paulician history into the rich tapestry
of Byzantine and Islamic studies, I seek to establish it as a subject of worth
in its own right, rather than a neglected adjunct of the Cathars or Bogomils.
Inevitably, this book can only be a small part of this process, but I hope to
show that study of the Paulicians can enrich our understanding of contem-
porary developments in nuanced and at times surprising ways. For instance,
recent research on Byzantine religious disputes –​such as the Monothelite
controversy of the 7th century, the iconomachy of the 8th and 9th centu-
ries, and the growing divide between Rome and Constantinople from the 9th
century onward –​has revealed that these controversies were rewritten after
the fact in order to legitimate the adoption of beliefs, praxes, and ideological
positions which were often innovative or contested.30 I argue here that the
Paulicians too were reimagined and that the resulting 10th-​century reimag-
ination was so successful that it remains central to their portrayal to this
day. The Paulicians are therefore ideally positioned to contribute to a more
incisive understanding of Byzantine religious history, critiquing teleologies
which have long remained unchallenged in our sources because the field has
still not transcended its entanglement with Eastern Orthodox Christianity
and, in some countries, its associated ethno-​national mythologies. To give

28 This is despite excellent work on Byzantine religion such as Susan Wessel, “Literary
Forgery and the Monothelete Controversy: Some Scrupulous Uses of Deception,” Greek,
Roman and Byzantine Studies 42:2 (2001), pp. 201–​220; Averil Cameron, “How to Read
Heresiology,” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 33:3 (2003), pp. 471–​492.
29 Peter R.L. Brown, “Holy Men,” in The Cambridge Ancient History, XIV: Late Antiquity.
Empire and Successors AD 425–​600, eds. Averil Cameron, Bryan Ward-​Perkins, Michael
Whitby (Cambridge, 2000), pp. 781–​810; Eduard Iricinschi, Holger M. Zellentin, eds.,
Heresy and Identity in Late Antiquity (Tübingen, 2008); Judith Lieu, Marcion and the
Making of a Heretic: God and Scripture in the Second Century (Cambridge, 2015).
30 Marek Jankowiak, “The Invention of Dyotheletism,” Studia Patristica 63 (2013), pp. 335–​
342; Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​85: A History, pp. 772–​799;
Tia M. Kolbaba, Inventing Latin Heretics: Byzantines and the Filioque in the Ninth Century
(Kalamazoo, 2008).
14 Introduction

another example, while the Paulician raiding campaigns of the 840s onward
have traditionally been interpreted from a Roman standpoint, an Islamic per-
spective might prove more illuminating, particularly given the close cooper-
ation between the Paulicians and the Emirate of Melitene and the similarity
of their raiding practices.31 Some of the conclusions advanced herein may
prove more controversial. Above all, the thesis that the Paulicians did not
espouse dualism during our period necessitates interpretive dexterity for
those concerned with the origins of the Bogomils. Instead of positing doctri-
nal influence between the two movements, a more complex picture of power
relations might emerge, whereby Roman heresiological norms and identifica-
tion strategies link the two movements in a common discourse conditioned
by the anxieties, preconceptions, and expectations of Byzantine religious
culture. In other words, we might be looking at a doctrinal continuity per-
ceived or imposed by the identifier, rather than influence from one identified
group to another. The Letter of Theophylaktos Lekapenos, which many scholars
believe attests to the earliest traces of the Bogomils in Byzantine sources, is
naturally conducive to such a reading, as it describes heresy in Bulgaria in
quintessentially Paulician terms during the height of Byzantine interest in the
Paulicians during the sole reign of Constantine vii (945–​959). Questions like
this must remain open for the present, but they may show the way forward.
This book is an attempt to breathe life into what is in many respects an old
and weary subject. If it brings disagreement, this is infinitely preferable to the
disengagement that has long prevailed.
That being said, disagreement too has a long and rich history in Paulician
studies and, once more, this disagreement stems from their subordination to
other historical agendas. Distilling four centuries of scholarship into a few
sentences necessarily simplifies matters greatly of course, but research has
traditionally been dominated by two sets of competing metanarratives. The
first of these relates to debates from the 16th century onward between Catholic
and Protestant historians about whether dissident religious movements in the
Middle Ages (including, but not restricted to, Paulicians, Bogomils, Cathars,
Waldensians, Wycliffites, and Hussites)32 were the heretical forebears of the
squabbling Protestant churches, as most Catholic authors maintained, or

31 The recent work of Tayyara focuses on doctrinal matters. Abed el-​Rahman Tayyara,
“Muslim-​Paulician Encounters and Early Islamic Anti-​Christian Writings,” Islam and
Christian-​Muslim Relations 27:4 (2016), pp. 471–​489.
32 Peter Biller, The Waldenses, 1170–​1530 (Aldershot, 2001); Anne Hudson, The Premature
Reformation: Wycliffite Texts and Lollard History (Clarendon, 1988); Thomas A. Fudge, Jan
Hus: Religious Reform and Social Revolution in Bohemia (London, 2010).
Introduction 15

whether they were survivals of non-​hierarchical Christianity that were arbi-

trarily slandered by the illegitimate and authoritarian Catholic Church, as
most Protestants alleged.33 Both traditions were essentially concerned with
linking movements into genealogies of influence and, in doing so, they created
narratives that valorised a chain of heretical dualism linking the Manichaeans,
Paulicians, Bogomils, and Cathars with later reform movements. This interpre-
tation survived, albeit in truncated form, as the lineage of medieval Christian
dualism.34 Crucially, this series of Catholic-​Protestant disputes established
a paradigm in which one party viewed the dissidents of the Middle Ages as
dualist-​inspired heretics, while the other conceived of them as true survivals of
the apostolic church. Substantially identical positions were taken up by a sec-
ond string of metanarratives, extant from the late 19th century onward, which
respectively understood the Paulicians through Greek or Armenian sources.35
Those who favoured the testimony of the Greek sources maintained that the
Paulicians were dualists, much like earlier Catholic historians. By contrast,

33 A particular touchstone of debate was the extent of continuity between the Cathars
and Waldensians (whose differences were rarely well heeded at the time) and the later
Protestant churches. Paulicians are rarely invoked in this dispute, at least until Bossuet.
For the background, see Marie-​ Hubert Vicaire, ed., Historiographie du Catharisme
(Toulouse, 1979). For some of the most important texts in this tradition, see the Catholic
authors Bernardus Lutzenburgus, Catalogus haereticorum (Cologne, 1529); Jacques-​
Bénigne Bossuet, Histoire des variations des eglises protestantes, 2nd ed., 4 vols, vol. 3 (Paris,
1689), pp. 124–​200. For Protestant scholarship, see Matthias Flacius Illyricus, Catalogus
testium veritatis, qui ante nostram aetatem reclamarunt Papae (Basle, 1556), pp. 704–​761;
Johann Lorenz von Mosheim, Institutionum historiae ecclesiasticae antiquae et recentioris
(Frankfurt/​Leipzig, 1726), pp. 493–​495; 555–​556; 600–​602.
34 The classic expression, which still resembles the account of Bossuet in many respects,
remains Steven Runciman, The Medieval Manichee: A Study of the Christian Dualist
Heresy (Cambridge, 1947). For more recent formulations of this approach, see Hamilton,
“Introduction,” in Hugo Eteriano: Contra Patarenos, pp. 1–​102; Stoyanov, The Other God.
35 This dynamic becomes particularly apparent after the publication of Ter Mkrttschian’s
Die Paulikianer im byzantinischen Kaiserreiche. Before this date, Paulicians attracted sig-
nificantly more interest from Protestant authors than Catholic ones, largely because they
were considered a precursor of later reform movements. This scholarship often followed
the sources in identifying the Paulicians as dualists, while insisting that their beliefs were
laudable for the time, particularly in regard to their opposition to the established church.
On this, see Frederik Schmidt, Historia Paulicianorum orientalum (Copenhagen, 1826),
pp. 1–​5; 61–​63; 68–​74; Georg B. Winer, Johann G.V. Engelhardt, “Die Paulicianer. Eine kirch-
enhistorische Abhandlung,” Neues kritisches Journal der theologischen Literatur 7 (1827),
pp. 136–​165; Gieseler, “Untersuchen über die Geschichte,” pp. 80–​81; 107–​108; Adrien
Edmond Febvrel, Des Pauliciens: Thèse presenté à la Faculté de Theologie protestante de
Strasbourg (Strasbourg, 1868), pp. 51–​53; Alexandre Lombard, Pauliciens, bulgares et bons-​
hommes en Orient et en Occident (Geneva, 1879), pp. xv-​xx.
16 Introduction

scholars working on Armenian traditions advanced serious criticisms which

questioned the authenticity of the Greek sources.36 As a result, they gave
greater credence to the Armenian sources, which in their view indicated that
Paulician doctrine was a survival of the adoptionist Christianity that they
argued predominated in early Armenia. This position, which saw Paulician
doctrine as a legitimate and doctrinally pure survival of early Christianity, took
up the mantle of Protestant scholarship and, in some works, the dependence
is more or less explicit.37 Of course, the two sets of metanarratives do not map
perfectly upon one another –​the scholarship is far too complicated for that –​
but they have, directly or otherwise, dominated study of the Paulicians for cen-
turies. The contrast between these approaches is still exemplified in the two
most recent systematic accounts of the heresy, that of the Armenologist Nina
Garsoïan and the Byzantinist Paul Lemerle.38
Nothing demonstrates the inflexibility of past approaches more forcibly
than the almost total neglect of a body of material whose importance is self-​evi-
dent: the Paulician sources. Aside from the late and problematic Key of Truth,
a text discovered in Armenia during the 19th century which is believed by its
advocates to be representative of Paulician (or even earlier) beliefs, interest
in Paulician material has been curiously absent. The most well-​known source
on the heresy, Peter of Sicily’s History of the Paulicians, explicitly attests the
existence of such sources, alluding to and quoting from the letters of the didas-
kalos Sergios-​Tychikos.39 The possibility that Sergios’ letters were only a small
part of a greater body of Paulician material underlying the History was first
raised by Carl Rudolf Moeller at the beginning of the 20th century and period-
ically repeated thereafter, most notably by Nina Garsoïan and Paul Speck.40 Yet
no-​one analysed this Paulician material for its own sake until the trailblazing
efforts of Claudia Ludwig, who first studied this account of Paulician history in

36 Ter Mkrttschian, Die Paulikianer im byzantinischen Kaiserreiche; Frederick C. Conybeare

(ed.), The Key of Truth; Nina G. Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy (Paris/​The Hague, 1967).
37 Conybeare, Key of Truth, in passim. A point of caution must be raised here, since
Conybeare’s religious affiliation was Anglo-​Catholic (in fact, in 1894 he was consecrated a
bishop of the Order of Corporate Reunion, which sought to reunify the churches through
reordinations). As a result, although Protestant and Armenian conceptions of the
Paulicians coalesced in his work, he did not straightforwardly identify with either group.
38 Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy; Paul Lemerle, “L’histoire des Pauliciens d’Asie Mineure
d’après les sources grecques,” Travaux et mémoires 5 (1973), pp. 1–​144.
39 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 43; 157–​167, pp. 20–​23; 58–​63. Translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies, pp. 73; 87–​89.
40 Carl R. Moeller, De Photii Petrique Siculi libris contra Manichaeos scriptis (Bonn, 1910),
pp. 41–​43; Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, pp. 62–​67; Paul Speck, “Petros Sikeliotes, seine
Historia und der Erzbischof von Bulgarien,” ellhnika 27 (1974), pp. 384–​387.
Introduction 17

the 1980s, naming it the Didaskalie.41 Although I differ from Ludwig on a couple
of minor points –​I believe that the Didaskalie and Letters of Sergios were dis-
tinct texts, while she holds that the latter were subsumed within the former –​
her analysis of Paulician belief provides my starting point here. Critically, she
found no grounds in the Paulician material to support the Manichaean identi-
fication of the Roman heresiologists, instead finding that their religiosity was
founded simply on a heightened reverence for Paul and apostolic Christianity
as it appears in the foundational texts of the New Testament.42 In what follows,
I seek not just to corroborate Ludwig’s conclusions, but to go beyond them by
articulating how and why the apostolic Christianity she identified originated,
grew, and prospered in Armenia and eastern Asia Minor, thereby placing
Paulician history unambiguously on its own terms. Only by doing this can we
adequately explain their later history of persecution, insurrection, and warfare
and integrate it into the broader framework of medieval near eastern history.
Equally, however, it is imperative to explain how and why Byzantine under-
standings of the Paulicians were so misguided, or perhaps more accurately,
why their reverence for religious written traditions, their domestic religio-​
political concerns, and the vagaries of Roman-​Paulician interaction caused
them to maintain, more or less unchanged, a doctrinal identification in
their texts whose inaccuracy must surely have become manifest to some. It
is not sufficient to invoke the spectre of a decadent church or an oppressive
empire here, not only because this risks intimating ideological standpoints
that simplify a series of contingent and interrelated developments, but also
because Byzantine understandings of Paulicians did evolve and, at certain
times, opposition to their persecution was relatively widespread. Overtly or
otherwise, writing is always a political project. In the older disputes between
Catholic and Protestant history writing, views on the Paulicians were very
much bipartisan, but in more recent times, when an instinctive aversion to
religious violence underlies the majority of scholarship, much work has been
implicitly sympathetic to them. There is much in their history that renders
this understandable, but it ought to be resisted: the victims of Karbeas and
Chrysocheir deserve our sympathy as much as those of Leo v and Theodora.
In historiographical terms, pro-​Paulician sentiments can lead to obvious traps,
such as proto-​Protestantism, anti-​clericalism, or crypto-​anarchism, that I have
sought to avoid here. It is for this reason that this book is in many places more

41 Claudia Ludwig, “Wer hat was in welcher Absicht wie beschreiben? Bemerkungen zur
Historia des Petros Sikeliotes über die Paulikianer,” Varia 2 Πoikila byzantina 6 (1987),
pp. 149–​227.
42 Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” pp. 224–​225.
18 Introduction

concerned with Roman-​Paulician relations than the Paulicians as such. This

should become apparent in the following two chapters, which describe when
and why the principal Greek sources against the heresy were composed and
how this affects our understanding of them, but the same concern also drives
the more overtly historical chapters which follow.

2 One Heresy or Two? Paulicians in Armenia and Asia Minor

The focus on Paulician-​Byzantine interaction in the 8th and 9th centuries

leads to the most contentious decision I have made in this book: the decision
to exclude the Armenian sources from my focus.43 The diligent reader might
rightly be startled at this; after all, I have only just emphasised the negative
effects of approaches that take one source tradition as their starting point. My
counterargument is that the Armenian sources would indeed make a fascinat-
ing object of study –​but that study would have little to do with the Paulicians
of Asia Minor. The most obvious indicator of this is that, to my knowledge,
there are no such Armenian sources for the Paulicians during the period cov-
ered by this book.44 Besides this, early Armenian sources do not preserve ves-
tiges of Paulician testimony or describe beliefs like those of our Paulicians.
While the remnants of the Paulician sources preserved in Greek texts portray a
distinctly Pauline and apostolic form of Christianity, earlier Armenian sources
fail to invoke a consistent picture of the beliefs of the Paylikeank‘, Polikeank‘,

43 The omission is, I should note, impelled by my own linguistic limitations and, given this
fact, it seems appropriate to provide a disclaimer noting how I might approach the topic
if this obstacle did not apply. As should become apparent below, owing to the consensus
opinion that the Armenian and Greek sources are not easily reconcilable, I find it unlikely
that extensive engagement with the Armenian sources would change the interpretation
offered herein significantly. Rather more might, however, be gained by a thoroughgoing
immersion in the thought-​world of medieval Armenian society and its religious culture,
which could well illuminate some of the more obscure proclivities of the Paulicians in our
period, for instance, their idiosyncratic understanding of the Holy Spirit or their lack of
asceticism.
44 There are no known references to Paulicians in Armenian sources between Yovhannēs
Ōjnec‘i’s writings in the early 8th century and the fall of Tephrikē. For the Armenian
sources, see Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, pp. 80–​111; Hratch M. Bartikian, Istočniki
dlja izučenija istorii pavlikianskogo dviženija (Yerevan, 1961); Ter Mkrttschian, Die
Paulikianer im byzantinischen Kaiserreiche, pp. 39–​103; Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 53–​56;
Seta B. Dadoyan, The Fatimid Armenians: Cultural and Political Interaction in the Near East
(Leiden, 1997), pp. 32–​33; 36–​47, as well as the literature cited below.
Introduction 19

or Polikeans, if they describe their beliefs at all.45 If this is frustrating, it is not

exactly surprising. After all, the Greek sources too are inconsistent and inaccu-
rate. It is a truism of heresy studies that descriptions of heretics tell us more
about the author and culture responsible for those accounts than the heretics
they purport to describe.46 Even if a Paulician in 6th-​century Armenia held
the same belief as a Paulician in 9th-​century Asia Minor, it is unlikely they
would be described in the same way. In early Armenian traditions, doctrinal
anxieties principally revolved around Zoroastrians and so-​called Nestorians,
whereas by our period concerns had shifted slightly towards Julianists and
Chalcedonians.47 By contrast, in Greek heresiologies, the bête noires were
Arians, Manichaeans, and, in our period, whichever party in the iconoclast
controversy was not currently in the ascendancy.48 When the religious cultures
underpinning the texts are so different, appraising the relationship between the
Paulicians of Armenia and Asia Minor is far from straightforward. Continuity
there may be, but it is not a continuity we can easily trace. Since Paulicians in
early Armenia were mired in obscurity, it certainly seems necessary to posit
a radical transformation during the latter half of the 8th century, when the
movement gained ground quickly in Asia Minor. This transformation may
well be driven by migration from the east: Armenian migration into Byzantine
lands is well attested during precisely this period, while it is significant that
Paulicians disappear from Armenian sources when they attained their maxi-
mum prominence in Roman territory. All of this implies a relationship of some

45 Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, pp. 80; 151; Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 54; Anne E. Redgate,
“Catholicos John III’s Against the Paulicians and the Paulicians of Tephrike,” in Armenian
Sebastia/​Sivas and Lesser Armenia, ed. Richard G. Hovannisian (Los Angeles, 2004), p. 96.
46 For methodological reflections on this and similar subjects, see Peter Biller, “Through a
Glass Darkly: Seeing Medieval Heresy,” in The Medieval World, eds. Peter Linehan, Janet
L. Nelson (London, 2001), pp. 308–​326, especially p. 309; John H. Arnold, “The Cathar
Middle Ages as a Methodological and Historiographical Problem,” in Cathars in Question,
ed. Antonio C. Sennis (Woodbridge, 2016), pp. 53–​78.
47 For Zoroastrianism, see James R. Russell, Zoroastrianism in Armenia (Cambridge, MA,
1987). For ‘Nestorianism’, see Wilhelm Baum, Dietmar W. Winkler, The Church of the
East: A Concise History (London, 2010). For Julianism, see Aryeh Kofsky, “Julianism after
Julian of Halicarnassus,” in Between Personal and Institutional Religion: Self, Doctrine and
Practice in Late Antique Eastern Christianity, eds. Brouria Bitton-​Ashkelony, Lorenzo
Perrone (Turnhout, 2013), pp. 251–​294. For Armenian sources connecting Paulicians with
Nestorian and, more often, Zoroastrian tendencies, including by association with the
Arewordik‘ or Children of the Sun, who venerated the sun and exposed their dead, see
Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 85–​95; 191–​192.
48 For Arianism, see Rowan Williams, Arius: Heresy and Tradition (London, 2001); David
M. Gwynn, The Eusebians: The Polemic of Athanasius of Alexandria and the Construction
of the “Arian Controversy” (Oxford, 2007).
20 Introduction

kind between Paulician activity in both areas. Since this proves so difficult to
pin down in practice, the specifics merit attention here.
Early Paulician activity in Armenia is wraithlike. Scattered references to ‘the
followers of the little Paul’ are found in various Armenian texts from the 6th
to 8th centuries (and possibly even earlier) without a consistent indication of
who these people were, what they believed, and whence their name derived.
These uncertainties are exacerbated by concerns of authenticity, since the two
earliest references are often believed to have arisen as a result of interpola-
tion. The first of these, the Call to Repentance of the kat‘ołikos Yovhannēs i
Mandakuni (478–​490), which decrees a seven-​year penance on the “Polikeans,”
unfortunately gives little specifics about the heretics in question, whereas the
late date of the surviving manuscript and the uncertain attribution of the text to
Yovhannēs have diminished its importance for some.49 More weight has tradi-
tionally been placed on the Oath of Union composed at the 555 Council of Dvin
convoked by Nersēs ii of Aštarak (548–​557). This text was written in response
to one of the great bugbears of Armenian ecclesiastics: ‘Nestorian’ mission-
ary activity. While Armenian traditions espoused a Miaphysite, or one-nature,
Christology that emphasised the unity of Christ, within the Sasanian Empire
the Church of the East promulgated the rival doctrine of two natures, although
its Christology was entirely independent of Nestorios and his ideas.50 In the
process of describing missionary activity from Khūzistān, the Oath of Union
compares the sacramental practices of these ‘Nestorians’ with the Paulicians,
although since this comparison occurs in passing, it neither explains the lat-
ter name, nor elaborates on the doctrines and practices associated with it.51
Nonetheless, it seems possible that the name was initially used in connection
with Paul of Samosata and that identification would not be out of place here.
While there is a considerable gulf between the teachings of Nestorios and Paul,
as is unsurprising given that they lived in very different theological milieus,
both shared a tendency to separate Christ’s human and divine natures and
might therefore be equated in some strands of Miaphysite thought. An asso-
ciation of Nestorians with Paul of Samosata on sacramental matters therefore

49 Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, p. 87; Dadoyan, The Fatimid Armenians, p. 32. Both place
little emphasis on the text and cite Hratch Bartikian as the most notable critic of its
authority. See Bartikian, Istočniki dlja izučenija istorii pavlikianskogo dviženija.
50 Sebastian P. Brock, “The “Nestorian” Church: A Lamentable Misnomer,” Bulletin of the
John Rylands University Library of Manchester 78:3 (1996), pp. 23–​35.
51 For a translation of the passage with analysis, see Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, pp. 88–​
90. The text was first published by Ter Mkrttschian after his Die Paulikianer im byzan-
tinischen Kaiserreiche and is therefore not discussed in that work or Conybeare’s Key
of Truth.
Introduction 21

seems plausible in the Oath of Union.52 It is, however, far from substantiated,
not just due to the textual ambiguities, but also due to the possibility that the
reference to Paulicians was added at a later date.53
Irrespective of how we interpret the above references, sources from the
following centuries do not straightforwardly corroborate links with Paul
of Samosata and are if anything even more nebulous in their understand-
ing of Paulicians, aside from a recurring emphasis on iconoclasm. Garsoïan
notes supposed allusions to them in letters of Vrt‘anēs K‘ert‘oł and Yovhannēs
Mayragomec̣i (both early/​mid-​7th century), who refer to iconoclastic activ-
ity within Armenia and Ałovania (otherwise known as Caucasian Albania, a
land which corresponds to parts of modern Armenia and Azerbaijan), but the
heretics in question are never termed Paulicians.54 Other scholars have been
more cautious in their inferences than Garsoïan, but, irrespective of whether
a doctrinal connection is posited or not, conceptions of Paulicians in these
years invariably revolve around their rejection of icons.55 The relevance of

52 Note that the source is rarely connected with Paul, even by those who advocate the adop-
tionist position. Garsoïan, for instance, never attempts to determine the significance
of the label ‘Paulician’ in regard to this text specifically. The link with Paul of Samosata
seems a reasonable working hypothesis to me, however.
53 On the possibility that this reference was interpolated or caused by copyist’s error, see
Bartikian, Istočniki dlja izučenija istorii pavlikianskogo dviženija, pp. 85–​88. Lemerle
quotes Bartikian’s proposal that the text originally read Paulianist, which seems plausi-
ble. See Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 54. For Garsoïan’s rejoinders to Bartikian’s objections, see
Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, p. 90, n. 28. See also Dadoyan, The Fatimid Armenians,
pp. 32–​33; Redgate, “Catholicos John III’s Against the Paulicians,” p. 86.
54 Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, pp. 90–​92. Mayragomec̣i’s letter is only preserved in
Moses Kałankatuac̣i’s 10th-​century History of the Albanians. For a French translation
of the letter, see Sirarpie Der Nersessian, “Une apologie des images du septième siècle,”
Byzantion 17 (1944–​45), pp. 71–​72. This article also includes a translation of K‘ert‘oł’s letter
at pp. 58–​69. Andrea Schmidt argues that K‘ert‘oł’s letter was also authored by Yovhannēs
Mayragomec̣i, or perhaps a follower of his. See Andrea B. Schmidt, “Gab es einen arme-
nischen Ikonoklasmus? Rekonstruktion eines Dokuments der kaukasisch-​albanischen
Theologiegeschichte,” in Das Frankfurter Konzil von 794. Kristallisationspunkt karo-
lingischer Kultur, ed. Rainer Berndt, 2 vols., vol. 2 (Mainz, 1997), pp. 947–​964, with criti-
cism at Thomas F. Mathews, “Vrt‘anēs Kert‘oł and the Early Theology of Images,” Revue des
études arméniennes 31 (2008/​09), pp. 109–​110.
55 Although Paulicians and iconoclasts were closely linked in early scholarship based on
the Armenian sources, the relationship between the two assumes greater prominence
in Garsoïan’s work since more sources were accessible to her than to her predecessors.
For instance, Ter Mkrttschian and Conybeare did not utilise the works of K‘ert‘oł and
Mayragomec̣i. Moreover, Paulician-​iconoclast links had been undermined somewhat
before Garsoïan’s study. Der Nersessian, following Grégoire, believed that the Paulicians
of Byzantine territory, unlike their Armenian namesakes, were not iconoclasts and
accordingly did not link the Paulicians to these texts. On this, see Der Nersessian, “Une
22 Introduction

these texts to the Paulicians of our era is therefore problematised by the argu-
ment advanced herein that their Byzantine namesakes did not espouse icon-
oclastic views. Returning to 6th century Armenia, Anne Redgate notes some
correspondences between Paulician ideas and the writings of Anania Širakac‘i
around the same time as the above sources, but, again, the link is conjectural.56
The first unambiguous reference since the Oath of Union is difficult to date
exactly, with authorities disagreeing over a 7th- or 8th-​century date.57 The
source in question is actually a 12th-​century one, the History of Samuel Anec‘i,
which includes a document referring to a council of the Ałovanians. Garsoïan
believes the document is an amalgamation of two separate ones, but, for our
purposes here, the point of interest is its proclamation of the necessity of con-
demning the Chalcedonians, the Mayragomec̣i, and the Paulicians, although,
once again, the meaning of the last-​named is obscure.58
Only at the beginning of the 8th century do we get a sustained articula-
tion of Paulician belief from the hand of the Armenian kat‘ołikos Yovhannēs
iii Ōjnec‘i (717–​728). Yovhannēs, who was deeply concerned with heresy,
convoked a council at Dvin in 719/​20 to deal with the subject. The thirty-​sec-
ond canon of this council addresses the necessity of shunning the Polikeank‘,
whom it considers a subdivision of the Mcłnē (an ascetic heresy that for-
swore manual labour; it is generally identified with the Messalians, but the

apologie des images,” pp. 73–​74; Henri Grégoire, “Communication sur les Pauliciens,” Atti
del V Congreso Internazionale di Studi Bizantini, vol. 1 (Rome, 1939), pp. 176–​177. Alexander,
meanwhile, proposed that once iconoclast tenets began to evolve in more radical direc-
tions after the period in which Vrt‘anēs and Yovhannēs were writing their doctrine did
start to resemble that of the Paulicians, particularly as described by Yovhannēs iii Ōjnec‘i.
The emphasis on the Paulicians is minor in his article, however. See Paul J. Alexander, “An
Ascetic Sect of Iconoclasts in Seventh Century Armenia,” in Late Classical and Medieval
Studies in Honor of Albert Mathias Friend, Jr., ed. Kurt Weitzmann (Princeton, 1955),
pp. 151–​160, especially p. 159.
56 For Redgate, the defining features of these early strands of Paulician belief, which she
reconstructs from the writings of Yovhannēs iii Ōjnec‘i and Peter of Sicily rather than
earlier Armenian sources, were the rejection of the cross and the Old Testament. She
links these tenets to the context of the 640s, particularly Anania’s mathematical works
and the emphasis placed on the cross by Herakleios. See Anne E. Redgate, “Seeking
Promotion in the Challenging 640s: The Amatuni Church at Ptghni, Ideas of Political
Authority, and Paulician Challenge –​A Background to the Teaching of Anania Shirakatsi,”
Aramazd: Armenian Journal of Near Eastern Studies 9:1 (2015), pp. 163–​176.
57 Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, pp. 92–​94.
58 The relevance of the above sources to the Paulicians is questioned by Redgate, who sees
Yovhannēs Ōjnec‘i’s work as the earliest undisputed Armenian source concerned with the
heresy. See Redgate, “Catholicos John III’s Against the Paulicians,” p. 86.
Introduction 23

identification is disputed by some).59 Paradoxically though, both this canon

and Yovhannēs’ fullest work on the Paulicians, a more detailed treatise now
known as the Contra Paulicianos, are almost totally neglected by those who
emphasise the Armenian and adoptionist character of the heresy.60 The rea-
son for this is that the portrayal of the Paulicians within the Contra Paulicianos
does not fit easily with that found elsewhere. Instead of the adoptionist or
dualist emphases that might be expected, the text rails against pagan, animis-
tic, and Zoroastrian practices, while Yovhannēs also attributes an iconoclas-
tic bent to the Paulicians, accusing them particularly of rejecting the cross.61
This haphazard selection of targets may be explained by Yovhannēs’ concern
for his flock, since Redgate notes that the treatise is predominantly concerned

59 For the canon, see Nersessian, The Tondrakian Movement, p. 11. That the Mcłnē should
be identified with Messalians was first proposed by Ter Mkrttschian, Die Paulikianer im
byzantinischen Kaiserreiche, pp. 41–​41 and has been upheld recently by Dadoyan and
Zakarian. See Seta B. Dadoyan, The Armenians in the Medieval Islamic World. Volume
One: The Arab Period in Armīniyah –​Seventh to Eleventh Centuries (New Brunswick, 2011),
p. 22; David Zakarian, “Syneisaktism in Early Armenian Christianity,” Le Muséon 130:1–​
2 (2017), pp. 128–​130. Both Garsoïan and Nersessian are sceptical, instead deriving the
term for the Armenian word for filth. See Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, pp. 82–​83; 207–​
209; Nersessian, The Tondrakian Movement, pp. 8–​11. The recent analysis of Mardirossian
agrees with Garsoïan’s findings. See Aram Mardirossian, Le livre des canons arméniens
(Kanonagirk‘ Hayoc‘) de Yovhannēs Awjnec‘i: église, droit et société en Arménie du IVe
au VIIIe siècle (Leuven, 2004), pp. 190–​191. Garsoïan, in fact, associates the Mcłnē at
the Council of Šahapivan in 447 with the Paulicians, but this theory is questioned by
Zakarian. See Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, pp. 207–​210; Zakarian, “Syneisaktism in
Early Armenian Christianity,” pp. 128–​129. The Messalians are frequently associated with
the Bogomils in both primary and secondary literature on account of their asceticism.
The association is rejected by Antonio Rigo, “Messalianismo =​Bogomilismo: un equazi-
one dell’ereseologia medievale bizantina,” Orientalia Christiana Periodica 56 (1990),
pp. 53–​82. On the Messalians more generally, see the farsighted analysis of Daniel Caner,
which reinterprets those circumscribed under the label as exponents of broadly orthodox
strands of asceticism with a focus on wandering, poverty, and the precedence of prayer
over manual labour. Such “Messalian” practices were proscribed as heretical by the early
Church Fathers and the burgeoning influence of organised monasticism. Daniel Caner,
Wandering, Begging Monks: Spiritual Authority and the Promotion of Monasticism in Late
Antiquity (Berkeley, 2002).
60 Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, pp. 94–​95. A notable exception is Redgate, who reconciles
the text with an interpretation of Peter of Sicily derived largely from Lemerle, arguing that
the sources show continuity in terms of dualism and iconoclasm, while proposing that
Paulician belief shed its Zoroastrian and pre-​Christian aspects in Byzantine territory. See
Redgate, “Catholicos John III’s Against the Paulicians,” pp. 100–​105.
61 On the text, see the useful summary in Redgate, “Catholicos John III’s Against the
Paulicians,” pp. 94–​96. See also, Sirarpie Der Nersessian, “Image Worship in Armenia and
Its Opponents,” Armenian Quarterly 1:1 (1946), pp. 71–​73.
24 Introduction

with articulating the orthodox standpoint as a means of combatting heretical

influence, rather than a systematic doctrinal exposé.62 As for Paulician activity
in his own day, Yovhannēs places them predominantly in the region south-​
west of Lake Van, near the tributaries of the upper Tigris. In earlier times, he
associates them with Ałovania, stating that after their expulsion from Armenia
by a certain kat‘ołikos Nerses (variously identified with the above-​mentioned
Nerses ii or Nerses iii (641–​661)), they joined with Ałovanian iconoclasts and
only resumed their activity within Armenia when circumstances were pro-
pitious.63 Besides this iconoclastic emphasis, which has been singled out by
some, a clear understanding of Paulician heterodoxy never surfaces in the text
and, as a result, critics have considered it unreliable or confused.64 This may
be too harsh an assessment when its pastoral emphasis is taken into account,
but it is notable that the most detailed and contemporary Armenian source
on the Paulicians does not support the adoptionist or dualist positions, while
the iconoclastic tendencies it attests cannot be reliably traced among the
Paulicians of Asia Minor.
No other witnesses explicitly attest Paulicians during the 8th century.
Some historians have considered them synonymous with the ‘sons of sinful-
ness’ described in the History of Łewond, but, as we shall see in Chapter 4,
this seems to be a term of abuse that Łewond directs at several groups, rather
than a distinct community.65 References to Paulicians then give out entirely
in Armenian sources, only to resume after the fall of Tephrikē. Some of those
sources which postdate this event, such as the letters of the 11th-​century writer
Gregory Magistros, are notably dependent on the Greek sources.66 However,

62 Redgate, “Catholicos John III’s Against the Paulicians,” pp. 97; 101.
63 For Nerses ii, see Nersessian, The Tondrakian Movement, p. 19; Garsoïan, The Paulician
Heresy, pp. 117, n. 13; 132–​133; Der Nersessian, “Image Worship in Armenia,” pp. 69–​70. For
Nerses iii, see Runciman, The Medieval Manichee, pp. 38–​39; Redgate, “Catholicos John
III’s Against the Paulicians,” p. 82; Redgate, “Seeking Promotion,” p. 170.
64 Their iconoclasm is noted particularly by Der Nersessian, Garsoïan, and Redgate. See
Der Nersessian, “Image Worship in Armenia,” pp. 69–​73; Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy,
pp. 132–​134; Garsoïan, “Byzantine Heresy,” p. 95; Redgate, “Catholicos John III’s Against
the Paulicians,” pp. 96; 101–​102. On the low value often attributed to the text, see Ter
Mkrttschian, Die Paulikianer im byzantinischen Kaiserreiche, pp. 60–​61; Runciman, The
Medieval Manichee, pp. 32–​34; 47; Redgate, “Catholicos John III’s Against the Paulicians,”
pp. 96–​98.
65 For the opposing view, see Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, pp. 85; 136–​137; Nersessian, The
Tondrakian Movement, p. 52.
66 Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, pp. 97–​101; Nersessian, The Tondrakian Movement, pp. 49–​
50. For a recent study of Gregory’s work which argues that he conceived of Paulicians
and T‘ondrakec‘i as separate groups, see Federico Alpi, “L’identificazione fra tondra-
chiani e pauliciani e la testimonianza della lettera n. 4 (K67) di Grigor Magistros,” in
Introduction 25

for the most part, later references to heretical activity in Armenian sources do
not refer to Paulicians at all, but rather to T‘ondrakec‘i, or Tondrakians.67 The
reason why the T‘ondrakec‘i are closely associated with the Paulicians is fairly
logical: they come to prominence within Armenia shortly after the downfall
of the Paulicians in Roman territory. Hence, the newfound prominence of the
T‘ondrakec‘i is conventionally explained by the flight of Paulicians eastward
following their defeat. The Armenian sources suggest the reality is somewhat
more complex than this. They attribute the foundation of the T‘ondrakec‘i
to Smbat of Zarehawan, who lived some decades before the fall of Tephrikē
(he was a near contemporary of the didaskalos Sergios-​Tychikos (800/​01-​834/​
35)) and based himself at T‘ondrak, in Apahunik‘ in central Armenia, far from
the main Paulician centres on the Anti-​Taurus Mountains.68 The relationship
between the Paulicians and T‘ondrakec‘i therefore seems to be indirect, at least
until the movements possibly cross-​pollinated in the later 9th century.69
The beliefs of the T‘ondrakec‘i are not straightforward to determine, since,
like many heretics, their tenets are generally framed in terms of their deviations
from orthodoxy, such as rejection of the cross and icons. Advocates of the adop-
tionist thesis, such as Frederick Conybeare and Nina Garsoïan, therefore derive
their interpretation not from contemporary witnesses on the T‘ondrakec‘i, but
from a much more problematic work, the Key of Truth, which cannot reliably
be traced further back than the 18th century. To the aforementioned writers
though, it represents the survival of ideas dating back to the 9th century, or
even earlier.70 The Key of Truth first came to light in 1837 during an investiga-
tion by the Armenian Church into a curious group of sectarians in Ark‘weli,
Shirak province, in what was then Russian Armenia.71 The group were even-
tually identified as T‘ondrakec‘i by contemporary Armenian clerics and, as a
result of this identification, the Key is frequently considered representative of

Al crocevia delle civiltà. Richerche su Caucaso e Asia Centrale, eds. Aldo Ferrari, Daniele
Guizzo (Venice, 2014), pp. 51–​75.
67 On the T‘ondrakec‘i, see Nersessian, The Tondrakian Movement.
68 Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, pp. 140–​143; 148; Nersessian, The Tondrakian Movement,
pp. 37–​41.
69 As argued at Nersessian, The Tondrakian Movement, pp. 47–​54.
70 Conybeare, Key of Truth, pp. vi-​xiii; cv-​cxxxvii; Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, pp. 108–​111.
71 For the below account, see Conybeare, Key of Truth, pp. xxiii-​xxx; Leon Arpee, “Armenian
Paulicianism and the Key of Truth,” American Journal of Theology 10 (1906), pp. 267–​285;
Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, p. 108; Nersessian, The Tondrakian Movement, pp. 89–​96;
Anna M. Ohanjanyan, “The Key of Truth and the Problem of the ‘Neo-​T‘ondrakites’ at the
End of the 19th Century,” trans. S. Peter Cowe, Journal of the Society for Armenian Studies
20 (2011), pp. 133–​135.
26 Introduction

Tondrakian and, by extension, Paulician belief. Serious doubts must be raised

about this. According to its colophon, the text found at Ark‘weli was copied
from an earlier manuscript in 1782 by one Yovhannēs Choushdak Vartabedian: a
peripatetic dissident who first troubled the Armenian authorities at Moush,
before fleeing first to Constantinople, then the Mekhitarist Monastery at San
Lazzaro in the Venetian lagoon, and finally back to Constantinople, in each case
with trouble hot on his heels.72 His later proselytising career, which included
forced apostasies to Islam, was based primarily at Khnus, whence many of the
Ark‘weli dissidents apparently originated.73
In the eyes of Conybeare, the first editor of the text, the archaic language
used in the Key implies that its origins should be traced to the 9th century; in
fact, he favours the T‘ondrakec‘i founder Smbat of Zarehawan himself as its
author.74 For him, the extant parts of the text –​it was heavily redacted and
censored by its possessors shortly before its seizure in an attempt to conceal
its heterodoxy –​represent an adoptionist Christianity that bore similarities to
the Christology of Paul of Samosata and, more importantly, represented the
primordial form of Christianity disseminated in Armenia until the intrusion of
Greek ideas into the area.75 This theory had a lukewarm reception among con-
temporary critics, but alarm bells ring nowadays because Conybeare’s analysis
is subordinated throughout to his belief that adoptionist churches originally
predominated throughout Europe until they were supplanted by the Roman
Catholic Church; a disdain for which Conybeare is unable to conceal.76 His
study, in fact, marks the union of the Protestant and Armenian metanarratives
of Paulician history.77 It is not until the admittedly excellent work of Garsoïan

72 Arpee, “Armenian Paulicianism,” pp. 269–​271. Nersessian calls him Yovhannēs Vahaguni.
See Nersessian, The Tondrakian Movement, pp. 93; 96.
73 For a study of the intersection of Protestant/​Tondrakian identities around Khnus at
the time, see Yaşar Tolga Cora, “Localizing Missionary Activities: Encounters between
Tondrakians, Protestants and Apostolic Armenians in Khnus in the Mid-​Nineteenth
Century.” in The Ottoman East in the Nineteenth Century: Societies, Identities and Politics,
eds. Yaşar Tolga Cora, Dzovinar Derderian, Ali Sipahi (London, 2016), pp. 109–​132.
74 Conybeare, Key of Truth, pp. xxxii.
75 The adoptionist thesis depends predominantly on the emphasis on baptism in the text.
See Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, p. 108; Nersessian, The Tondrakian Movement, pp. 70–​
71. The linguistic evidence that Conybeare adduced for the text’s antiquity has often been
questioned. For a discussion, see Nersessian, The Tondrakian Movement, pp. 89–​96.
76 Regard Conybeare’s religious background at note 37 above, however. For his anti-​Papal
invective, see Conybeare, Key of Truth, pp. lvi-​lvii. See also the collection of articles in
Frederick C. Conybeare, Roman Catholicism as a Factor in European Politics (London, 1901).
77 The most important Armenocentric perspective on the heresy prior to Conybeare’s was
the groundbreaking Ter Mkrttschian, Die Paulikianer im byzantinischen Kaiserreiche.
Introduction 27

that the focus shifts from an anti-​Catholic emphasis to an Armenian one and,
to her credit, this emphasis is not teleological or overtly ethno-​national, but
rather a counterpoint to the Marxist perspective that then predominated in
Armenian studies.78 Implicitly or otherwise though, this scholarship is an exer-
cise in privileging the antiquity and purity of Christian traditions in Armenia,
rather than an analysis of the Paulicians or T‘ondrakec‘i from contemporary
sources.
In other words, the Key of Truth has traditionally been identified as repre-
sentative of Paulician belief because this fits traditional understandings of
Armenian religious identity.79 As a result, the 18th-​and 19th-​century contexts
that condition the text have often been elided entirely. We might imagine that
a reappraisal of the Key in its contemporary setting would paint a very different
picture –​and this is exactly what we find, for Anna Ohanjanyan’s recent reas-
sessment traces the religiosity of the Key and the Ark‘weli dissidents to western
Evangelical and Pentecostal missionaries who were then active in the area.80
Above all else, irrespective of how we analyse the Key of Truth or the Contra
Paulicianos of Yovhannēs Ōjnec‘i, the Armenian sources cannot be convinc-
ingly reconciled with either the Byzantine allegation that the Paulicians were
dualist or the distinctly Pauline Christianity that the Didaskalie and Letters of
Sergios evoke. The futility of attempting to reconcile the two source traditions
is demonstrated by Garsoïan’s valiant effort at doing so. She proposed that the
adoptionist Paulicians of Armenia transmogrified into dualists in imperial ter-
ritory due to iconoclast influences, but this only serves to take the relevant
Armenian and Greek sources at face value.81 Our approach, by contrast, must

78 On this Marxist scholarship, see Garsoïan, “Byzantine Heresy,” pp. 87–​91. Nersessian’s
work on the T‘ondrakec‘i in some respects follows the old Marxist paradigms.
79 Notably, these were not endogenous Armenian understandings, but originated exter-
nally, largely with the Anglo-​Papalist Conybeare and the Armenian émigré Garsoïan.
For criticism of the adoptionist reading of the Key, see Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 4; 12–​15;
Nersessian, The Tondrakian Movement, pp. 69–​71; 89–​96.
80 Ohanjanyan, “The Key of Truth,” pp. 131–​136. See also her book on the Key (in Armenian).
81 Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, pp. 26; 210–​230; Garsoïan, “Byzantine Heresy,” pp. 97–​105.
Specifically, Garsoïan observes that a reductio ab absurdum of certain iconoclast tenets
could lead to the doctrines of the “Neo-​Paulicians,” which is how she terms the dualist
Paulicians she considers a specifically Byzantine phenomenon. For instance, the icono-
clast tendency (at least as Garsoïan reads it) to stress the divine over the human in Christ
could lead to a docetic Christology, whereas the iconoclast rejection of images could lead
to a more wholesale rejection of matter. This might be theoretically possible, but the
methodology is so reductionist that it abstracts belief and praxis from their socio-​reli-
gious contexts, effectively making her “Neo-​Paulicians” more iconoclastic than the icon-
oclasts. In any case, as noted several times already, our observation that the Paulicians of
our era did not espouse iconoclasm removes the foundation for arguments such as these.
28 Introduction

instead base itself on the few reliable pieces of Paulician testimony relevant to
the context at hand. If nothing else, the above synopsis should have demon-
strated that a reappraisal of the Armenian sources would necessitate a study
as lengthy as the present one. This would surely be a worthy endeavour, which
might well engage with this one in unexpected ways, in the process developing
a more subtle portrayal of heterodoxy across Asia Minor and the Caucasus. It
is unlikely, however, that it would appreciably alter our understanding of the
most noteworthy period of Paulician history: the era of heresy, persecution,
and warfare in the Byzantine Empire.

3 What Is the Paulician Heresy? Traditional Approaches

Thus far, we have seen that existing interpretations of Paulician history have,
to a lesser or greater extent, been subordinated to historical concerns which
have resonated after the fact, such as traditional conceptions of Armenian
Christianity, or, in earlier periods, the claims to sanctity of Catholic and
Protestant churches. Understanding Paulician history on its own terms requires
a new footing, albeit one whose deviations from the established position are
discussed and justified. In aspiring to this aim here, we shall therefore pro-
vide a general overview of Paulician history as currently accepted, including
an explanation of their relationship with Romanía (the contemporary name
for the polity nowadays known as the Byzantine Empire), the Islamic frontier
emirates, and the later heresies of the Bogomils and the Cathars. While doing so,
particular attention will be paid to signposting points of conflict between the
accepted position and the interpretation developed in the following chapters.
Insofar as our focus remains on the 9th-​century apogee of Paulician power, this
will primarily be an account based on the dualist strand of scholarship, rather
than the Armenian position. In practice, however, there are few differences
between the two, since the lack of Armenian sources for our period means
that Armenologists have generally either considered this period of negligible
importance for their concerns, or adopted the narrative of the Greek sources
while disputing the dualist identification that those sources maintain.82
As a result, there is general agreement about the framework of Paulician
history in our period. This consensus is primarily dictated by the influence of
the History of the Paulicians (and indirectly the Didaskalie), which has formed

For criticisms of Garsoïan’s hypothesis, not all of which seem entirely fair, see Lemerle,
“L’histoire,” pp. 14–​15; Nersessian, The Tondrakian Movement, pp. 47; 69–​71.
82 See, for instance, Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, pp. 114–​130.
Introduction 29

the basis for these accounts and consequently will form the core of this over-
view. As already noted, the Didaskalie was only studied in and of itself as a
Paulician source by Ludwig, but prior to this date historians had still adopted
its testimony through the intermediary of the History of the Paulicians or its
derivate texts. Since this is the first time we have met both of these works,
a few words are necessary on them. The History of the Paulicians, authored
by the otherwise unknown Peter of Sicily, is evidently a composite text that
reworks several earlier documents, including the two Paulician sources, the
Didaskalie and Letters of Sergios. According to internal evidence within the
text, it was composed during the heyday of Paulician power, shortly before
the death of Chrysocheir in 872, but several glaring inconsistencies undermine
this claim. Several critics have considered it a 10th-​century forgery and I shall
offer additional evidence for doing so in Chapter 1.83 As for the Didaskalie, it
does not now survive as a standalone text, but has been amended and reworked
in the process of its incorporation into the History, in the process losing its
authorial voice and, potentially, some episodes or topoi included in the orig-
inal.84 This should obviously make us cautious about its reliability as a piece
of historical testimony, but, thankfully, Peter of Sicily seems to have remained
largely faithful to the original, as is demonstrated in instances where he retains
Paulician topoi that contradict the aims of his work. In some instances, he has
made more serious alterations to the text, such as by superimposing a chrono-
logical framework which it initially lacked.85 Besides these problems of later
revision, another problem intervenes; namely, the fact that the Didaskalie was
never intended to be a conventionally historical account of the Paulicians at
all. Rather, it was a mythologised explanation of the movement’s origins writ-
ten long after the fact in order to make sense of the persecutions enacted by
Michael i and Leo v in the 810s. A precise date is impossible to determine, but
it seems most likely that it was written in the period 815–​830. This explains the
recurrent focus on persecution in the Didaskalie’s narrative, but it bears reit-
erating that many of the events it recounts probably never happened. It is for
this reason that the account of Paulician history offered in this book differs so
considerably from its predecessors. Despite the text’s mythic leanings, which
have been noted by some, the Didaskalie’s version of Paulician history has

83 Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy, pp. 27–​79; Ter Mkrttschian, Die Paulikianer im byzan-
tinischen Kaiserreiche, pp. 1–​28.
84 See also Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” pp. 149–​227.
85 See Appendices.
30 Introduction

prevailed for centuries.86 The consensus is so entrenched that the chronology

articulated by Johann Gieseler in 1829 corresponds almost exactly with Paul
Lemerle’s study of 1973.87 As a result, the following account is a good guide for
the general reader. For ease of reference, all dates attributed to the didaskaloi
are derived from Lemerle’s study.88
According to the History and the Didaskalie, then, the man whom the
Paulicians considered their founder was a certain Constantine, who lived
during the mid-​7th century in Mananalis, a border district in western Armenia
not far from the Euphrates and the easternmost approaches to Romanía. This
was a time of momentous change in Armenia in particular and the Near East
more broadly. The unpredictable reverses of the Byzanto-​Sasanian wars had
exhausted both combatants by the 630s and left them as easy prey to the new-
found zeal of the Arab tribes, so recently unified under the banner of Islam.89
The Roman emperor Herakleios (610–​641), who had only a decade beforehand
toppled the Sasanian capital of Ctesiphon with the aid of the Gök Turks, was
forced to abandon Syria and Egypt, both recently won back from the Sassanids,
and focus his defence on Asia Minor.90 The stricken Sasanians, meanwhile,
collapsed altogether under the Muslim advance, notwithstanding increasingly
futile attempts at resistance on the part of Yazdegerd iii (632–​651), whose
heirs fled to Tang China to continue the struggle.91 Armenia had long been
contested by the Byzantines and Sasanians and was often divided into client
kingdoms beholden to the two main powers, but, despite this, it had developed
its own alphabet, literary traditions, and theological frames of reference.92 This

86 Ludwig, who might have been the most logical writer to dissent from this, was not inter-
ested in Paulician history as such. The mythical qualities of the text are noted in passing
by Loos, “Le mouvement paulicien,” p. 258; Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 56.
87 See, for instance, Gieseler, “Untersuchen über die Geschichte,” p. 101; Lemerle,
“L’histoire,” p. 84.
88 See Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 40–​113.
89 For Islam in our period, see Hugh N. Kennedy, The Prophet and the Age of the Caliphates: The
Islamic Near East from the Sixth to the Eleventh Century, 3rd ed. (Abingdon, 2016).
90 On the period, see Peter Sarris, Empires of Faith: The Fall of Rome to the Rise of Islam 500–​700
(New York/​Oxford, 2011); James Howard-​Johnston, Witnesses to a World Crisis: Historians
and Histories of the Middle East in the Seventh Century (Oxford, 2011).
91 For a general overview, see Touraj Daryaee, Sasanian Persia: The Rise and Fall of an Empire
(London, 2009).
92 For useful introductions to this period of Armenian history, see Nina G. Garsoïan,
“Janus: The Formation of the Armenian Church from the IVth to the VIIth century,” in The
Formation of a Millennial Tradition: 1700 Years of Armenian Christian Witness, ed. Robert
F. Taft (Rome, 2004), pp. 79–​95; Nina G. Garsoïan, Interregnum: Introduction to a Study
on the Formation of Armenian Identity (ca 600–​750) (Leuven, 2012); Tim W. Greenwood,
Introduction 31

was in spite of a lack of political integration, since, whether under the nomi-
nal suzerainty of outside actors or not, for much of our period Armenia was a
fractious land contested by squabbling nakharar houses, that is, agnatic kin-
ship groups whose power bases centred on the few fertile plains and valleys
interspersed within an otherwise harsh and sparsely populated landscape.93
The first Islamic forays into the Armenian plateau were limited and sporadic,
but from the 650s onward campaigns increased markedly in ambition, aim-
ing at annexation of the region. Armenia, like much of the Near East, would
remain weakly Islamicised even into the 9th and 10th centuries, but, unlike
elsewhere, Islam struggled to gain lasting ground in the longer term. The
Georgian kingdoms to the north too preserved their Christian faith, perhaps
partially as a result of their westward-​facing position on the Black Sea coast,
but the same was not true of Ałovania/​Caucasian Albania, even if the conver-
sion of the latter postdates our period.94 As well as facing a new power from
the south, the Transcaucasian peoples also faced a growing threat in the north,
the Khazar Khaganate, which had installed itself on the steppe to the north
of the Caucasus in the middle of the 7th century, displacing the Gök Turks.
The khaganate’s influence would remain comparable with that of empire and
caliphate throughout the period covered by this book, whether in alliance or
in conflict with the powers to the south. Much of its strength was based on its
dominance of lucrative north-​south trade routes, but it is perhaps best-​known
today for its unprecedented adoption of Judaism as the state religion.95
It might conceivably have been in the context of this changing world that
Constantine of Mananalis made the decision to migrate to Byzantine terri-
tory, eventually settling at Kibossa, a fortified settlement close to the city of
Koloneia in north-​eastern Asia Minor.96 The immediate impulse for his journey

“Armenian Neighbours (600–​ 1045),” in The Cambridge History of the Byzantine

Empire: c.1500–​1492, ed. Jonathan Shepard (Cambridge, 2008), pp. 333–​364.
93 Indeed, whether construed in territorial, linguistic, cultural, or religious terms, we
might more profitably adopt a “pluralistic and inclusive” approach, thereby speaking of
“Armenias” during our period. On this, and the associated methodological and termino-
logical complexities, see Greenwood, “Armenian Neighbours,” pp. 333–​336.
94 Understanding the area in religious terms is something of a simplification, since despite
their predominantly Christian faith, Armenia and Ałovania had much in common with
the Iranian world during our period. See Alison M. Vacca, Non-​Muslim Provinces under
Early Islam: Islamic Rule and Iranian Legitimacy in Armenia and Caucasian Albania
(Cambridge, 2017).
95 For Khazaria, see most recently Boris Zhivkov, Khazaria in the Ninth and Tenth Centuries,
trans. Daria Manova (Leiden, 2015). Still useful is Mark Whittow, The Making of Orthodox
Byzantium 600–​1025 (Basingstoke, 1996), pp. 220–​241.
96 The Arab threat is invoked by Loos, “Le mouvement,” p. 261; Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 61–​62.
32 Introduction

is, however, related by the History: a visit from a prisoner of war recently
released from Syria. In recompense for the hospitality Constantine showed
him, this visitor, a deacon, gave his host a copy of the books of the Gospel and
the Apostle, the latter of which contained the Pauline letters as well as Acts.
This gift triggered a spiritual awakening in Constantine, who began spreading
his own religious message. Teaching orally, he would accept no other author-
ity than these two books, although later didaskaloi were not so inflexible.97
Quite what he taught the extant text does not tell us. Throughout its duration
it remains silent on matters of doctrine, either because this was true of the
original text or because Peter of Sicily suppressed this material. In any event,
Constantine adopted the name Silvanos (sometimes known as Silas) from the
disciple of Paul and introduced himself to his followers as such.98 It is unclear
in the extant text if Constantine already had followers in Mananalis or whether
he founded a new community when he reached Kibossa. This, at any rate, was
where he founded the second of the Paulician churches, the Church of the
Macedonians, in succession to the first: the apostle Paul’s Church of Corinth.
In total, Constantine-​Silvanos led the Paulician community for twenty-​seven
years (c.655–​682).99
For reasons that remain unclear in our extant text, Constantine’s actions
came to the attention of the reigning Roman emperor. Due to chronological
ambiguities in the History’s account, this may have been either Constans ii
(641–​668) or Constantine iv (668–​685).100 It is here that the imperial official
Symeon enters the picture. Having received orders to execute Constantine-​
Silvanos and bring his followers back within the orthodox fold, he lined the
didaskalos up before his followers and ordered the latter to stone their master.
The loyal disciples refused, casting their stones behind their backs, so Symeon
resorted to the expedient of picking one of them, Constantine’s adoptive son
Justos, to stone his father to death, which he did with a single blow.101 Symeon
then attempted the conversion of the Paulician faithful, but his endeavours
were unsuccessful and he was forced to condemn the majority to their deaths.
After fulfilling his commission, he returned to Constantinople for three years,

97 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 44, pp. 22–​23. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 73.
98 Acts 18:5; 2 Cor. 1:19; 1 Thes. 1:1.
99 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 93–​102, pp. 40–​43. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 76–​78.
100 For this chronological difficulty, see Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 56–​61.
1 01 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 103–​105, pp. 42–​45. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 78.
Introduction 33

but the events at Kibossa had evidently made a great impression on him, so
much so that he fled back in secret and became Constantine’s successor as
didaskalos, terming himself Titos. For three years Symeon-​Titos (c.685–​688)
led the Paulicians, until he quarrelled with Justos on the interpretation of
the passage Colossians 1:16–​17. Justos sought advice on the passage from the
Bishop of Koloneia, who promptly informed Justinian ii (685–​695; 705–​711) of
the heretical infighting. The emperor, who presided over an expansion of the
empire’s eastern borders during his first reign, ordered that those Paulicians
who remained impenitent be burned en masse.102
We now enter a shadowy period, during which the enigmatic Paul the
Armenian regrouped the Paulician survivors at Episparis, a village which our
sources place in the plain of Phanaroia in Paphlagonia, but may actually have
been located considerably further east than this. Paul is a difficult figure to
interpret: his name and presence at this important crux of Paulician history
mark him out as a figure of importance, but he never assumes a new name and
is not listed among the didaskaloi that the Paulicians venerated.103 Symeon’s
true successor, in fact, was Paul’s son Gegnesios-​Timothy (c.718–​748), but the
succession was disputed by another of Paul’s sons, Theodore, who claimed pre-​
eminence himself. The dispute between the two reportedly endured through-
out their lives and was serious enough that Leo iii, the emperor best known
today for inaugurating the first phase of iconoclasm, found out and ordered
Gegnesios to travel to Constantinople for an interview with the patriarch. In
the ensuing interrogation, Gegnesios was pronounced orthodox. As our extant
text has it, he outwitted the patriarch by subscribing to orthodox formulae
while intending something entirely different. After receiving a safe-​conduct
and returning to Episparis, Gegnesios then fled the empire altogether, return-
ing to Constantine-​Silvanos’ home district of Mananalis, where he founded the
third Paulician church, the Church of the Achaeans. Gegnesios held the role of
didaskalos for thirty years until he was carried off by the plague.104
Gegnesios’ career is often interpreted as corroborating the hypothesis that
the Paulicians were inherently iconoclastic themselves, or, alternatively, that
they formed a de-​facto alliance with the iconoclast emperors at one time or

102 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 106–​111, pp. 44–​47. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 78–​80.
103 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 112, pp. 46–​47. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 80; Treatise, 5–​6, pp. 82–​83. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 91.
104 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 113–​122, pp. 46–​49. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 80–​81.
34 Introduction

another.105 The above account does not point in this direction, however. If
Gegnesios’ views were iconoclastic, why would he resort to dissimulation to
navigate the interview and why would he flee the empire afterward? In part,
the confusion arises because the iconomachy has traditionally been misun-
derstood; destruction of icons was rare in Romanía and so was the persecution
of those that venerated them. These phenomena were largely invented by later
iconophile sources, which sought to discredit iconoclasm by characterising it
as a violent and despotic manifestation of imperial power.106 In actuality, for
most of its history Byzantine iconoclasm sought to restrict the devotion paid
to icons, particularly when this might deflect attention from more appropri-
ate manifestations of the divine, such as the cross or eucharist. Icon venera-
tion had only recently become a widespread practice and for many it was a
controversial one.107 The early stages of iconoclasm are still nebulous and it is
unclear if Leo iii ever officially instituted it as a matter of policy.108 The ide-
ology was only brought to its full development by his son Constantine v, who
had an interest in theological speculation that extended to writing his own
formulations of iconoclast doctrines, which have traditionally received short
shrift from critics.109
Besides this, Constantine was a commander of note who reversed the
century-​long trajectory of military affairs by taking the offensive against
the caliphate, partially as a result of the unstable conditions which led the
‘Abbāsids to supplant the Umayyads in 750. Islamic power had remained in the
ascendancy throughout the late 7th and early 8th centuries, launching several
attempts to capture Constantinople, the most notable of which failed amid
famine and disease early in Leo iii’s reign (717–​718). Since then, the empire’s
fortunes had improved and Constantine felt able to assert himself on the east-
ern frontier. In this context too he is commonly linked with the Paulicians,
largely as a result of Theophanes the Confessor’s comment that their heresy
spread throughout Thrace as a result of Constantine’s relocation of them from
Theodosiopolis (Arabic: Qālīqalā, or Armenian: Karin) and Melitene in the

105 See Garsoïan, “Byzantine Heresy,” pp. 97–​105; Barnard, “Paulicians and Iconoclasm,”
pp. 75–​82.
106 Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A History, pp. 5–​6; Marie-​
France Auzépy, L’Hagiographie et l’Iconoclasme Byzantin: le cas de la Vie d’Etienne le jeune
(Aldershot, 1999).
107 Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A History, pp. 40–​68.
108 Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A History, pp. 69–​155.
109 For Constantine and his vilification by later writers, see Paul Speck, Ich bin’s nicht, Kaiser
Konstantin ist es gewesen (Bonn, 1990).
Introduction 35

750s.110 Here too we must pause and exercise caution, since forced relocations
of this sort are often driven by expediency or necessity, rather than favour or
alliance. Moreover, numerous other historians refer to the same events with-
out mentioning Paulicians, instead suggesting that the relocation was merely
that of Armenian Miaphysites. As we shall come to see, the few explicit links
between Constantine v and the Paulicians arise not from contemporary
sources, but from iconodule accounts written after the fact.
Returning to the Didaskalie’s account, after Gegnesios’ demise his son
Zacharias was forced to contest the leadership of the Paulician community
with Joseph, the progeny of an illicit union who had been abandoned at birth.
The resulting dispute grew so heated that Zacharias almost killed Joseph by
striking him with a stone, in an event that evokes memories of Justos’ stoning
of Constantine-​Silvanos. Despite his injuries, it was Joseph (c.748–​778) who
eventually prevailed, demonstrating a greater capability for leadership that
was shown above all when the two rivals fled Armenia and led their communi-
ties back into Romanía. Quite when they did so is unclear, but their actions are
conventionally linked to the imposition of a harsh new tax regimen on Armenia
by the Muslim authorities.111 The sudden arrival of an Islamic army during this
migration drove Zacharias to panic and, although he saved his own skin by
flight, his disciples were slain. For this reason, he was known to posterity “as
not a true shepherd.”112 Joseph, on the other hand, outwitted his Muslim pursu-
ers by claiming he was migrating to find pasture. When they left, he proceeded
unhindered to Episparis. Joseph adopted the Pauline name Epaphroditos and,
as in the case of his predecessors before him, he suffered imperial harassment,
eventually fleeing the besieged Episparis for Antioch in Pisidia, where he died
at the turn of the 9th century.113 During his career, Joseph established the
fourth Paulician church, that of the Philippians, although it is unclear whether
this corresponded to a fixed location (located at either Episparis or Antioch in
Pisidia) or a group of people. His death marks the end of the Didaskalie proper,
but the History of the Paulicians continues its account to cover the career of the

110 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 429, l. 18–​22. Translation: The Chronicle
of Theophanes Confessor, p. 593.
111 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 123–​124, pp. 48–​49. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 81–​82; Loos, “Le mouvement,” p. 265.
112 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 125, pp. 50–​51. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 82.
113 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 125–​129, pp. 48–​51. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 82–​83.
36 Introduction

next didaskalos Sergios-​Tychikos.114 Some of this information stems from the

Letters of Sergios and some seems to be of Peter of Sicily’s invention, whereas
some episodes are conceivably drawn from independent sources of Paulician
testimony.115
To this point, we have no corroboration for any of these events in Byzantine
sources. As evocative as this Paulician account is, there is little reason to
accept it as historically accurate. Most notably, in a hundred and eighty years
(c.655–​835) the beleaguered Paulicians had only seven leaders, whereas nine-
teen emperors and twenty-​four caliphs reigned during the same interval.116
Evidently, the surviving narrative is primarily mythical rather than historical.
Similar problems arise with references to Paulicians prior to the 9th century in
Byzantine sources. The only references to them in the 8th century come from
9th-​century sources, such as Theophanes the Confessor’s reference to the relo-
cations to Thrace, or the Third Antirrhetikos of Patriarch Nikephoros i (805–​
813; not to be confused with his namesake emperor), which claims that many
iconoclasts adopted Paulician beliefs after icon veneration was reestablished
at the Second Council of Nikaea in 787.117 Both of these writers supported the
persecution of Paulicians at one time or another and therefore had an axe to
grind. Once we reach the 9th century, more reliable references to Paulicians
start to emerge. Theophanes’ Chronographia, for instance, castigates Emperor
Nikephoros i (802–​811) for, among many other things, showing patronage to
the Paulicians and the Athinganoi, a heretical movement active in western
Asia Minor (Theophanes specifies Phrygia and Lykaonia) that seems to have
incorporated Judaic and astrological practices.118 Whether Nikephoros was
responsible for it or not, this period did see a dramatic upsurge in Paulician
fortunes under Joseph’s successor Sergios-​Tychikos (800/​01-​834/​35), who is

114 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 132–​181, pp. 50–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 83–​91.
115 See Appendix 2.
116 Jonathan Shepard, ed., The Cambridge History of the Byzantine Empire c.500–​1492
(Cambridge, 2008), pp. 906–​907; 917.
117 Nikephoros, Third Antirrhetikos, 68, Patrologia Graeca 100, col. 501.
118 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 488, l. 22–​25. Translation: The Chronicle
of Theophanes Confessor, p. 671; Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, p. 123; Barnard, “Paulicians and
Iconoclasm,” pp. 78–​79; Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 80. The Athinganoi have sometimes been
identified as the precursors of the Roma people, but the genetic evidence does not support
this. On this, and the Athinganoi more generally, see Joshua Starr, “An Eastern Christian
Sect: The Athinganoi,” Harvard Theological Review 29:2 (1936), pp. 93–​106; Paul Speck,
“Die vermeintliche Häresie der Athinganoi,” Jahrbuch der österreichischen Byzantinistik
47 (1997), pp. 37–​50; Isabel Mendizabal et. al., “Reconstructing the Population History of
European Romani from Genome-​Wide Data,” Current Biology 22:24 (2012), pp. 2342–​2349.
Introduction 37

usually recognized as their most successful leader. He founded their fifth, sixth,
and seventh churches: the Church of the Colossians at Argaous, the Church
of the Ephesians at Mopsuestia, and the Church of the Laodikaeans, among
a shadowy people called the Kynochoritae. As in many previous instances
though, Sergios’ leadership of the community was contested. In fact, he was
the challenger himself, supplanting the authority of Joseph’s chosen successor
Baanes (the Greek transliteration of the Armenian name Vahan). It is unclear
how long the conflict between the two persisted; the History portrays the quar-
rel enduring even among their followers after Sergios’ death, but this is far from
certain.119 In a similar vein, we must be sceptical of Theophanes’ implication of
the Paulicians in various plots during the reign of Michael i (811–​813), who sup-
planted Nikephoros i’s mortally wounded heir Staurakios (811). As Theophanes
would have it, a plot to replace Michael with the surviving sons of Constantine
v was concocted by the “Paulicians, Athinganoi, Iconoclasts and Tetradites,”
but this attribution of blame best belongs to the realms of conspiracy theory.120
Be that as it may, the reign of Michael i was a troubled time for the empire,
which once again saw iconoclasm gaining ground in the capital. In the col-
lective Byzantine imagination, the fate of the empire had long been linked
with the piety of its rulers and, for some at least, the successes of the great
iconoclast Constantine v lived long in the memory. Recent events told a rather
different tale. The regency of Eirene (regent 780–​90; reigned 797–​802) for her
son Constantine vi (780–​797) saw the restoration of icon veneration against
the wishes of the army, which set the tone for a period of discord and insta-
bility.121 Factional disputes were the order of the day between Eirene and her
son after Constantine had come of age. The latter’s attempts to replace his
wife Maria with his mistress Theodote created shockwaves in the ecclesiastical
hierarchy that would not be resolved until the reign of Michael i.122 Eventually,
Constantine’s unpopularity became such that Eirene was able to reestablish
her superiority, blinding her son in 797. The most conspicuous product of
Eirene’s resulting struggle to legitimate herself is Charlemagne’s (768–​814) cor-
onation as Roman Emperor in 800, but besides this her rule saw a resurgence

119 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 130–​ 131; 170–​

174, pp. 50–​
51; 62–​ 65.
Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 83; 89–​90.
120 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 496, l. 10. Translation: The Chronicle of
Theophanes Confessor, pp. 679–​680.
121 Brubaker and Haldon also emphasise the role of bishops in opposing initial attempts
to hold the council. See Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A
History, p. 269.
122 Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A History, pp. 290–​291;
360–​363.
38 Introduction

in Islamic fortunes on the eastern frontier driven by the activity of Hārūn al-​
Rashīd (786–​809), who was known to posterity as a ghāzī caliph for his raiding
of Roman territory.123 The Islamic menace abated with his death, as the civil
war between his sons al-​Amīn (809–​813) and al-​Ma’mūn (813–​833) destabilised
the caliphate into the 830s.124 The empire’s respite was only partial, however,
since the decline of Muslim aggression only coincided with the advent of a
more proximate danger, the Bulgar Khan Krum (c.800–​814). The Bulgars had
established themselves in the Balkans in the late 7th century and, although
their fortunes waxed and waned, in their moments of strength they were more
than a match for the empire.125 One such high point was the reign of the for-
midable Krum, whose defeat of Nikephoros i at Pliska cost the latter his life
and left his son Staurakios at death’s door.126 Staurakios’ successor Michael i
suffered a similarly disastrous defeat at Krum’s hands at Versinikia (813), after
which he abdicated in favour of Leo v, who managed to stabilise the Balkans
after Krum’s sudden death.127
Where the Paulicians are concerned, Michael i and Leo v are most notable
for conducting the first verifiable persecution of them in Byzantine territory.
We shall discuss these events in considerable detail later, but for the present
it suffices to say that the sources are not clear about how many Paulicians
were killed, although Byzantine initiatives seem to have fallen mainly on the
Armeniakon thema.128 According to the History, these events led some of
Sergios’ followers to conduct reprisals against the Roman officials responsible,
after which they fled to the Emirate of Melitene where they inaugurated an
alliance with the powers of Islam.129 This account has been accepted by many
authorities, but here it will be argued that the History is untrustworthy on this

123 Michael D. Bonner, Aristocratic Violence and Holy War: Studies in Jihad and the Arab-​
Byzantine Frontier (New Haven, 1996), pp. 99–​106.
124 Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A History, p. 289; Signes
Codoñer, The Emperor Theophilos, p. 181.
125 For Bulgaria in this period, see Pananos Sophoulis, Byzantium and Bulgaria, 775–​831
(Leiden/​Boston, 2012).
126 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 489, l. 17 –​p. 491, l. 17. Translation: The
Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, pp. 672–​673.
127 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 500, l. 10 –​p. 502, l. 1. Translation: The
Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, pp. 684–​685; Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia,
vol. 1, p. 502, l. 1 –​p. 503, l. 5. Translation: The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor,
pp. 685–​686.
128 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 494, l. 33 –​p. 495, l. 15. Translation: The
Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, p. 678.
129 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 175–​178, pp. 64–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 90.
Introduction 39

point. A formal concord with Melitene could only have been established in
the 840s and this is corroborated by the lack of reference to Paulicians in the
area during the intervening period. It is admittedly true that some Paulicians
displayed aggressive intent towards the Byzantines in the early part of the 9th
century –​in his letters Sergios notes that he attempted to stop his followers
taking Roman prisoners –​but it is unclear whether this was in response to per-
secution or not.130 It does not seem that there were Paulicians among the fol-
lowers of Thomas the Slav, a shadowy personage (possibly a former Byzantine
general) who had in one way or another ended up at the ‘Abbāsid court, where
al-​Ma’mūn provided him with troops to install himself as emperor in Leo
v’s stead.131 Leo was soon supplanted by Michael ii (820–​829), who eventu-
ally defeated Thomas’ army in 823. Later histories mention Paulicians among
Thomas’ forces, but this allegation is not supported by contemporary sources.
Besides this, there are no explicit references to the punishment of Paulicians
during Michael ii’s reign, so it is unclear whether he continued their persecu-
tion or not. The most likely eventuality is that persecution continued, albeit
in a localised, infrequent, and uncoordinated way under both Michael and his
son and successor Theophilos (829–​842). It was during the reign of the latter
that the didaskalos Sergios died (c.834/​35), apparently murdered near Argaous
in the borderlands between caliphate and empire.132 The Paulician presence in
this area must have been minimal at the time, since Theophilos campaigned
extensively in the east during his reign and if a hostile insurrection had been
launched against the empire, we would expect him to have taken actions
against it, yet we never hear of this. The History also tells us that Baanes’ fol-
lowers were massacred by Sergios’ devotees after their master’s death, but the
account unfortunately lacks specifics.133 It does at least seem clear that Sergios
had no direct successor as didaskalos, with religious authority instead invested
equally among his disciples, the synekdemoi.134
Theophilos’ death marked a further deterioration of fortunes for Paulicians
within the empire. His wife Theodora, regent (842–​855) for their young son

130 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 157, pp. 58–​59. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 87.
131 Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A History, pp. 386–​388;
Signes Codoñer, The Emperor Theophilos, pp. 183–​189.
132 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 179–​181, pp. 64–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 90–​91.
133 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 173–​174, pp. 64–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 90.
134 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 182–​183, pp. 66–​67. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 91.
40 Introduction

Michael iii (842–​867), not only reestablished the veneration of icons, but also
restarted the persecutions that seem to have largely abated under Michael ii
and Theophilos.135 This persecution was a heavy-​handed and indiscriminate
affair that later Byzantine writers considered regrettable and counterproduc-
tive. It is not difficult to see why. Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v tells us some
hundred thousand were killed, but this seems to be an exaggeration motivated
by the fallout of Theodora’s actions. It was this persecution that drove Karbeas,
whose father numbered among the slain, to flee the empire and present him-
self to ‘Amr al-​Aqṭa‘, the Emir of Melitene.136 The latter was among the most
daring campaigners in the region after the deaths of both Theophilos and al-​
Mu‘taṣim (833–​842) and it seems certain that he was instrumental in establish-
ing the Paulicians close to Melitene, first at Argaous and Amara and then later
at Tephrikē. ‘Amr and Karbeas habitually campaigned in concert and their
raids, which often focused on seizing livestock and taking prisoners, plagued
the empire until the former was slain at the battle of Lalakaon/​Poson in 863
by a Roman army under Petronas, Theodora’s brother. Although our Byzantine
sources are silent about it, Karbeas may have met with the same fate, since
al-​Mas‘ūdī describes him as perishing in the same year in his Murūj al-​dhahab
wa ma‘ādin al-​jawāhir (The Meadows of Gold and Mine of Gems), but the cause
is far from certain because the Baghdādi polymath gives no specifics about his
death.137 In any case, the events of 863 seem to have stabilised matters for the
empire, since letters from the patriarch Photios imply that Karbeas’ successor
Chrysocheir (literally, ‘Golden Hand’) may have been a Byzantine client for a
time.138 This did not last, however, and Chrysocheir went on to bedevil the
empire, particularly during the reign of Michael iii’s successor Basil i (867–​
886). As Genesios has it, Chrysocheir wished to rule the empire’s eastern prov-
inces himself and we must regard this aim as a distinct possibility, particularly
because he seems to have thrown off Islamic oversight and campaigned of
his own accord. In any case, Chrysocheir’s threat ceased with his death at the

1 35 Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A History, pp. 447–​452.
136 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:16,
pp. 236–​237.
137 For Lalakaon/​Poson, see Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis
Continuati, 4:25, pp. 254–​261. For Karbeas’ death, see al-​Mas‘ūdī, Les prairies d’or, ed.
and trans. Charles Barbier de Meynard, 9 vols, vol. 8 (Paris, 1874), p. 75. English transla-
tion: Masudi: The Meadows of Gold, eds. Paul Lunde, Caroline Stone (Abingdon, 2010),
p. 319.
138 Photios, Epistulae, in Photii patriarchae Constantinopolitani Epistulae et Amphilochia,
eds. Basil Laourdas, Leendert G. Westerink, 6. vols (Leipzig, 1983–​1988), Ep. 33–​40, vol. 1,
pp. 86–​89; Ep. 57, vol. 1, p. 104; Ep. 80, vol. 1, p. 121; Ep. 134, vol. 1, pp. 176–​178.
Introduction 41

battle of Bathyryax in 872, after which his head was removed to endure Basil’s
retribution.139 This marked the eclipse of the Paulicians as an effective military
power, although Tephrikē was only taken in 878/​79.140
As noted at the outset, however, Paulicians and Byzantines were not irrec-
oncilable, despite their history of antagonism. It is in this regard that we see
Diakonitzes, the companion who shielded the mortally wounded Chrysocheir
at Bathyryax, leading a Paulician unit during Nikephoros Phokas’ campaign in
the thema of Langobardia during 885/​86.141 This reference aside, Paulicians
drop from view during the late 9th and early 10th centuries. Scattered allusions
to them occur again during the mid-​10th century, when hagiographical and
epistolary sources mention them across Asia Minor and northern Syria. It is in
this vein that John i Tzimiskes (969–​976) removed a particularly troublesome
group from the environs of Antioch to Philippopolis to bolster the empire’s
restless northern border (c.970–​972).142 This act seems to be linked to contem-
porary turmoil in Bulgaria, where the Byzantine stratagem of inciting the Rus’
warlord Svyatoslav of Kiev to attack the Bulgars had spectacularly backfired
and left Svyatoslav in possession of much of their lands, with Philippopolis
suffering the brunt of his rage in 970.143 Alexios i’s later attempts at mobi-
lizing and then converting Paulicians was also focused on communities at
Philippopolis and this Balkan connection has traditionally been invoked to
explain the transmission of dualist ideas to the Bogomils. The key source in this
regard is a letter written on behalf of the patriarch Theophylaktos Lekapenos
(933–​956) to Peter of Bulgaria (927–​969), composed in response to the spread
of a new heresy in Bulgaria which was eventually identified as a mixture of
“Manichaeanism and Paulianism.”144 That description does not necessarily

139 Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 96–​103; Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Chronographiae

quae Theophanis Continuati nomine fertur liber quo Vita Basilii Imperatoris amplectitur,
41–​44, ed. and trans. Ihor Ševčenko (Berlin/​Boston, 2011), pp. 148–​159.
140 Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 104–​108.
141 Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, pp. 244–​245, l. 16–​18.
142 John Zonaras, Ioannis Zonarae epitome historiarum, 17:1, ed. Ludwig A. Dindorf, 5 vols, vol.
4 (Leipzig, 1871), pp. 92–​93. Anna Komnene, Annae Comnenae Alexias, 14:8, eds. Diether
R. Reinsch, Athanasios Kambylis (Berlin/​New York, 2001), pp. 454–​458. English trans-
lation: The Alexiad of the Princess Anna Comnena, ed. and trans. Elizabeth A.S. Dawes
(London, 1928), pp. 384–​385.
143 Leo the Deacon, Leonis Diaconi Caloënsis Historiae libri decem, 6:10, ed. Charles B. Hase
(Bonn, 1828), p. 105. English translation: The History of Leo the Deacon: Byzantine Military
Expansion in the Tenth Century. Introduction, Translation and Annotations, eds. and trans.
Alice-​Mary Talbot, Denis F. Sulivan, George T. Dennis, Stamatina McGrath (Washington,
D.C., 2005), p. 155.
144 Theophylaktos Lekapenos, “L’epistola sui Bogomili,” p. 312. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 98–​99.
42 Introduction

suggest a Paulician identification, but the anathemata which follow the letter
do, since they focus on charges of dualism and the repudiation of the Paulician
didaskaloi and their alleged forerunners.
It is ultimately unclear whether the heretics who worried Peter were
Paulicians, Bogomils, or something more obscure, but it is evident that heresy
was a concern in his Bulgaria. The late 9th century was an era of great mission-
ary activity in eastern Europe, which saw the Moravians and Bulgars brought
within the Christian fold.145 Bulgaria in particular was highly prized by the
churches of Constantinople and Rome and, after much toing and froing, Khan
Boris (852–​889) opted for the former, adopting the Christian name Michael
in the process.146 Correct belief remained a concern, however, and it was in
Peter’s reign that Cosmas the Priest places the activity of the priest Bogomil
(literally, ‘worthy of God’s compassion’), who gave the heresy its name. Cosmas
tells us rather more about the correct interpretation of doctrine than the
Bogomils’ views, although he does state that they deny that God made heaven
or earth, thereby attributing to them a dualism similar to that levelled against
the Paulicians.147 While the heresy seemingly originated in Bulgaria, it spread
into imperial lands in the following century, or at least this is how the con-
ventional narrative goes.148 Arguably the first source to describe it within the

145 Moravia was initially proselytised by the Byzantine missionary brothers Constantine/​
Cyril and Methodios, but the latter became Archbishop of the Moravian church through
Papal support. On Moravia in our period, see Florin Curta, “The History and Archaeology
of Great Moravia: An Introduction,” Early Medieval Europe 17:3 (2009), pp. 238–​247;
Maddalena Betti, The Making of Christian Moravia: Papal Power and Political Reality
(Leiden, 2013).
146 On the conflict between Photios and Pope Nicholas i which underlies much of this
rivalry, see Francis Dvornik, The Photian Schism: History and Legend (Cambridge, 1948).
For Photios and Boris, see Despina Stratoudaki White, Joseph R. Berrigan, The Patriarch
and the Prince: The Letter of Patriarch Photios of Constantinople to Khan Boris of Bulgaria
(Brookline, 1982).
147 Cosmas the Priest, Kosma presviteri v slavjanski literaturach, ed. Jurij K. Begunov (Sofia,
1973). English translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450,
eds. Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), p. 118. The pastoral empha-
sis of Cosmas’ work is particularly emphasised by Mirela Ivanova, who notes that the
text is preserved exclusively in North Slavic manuscripts which draw primarily from its
didactic portions. For Ivanova, the Discourse is important precisely because it overlaps
minimally with Byzantine texts and heresiological topoi and engages with popular reli-
gion on the ground. Accordingly, it may act as a starting point for an analysis which con-
siders Bulgarian and Byzantine variants of “Bogomilism” as independent phenomena.
See Mirela Ivanova, ““Bogomilism” and Cosmas’ Discourse against Heretics in European
History,” (Forthcoming). My thanks to the author for sharing the working paper with me.
148 The date and reliability of Cosmas’ work has long been questioned, largely because the
earliest extant manuscript dates to the 15th century. For an overview of the difficulties of
Introduction 43

empire is a letter of Euthymios of the Periblepton (written at some point in

the mid-​11th century), which describes a group known as the Phundagiagitae
in the Opsikion thema, but as Bogomils in the thema of the Kibyrrhaiotai and
throughout the west.149 Both Euthymios and Cosmas emphasise the asceti-
cism of these heretics, who devoted much of their day to fasting and praying.
In this respect they differed considerably from the Paulicians, who are never
accused of ascetic traits by Byzantine writers.
Besides this, another crucial difference between the Paulicians and
Bogomils merits attention. While the Paulicians are commonly portrayed as
absolute dualists, that is, they believed that the good and evil principles origi-
nated independently of one another, accounts of Bogomil cosmology suggest
they predominantly espoused mitigated dualism (at least initially), a doctrine
which holds that the evil principle was a fallen creation of the good God who
eventually rebelled against his master.150 For these reasons, the relationship
between the Paulicians and Bogomils is often considered indirect.151 By the

dating the text, with references to relevant Eastern European bibliography, see Francis
J. Thomson, “Cosmas of Bulgaria and his Discourse against the Heresy of Bogomil,”
The Slavonic and East European Review 54:2 (1976), pp. 263–​267; Marcel Dando, “Peut-​
on avancer de 240 ans la date de composition du traité de Cosmas le prêtre contre les
Bogomiles?,” Cahiers d’études Cathares 34 (1983), pp. 3–​25; vol. 35 (1984), pp. 3–​21. The
10th-​century dating of the text is generally upheld, including by Ivanova above. As a
result, a revised portrayal of the Bogomils might rest on untangling their respective por-
trayals in Bulgarian and Byzantine sources and determining whether these relate to a
single movement. Angold, for instance, thinks it entirely possible that they do not. See
Angold, Church and Society, p. 476.
149 I am sceptical that this source relates to Bogomilism as conventionally understood.
Euthymios of the Peribleptos, Epistula, p. 62. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies,
pp. 157–​158. Antonio Rigo has convincingly argued that Euthymios wrote at least three
works on the Phundagiagitae, thereby drawing into question Ficker’s assumption of a
single underlying text in his edition. A new edition of the tradition is accordingly a desid-
eratum. See Antonio Rigo, “Les premières sources byzantines sur le Bogomilisme et les
œuvres contre les Phoundagiagites d’Euthyme de la Péribleptos,” in Evropeĭskiȋat ȋugoiztok
prez vtorata polovina na X –​nachaloto na XI vek: istoriȋa i kultura, ed. Vasil Giuzelev, Georgi
N. Nikolov (Sofia, 2015), pp. 528–​551.
1 50 There is some dissension in secondary writings over whether Cosmas the Priest attributed
mitigated or absolute dualism to the early Bogomils. Runciman, for instance, favours
absolute while Obolensky and most writers after him prefer mitigated. See Runciman, The
Medieval Manichee, p. 79; Obolensky, The Bogomils, pp. 122–​125; Hamilton, “Introduction,”
in Hugo Eteriano: Contra Patarenos, pp. 35–​37; Stoyanov, The Other God, pp. 160–​161. Some
Bogomil churches are believed to have adopted absolute dualism in the 12th century. See
Hamilton, “Introduction,” in Hugo Eteriano: Contra Patarenos, pp. 54–​56; Stoyanov, The
Other God, pp. 198–​200.
151 This tendency is rarely explicit in the work of Runciman and Obolensky since both con-
sidered Paulician and Messalian influences on the Bogomils equally prominent and
44 Introduction

end of the 11th century, both movements troubled Alexios i (1081–​1118), whose
measures against them are detailed in the Alexiad, a eulogistic biography of
the emperor penned by his daughter Anna Komnene. While sources of the
First Crusade attest the continued presence of Paulicians (generally termed
Publicani) in the east, primarily in the employ of Muslim commanders,
Alexios’ dealings with them are focused in the west.152 After the Paulician con-
tingent under Xantas and Kouleon abandoned Alexios’ army in the wake of
the Norman Robert Guiscard’s victory at Dyrrhachium, Anna notes the sub-
jugation of the Paulicians of Philippopolis by her father, who disarmed them,
confiscated their property, imprisoned their leaders, and drove their women-
folk from their homes. These acts so enraged the Paulician Traulos, a member
of Alexios’ own staff who had four sisters among the diaspora, that he broke
with the empire and fled north from Philippopolis to Beliatoba, whence he

therefore explained the ascetic characteristics of the latter as arising from Messalian
intercourse. See Runciman, The Medieval Manichee, pp. 67–​68; 87–​91; Obolensky, The
Bogomils, pp. 111–​117; 123–​125; 128–​129. The subsequent diminution of Paulician-​Bogomil
links is not solely informed by the distinction between absolute and mitigated dualism,
since other factors played a part, including the Paulicians’ lack of asceticism, their mil-
itarism, and their limited interest in missionary activity after their Anatolian heyday.
See, for example, Hamilton, “Introduction,” in Hugo Eteriano: Contra Patarenos, pp. 34–​
37; Stoyanov, The Other God, pp. 161–​166; Andrew P. Roach, The Devil’s World: Heresy and
Society 1100–​1320 (Harlow, 2005), pp. 60–​62. In certain cases, Bogomil dualism is seen less
as an evolution of earlier heresies during the Christianization of Bulgaria and more so as a
product of indigenous currents within Bulgar or proto-​Bulgar religious culture, including
elements as diverse as those listed by Georgi Minczew: “Early Christian dualist thought
(above all Gnosticism), Iranian dualism, Thracian Orphic mysteries, Manichaeism and
later neo-​Manichaean doctrines –​Massalianism and Paulicianism.” Many of these
links are traced to a period where proto-​Bulgar elements are either believed to have
neighboured powers with a strong tradition of dualism, such as Sasanian Persia and
the Manichaean Uyghur Khaganate, or have been influenced by peoples who did (the
Pechenegs are sometimes placed in this role). As a result, the conditioning factors which
eventually informed Bogomil spirituality are often pushed back into the early phases of
the First Bulgarian Empire, if not beforehand. On these and similar emphases, see Georgi
Minczew, “Remarks on the Letter of the Patriarch Theophylact to Tsar Peter in the Context
of Certain Byzantine and Slavic Anti-​Heretic Texts,” Studia Ceranea 3 (2013), pp. 114–​115;
Fumagalli, L’eresia dei Pauliciani, pp. 147–​154. For Stoyanov, the above factors remain con-
jectural and the more immediate causal impulses are the religious dislocation of Bulgaria
in the era of Christianization, the influence of canonical and apocryphal texts, and finally
the appeal and associated anxieties of monasticism and the apostolic ideal. Fine, mean-
while, proposes that Bogomil origins were more or less independent of the Paulicians,
while also eschewing purported dualist influences on early Slavic religion. See John Van
Antwerp Fine, Jr., “The Size and Significance of the Bulgarian Bogomil Movement,” East
European Quarterly 11:4 (1977), pp. 385–​412.
152 On crusader sources for the Paulicians/​Publicani, see Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 14–​16.
Introduction 45

raided imperial lands, inciting the pagan Pechenegs south of the Danube
in support.153 In 1086 this makeshift alliance inflicted a crushing defeat on
the Romans near Beliatoba, in which both generals, the Grand Domestikos
Gregory Pakourianos and Nikolaos Branas, were slain.154 The affair bears
unmistakable similarities with a rebellion a decade or so earlier during the
reign of Nikephoros iii Botaneiates (1078–​1081), when the Paulician Lekas also
allied with the Pechenegs, with whom he was related by marriage. We know
rather less about this earlier attempt at secession, except that Lekas was even-
tually reconciled with the empire, somewhat surprisingly considering that he
allegedly murdered Michael, Bishop of Serdica, while the latter was wearing his
vestments.155 Returning to the 1080s and Alexios’ reign, Nilus of Calabria was
condemned at Constantinople for doctrines that Garsoïan identifies with her
adoptionist brand of Paulician thought, although this interpretation is rarely
followed.156 Almost three decades later, while Alexios happened to be in the
environs of Philippopolis resisting a Cuman incursion (1115), he encountered
Paulicians once more, attempting to convert their leaders while the Cumans
were still distant. Of the three most prominent figures, he succeeded in con-
verting Kouleon, who was perhaps the same figure who held the command at
Dyrrhachium, but failed in the case of Kousinos and Pholos, who were con-
fined until their deaths.157

153 On Dyrrhachium, see Anna Komnene, Alexias, 5:3, pp. 146–​149. Translation: The Alexiad
of the Princess Anna Comnena, p. 120. On Alexios’ response and Traulos’ rebellion, see
Anna Komnene, Alexias, 6:2–​4, pp. 173–​174. Translation: The Alexiad of the Princess Anna
Comnena, pp. 139–​143. On the events of this paragraph, see also Ani Dancheva-​Vasileva,
“La Commune des Pauliciens à Plovdiv pendant le Moyen-​Age,” Revue Bulgare d’Histoire
2001:1–​2 (2001), pp. 27–​51; Dragoljub Dragojlović, “The History of Paulicianism on the
Balkan Peninsula,” Balcanica 5 (1975), pp. 238–​239.
154 Anna Komnene, Alexias, 6:14, pp. 199–​202. Translation: The Alexiad of the Princess Anna
Comnena, pp. 164–​167.
155 Our main source is Michael Attaleiates, who is followed closely by the Continuator of
Skylitzes. Michael does not mention the murder of the Bishop of Serdica, whereas he only
terms Lekas a Roman, unlike the Continuator who calls him “a Paulician of Philippopolis.”
See Michael Attaleiates, The History, 35:11, eds. Anthony Kaldellis, Dimitris Krallis
(Cambridge, MA/​London, 2012), pp. 550–​551; John Skylitzes Continuatus, Byzantium in
the Time of Troubles: The Continuation of the Chronicle of John Skylitzes (1057–​1079), 7:9,
eds. Eric McGeer, John W. Nesbitt (Brill, 2020), pp. 186–​187.
156 Nina G. Garsoïan, “L’abjuration du moine Nil de Calabre,” Byzantinoslavica 55 (1974),
pp. 12–​27. For the alternative view which considers Nilus as a pseudo-​Nestorian, see
Jean Gouillard, ed., “Le Synodikon de l’orthodoxie: édition et commentaire,” Travaux et
mémoires 2 (1967), pp. 202–​206; Angold, Church and Society, pp. 477–​478.
157 On Alexios’ attempted conversion of Kouleon and his colleagues, see Anna Komnene,
Alexias, 14:9; pp. 458–​460. Translation: The Alexiad of the Princess Anna Comnena, pp. 387–​
389. On Kouleon, see also Dancheva-​Vasileva, “La Commune des Pauliciens,” pp. 47–​48.
46 Introduction

In spite of the above, it seems that the Bogomils posed the greater threat during
Alexios’ reign. His most notable intervention against them was the trial and exe-
cution of the elderly Bogomil heresiarch Basil (c.1099), whom Alexios duped into
disclosing his heresy while a secretary was recording his words.158 Basil and his
most unrepentant followers were later consigned to the flames, which marks a
considerable difference from the emperor’s patient attempts at bringing the three
aforementioned Paulicians within the orthodox fold at the end of his reign.159 By
this time Bogomils were subject to a similar opprobrium that Paulicians suffered
centuries earlier, whereas the Paulician threat seems to have been considered
minimal, perhaps because by this time they were more easily identifiable and had
less zeal for missionary activity. Alexios’ reign marked the peak of the Bogomil
scare and, barring some later trials for Bogomilism in the reign of Manuel i (1143–​
1180), where the allegation of heresy is often characterised as politically moti-
vated, Byzantine sources show little indication that Bogomils remained a threat,
although they remained influential in the Balkans, where later churches, notably
in Bosnia and Macedonia, are often considered to be descended from them.160
The extent of the Bogomils’ influence on western medieval heresy has been
a recurrent topic of dispute. It used to be widely believed that Bogomil ideas
had underlain many of the heretical ideas advanced in the west throughout
the 11th and 12th centuries, but that view has fallen from favour due to the
lack of references to dualism in this period.161 Their presence in the west only

158 For the dates of the trial (the likely termini are 1096–​1100), see Antonio Rigo, “Il processo
del Bogomilo Basilio (1099 c.a.): una riconsiderazione,” Orientalia Christiana Periodica 58
(1992), pp. 194–​200.
159 Anna Komnene, Alexias, 15:8–​10, pp. 485–​493. Translation: The Alexiad of the Princess
Anna Comnena, pp. 412–​418. The literature on Alexios, Basil, and the Bogomils is exten-
sive. Among many others, see Rigo, “Il processo del Bogomilo Basilio,” pp. 185–​212; Dion
Smythe, “Alexios I and the Heretics: the Account of Anna Komnene’s Alexiad,” in Alexios
I Komnenos: I Papers, eds. Margaret Mullett, Dion Smythe (Belfast, 1996), pp. 235–​244;
Jonathan Shepard, “Hard on Heretics, Light on Latins: The Balancing-​Act of Alexios
I Komnenos,” Travaux et mémoires 16 (2010), pp. 765–​777.
160 On Bogomils in Manuel’s reign, see Paul Magdalino, The Empire of Manuel I Komnenos
1143–​1180 (Cambridge, 1993), pp. 277–​278; 283–​284; Angold, Church and Society, pp. 78–​82.
For Bogomils in the Balkans, see Stoyanov, The Other God, pp. 222–​228; 250–​260.
161 For the study which undermined early dualist identifications, see Robert I. Moore, The
Origins of European Dissent (London, 1977), pp. 23–​45. The sole source which possibly
indicates dualism in this period is the Letter of Héribert. On this, see Guy Lobrichon,
“The Chiaroscuro of Heresy: Early Eleventh-​Century Aquitaine as Seen from Auxerre,”
in The Peace of God: Social Violence and Religious Response in France around the Year 1000,
eds. Thomas F. Head, Richard Landes (Ithaca/​London, 1992), pp. 80–​103; Claire Taylor,
“The Letter of Héribert of Périgord as a Source for Dualist Heresy in the Society of Early
Eleventh-​Century Aquitaine,” Journal of Medieval History 26:4 (2000), pp. 313–​349.
Introduction 47

becomes explicit, if controversial, when we meet the most well-​known dualist

heretics of the Middle Ages: the Cathars, or good men, who are best known
for their influence in the Languedoc, but were also active in northern Italy.
Due to the abundance of surviving inquisition records from the Languedoc,
the dualist creed of these heretics is well known today, but where these beliefs
originated is less secure. Decisive testimony would seem to be provided by
the ordination of Cathars by the Bogomil bishop Niketas at a council in Saint-​
Félix-​de-​Caraman (dated variously to 1167 or 1174), in an affair which is often
interpreted as an attempt to impose an absolute dualist creed. Unfortunately,
the charter in question no longer survives and is only preserved in a later his-
tory by Guillaume Besse, who had, among other things, a reputation for forg-
ery. Moreover, the charter itself was not contemporary, but instead made some
fifty years after the events it purported to describe.162 Given these facts, healthy
scepticism is required, but a second document, the De heresi catharorum in
Lombardia, corroborates the background of the Saint-​Félix council on many
points.163 A view founded on these sources therefore suggests that Bogomil
influence on the Cathars was crucial during the 12th century. An alternative

162 The balance of evidence suggests that Besse’s transcription is that of a genuine medieval
document, although how this is to be interpreted is another matter. Guillaume Besse,
Histoire des ducs, marquis et comtes de Narbonne (Paris, 1660), pp. 324–​325; 483–​486. For
the critical edition of the document, see “Édition critique de la Charte de Niquinta selon
les trois versions connues,” ed. David Zbíral, in 1209–​2009 Cathares: une histoire à paci-
fier, ed. Anne Brenon (Portet-​sur-​Garonne, 2010), pp. 47–​52. English translation: Heresy
and Inquisition in France, 1200–​1300, eds. John H. Arnold, Peter Biller (Manchester, 2016),
pp. 17–​19. On its interpretation, see Antoine Dondaine, “Les actes du concile albigeois de
Saint-​Félix de Caraman,” Miscellania Giovanni Mercati 5, Studi e Testi 125 (1946), pp. 324–​
355; Bernard Hamilton, “The Cathar Council of Saint-​Félix Reconsidered,” Archivum
Fratrum Praedicatorum 48 (1978), pp. 23–​53; Monique Zerner, ed., L’histoire du Catharisme
en discussion: Le ‘Concile’ de Saint-​Félix (1167) (Nice, 2001); Monique Zerner, “Mise au
point les cathares devant l’histoire et retour sur l’histoire du catharisme en discussion: le
débat sur la charte de Niquinta n’est pas clos,” Journal des Savants 2 (2006), pp. 253–​273.
Within the document, Niketas preaches a sermon in which he makes reference to the
“seven churches of Asia.” Hamilton argued that Niketas is referring to the seven Paulician
churches rather than the seven churches of Revelation here, but I prefer the alternate
view, largely because there is no reason that the churches of Corinth, Macedonia, Achaea
etc. should be placed within Asia Minor once awareness of the origins of Paulician his-
tory had been lost. See Bernard Hamilton, “The Cathars and the Seven Churches of Asia,”
in Byzantium and the West c.850-​c.1200, ed. James Howard-​Johnston (Amsterdam, 1988),
pp. 269–​295.
163 “La Hiérarchie cathare en Italie, I: le ‘De Heresi catharorum in Lombardia’,” ed. Antoine
Dondaine, Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 19 (1949), pp. 306–​312. English transla-
tion: Heresies of the High Middle Ages, eds. and trans. Walter L. Wakefield, Austin P. Evans
(New York, 1969), pp. 160–​167.
48 Introduction

interpretation has, however, emerged more recently, according to which her-

etics in the Languedoc embraced dualism without outside stimulus during
the tumultuous years of the Albigensian Crusade (1209–​1229) by adopting the
heretical labels applied to them by their persecutors. By this interpretation,
the council at Saint-​Félix represents the attempts of Cathar bishops to invent
a history for themselves after the fact.164 It hardly needs to be emphasised that
there are considerable differences between these two positions, which has pre-
dictably provoked dissension.165
The later history of the Cathars is a fascinating one, but it does not impinge
upon our understanding of the Paulicians. The same is true of those who were
supposedly influenced by them, as well as the puzzling Key of Truth. Records
of later Paulician activity in the Balkans, where a self-​identifying community
remains until the present day, merit a fuller postscript, however.166 The hereti-
cal presence evidently did not abate in Philippopolis after Alexios’ reign, since,
in a letter to the archbishop of the city Michael Italikos, Theodore Prodromos
assures the archbishop that he will prevail over the many heretics active in
the area, although because these are not named a Paulician identification is
not certain.167 This letter may well belong to the reign of Manuel i, which is
also the setting that the Patriarch Euthymios of Trnovo’s occasionally stylised
14th-​century composition the Life of Hilarion of Moglena places the titular bish-
op’s initiatives against “Manichees, Armenians, and Bogomils” to the north-
west of Thessalonika. The Paulicians are the most likely candidate for these

164 Such is the revisionist portrayal in recent Anglophone literature. On this, see Pegg,
“The Paradigm of Catharism,” pp. 45–​47; Moore, The War on Heresy, pp. 289–​290. The
Francophone literature often has rather different emphases. On this, see the work of
Zerner above, as well as Jean-​Louis Biget, Hérésie et inquisition dans le midi de la France
(Paris, 2007); Julien Théry-​Astruc, “The Heretical Dissidence of the ‘Good Men’ in the
Albigeois (1276–​1329): Localism and Resistance to Roman Clericalism,” in Cathars in
Question, ed. Antonio C. Sennis (York, 2016), pp. 79–​111.
165 On this disagreement, see in particular the contributions in the edited collection Cathars
in Question, ed. Antonio C. Sennis (York, 2016).
166 Note that references to Paulicians and/​or Manichaeans are rare in Byzantine sources after
the Komnenian era. In fact, Kusabu argues that the equivalence of the two in heresiolog-
ical texts disappeared altogether. See Hisatsugu Kusabu, “Seminaries, Cults and Militia
in Byzantine Heresiologies: A Genealogy of the Labeling of “Paulicians,”” in Radical
Traditionalism: The Influence of Walter Kaegi in Late Antique, Byzantine and Medieval
Studies, eds. Christian Raffensperger, David Olster (Lexington, 2019), p. 183.
167 See Theodore Prodromos, “Epistola prodromi Archiepiscopo Philippopolis Italico,”
Grŭtski izvori za bŭlgarskata istoriȋa (Fontes Graeci Historiae Bulgariae) 7 (1968), p. 138. On
this, see also Robert Browning, “Unpublished correspondence between Michael Italicus,
archbishop of Philippopolis, and Theodor Prodromos,” Byzantinobulgaria 1 (1962),
pp. 279–​297; Fine, “The Size and Significance,” p. 398.
Introduction 49

“Manichees,” although some have dissented from this view.168 Whatever the
truth of this, they were certainly still a presence in the Balkans following the
fall of Constantinople to the Fourth Crusade, since Geoffroy de Villehardouin
relates the intrigues of the Popelicani of Philippopolis, noting that they offered
to cede the city to Kalojan of Bulgaria (1196–​1207) in preference to their cru-
sader overlords, although the newly-​appointed duke of the city, Renier of Trit,
torched their quarter of the city before the plan could be executed.169
Thereafter, the Paulicians slip under the radar once more. Only in the late
15th century does the trail pick up, when brother Tůma of the Unity of Brethren,
one of the smaller free churches which splintered from Rome in post-​Hussite
Bohemia, encountered Pavlikans somewhere in the Balkans while searching
for like-​minded congregations.170 In some respects, these Pavlikans seem to
have held fast to their ancestral beliefs, since they extolled the teachings of
Paul the apostle above all others. Other tenets are rather more idiosyncratic,
such as their proclivity to baptise members of the community only on their
deathbed so that they might die sinless.171 Later references to Pavlikans,
Pavlikians, Paulitians, or Paulines found in this area note their abhorrence of
the cross and religious images; traits which are not well attested in the 9th and
10th centuries, but may have developed subsequently as a result of a distaste
for the surrounding Orthodox communities. In fact, by all accounts later con-
centrations of Paulicians zealously segregated themselves from surrounding
Christian denominations and this trait only became more marked as outside
intervention led the community to become ever more scattered.
A more sustained period of documented contact with the Balkan Paulicians
commences at the beginning of the 17th century, when representatives of
the Catholic Church started a campaign of conversion that would continue
intermittently for centuries. Progress was slow partially due to the sequestered

168 For a translation of the relevant passage, see Hamilton and Hamilton, Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 225–​227. Note that Anna Komnene also frequently places Paulicians,
Armenians, and Bogomils in close proximity, albeit in Philippopolis rather than Moglena.
The Paulician identification of these “Manichees” is upheld by Stoyanov, whereas Fine
believes this may be a reference to the variously spelt dualist church of Dragovica/​
Drugunthia. See Stoyanov, The Other God, p. 182; Fine, “The Size and Significance,” p. 398.
169 Dancheva-​Vasileva, “La Commune des Pauliciens,” pp. 48–​49; Geoffroy de Villehardouin,
La conquête de Constantinople, ed. and trans. Edmond Faral, 2 vols., vol. 2 (Paris, 1938–​
1939), pp. 210–​212. For a translation, see Hamilton and Hamilton, Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 259–​260.
170 On the Unity of Brethren, see Craig D. Atwood, The Theology of the Czech Brethren from
Hus to Comenius (University Park, 2009).
171 Milan Loos, Dualist Heresy in the Middle Ages, trans. Iris Lewitova (Prague, 1974), p. 336;
Fumagalli, L’eresia dei Pauliciani, p. 95.
50 Introduction

outlook of the communities involved, as well as a tendency to backslide into

their ancestral beliefs. As many missionaries soon discovered, securing a hard-​
won conversion often entailed only a perfunctory change in belief, praxis, or
religious alignment. Similarly infuriating was the mobility of the Paulicians,
whose ability to disperse when faced with danger or confrontation bears some
resemblance to the tactics of their namesakes almost a millennium before-
hand.172 Catholic ministrants nevertheless met with greater success than their
rivals, largely on account of the Paulicians’ ancestral loathing for the Orthodox
priesthood.173 Oftentimes, however, the Paulicians’ nominal adherence was
secured by whichever competing authority placed the least fiscal demands
upon them. Generally, this allowed the Catholics to win out, but their proscrip-
tions on marriage were far too restrictive for the Paulicians, many of whom
had a blasé attitude towards dissolving the marital union. This seems to have
been one of several factors which led them to favour ceremonies officiated by
a Turkish imam rather than a Christian ministrant. Threats, real or apparent,
of conversion to Islam were also not infrequent in contexts where ecclesiasti-
cal exactions proved too burdensome.174 Some researchers, in fact, consider
Paulician converts part of the ancestral population of the Pomaks, a Bulgarian-​
speaking Muslim minority now dispersed among parts of Bulgaria, Greece,
and Turkey.175
The efforts of the Catholic missionaries among the Paulicians have been
ably documented elsewhere and it seems superfluous to reproduce them here,
save where this relates to contemporary understandings of Paulician beliefs.176
First and foremost, accusations of dualism are conspicuous by their absence
in the Catholic accounts.177 By contrast, the sources are almost unanimous in

172 Krasimira Moutafova, “The Paulicians –​“Different” for All,” Études balkaniques 4 (1993),
pp. 36–​37, n. 56.
173 Moutafova, “The Paulicians –​“Different” for All,” pp. 30; 33; 37.
174 Moutafova, “The Paulicians –​“Different” for All,” p. 34.
175 Fumagalli, L’eresia dei Pauliciani, pp. 101–​102. The extent of Paulician conversion to Islam
soon after the Ottoman conquest is disputed. Stoyanov, for instance, considers that this
was relatively minimal. See, with literature, Yuri Stoyanov, “On Some Parallels between
Anatolian and Balkan Heterodox Islamic and Christian Traditions and the Problem of
Their Coexistence and Interaction in the Ottoman Period,” in Syncrétismes et hérésies
dans l’Orient seljoukide et ottoman (XIVe-​XVIIIe siècle), ed. Gilles Veinstein (Paris, 2005),
pp. 82–​90.
176 In particular, see Moutafova, “The Paulicians –​“Different” for All,” pp. 29–​37; Fumagalli,
L’eresia dei Pauliciani, pp. 95–​101.
177 Stoyanov rightly notes allegations of dualism in a letter of Girolamo Pizzicanella, but
it seems clear that Girolamo imputes this belief to the Paulicians himself, rather than
deriving the view from first-​hand acquaintance with them. Specifically, he considers the
Paulicians dualist because, while they are Catholic in name and therefore venerate a good
Introduction 51

the Paulicians’ esteem for the apostle Paul and his works. This emphasis is pro-
nounced in the writing of brother Tůma and is reiterated by the Catholic mis-
sionary Pietro Cedolini in the late 16th century. Besides this, the Paulicians are
frequently accused of rejecting the cross and images, of baptising by fire instead
of water, and having only a rudimentary priesthood.178 To a large degree, the
differences in sacramental practices seem to be a consequence of their mutual
antipathy with surrounding Christian communities, but it is difficult to deter-
mine whether their rites were of long standing or not. In any case, the claims of
the missionaries are largely corroborated by diplomatic correspondence of the
period, particularly where the emphasis on Paul is concerned. At the outset of
the chapter we mentioned Mary Wortley Montagu’s reference in a letter of 1717
to the Paulines who were so keen to show her the church at Philippopolis reput-
edly founded by Paul himself.179 A similar portrayal arises from the writings of
Sir Paul Rycaut, who refers to Paulines who used to venerate Paul and baptise
by fire in the area, although they had been won to Catholicism by the time
he was writing in the 1660s.180 Echoes of alternative interpretations for their
belief, not least those founded on Paul of Samosata, are still found, however.
Count Luigi Ferdinando Marsigli, writing at a similar time to Montagu, believed
that the “Paulitians” he found between Adrianople and Philippopolis derived
their faith from the one-​time Bishop of Antioch, or so at least he was told by
the Orthodox Archbishop of Philippopolis. As for Marsigli’s first-​hand observa-
tions, these are hard to reconcile with contemporary evidence, since he tells us
that the group sacrificed sheep and cattle, whereas, contrary to Montagu, he
states that they had no church as such, only a rough-​cut stone cross standing
before a tree and a nearby altar for their sacrifices.181 The presence of a cross
here is especially puzzling since, as we have seen, most observers of the period

god, they also venerate Samodivi (wood nymphs), whom Girolamo equates with the evil
principle. As a result, he considers them dualist, but this interpretation presupposes that
they have accepted Catholicism and can therefore hardly be an ancestral belief. For this
account, which remains an exemplary cautionary tale of the complexities of allegations
of dualism, see Girolamo Pizzicanella, “Notizie della Chiesa in Nicopoli in Bulgaria,” in
“Nashite Pavlikiani,” ed. Liubomir Miletich, Sbornik za narodni umotvoreniȋa, nauka i
knizhnina 19 (1903), p. 347. See also Stoyanov, “On Some Parallels,” p. 89, n. 28.
178 Moutafova, “The Paulicians –​“Different” for All,” pp. 29–​30; Fumagalli, L’eresia dei
Pauliciani, pp. 95–​96; Dragojlović, “The History of Paulicianism on the Balkan Peninsula,”
pp. 243–​244.
179 Mary Wortley Montagu, The Complete Letters of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, ed. Robert
Halsband, vol. 1, (Oxford, 1965), p. 319.
1 80 Paul Rycaut, The Present State of the Ottoman Empire (London, 1668), p. 212.
181 Luigi Ferdinando Marsigli, Stato militare dell’Impèrio ottomanno, 2 vols, vol. 1 (The Hague/​
Amsterdam, 1732), p. 24.
52 Introduction

attest the Paulicians’ rejection of the symbol. Vestiges of a Samosatan link are
not just confined to Marsigli, since two brothers Paul and John are considered
to have imported the Paulician heresy from Kappadokia into Bulgaria by a
Bulgarian sermon apocryphally attributed to John Chrysostom, which perhaps
dates to the 13th or 14th century.182 Even factoring in some amount of misun-
derstanding, it seems that the ancestral narratives and counternarratives sur-
rounding the early Paulicians endured in one form or another, although, as in
earlier periods, it needs to be borne in mind that those grouped under the term
may not have been an entirely homogeneous breed.
Nowadays, the people most synonymous with Paulician identity are the
Banat Bulgarians, who are generally known as Palćene or Pavlikians.183 As their
name suggests, this is a Bulgarian community found mostly in the Banat: an
area which corresponds roughly to Vojvodina in Serbia and the Timiş County
in Romania. Their presence in the region dates from the end of the 17th cen-
tury, when the failed Čiprovci Uprising of 1688 against the Ottoman Empire
led many Catholic Bulgars to flee to this area after sojourns in Oltenia and
Translyvania. Other Catholic Bulgarians fled there via alternate routes. Banat
Bulgarians remain in the region today, although some Pavlikians subsequently
returned to Bulgaria.184 It seems undeniable that this population has tangible
links to Paulicians of the medieval era, but several factors do not fit with expec-
tations. Whereas Paulicians of our period seem never to have referred to them-
selves by this name, most Palćene or Pavlikians refer to themselves as such
in many contexts, often to distinguish themselves from other Bulgarians.185
Moreover, there are no traces of Armenian elements in their dialect, while they

182 This is the dating adopted by Saldzhiev. See Hristo Saldzhiev, “The Apocryphal Bulgarian
Sermon of Saint John Chrysostom on the Origin of Paulicians and Manichaean Dimensions
of Medieval Paulician Identity,” Studia Ceranea 10 (2020), pp. 432–​ 433; Mariyana
Tsibranska-​Kostova, “Paulicians between the Dogme and the Legend,” Studia Ceranea 7
(2017), pp. 249–​251.
183 Beyond the Balkans, it would perhaps be remiss of me not to mention the surreal account
of one Khach’atur Aslanian (Americanised as Bob Lion), a self-​identifying Paulician, who,
as a nonagenarian cornerstone of the Armenian community in San Diego, told James
Russell of his memories, embroidered or otherwise, of a Paulician community in Divriği
(the modern Turkish name for Tephrikē), where he resided as a child before the Armenian
Genocide. See James R. Russell, “The Last of the Paulicians,” Hask hayagitakan taregirk‘
7–​8 (1995–​1996), pp. 33–​47.
184 Motoki Nomachi, “The Rise, Fall, and Revival of the Banat Bulgarian Literary
Language: Sociolinguistic History from the Perspective of Trans-​Border Interactions,”
in The Palgrave Handbook of Slavic Languages, Identities and Borders, eds. Tomasz
Kamusella, Motoki Nomachi, Catherine Gibson (Basingstoke, 2016), pp. 398–​400.
185 Nomachi, “The Rise, Fall, and Revival,” pp. 395; 418–​419.
Introduction 53

also lack any historical recollection of the medieval Paulicians.186 Clearly, the
passage of time and the acculturating potentiality of a Slavo-​Ottoman milieu
has wrought many changes on the namesakes of our medieval Paulicians. As in
the case of early Paulician history in Armenia, there is a fascinating history of
faith, language, and conflict to explore, but it lies outside our scope. Whatever
their commonalities or differences, the history of the Paylikeank‘, Paulicians,
and Pavlikians is united by their dissidence, their independence, and their par-
allel experience of life under hegemonies that sought to control their faith.
186 Most literature on the Banat Bulgarian dialect focuses on attempts to revive its use, its sta-
tus within its host countries, and its place within the broader family of Slavic languages.
Minimal interest is generally paid to connections with the medieval Paulicians. The
absence of Armenian linguistic links is noted by Neno Nedelchev, “Catholic Bulgarians
and Their Dialect,” International Journal of the Sociology of Language 179 (2006), p. 148.
The sole exponent of Armenian features in the language, so far as I know, is Edouard
Selian, “Le dialecte Paulicien,” in The Proceedings of the Fifth International Conference on
Armenian Linguistics, McGill University, Montreal, Quebec, Canada, 1995, ed. Dora Sakayan
(Delmar, 1996), pp. 327–​334. On knowledge of the medieval Paulicians, see Loos, Dualist
Heresy, p. 339; Saldzhiev, “The Apocryphal Bulgarian,” pp. 430–​431. Saldzhiev makes refer-
ence to Paulicians calling their ancient Anatolian rulers “kings” in the 17th century, but the
source he cites to this effect, a letter by the missionary Philippus Stanislavov describing
the claims of contemporary Paulicians to a longstanding connection with Rome, has no
discernible connection to Anatolia. See Philippus Stanislavov, “Philippus Stanislavov de
Pavlićianorum origine eorumque libris sacris secundum vulgi opinionem quaedam enar-
rat,” in Acta Bulgariae ecclesiastica ab a. 1565 usque ad a. 1799, ed. Eusebius Fermendžiu
(Zagreb, 1889), p. 42.
 ­c hapter 1

Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery: Paulicians

in Greek Sources

Controversy is never far away when the foundations of a subject occasion

fierce disagreement. Nothing could be truer of the Paulicians and, more spe-
cifically, the Greek sources which describe them. Throughout the 19th and
20th centuries critics debated the primacy and authenticity of Peter of Sicily’s
History of the Paulicians and Pseudo-​Photios’ Brief History of the Manichaeans,
the most detailed sources on the heresy, both of which were ostensibly written
at the height of the Paulician threat to the Byzantine Empire, during the first
five years of the reign of Basil i (867–​886). For some, these sources contain
the most reliable extant testimony about the heresy, yet for others they entail
intractable problems in terms of content and context. Accordingly, several crit-
ics have identified them as forgeries of the mid-​10th century, during the reign
of Constantine vii (915–​959, sole reign: 945–​959).1 The enduring and conten-
tious nature of this debate is understandable given the close textual relation-
ship of these works. They have a similar structure, employ many of the same
sources, and argue the same central thesis: that the Paulicians are the contin-
uators of the Manichaean heresy. For Peter of Sicily, this Manichaean identi-
fication ensures that the Paulicians merit the death penalty, as mandated by
the Justinianic Code and the Ekloga of Leo iii.2 The Brief History is silent on
this crucial matter, but a third source which draws heavily upon it, the Letter of
Theophylaktos Lekapenos to the Bulgarian Tsar Peter i, adopts a nuanced and

1 See Nina G. Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy (Paris/​The Hague, 1967), pp. 27–​79; Karapet
Ter Mkrttschian, Die Paulikianer im byzantinischen Kaiserreiche und verwandte ketzerische
Erscheinungen in Armenien (Leipzig, 1893), pp. 1–​28. Forgery is a difficult concept to define
in antiquity since questions of authorship are complex. An intention to deceive is usually a
prerequisite of identifying a work as a forgery. See Wolfgang Speyer, Die literarische Fälschung
im heidnischen und christlichen Altertum (Munich, 1971), pp. 5–​15.
2 Claudia Ludwig, “The Paulicians and Ninth-​Century Byzantine Thought,” in Byzantium in the
Ninth Century: Dead or Alive?, ed. Leslie Brubaker (Aldershot, 1998), p. 33; Codex Iustinianus,
1:5:11; 1:5:16, ed. Paul Krüger, Corpus Iuris Civilis, 2 vols, vol. 2 (Berlin, 1895), pp. 53; 55–​56.
Translation: The Codex of Justinian: A New Annotated Translation, trans. Fred H. Blume, ed.
Bruce W. Frier, 3 vols, vol. 1 (Cambridge, 2016), pp. 200–​201; 208–​211; Ecloga: das Gesetzbuch
Leons III. und Konstantinos’ V., 17:52, ed. Ludwig Burgmann (Frankfurt, 1983), pp. 242–​243.
English translation: The Laws of the Isaurian Era: The Ecloga and its Appendices, ed. and trans.
Michael T.G Humphreys (Liverpool, 2017), p. 77.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2022 | DOI:10.1163/9789004517080_003

Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 55

clement approach which differs markedly from the draconian History. Sources
which allude to Paulicians in the 9th century, notably the letters of Theodore
the Stoudite, the Chronographia of Theophanes, and the text which picks up
its mantle, Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, also attest the centrality of capital
punishment in debates about the heresy. However our heresiological sources
are interpreted, one thing is for certain: they are, quite literally, a matter of life
and death.
In this chapter and the one which follows it, I shall argue that these sources
testify to an unsuccessful attempt to persuade Constantine’s vii court of the
desirability of imposing the death penalty on the Paulicians. Any reappraisal
of the heresy must get to grips with the intricacies of these sources, but it is
essential to note that their authenticity is of minor significance to the historical
conclusions of this book, insofar as the portrayal of Paulician belief and com-
munity presented herein does not rest not upon these sources per se, but rather
upon the Paulician material which is preserved within them. This material can
be dated securely to the first few decades of the 9th century and by contex-
tualising it within that timeframe we may emancipate Paulician history from
source critical debates. Earlier scholarship, by contrast, has not systematically
engaged with this Paulician testimony on its own terms, with the result that
the authenticity of the Greek sources has traditionally been linked with more
fundamental questions about the Paulicians, particularly concerning the sup-
posedly adoptionist or dualist character of their belief. As noted in the intro-
duction, Armenologists and Byzantinists have contested this historiographical
battleground from the late 19th century onwards. The former advanced alle-
gations of forgery against the Greek sources and maintained the primacy of
the Armenian texts, thereby interpreting the Paulicians as the remnant of an
adoptionist Christianity which predated Greek influence in the region, in the
process upholding the primacy and purity of ancient Armenian Christianity.3
This perspective naturally alienated Byzantinists, thereby explaining their spir-
ited defence of the Greek sources.4 With the frames of debate drawn so rigidly

3 This is particularly true of Conybeare and Garsoïan, but somewhat less so in the case of
Ter Mkrttschian, who proposed a Marcionite origin for the heresy. Frederick C. Conybeare,
ed., The Key of Truth. A Manual of the Paulician Church in Armenia (Oxford, 1898), pp. vi-​
xiii; Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 151–​230; Ter Mkrttschian, Die Paulikianer, pp. 104–​112.
On romanticised conceptions of Armenian Christianity, see especially Garsoïan, Paulician
Heresy, pp. 186–​230; Conybeare (ed.), The Key of Truth, in passim.
4 Paul Lemerle, “L’histoire des Pauliciens d’Asie Mineure d’après les sources grecques,”
Travaux et mémoires 5 (1973), pp. 12–​15; Paul Speck, “Petros Sikeliotes, seine Historia und
der Erzbischof von Bulgarien,” ellhnika 27 (1974), pp. 385–​386, n. 6; Henri Grégoire, “Les
56  Chapter 1

along disciplinary boundaries, it is hardly surprising that earlier exchanges

about the authenticity of our sources were so contentious.
My aims in what follows consciously depart from these concerns. Although
I shall address the authenticity of these sources, my main objective in doing
so is not to draw the value of their testimony into question, but to securely
situate them within their proper intellectual context –​that of the mid-​10th
century. This concern is often only implicit here and will reach its full devel-
opment in the following chapter. For the present, it suffices to note that the
History of the Paulicians and the Brief History are so closely related that their
contexts cannot be properly understood in isolation from one another. Despite
this, the complex reception of these works makes a definitive reconstruction
of their dating simplistic and undesirable. Their relationship with other texts
is neither straightforward nor direct and perhaps necessitates proposing the
existence of related sources or intermediary witnesses that are now lost. We
may be able to sketch the most important contextual factors which animate
our texts, but the specific circumstances of their composition are elusive. In
particular, the complexity of intellectual activity in the mid-​10th century is
such that suggesting several complementary explanations seems more appro-
priate than shoehorning the evidence into a single interpretative framework.
The volume of literary production that is commonly assigned to the sole reign
of Constantine vii is extraordinary, perhaps too extraordinary.5 It may be more
appropriate to posit greater continuity between Constantine’s sole reign and
his joint rule with Romanos i Lekapenos, at least in terms of intellectual activ-
ity.6 Works that are conventionally assigned to Constantine’s reign may have
been written sometime previously, either for himself or for another patron,
and then reworked upon Constantine’s accession.7 In short, this period seems

sources de l’histoire des Pauliciens. Pierre de Sicile est authentique et ‘Photius’ un faux,”
Académie Royale de Belgique, Bulletin Classe des Lettres, 5e série 22 (1936), pp. 95–​96.
5 A number of works have recently been assigned to Constantine vii’s reign. See Christian
Høgel, “Beauty, Knowledge, and Gain in the Life of Theoktiste,” Byzantion 88 (2018), pp. 234–​
235; Denis F. Sullivan, Alice-​Mary Talbot, Stamatina McGrath, eds., The Life of Saint Basil the
Younger. Critical Edition and Annotated Translation of the Moscow Version (Washington, D.C.,
2014), pp. 10–​11.
6 Magdalino, for instance, has posited that Constantine’s literary pursuits must be seen in con-
tinuity with his father Leo vi. Paul Magdalino, “Byzantine Encyclopaedism of the Ninth and
Tenth Centuries,” in Encyclopaedism from Antiquity to the Renaissance, eds. Jason König, Greg
Woolf (New York, 2013), pp. 224–​227. See also Paul Magdalino, “Knowledge in Authority and
Authorised History: The Imperial Intellectual Programme of Leo VI and Constantine VII,” in
Authority in Byzantium, ed. Pamela Armstrong (Farnham, 2013), pp. 187–​209.
7 A potential example is Constantine of Rhodes’ poem On Constantinople and the Church
of the Holy Apostles, which was dated between 931–​944 by Reinach. However, Speck, who
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 57

conducive to complicated, evolving textual traditions which cannot always be

reduced to a single author and context as modern source criticism has some-
times tacitly assumed.
That being said, in the interests of clarity it is helpful to articulate a starting
point. In what follows, I shall maintain that both the History of the Paulicians
and the Brief History as now extant are forgeries of the 10th century, most
likely from the sole reign of Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, although the
former text is undeniably more complex and possibly had its genesis before
Constantine ruled alone. Both sources, along with the Letter of Theophylaktos
Lekapenos, should be understood within the context of recurrent debates
about the punishments to which Paulicians should be subjected at this time.
Throughout the 9th century, Byzantine political and religious figures had
argued among themselves about the punishments that the Paulicians mer-
ited. This was particularly true during periods when the Paulician presence
was most acute, or alternatively, when religious tensions were at their great-
est. Such was the case during the turbulent years which straddled the reigns
of Michael i and Leo v, as well as during the regency of the young Michael
iii. In all of these cases the Paulicians were persecuted, whereas during the
apogee of their power at the beginning of Basil i’s reign this does not seem
to have been the case. Punishment was evidently the dominant matter which
concerned Byzantines in the 9th century, and our texts suggest the same is true
of the 10th century. Besides this central point, we can also identify a second-
ary aim within the History, namely that it sought to systematise the available
evidence about the Paulicians because they were so poorly documented until
their reinvention in the 10th century; a development which will be covered in
the following chapter. Even at the time of this reinvention, more attention was
paid to the martial exploits of Karbeas and Chrysocheir than to the religious
threat of the earlier period, so a text of the History’s ilk filled an important
lacuna in contemporary thought by weaving these contexts together. Once
the History and Brief History are unmasked as forgeries, the earliest, though

considers the poem a composite work which was only codified after its author’s death, dates
its earliest material shortly after 912. See Théodore Reinach, “Commentaire archéologique
sur le poème de Constantin le Rhodien,” Revue de études grecques 9 (1896), pp. 67–​68; Paul
Speck, “Konstantinos von Rhodos. Zweck und Datum der Ekphrasis der Sieben Wunder von
Konstantinopel und der Apostelkirche,” Πoikila byzantina 11 (1991), pp. 258–​261. Anthony
Kaldellis also argues that Genesios’ Basileion was written between 915 and 930 and then
rewritten during Constantine’s sole reign, although not entirely convincingly. See Anthony
Kaldellis, ed., On the Reigns of the Emperors (Canberra, 1998), pp. ix-​xiv. For a refutation,
see Apostolos D. Karpozilos, Βυζαντινοί ιτορικοί και χρονογράφοι T.2 8ος –​10ος αὶ, vol. 2 (Athens,
2002), pp. 317–​318.
58  Chapter 1

not necessarily most detailed or interesting, source on the Paulicians is the

anonymous Treatise against the Paulicians, which predated these sources by
a century, since its origins can be traced to the reign of Theophilos (829–​842).
The overarching interpretation guiding this chapter is substantially similar to
that of Garsoïan, although differences of detail and emphasis will be apparent
throughout, not least regarding the centrality of punishment to the polemical
tradition.8 As such, the chapter argues against the currently accepted consen-
sus of Lemerle, which is commonly considered to have superseded Garsoïan’s
work, but entails serious chronological difficulties by confining the textual tra-
dition against the Paulicians to the years 870–​872.9
In many respects, the arguments advanced in this chapter and the one
which follows it have only limited repercussions for our findings on the his-
torical Paulicians. Yet it is still necessary to explore the relationship between
these sources; firstly, because although the historical implications are few,
their importance is first-​rate, particularly regarding the origins of the Islamic
alliance; and secondly, because the claim that these sources are mistaken in
identifying the Paulicians as dualists is a bold one which needs detailed justi-
fication. This claim could be seen as suggesting that the writers who produced
these sources acted disingenuously or nefariously, with the implication that
they were the hypocritical representatives of a corrupt church. Anti-​clerical

8 Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 27–​79. See also Ter Mkrttschian, Die Paulikianer im byzan-
tinischen Kaiserreiche, pp. 1–​28.
9 Lemerle was aware of these difficulties himself. See Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 39. He argues that
c.870 Peter of Sicily composed the History of the Paulicians, which he then abridged to form
the more concise and practical Treatise. The Treatise was then interpolated into both recen-
sions of the Chronicon of George the Monk, while the History was metaphrased by Photios,
who was then in exile. All of this occurred within the years 870–​872. Aside from this com-
pressed timeframe, the chronology entails further difficulties. Firstly, in order to substantiate
this interpretation, Lemerle is forced to dispense with the previously accepted dating of the
Chronicon (which at the time he was writing was 866–​867), because according to his recon-
struction this necessarily postdates the Treatise. However, Afinogenov’s recent reappraisal of
the Chronicon convincingly proposes an earlier date of c.846–​847 for its first recension. This
first recension contains the Treatise and this leads Afinogenov to question Lemerle’s attribu-
tion of the Treatise to Peter of Sicily. See Dmitri Afinogenov, “The Date of Georgios Monachos
Reconsidered,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 92 (1999), pp. 437–​441; Dmitri Afinogenov, “Le man-
uscrit grec Coislin. 305: la version primitive de la Chronique de Georges le Moine,” Revue de
études byzantines 62:1 (2004), p. 246. Secondly, Lemerle accounts for Grégoire’s terminus post
quem of 932 (latter emended to 934) for the Brief History by arguing that the relevant pas-
sage was originally a marginal note that was later incorporated into the text, but the earliest
extant manuscript seems too early to posit such an interpolation. In any case, as we shall see,
Grégoire’s terminus post quem is decisive. For Lemerle’s arguments, see Lemerle, “L’histoire,”
pp. 17–​40.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 59

narratives of this kind have customarily been used to explain away unconvinc-
ing or inconvenient emphases within the sources, particularly during the cen-
turies that Catholic and Protestant historians debated the origins and beliefs
of the Paulicians.10 But reducing the testimony of our sources to a clerical
conspiracy is a caricature –​and not a convincing one at that. By describing
the contexts of these sources and the relationships between them in this and
the following chapter, I hope to do greater justice to the sources’ authors by
showing that the situation is decidedly more complex. Our 10th-​century forg-
ers understood Paulicians as they did as a result of the norms which governed
the composition of heresiological writings; their reverence for the written
word and the traditions of their predecessors; their participation in a broader
intellectual culture conditioned by symbolism and intertextuality; and the
necessity of placating the wishes of their patrons, superiors, and audiences.
As noted above, they were also participating in the first systematic attempt to
make sense of the Paulicians, since a coherent account of their activity did not
exist prior to their reinvention in the 10th century.
But above all, like Byzantine officials, bishops, and monastics of the 9th cen-
tury, our forgers were most interested in debating the matter they had most
influence over: the manner in which Paulicians should be punished. Insofar
as this issue was fiercely debated among Roman elites, it entailed minimal
engagement with the Paulicians themselves. Strange as it may seem, discern-
ing what they did or did not believe was not automatically relevant to how they
should be punished. Peter of Sicily may have thought that the Paulicians mer-
ited the death penalty if they were Manichaeans, but Theodore the Stoudite,
writing over a century beforehand, evidently did not.11 As a result, Byzantines
who were actively engaged with determining the threat that they posed, the
legal framework within which they should be situated, and the vexed ques-
tion of their place within the empire did not have to understand their beliefs.
Nonetheless, Roman understandings of Paulician doctrines did evolve and
become more nuanced over time. By investigating this evolution, we gain a
deeper understanding of the predispositions and strategies through which
Romans understood them, thereby allowing us to reach a fuller awareness of

10 This is particularly true of Protestant historiography. See Johann C.L. Gieseler,

“Untersuchen über die Geschichte der Paulikianer,” Theologische Studien und Kritiken, 2:1
(1829), pp. 80–​81; Adrien Edmond Febvrel, Des Pauliciens: Thèse presenté à la Faculté de
Theologie protestante de Strasbourg (Strasbourg, 1868), pp. 1–​2; 52–​53. Conybeare is espe-
cially partisan. See Conybeare, ed., The Key of Truth, pp. lxxv-​lxxvi; clxviii-​cxcvi.
11 Theodore the Stoudite, Theodori Studitae epistulae, Ep. 455, ed. Georgios Fatouros, 2 vols,
vol. 2 (Berlin, 1992), pp. 644–​647.
60  Chapter 1

the Byzanto-​Paulician interactions which influenced Paulician activity and

discourse for much of their history. Thus, the endeavour will considerably
enrich our study of the Paulicians as a historical phenomenon going forward.

1 Peter of Sicily’s History of the Paulicians

The History of the Paulicians has been considered the most detailed and reli-
able source on the Paulicians for much of the time since its initial publica-
tion in the 17th century, but it has rarely been far from controversy.12 Debates
over its authenticity have raged intermittently since the 19th century. Adrien
Febvrel, Karapet Ter Mkrttschian, and Nina Garsoïan saw glaring inconsisten-
cies with its authorship and context, for the most part betraying incredulity
that it could be taken seriously as a 9th-​century text, while the likes of Henri
Grégoire and Paul Lemerle penned vehement defences of it, rehabilitating it
as the most authoritative source written on the Paulicians.13 I take the former
view here, arguing that the History was most likely forged during the sole reign
of Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos (945–​959). By this view, Peter of Sicily
wrote the History of the Paulicians in order to convince Constantine to enact
the death penalty against the Paulicians and, in doing so, created the first
coherent account of Paulician activity within the empire. To modern sensibili-
ties, it does not do so very convincingly, and the medieval reception of the text
suggests that contemporary readers were similarly sceptical. But despite this,
the History is a truly impressive literary achievement –​far more so than prior
scholarship has recognized. According to Peter of Sicily’s own testimony, he
wrote the History after Basil I ordered him to travel to Tephrikē and negotiate a
prisoner exchange with the Paulicians at the very height of their threat to the
empire.14 The successful outcome of these negotiations would have presented
a diplomatic coup given the openly secessionist rhetoric of Chrysocheir, who
had not only spent the previous years ransacking the major cities of eastern
Asia Minor, but had also demonstrated his intent by demanding that Basil cede

12 The text was first published (in Latin) in Matthaeus Rader, ed., Petri Siculi Historia
Manichaeorum (Ingolstadt, 1604).
13 Febvrel, Des Pauliciens, pp. 3–​6; Ter Mkrttschian, Die Paulikianer, pp. 13–​28; Garsoïan,
Paulician Heresy, pp. 55–​79; Grégoire, “Les sources,” pp. 101–​109; Lemerle, “L’histoire,”
pp. 17–​21.
14 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 186–​187, ed. Denise Papachryssanthou, trans.
Jean Gouillard, Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), pp. 66–​67. English translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds. Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton
(Manchester, 1998), p. 92.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 61

the empire’s eastern provinces to his rule. Throughout this chapter and the one
which follows, I shall maintain that the History is even more fascinating than
this bellicose context.
As it is the most idiosyncratic and contentious of all our anti-​Paulician
texts, an overview of the History’s structure and content is essential here. The
text now survives in a single manuscript, the 11th-​century Vaticanus graecus
511, which lacks extensive marginalia or an apparatus.15 The lack of contex-
tual information the manuscript provides, coupled with its late date, render
it uninformative regarding the authenticity of the text, which is unfortunate
because it does not allow us to clarify some of the History’s more idiosyncratic
features, such as its references to heresy in Bulgaria. A further point of interest
is that the History is preceded in this manuscript by a fragmentary copy of the
Treatise, the earliest extant Byzantine text against the Paulicians, which in this
case is also attributed to Peter of Sicily.16 Interestingly, the History’s compan-
ion text, Pseudo-​Photios’ Brief History, metaphrases the Treatise and History in
succession, thereby indicating that the pseudonymous author could have had
access to a manuscript much like this one.17 If nothing else, the manuscript
attests the close relationship of all our anti-​Paulician texts.
Another point of significance lies in the title of the History in the manu-
script, which is certainly not original:18

The same Peter of Sicily’s useful history, refutation, and overthrow

of the hollow and foolish heresy of the Manichaeans, who are also
called Paulicians, disguised as if written to the Archbishop of Bulgaria
(προσωποποιηθεῖσα ὡς πρὸς τὸν ἀρχιεπίσκοπον Βουλγαρίας).19

Despite the length of this title, it is relatively simple in both its vocabulary and
syntax, with the notable exception of the last subclause, which is wordy and
obscure. For both Lemerle and Jean Gouillard, this convoluted phrase merely

15 See Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), pp. 3–​6.

16 Travaux et mémoires 4, pp. 4–​5. The beginning of the Treatise is lost in Vaticanus Graecus
511, but because the History is attributed to “the same Peter of Sicily” the text which pre-
ceded it was credited to the same author. On this, see Henri Grégoire, “Sur l’histoire des
Pauliciens,” Académie Royale de Belgique, Bulletin Classe des Lettres, 5e série 22 (1936),
pp. 224–​226.
17 Henri Grégoire, “Autour des Pauliciens,” Byzantion 11 (1936), pp. 612–​613.
18 The following discussion is indebted to Ter Mkrttschian and Speck. See Ter Mkrttschian,
Die Paulikianer, p. 13; Speck, “Petros Sikeliotes,” p. 383.
19 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, pp. 6–​7. A similar translation is given by Mauro
Mormino, ed., Fozio di Constantinopoli: Contro i Manichei (Rome, 2019), p. 7.
62  Chapter 1

meant “addressed to the Archbishop of Bulgaria,” but a neater solution pres-

ents itself.20 As several critics have noted, the History’s concern with heresy
in Bulgaria is due to a later and not especially sophisticated revision of the
text, since Peter elsewhere notes that his imperial mission to Tephrikē was the
stimulus for composing the work.21 Prior scholarship has not drawn a clear
link, but the impetus for this revision was perhaps the spread of heresy in
Bulgaria attested by the Letter of Theophylaktos Lekapenos to Peter of Bulgaria
c.945–​956, or alternatively the relocation of Paulicians to Philippopolis by John
i Tzimiskes in the early 970s. The extant title of the History suggests that near
contemporaries recognized its reworking to fit a new Bulgarian context and
regarded this with some suspicion. For Ter Mkrttschian, this title was evidence
that the History was forged, but, as Felix Scheidweiler rightly noted, the rele-
vant phrase only indicates that the address to the Archbishop of Bulgaria is
questionable.22
If the sole surviving manuscript is comparatively unilluminating regarding
the authenticity of the History, the same is true for the attribution of the text
to Peter of Sicily. Peter is elsewhere unknown and there are no references to
the diplomatic efforts he claims to have undertaken in any other work. Our
knowledge of the History’s author is confined to what we learn from the text –​
and this testimony is often contradictory. Although Peter claims that he is an
imperial ambassador, this assertion sits uncomfortably with his command of

20 For Gouillard’s translation, which Lemerle adopts, see Peter of Sicily, History of the
Paulicians, p. 6; Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 18.
21 Speck, “Petros Sikeliotes,” pp. 382–​ 383; Felix Scheidweiler “Paulikianerprobleme,”
Byzantinische Zeitschrift 43 (1950), pp. 14–​15. The early chapters of the History give the
impression of being written later in Basil’s reign than c.870–​872. Notably, the prisoner
exchange is dated to “the beginning of Basil’s reign” (ἐν ἀρχῇ τῆς αὐτοκρατορίας Βασιλείου),
thereby suggesting that Basil had ruled for some time when these first paragraphs were
written. Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 4, pp. 8–​9. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 67.
22 Ter Mkrttschian, Die Paulikianer, pp. 13–​14; Scheidweiler, “Paulikianerprobleme,” pp. 14–​
15. While making his argument, Ter Mkrttschian notes the position of Archbishop of
Bulgaria was not firmly attested when Peter of Sicily supposedly wrote. Lemerle counters
this by referring to a Greek epitaph found in Bulgaria, which in his view suggests that
the Byzantine Church was in the process of establishing Greek clergy in Bulgaria at this
time. See Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 20–​21. As he notes, the Vita Basilii states that Basil
appointed an archbishop for Bulgaria, but this cannot be securely dated. See Constantine
vii Porphyrogennetos, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati nomine fertur liber
quo Vita Basilii Imperatoris amplectitur, 96, ed. and trans. Ihor Ševčenko (Berlin/​Boston,
2011), pp. 310–​313. However, it should be noted that the title “archbishop” is only given in
the title of the History, which is not original. In the text itself, Peter addresses only a pre-
siding officer (προέδρος), so this debate is not of paramount importance.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 63

heresiological texts and the lengthy theological excursuses which litter his
work. This difficulty becomes more pronounced when we reach the History’s
appended sermons, where Peter nowhere mentions his imperial command. In
the isolated occasions when he does refer to himself, he does so in quintes-
sentially monastic terms.23 In short, he is an enigma. If the conclusions of this
chapter are accepted, it is probable that there never was a 9th-​century per-
sonage called Peter of Sicily. Nevertheless, since the name is unattested else-
where, we are free to retain it, even if the attribution should more accurately
be pseudonymous.
Throughout the History, Peter credits the origins of Paulician belief to Mani,
as well as Paul and John, the sons of a Manichaean woman called Kallinike,
which allows him to articulate his principal argument: that the Paulicians are
worthy of capital punishment as in the case of the Manichaeans.24 The History
begins with a short introduction which mentions Peter’s aforementioned mis-
sion to Tephrikē and notes that in the course of this mission he learnt that
the Paulicians intend to proselytise in Bulgaria.25 Although these two com-
positional contexts are woven together here and are not necessarily mutually
exclusive, the lack of reference to Bulgaria elsewhere suggests that the origi-
nal context of the History was Peter’s mission to Tephrikē, which he invokes
once more at the culmination of the text.26 Perhaps tellingly, the address to
the head of the Bulgarian Church only comes after this introductory section,
without any of the salutations or pleasantries that would be expected. Instead,
there is only an abstract discussion of the dangers of heresy.27 This is followed
by a polemical section in which Peter characterises heresy as arising from
the machinations of the devil, noting ways in which the evil one’s scheming
has been confounded by the agency of the Trinity, the Virgin, and the cross,
among others.28 Peter then identifies the heresy with which he is concerned as

23 Peter of Sicily, Sermons against the Paulicians, Patrologia Graeca 104, col. 1305–​1306: “I
am a sinner and unworthy.” A similar reference also occurs in the early chapters of the
History, where Peter calls himself “worthless and free of all virtue.” Peter of Sicily, History
of the Paulicians, 6, pp. 8–​9. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 67.
24 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 46–​67, pp. 22–​31. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 74.
25 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 1–​6, pp. 6–​9. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 66–​67.
26 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 187, pp. 66–​67. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 92. See also Speck, “Petros Sikeliotes,” pp. 382–​383.
27 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 7–​17, pp. 10–​13. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 67–​68.
28 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 18–​34, pp. 12–​19. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 68–​71.
64  Chapter 1

Manichaean, which he understands to be one and the same as Paulician.29 This

section is followed by Peter’s six points, in which he describes the Paulicians’
six main departures from orthodox belief.30
For Peter to argue that the Paulicians are none other than Manichaeans,
it is necessary for him to demonstrate filiation between the two. He does so
through an account linking Mani, Paul and John, the sons of Kallinike, and
the Paulician didaskaloi. This account is broadly historical in nature, although
this description is somewhat misleading, firstly because the narrative is far
from chronologically precise and secondly due to the prevailing ambiguity in
our sources about whether Paul, son of Kallinike, should be understood as a
polemicised caricature of Paul of Samosata or not.31 This second point, which
also clouds the interpretation of the Treatise, the History’s ultimate source for
these allusions, merits a short excursus here. In the History’s account, Paul and
John derive their belief from their mother Kallinike, who in turn received this
from Mani’s disciples. Notably, the narrative places these figures in “Samosata
of Armenia,” that is Arsamosata (Shimshāṭ), rather than Samosata in Syria,
the birthplace of the adoptionist bishop.32 Moreover, since Mani (c.216–​274)
and Paul of Samosata (Bishop of Antioch 260/​61-​272) were contemporaries,
the chronology does not fit with the latter deriving his belief a generation
removed from Mani’s disciples.33 This point would appear to be corrobo-
rated by the observation that the History, like the Treatise, places Paul’s activ-
ity in Phanaroia in Paphlagonia, rather than Antioch.34 Thus, it would seem
that Kallinike’s son could not be the same figure as the Bishop of Antioch.
However, in a later passage the History calls him: “Paul of Samosata, the son of
Kallinike the Manichaean,” thereby seeming to elide the two figures.35 Further

29 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 33, pp. 18–​19. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 71. For the equivalence of Manichaeans and Paulicians, see Peter of Sicily,
History of the Paulicians, 170, pp. 62–​63. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 89.
30 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 36–​45, pp. 18–​23. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 72–​74.
31 Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 213–​216.
32 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 84, pp. 36–​37. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 75. On this and the below, see also Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 49–​51.
33 For the dates attributed to Mani, see Kevin J. Coyle, “Mani, Manichaeism,” in Augustine
through the Ages: An Encyclopedia, ed. Allan D. Fitzgerald (Grand Rapids, 1999),
pp. 520–​521.
34 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 84–​86, pp. 36–​39. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 75; Treatise, 2, ed. and trans. Charles Astruc, Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970),
p. 80. English translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds.
Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), p. 93.
35 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 93, pp. 40–​41. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 76.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 65

complicating matters, the Treatise places Paul and his family in Samosata,
rather than “Samosata of Armenia” as the History does.36 There is clearly a
great deal of confusion here, much of which presumably stems from Peter of
Sicily’s reading of the Treatise, but it also seems that the contested nature of
the term Paulician and, more specifically, the uncertain identity of the Paul
with which the name should be associated have left some cryptic traces in the
textual tradition. The ambiguities cannot be resolved here, but it should be
borne in mind that the geography, chronology, and prosopography of our texts
must be taken with a pinch of salt.
Returning to the overview of the History’s narrative, after Peter of Sicily’s
description of the Paulicians’ six main errors, he proceeds to an account of
Mani and his alleged forerunners derived principally from Cyril of Jerusalem’s
Catechetical Sermons.37 Peter then traces the teaching of Mani’s disciples to
Samosata of Armenia and the trifecta of Kallinike, Paul, and John mentioned
above.38 After this, the History offers an account of the Paulicians proper and
in particular, the didaskaloi Constantine-​Silvanos, Symeon-​Titos, Gegnesios-​
Timothy, and Joseph-​Epaphroditos.39 This material is taken from the Paulician
source which Ludwig termed the Didaskalie, although the same is probably not

36 Treatise, 1–​2, p. 80. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 93. Pseudo-​Photios adopts
both readings, depending on which text he is paraphrasing. See Pseudo-​Photios, Brief
History, 2; 55–​56, ed. Wanda Conus-​Wolska, trans. Joseph Paramelle, Travaux et mémoires
4 (1970), pp. 120–​121; 138–​139.
37 The precursors of Mani in the heresiological tradition have no discernible basis in fact.
Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 46–​67, pp. 22–​31. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 74; Cyril of Jerusalem, Catecheses, in Cyrilli Hierosolymorum archiepiscopi
opera, 6:22–​31, eds. Wilhelm C. Reischl, Joseph Rupp (Hildesheim, 1967), pp. 184–​201.
English translation: Procatechesis. Catecheses 1–​12, ed. and trans. Leo P. McCauley,
Anthony A. Stephenson (Washington, D.C., 1969), pp. 161–​167. The ultimate source of
Cyril’s narrative is the Acta Archelai. For this, see Hegemonios, Acta Archelai, ed. Charles
H. Beeson (Leipzig, 1906). English translation: Acta Archelai: The Acts of Archelaus, ed.
Samuel N.C. Lieu, Kevin Kaatz, trans. Mark Vermes (Turnhout, 2001). In ­chapter 78 of
the History, Peter of Sicily also cites Socrates of Constantinople’s Ecclesiastical History
as a source for his account of the Manichaeans, whereas in ­chapter 82 he notes a debt
to an unnamed work of Epiphanios of Salamis that can be identified as the De mensuris
et ponderibus. For these, see Socrates of Constantinople, Kirchengeschichte, ed. Günther
C. Hansen, Manja Širinjan (Berlin, 1995). English translation: Socrates, Sozomenus: Church
Histories, ed. and trans. Andrew C. Zenos (Grand Rapids, 1957), pp. 1–​178; Epiphanios of
Salamis, De mensuris et ponderibus, Patrologia Graeca 43, col. 236–​294.
38 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 84–​87, pp. 36–​39. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 75.
39 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 94–​129, pp. 40–​51. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 76–​83.
66  Chapter 1

true of the career of Sergios-​Tychikos, which stemmed from other sources.40

The History then ends with some brief remarks on the later Paulician leaders
Karbeas and Chrysocheir.41 It was originally followed by six sermons against
the Paulicians, which were devoted to the six main departures from orthodoxy
described above. Only the first two of these sermons and the beginning of the
third now survive.42 As noted above, within these sermons Peter describes
himself with monastic characteristics that are not in keeping with his status
as an imperial ambassador. This is one of a number of inconsistencies which
suggest that the History is not as it seems.
The earliest criticisms of the text’s authenticity centred upon the religio-​
political context within which Peter of Sicily situated his work. Modern schol-
ars have traditionally dated the History between 870 and 872, because Peter
dates his imperial mission to “the second year of the rule of Basil, Constantine,
and Leo, our pious, just, and great emperors.”43 Basil and his eldest son
Constantine were crowned in 867, but his younger son Leo, if biological son he
was, only assumed this honour in 870, so this reference is ambiguous and could
be interpreted as referring to either 870 or 872.44 If the History is analysed at
face value, the text cannot logically postdate 872, since Chrysocheir died in
this year, whereas the History treats him as though he were still alive. Aside
from the imprecise reference to Basil and his sons, the principal issue with
these dates is that it is unlikely that Peter could have successfully negotiated a
prisoner exchange at this time. Genesios, for instance, notes that Basil rejected
Chrysocheir’s terms out of hand when the latter demanded the provinces of
the east, whereas the Vita Basilii has Basil swear vengeance on Chrysocheir’s
head.45 The animosity between the two was at a peak during these years,

40 Claudia Ludwig, “Wer hat was in welcher Absicht wie beschreiben? Bemerkungen zur
Historia des Petros Sikeliotes über die Paulikianer,” Varia 2 Πoikila byzantina 6 (1987),
pp. 149–​227. On Sergios, see Appendix 2.
41 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 184–​187, pp. 66–​67. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 91–​92.
42 Peter of Sicily, Sermons against the Paulicians, col. 1305–​1352.
43 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 187, pp. 66–​67. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 92.
44 See Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 19. Some sources consider both Constantine and Leo to be sons
of Michael iii, who married Basil to his mistress Eudokia Ingerine, although, as Tougher
rightly points out, scholarship has focused largely on Leo’s parentage. On this, see Shaun
Tougher, The Reign of Leo VI (886–​912): Politics and People (Leiden, 1997), pp. 42; 67 with
literature; George the Monk Continuatus, 33, Theophanes continuatus, Ioannes Caminiata,
Symeon Magister, Georgius monachus, ed. Immanuel Bekker (Bonn, 1838), p. 835.
45 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:35, eds. Anni Lesmüller-​Werner, Hans
P. Thurn, (Berlin/​New York, 1978), p. 86, l. 80–​83. English translation: Genesios. On the
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 67

rendering it unlikely that Peter’s negotiations would have ended as favourably

as is claimed.
This difficulty is heightened by ambiguities surrounding the conjectural
prisoner exchange and, even more so, the curious choice of Peter as the ambas-
sador. During our period, prisoner exchanges between the empire and the
‘Abbāsid Caliphate took place on neutral ground between the two, principally
upon the Lamos river in Kilikia.46 A similar exchange could presumably not
occur at the main Paulician centre of Tephrikē, since doing so would serve to
acknowledge their authority in this area. The context therefore suggests that
Peter’s mission was confined to preliminary negotiations with a view to a later
exchange elsewhere and, although his phrasing seems to agree with this, he
offers us no specifics on the exchange itself. The lack of testimony regarding
Paulician prisoner exchanges makes matters such as these difficult to assess,
but it is important to note that exchanges of some kind certainly did take place.
References to Paulicians holding Byzantines prisoner are relatively common-
place.47 While recounting the death of Chrysocheir, Genesios notes that his
slayer Poullades was formerly one of his prisoners. Since Chrysocheir appeals
to his good treatment of Poullades, it seems that he always intended to release
him at some point.48 For our purposes, the problem is not the exchange as
such, but rather the identity of the ambassador. As noted throughout, Peter
of Sicily consistently advocates the death penalty for the Paulicians, but the
logical corollary of this would be the execution of Byzantine prisoners within
Paulician custody –​that is, exactly the same people that Peter sought to release!
Peter’s fanaticism renders him uniquely unsuitable for the mission on which
Basil I supposedly sent him. The draconian views that he espouses could only

Reigns of the Emperors, ed. Anthony Kaldellis (Canberra, 1998), p. 107; Constantine vii
Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 41; 43, pp. 148–​149; 156–​159.
46 Hugh N. Kennedy, “Byzantine-​Arab Diplomacy in the Near East from the Islamic
Conquests to the Mid-​Eleventh Century,” in Byzantine Diplomacy (Papers from the 24th
Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, Cambridge, March 1990), eds. Jonathan Shepard,
Simon Franklin (London, 1992), pp. 137–​139.
47 Treatise, 23, p. 92. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 96; Theophanes Continuatus
i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati nomine fertur Libri I-​IV, 4:23, eds. and
trans. J. Michael Featherstone, Juan Signes Codoñer (Boston/​Berlin, 2015), pp. 251–​252;
Michael, Monk and Synkellos, “De XLII martyribus Amoriensibus narrationes et carmina
sacra,” in Zapiski Imperatorskoĭ akademīi nauk po Istoriko-​filologicheskomu otdȋelenīȋu.
Mémoires de l’Académie impériale des sciences de St.-​ Pétersbourg. Classe historico-​
philologique. VIIIe série 7:2, eds. Vasily G. Vasil’evsky, Petr V. Nikitin (1905), p. 29.
48 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:37, p. 88. Translation: On the Reigns of the
Emperors, pp. 109–​110.
68  Chapter 1

be made after the waning of the Paulician threat, but Peter explicitly notes that
he wrote while their most dangerous leader Chrysocheir still lived.
Sure enough, the most troubling aspect of the History’s context is its inat-
tentive characterisation of Chrysocheir and the period within which the text
was supposedly written. Even though Peter claims to have written at the apo-
gee of Paulician influence, he barely mentions Chrysocheir, or his predecessor
Karbeas, in the History. What little he does mention contradicts the testimony
of our other sources. In Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, for instance, Theodora’s
persecution of the Paulicians and the subsequent flight of Karbeas is lamented
as the trigger for the militarised Paulician resistance that would bring untold
sufferings upon the empire in subsequent decades, mainly as a result of their
ensuing alliance with the Emirate of Melitene.49 Yet in the History, Karbeas’
flight is never recounted and the alliance with Melitene is credited to Sergios’
followers the Kynochoritae and Astatoi, who allegedly fled the empire in the
aftermath of the persecutions of Michael i and Leo v.50 Suspiciously, Karbeas
merely appears at the head of the Paulicians sometime after the death of
Sergios.51 As for Chrysocheir, despite the fact that he was the empire’s most
inveterate enemy at the time when Peter supposedly wrote, he is only men-
tioned once in passing within the History. Even here, Peter portrays him in
curiously indifferent terms and he certainly does not deign to vilify him for the
outrages he inflicted upon Nikaea, Nikomedia, or Ephesos.52 Peter’s focus
instead remains on the long-​dead didaskaloi, the last of which, Sergios-​Tychikos,
he excoriates in terms that we might expect to be reserved for Chrysocheir.53
It is scarcely credible that a contemporary writer could consider these obscure
heresiarchs and a potential threat from Paulician missionaries, which may or
may not have been confined to Bulgaria in the original version of the text, more

49 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, pp. 236–​237.

50 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 175–​178, pp. 64–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 90. Kynochoritae seems to be a polemicised term for the inhabitants of
Kainochorion, whereas Lemerle’s contention that the Astatoi derive from the Greek verb
ἀστατεῖν and are therefore called “wanderers” should be preferred to Ludwig’s conjecture
that the name stems from the Latin hastati. On these points, see Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 72;
Henri Grégoire, “Pour l’histoire des églises pauliciennes καινοχώριον du Pont, Episparis en
φανάροια,” Orientalia Christiana Periodica 13 (1947), pp. 512–​513; Ludwig, “Wer hat was,”
pp. 212–​213.
51 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 184, pp. 66–​67. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 91.
52 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 186–​187, pp. 66–​67. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 92.
53 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 154–​156, pp. 56–​59. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 86–​87.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 69

threatening than a secessionist threat that ransacked the empire’s eastern the-
mata and aligned itself with neighbouring Islamic emirates. All indications
suggest that Peter wrote in a totally different context to the troubled beginning
of Basil’s reign.
If the History’s avowed context is unconvincing, we need not look far to
uncover alternative reasons for its composition. As Ter Mkrttschian noted
long ago, the continual eulogisation of the imperial power within the History
suggests that it could only be intended for an emperor, probably one who was
preoccupied with heterodoxy. For him, this could only be Alexios i, whose
initiatives against both the Paulicians and Bogomils are well known.54 This
interpretation can no longer be substantiated, but a more obvious candi-
date springs to mind: Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos.55 Constantine bore
such a fascination with his grandfather Basil I that he credits himself with
the composition of Basil’s vita.56 The panegyrical reverence shown to Basil in
the History thereby suggests Constantine could have been its intended audi-
ence.57 As Garsoïan has shown, the History fits neatly into the intellectual
context of the mid-​10th century.58 Its compilation and reuse of other sources
is typical of the period, as evidenced by works such as the De administrando
imperio and De ceremoniis, both of which were also written under the direc-
tion of Constantine.59 Finally, the relationship of the History to its companion
text, Pseudo-​Photios’ Brief History, is also typical of literary practice in this
era. They employ essentially the same source material, as is true in the case
of the two primary historical works composed during Constantine’s reign: the

54 Anna Komnene, Annae Comnenae Alexias, 14:8–​9, eds. Diether R. Reinsch, Athanasios
Kambylis (Berlin/​New York, 2001), pp. 454–​460. English translation: The Alexiad of the
Princess Anna Comnena, ed. and trans. Elizabeth A.S. Dawes (London, 1928), pp. 383–​389;
Anna Komnene, Alexias, 15:8–​9, pp. 485–​491. Translation: The Alexiad of the Princess Anna
Comnena, pp. 412–​418.
55 Bury noted that the History could not be a Komnenian forgery, since the single extant
manuscript predates this period. See John Bagnell Bury, ed., “Appendix 6. The Paulician
Heresy,” in Edward Gibbon, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, vol. 6 (London.
1898), p. 541.
56 In fact, the vita was probably composed by a ghost writer. See Ševčenko, ed., Constantine
vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, p. 13*.
57 See Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 89–​ 92; 187, pp. 38–​ 41; 66–​67.
Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 75–​76; 92.
58 Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 73–​79.
59 Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Constantine Porphyrogenitus, De administrando
imperio, ed. Gyula Moravcsik, trans. Romilly J.H. Jenkins, 2 vols (Washington, D.C.,
1967); Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, The Book of Ceremonies. Constantine
Porphyrogennetos, ed. and trans. Anne Moffatt, Maxeme Tall, 2 vols (Canberra, 2012).
70  Chapter 1

Basileion of Genesios and Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v.60 It is commonly

assumed that Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v was written in order to rectify the
stylistic deficiencies of the Basileion and we can imagine that a similar ratio-
nale applies to the History and Brief History of the Manichaeans.61 As we shall
see, the latter text resolves many of the ambiguities and inadequacies of the
former. Besides this, the Letter of Theophylaktos Lekapenos shows that the pun-
ishment of heretics very similar to Paulicians was a point of concern during
Constantine’s reign, so the central aim of the History fits neatly within this
context too. Finally, an anti-​Miaphysite tract by Demetrios of Kyzikos alludes
to Constantine’s participation in theological debates with the Paulicians and
Athinganoi, thereby establishing a direct link between the emperor and her-
esy at this time.62
The most decisive argument which places the History in the 10th century,
and, more specifically, the sole reign of Constantine vii, is its account of the
Paulician flight to Melitene after the persecutions of Michael i and Leo v,
which in my view shows a conscious distortion of the account of Theophanes
Continuatus i-​i v. Since the latter text is conventionally dated to Constantine’s
sole reign, it follows that the History must also do so, since it must predate
the Letter of Theophylaktos Lekapenos, which dates to 956 at the latest. These
observations give us the termini of 945–​956, although it would perhaps be
judicious to employ some flexibility here. There are good grounds to pro-
pose that the History, which betrays signs of revision and interpolation, had
a complex genesis. Moreover, since both Genesios’ Basileion and Theophanes
Continuatus i-​i v were based upon a common source, it is possible that Peter
of Sicily consulted this common source instead of the latter text.63 This seems

60 See Athanasios Markopoulos, “Genesios: A Study,” in Byzantinisches Archiv: Realia

Byzantina, eds. Giannis Mavromatis, Sofia Kotzabassi (Berlin, 2009), p. 147; Garsoïan,
Paulician Heresy, p. 77.
61 Franjo Barišić, “Génésios et le Continuateur de Théophane,” Byzantion 28 (1958), pp. 120–​
122; Markopoulos, “Genesios: A Study,” p. 144; Lesmüller-​Werner and Thurn, eds., Genesios,
Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, p. xii.
62 Demetrios of Kyzikos, De Jacobitarum hæresi et Chatzitzariorum. Preface in Erlasse des
Patriarchen von Konstantinopel Alexios Studites, ed. Gerhard Ficker (Kiel, 1911), pp. 22–​23.
For the main body of Demetrios’ tract, see Patrologia Graeca 127, col. 879–​884.
63 The form that this common source took is disputed. For contrasting opinions, see Jakov
N. Ljubarskij, “Theophanes Continuatus und Genesios: das Problem einer gemeins-
amen Quelle,” Byzantinoslavica 48 (1987), pp. 12–​27; Juan Signes Codoñer, “Constantino
Porfirogéneto y la fuente común de Genesio y Theophanes Continuatus I-​ IV,”
Byzantinische Zeitschrift 86/​87 (1993/​94), pp. 324–​331; 333–​334; Markopoulos, “Genesios: A
Study,” pp. 145–​147; Warren T. Treadgold, The Middle Byzantine Historians (Basingstoke,
2013), pp. 134–​152.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 71

unlikely, both because Peter seems to deliberately conceal his dependence on

the Continuator, and because Genesios does not discuss the relevant episode,
thereby implying that it may not have been present in the common source.
Despite these objections to a more precise dating, it is at least apparent that
the forging of the History occurred at some point during the mid-​10th century,
as shown by the philological evidence within it and the Brief History, which
can be more certainly dated after 934.

2 The History and the Persecutions of Theodora

The most convincing reason to place the History of the Paulicians in the mid-​
10th century is that its account of the persecutions of Michael i and Leo v is
based on the Continuator’s account of Theodora’s persecutions. Ironically, the
passage relates to the same events which demonstrate that Pseudo-​Photios’
Brief History is a forgery. The principal actions underpinning the accounts
of the History and Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v are the same. In both cases
the relevant persecutions cause the Paulicians to flee the empire and settle
in Argaous, having come to an agreement with the Emir of Melitene. There
are textual similarities between the two accounts, but these are not proximate
enough to indicate direct influence.64 Instead, the crucial details are that the
chronology and actors referred to in each case are different. The majority of
individuals in the History, such as Parakondakes and Thomas the Metropolitan,
are unattested elsewhere. As such, their historicity is a matter of dispute. The
relevant extracts are as follows:

Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v:

When he [Karbeas] heard that his own father had been hung on the
furca he considered this the most terrible of things and, taking thought
for his own life, he fled as a refugee together with another five thousand
adherents of this heresy to Amer who then occupied Melitene, and from
there they went to the caliph and were received with great honour. And

64 Most notably, the τότε which proves crucial to the interpretation of the Brief History
is paralleled in references to ‘Amr b. ‘Ubaydallāh b. Marwān al-​Aqṭa‘ al-​Sulamī (Emir
of Melitene c.830s-​863) in both of these accounts. Intriguingly, similar uses are found
applied to ‘Amr at Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis
Continuati, 3:31, pp. 182–​183, l. 7–​8; Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 3:13,
p. 47, l. 25. Translation: On the Reigns of the Emperors, p. 63.
72  Chapter 1

having given and likewise received guarantees, they soon set out against
the land of the Romans; and on account of their victories, when their
numbers had increased, they endeavoured to found cities for themselves,
one called Argaoun, and also Amara.65

History of the Paulicians:

But later some of the students of Sergios, the so-​called Astatoi, slaugh-
tered the exarch [Parakondakes] by means of cunning and trickery and
the Kynochoritae likewise slew Thomas the Metropolitan. Thus, the
Astatoi fled to Melitene. The emir Monocherares then ruled the Saracens
living there. Taking Argaous from him, the Astatoi settled there, and hav-
ing assembled from all parts they began to plunder Romania.66

Despite their similarities, the contexts of the two accounts are entirely differ-
ent. In the History, these events take place during Sergios-​Tychikos’ (c.800/​01-​
834/​35) leadership, soon after the persecutions of Michael i and Leo v, whereas
in Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v Karbeas (c.844–​863) heads the Paulicians. In
order to reconcile this testimony, some historians, most notably Milan Loos,
Garsoïan, and Lemerle, have posited two analogous flights to Melitene sev-
eral decades apart, but it actually seems that Peter of Sicily has distorted the
Continuator’s testimony for his own ends.67
The reason that Peter would do so is obvious: associating the Islamic alli-
ance with the followers of Sergios emphasises the threat of the didaskaloi and
their doctrines, as he has done throughout the History, in order to advocate
the applicability of the death penalty. In so doing, he reconciled the two sets
of sources he had at his disposal, the Paulician sources (namely the Didaskalie
and Letters of Sergios) and the later Greek histories. Critically, Peter’s modifi-
cations are evident from his characterisation of Karbeas. As indicated above,
Karbeas’ flight is never mentioned by the History. He merely appears, with
no discernible link to his predecessors. While the Continuator credits him
with settling Argaous and Tephrikē, in the History he is already present at the

65 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:16, pp. 236–​
237, l. 14–​19.
66 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 177–​178, pp. 64–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 90.
67 Loos, “Le mouvement,” pp. 277–​283; Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 120–​128; Lemerle,
“L’histoire,” pp. 72–​74; 82–​90. In a similar vein, see recently Mauro Mormino, ed., Fozio di
Constantinopoli: Contro i Manichei (Rome, 2019), pp. 36–​38; 42–​45.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 73

former and founds only the latter. Despite the centrality of the Muslim alli-
ance to his success, which is consistently attested by both Greek and Arabic
sources, he is portrayed as trying to throw off their oversight in the History.68
Most tellingly of all, Theodora’s persecutions, which are crucial to his rise to
prominence in the view of the Continuator, are never recounted by Peter of
Sicily. This omission suggests that Peter has attempted to conceal his depen-
dence on the Continuator by excising the key features of the latter’s account
from his narrative. This interpretation is corroborated by three observations;
firstly, Peter lacked sources for Sergios’ career, which implies that he was using
Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v to fill this gap;69 secondly, a fuller analysis of the
History shows that Peter invents and distorts the events, actors, and chronol-
ogy of other sources, thereby giving precedents for his use of Theophanes
Continuatus i-​i v here;70 and thirdly, the History’s claim that Paulician-​Islamic
raiding was widespread in the 810s is unsupported by other sources.
This latter issue merits attention because it has widespread repercussions
for our understanding of Paulician history. The first matter to address is the
prominence of the Emirate of Melitene, which was not sufficiently powerful to
oppose the empire at the time which the History implies. Although the History
intimates that Islamic raiding was common during the period that it places
the flight to Melitene (in the latter part of the 810s), raids all but ceased during
the civil war between the brothers al-​Amīn and al-​Ma’mūn and its aftermath
(c.809–​830).71 The most notable offensive through this area was that of the
Byzantine pretender Thomas the Slav (c.819–​823), which can hardly be char-
acterised as a traditional razzia, even if Thomas did benefit from Islamic sup-
port.72 As for Melitene, it only became a regional power after the accession of
al-​Mu‘taṣim in 833. Bernd Vest, who has written an exhaustive study of the city,
connects its rise to prominence with ‘Amr b. ‘Ubaydallāh b. Marwān al-Aqṭa‘
al-​Sulamī, an energetic commander who raided Byzantine lands frequently
during the reign of Michael iii. It is uncertain when ‘Amr became Emir of
Melitene, but it is generally assumed that he acquired this role during the 830s.

68 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 184–​185, pp. 66–​67. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 90–​91.
69 See Appendix 2.
70 On this, see his invention of a chronology for the Didaskalie in Appendix 1.
71 John F. Haldon, Hugh N. Kennedy, “The Arab-​Byzantine Frontier in the Eighth and
Ninth Centuries: Military Organisation and Society in the Borderlands,” Zbornik radova
Vizantološkog instituta 19 (1980), pp. 113–​114.
72 Signes Codoñer, Emperor Theophilos, pp. 45–​52.
74  Chapter 1

The first undisputed reference to him occurs in the course of al-​Mu‘taṣim’s

Amorion campaign of 838.73 It is difficult to place the emirate’s rise before the
830s, especially because al-​‘Abbās b. Ma’mūn, the son of the caliph al-​Ma’mūn
(813–​833), held jurisdiction over the frontier provinces before his downfall,
which occurred c.835–​838.74 Moreover, the emirate’s newfound importance
was connected with al-​Mu‘taṣim’s destruction of the strategic base of Tyana
(Ṭuwāna) to the north of the Taurus Mountains in 833, since after this time
Islamic invasion routes increasingly began to pass through Melitene, although
the southern pass through the Kilikian Gates was still a common route.75
Another crucial factor is that, from al-​Mu‘taṣim’s reign onward, the emirs of
the thughūr (frontiers) no longer had their commands rotated or withdrawn
as frequently, with the result that lifelong careers in the area became more
common.76 The activity of ‘Amr al-Aqṭa‘ in particular seems emblematic of
this context. The above observations suggest that the emirate’s capacity to raid
Byzantine territory was a consequence of the politico-​military context of the
830s and, more particularly, the ascendancy of al-​Mu‘taṣim. This is supported
by other observations. Paulician raids against the empire are otherwise unat-
tested at a date as early as the 810s. The first securely dated attacks arise during
the 840s and 850s. Theophilos campaigned vigorously on the eastern frontier
during his reign, reaching as far as Theodosiopolis, Arsamosata, and Melitene
during expeditions in 835 and 837. It is inconceivable that he would have left
a Paulician insurgency to threaten his supply lines, if one existed. Yet there
are no references to Paulician resistance during his reign, which leads to the
inevitable conclusions that there was no such resistance and that the History’s
account is seriously distorted.

73 Bernd A. Vest, Geschichte der Stadt Melitene und der umliegenden Gebiete: vom Vorabend
der arabischen bis zum Abschluß der türkischen Eroberung (um 600–​1124), 3 vols, vol. 3
(Hamburg, 2007), p. 1788. Vest’s dates for ‘Amr’s leadership (pre. 834/​5–​863) are flawed
because he did not notice that Michael the Syrian’s account of ‘Amr’s purported victory
over Theophilos in 835 is a mistaken duplicate of the 838 battle of Anzes. As Signes Codoñer
notes, Theophilos was campaigning in Theodosiopolis far to the north in this year, so
‘Amr’s alleged victory is impossible. See Signes Codoñer, Emperor Theophilos, pp. 259–​262;
Michael the Syrian, The Syriac Chronicle of Michael Rabo (the Great): A Universal History
from the Creation, 12:18, ed. and trans. Matti Moosa (Teaneck, 2014), p. 564. For contrary
perspectives, see Warren T. Treadgold, The Byzantine Revival 780–​842 (Stanford, 1988),
p. 286; Vest, Melitene, vol. 2, pp. 633–​634.
74 Al-​‘Abbās was the governor of al-​Thughūr, al-​‘Awāṣim, and al-​Jazīra. See Vest, Melitene,
vol. 2 pp. 663–​664.
75 Signes Codoñer, Emperor Theophilos, p. 243.
76 Peter von Sivers, “Taxes and Trade in the ‘Abbāsid Thughūr, 750–​962/​133–​351,” Journal of
the Economic and Social History of the Orient 25:1 (1982), pp. 86–​88.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 75

The second point of significance is the identity of the Emir of Melitene in the
accounts mentioned above. In Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, he is called Amer,
as is also the case in the Basileion of Genesios and the Chronicon of Symeon
the Logothete.77 This Amer corresponds to the same ‘Amr b. ‘Ubaydallāh
b. Marwān al-Aqṭa‘ al-​Sulamī mentioned above. By contrast, in the History and
its companion text, the Brief History, the emir is named Monocherares (liter-
ally, ‘the one-​handed’).78 Monocherares is a faithful translation of ‘Amr’s Arabic
surname al-​Aqṭa‘, although since it is a family name there is no indication that
‘Amr himself was one handed.79 Hence, it is possible that Monocherares either
refers to ‘Amr or, alternatively, a member of his family. Most historians have
avoided identifying the Monocherares of the History, probably because their
interest in this figure was only incidental.80 Both Garsoïan and Juan Signes
Codoñer have assumed that Monocherares should be identified as ‘Amr in
places, although they do not seem to have been aware of the chronological
difficulties that this might entail, given that ‘Amr is not identified as the Emir
of Melitene until the 830s. Only Lemerle noticed this issue and although he too
identified Monocherares with ‘Amr, the observations he makes point towards
an alternative reconstruction.81
As noted above, ‘Amr is not attested before 838, but, in order to reconcile his
rule with the early Paulician flight described by the History, Lemerle proposed
that he had already ruled Melitene for some time before the death of Sergios
in 834/​35. The Continuator tells us that ‘Amr died fighting on the front lines

77 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 3:31, pp. 182–​
183, l. 7–​8; Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 3:13, p. 47, l. 25. Translation: On
the Reigns of the Emperors, p. 63; Symeon the Logothete, Symeonis Magistri et Logothetae
chronicon, 131:4, ed. Staffan Wahlgren (Berlin/​New York, 2006), p. 233.
78 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 178, pp. 64–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 90; Pseudo-​Photios, Brief History, 137, pp. 166–​169.
79 Vest, Melitene, vol. 2, p. 661.
80 Nina G. Garsoïan, “Byzantine Heresy. A Reinterpretation,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 25
(1971), p. 91; Signes Codoñer, The Emperor Theophilos, pp. 49–​50. The two Greek names
are also conflated at Ralph-​Johannes Lilie et al., Prosopographie der mittelbyzantinischen
Zeit. Erste Abteilung (641–​867), 6 vols, vol. 5 (Berlin/​New York, 2001), #8552, pp. 76–​77.
Most commentators have avoided identifying the emir in question. See Loos, “Le
mouvement,” pp. 277–​278; 282; Leslie W. Barnard, “The Paulicians and Iconoclasm,” in
Iconoclasm: Papers Given at the Ninth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, University of
Birmingham, March 1975, eds. Anthony Bryer, Judith Herrin (Birmingham, 1977), pp. 80–​
81; Claudia Ludwig, “The Paulicians and Ninth-​Century Byzantine Thought,” in Byzantium
in the Ninth Century: Dead or Alive?, ed. Leslie Brubaker (Aldershot, 1998), p. 25. For ‘Amr’s
name, see also Marius Canard, “Les principaux personnages du roman chevalerie arabe
Ḏāt al-​Himma wa-​l-​baṭṭāl,” Arabica 8:2 (1961), p. 170.
81 Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 73, n. 64.
76  Chapter 1

during the 863 battle of Lalakaon/​Poson, thereby demonstrating that his rule
in Melitene lasted at least a quarter of a century.82 A passage of al-​Balādhurī’s
Kitāb Futūḥ al-​Buldān (Book of the Conquest of Lands) is crucial here. It states
that, between 809 and 813, a certain ‘Ubaydallāh b. al-Aqṭa‘ ransomed his
son from the Romans in return for the fortress of Kamkh, to the northeast of
Melitene on the upper reaches of the Euphrates.83 It seems certain that this
‘Ubaydallāh is the father of our ‘Amr al-​Aqṭa‘, but we cannot assume that the
unnamed son is ‘Amr, who was still militarily active half a century later. At
the very least, the passage suggests that the rule of Melitene was hereditary,
and that the designation al-Aqṭa‘ did not belong to ‘Amr alone. These points
surely provide the solution to the conundrum of identifying Monocherares.
Much credit is due to Claude Cahen, whose tentative suggestion Lemerle men-
tions: the surname al-Aqṭa‘ originally belonged to ‘Amr’s grandfather, Marwān,
and this is the Monocherares to whom Peter of Sicily alludes.84 This sugges-
tion is not chronologically sound, since it is clear that ‘Ubaydallāh had already
succeeded Marwān by the time that the History states the first Paulicians fled
to Melitene. Nevertheless, it seems clear that Peter is attempting to allude to
one of ‘Amr’s predecessors –​and I think it unlikely he has a specific person in
mind –​when he refers to this “Monocherares.” The reasons that he has done so
are obvious: it rectifies the chronology of his account in keeping with the early
date he proposes for the Paulician flight to Melitene, as well as concealing his
dependence on Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v.
According to the above argument, then, Peter of Sicily distorted the account
of the Continuator in the History of the Paulicians in order to associate the doc-
trinal threat posed by the Paulician didaskaloi with later Paulician militarism,
in the process largely eliding the agency of its prime architects Karbeas and
Chrysocheir. In my view, Peter’s account demonstrates a deliberate attempt
to conceal his alterations, which in turn suggests that he worked with a
widely known text, which must be close to our extant version of Theophanes
Continuatus i-​i v. It therefore seems likely that the Continuator’s text was both
earlier and more reliable. Although it actually appears that Peter of Sicily’s
account is preferable in isolated instances, there is every indication that his

82 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:25,

pp. 254–​263.
83 al-​Balādhurī, The Origins of the Islamic State, ed. and trans. Philip K. Hitti, Francis
C. Murgotten, 2 vols, vol. 1 (New York/​London, 1916), p. 289. See also Alexander A. Vasiliev,
Byzance et les Arabes: T.1 La dynastie d’Amorium (820–​867), trans. Henri Grégoire, Marius
Canard (Brussels, 1935), p. 466; Vest, Melitene, vol. 2, pp. 661–​662.
84 Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 73, n. 64.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 77

departure from the conventional narrative of Paulician history stems from his
polemical purpose. Now we may progress to the best argument for proposing
that Peter’s act of forgery belongs to this era: the fact that its companion text
the Brief History was certainly forged during the mid-​10th century.

3 The Brief History of the Manichaeans

In marked contrast with the History of the Paulicians, which is credited to the
otherwise unknown Peter of Sicily, the Brief History of the Manichaeans is con-
ventionally attributed to one of the intellectual giants of the 9th century: the
Patriarch of Constantinople Photios (858–​867; 877–​886). Photios’ career was
eventful to state the least. He exchanged mutual excommunications with
the Pope Nicholas i (858–​867) and was sent into exile by both Basil i and
his son and successor Leo vi.85 His patriarchates saw the first Rus’ attack on
Constantinople, the conversion of the Moravians and Bulgars to Christianity,
as well as sporadic reengagement with the Armenian Church.86 This rich leg-
acy impinges upon confessional identities which still resonate today and thus,
unsurprisingly, Photios’ reputation has remained a point of contention even
into modern times.87 His notoriety also raises difficulties for our more prosaic
concerns. The Brief History of the Manichaeans is part of compilation of four
books traditionally known as the Contra Manichaeos. The Brief History, the
first book of the collection, is a metaphrasis (that is, a rewriting of a text in a
higher register) which reworks the Treatise and the History of the Paulicians in
turn, the latter of which is abridged to excise many of Peter of Sicily’s asides
and most scathing rhetoric. In the following analysis, I shall argue that the Brief
History was forged between 934 and 956 because it postdates the recovery of
Melitene by Byzantine forces in 934 and because it predates the death of the

85 The most accessible account of these events remains Francis Dvornik, The Photian
Schism: History and Legend (Cambridge, 1948). See especially pp. 91–​198; 237–​278.
86 For Photios and the Rus’ attack, see Cyril Mango, The Homilies of Photius, Patriarch of
Constantinople (Cambridge, MA, 1958), pp. 74–​82. For Photios and Bulgaria, see Liliana
Simeonova, Diplomacy of the Letter and the Cross: Photios, Bulgaria and the Papacy, 860s-​
880s (Amsterdam, 1998). For Photios’ correspondence with Armenia, see Igor Dorfmann-​
Lazarev, Arméniens et Byzantins à l’époque de Photius: deux dèbats théologiques après le
triomphe de l’orthodoxie (Leuven, 2004); Tim W. Greenwood, “Failure of a Mission? Photius
and the Armenian Church,” Le Muséon, 119 (2006), pp. 123–​167; Carl Dixon, “Heresy,
Hostility and a Paradise in Full Bloom: Contextualising Photios’ Letter to the Armenians,”
Byzantion 89 (2019), pp. 201–​242.
87 Dvornik, Photian Schism, pp. 279–​431.
78  Chapter 1

Patriarch of Constantinople Theophylaktos Lekapenos (933–​956), whose letter

to Peter of Bulgaria has the Brief History as one of its sources. As for the remain-
ing three books of the Contra Manichaeos, these take the form of two sermons
and an exhortatory admonition which follow the Brief History in the majority
of the surviving manuscripts. These have no discernible relationship to Peter
of Sicily’s sermons but do have all the hallmarks of genuinely Photian works
and, as a result, will be attributed to the patriarch in what follows.88
A second point of contention stems from the contested reputation of Photios
among his contemporaries. Several manuscripts of the Contra Manichaeos,
including the earliest extant exemplar, Palatinus graecus 216, attribute the four
books not to Photios, but instead to one of his most implacable adversaries,
Metrophanes of Smyrna.89 This manuscript is one of several that also attri-
butes another of Photios’ works, the Mystagogia, to Metrophanes.90 Lemerle
argued that the attribution of the texts in Palatinus graecus 216 to Metrophanes
could be explained by contemporaries’ attempts to preserve Photios’ works
when his reputation was at a low point.91 This is a convincing argument, since
Metrophanes’ opposition to Photios was well known; tellingly, his own periods
of exile alternated with those of the patriarch.92 Despite this, it seems clear

88 Grégoire, “Les sources,” pp. 113–​ 114; Joachim Scharf, “Zur Echtheitsfrage der
Manichäerbücher des Photios,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 44 (1951), pp. 487–​490; Garsoïan,
Paulician Heresy, p. 39. For these sermons, see Photios, Contra Manichaeos II-​IV, Patrologia
Graeca 102, col. 85–​264. Italian translation: Fozio di Constantinopoli: Contro i Manichei, ed.
and trans. Mauro Mormino (Rome, 2019), pp. 121–​250. Both edition and translation are
based on the manuscripts Parisinus Coislinianus 270 and Parisinus graecus 1228, rather
than the more authoritative Palatinus graecus 216.
89 For this enmity, see Dvornik, Photian Schism, pp. 5; 43–​45; 192.
90 Valerio Polidori, “Photius and Metrophanes of Smyrna: the Controversy of the Authorship
of the Mystagogy of the Holy Spirit,” Medioevo greco: rivista di storia e filologia bizantina 14
(2014), pp. 200–​201. For the Mystagogia, see Photios, La mistagogia del Santo Spirito, ed.
Valerio Polidori (Rome, 2018); Tia M. Kolbaba, Inventing Latin Heretics: Byzantines and the
Filioque in the Ninth Century (Kalamazoo, 2008), pp. 76–​102.
91 Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 38–​39. See also Polidori, “Photius and Metrophanes,” p. 202.
92 Erika Gielen, Peter Van Deun, “The Invocation of the Archangels Michael and Gabriel
Attributed to Metrophanes Metropolitan of Smyrna (BHG 1292),” Byzantinische
Zeitschrift 108 (2016), p. 653. Metrophanes also wrote on similar themes. For his ser-
mons against Manichaeans, see Peter Van Deun, “La chasse aux trésors: la découverte
de plusieurs œuvres inconnues de Métrophane de Smyrne (IXe-​Xe) siècles,” Byzantion
78 (2008), pp. 350–​351; Metrophanes of Smyrna, Ein neuentdeckter Kommentar zum
Johannesevangelium: Untersuchungen und Text, ed. Karl Hansmann (Paderborn, 1930).
For an anti-​Jewish work, see Metrophanes of Smyrna, Anonymi auctoris Theognosiae
(saec. IX/​X ) Dissertatio contra Iudaeos, ed. Michiel Hostens (Turnhout, 1986), pp. 3–​285.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 79

that our forgers intended the Brief History to be read as a work of Photios.93
Until a short time ago, only a handful of works were ascribed to Metrophanes,
but the recent identification of anonymous works with his style has expanded
the scope of his oeuvre.94 The majority of these works have been identified
through Metrophanes’ literary technique, which incorporates a number of
idiosyncratic phrases, none of which are evident in the Brief History.95 By con-
trast, this text is so similar to Photios’ style that the work has been utilised in a
linguistic analysis of Photios’ use of heresiological terminology.96 Given these
observations and the attribution of the Brief History and its related texts to
Photios in most other manuscripts, it is more appropriate to assign the work
to Pseudo-​Photios than Pseudo-​Metrophanes. That being said, the text only
emulates Photios’ style and never seeks to convey his personality, to betray a
knowledge of his other works, or to reference the events of his career. It even
lacks reference to the context which occasioned its composition. Stylistic con-
cerns apart, it is uncommonly characterless. In fact, there is scant indication
that the author consulted any text aside from the Treatise and History while
composing it and, as a result, it will rarely merit attention when we build our
picture of Paulician history in later chapters.
With these formalities dispensed with, we may proceed to the Brief History
itself. Like the History of the Paulicians, there are several oddities which suggest
that the text is inauthentic. Firstly, according to existing interpretations Photios
wrote this work during his first exile. The text has conventionally been dated
to c.870–​872 because it postdates the History and treats Chrysocheir as though
he were still alive. Photios had been exiled since 867, when Basil i dispensed
with Michael iii and subsequently reinstalled Photios’ predecessor Ignatios,
deposed in 858, upon the patriarchal throne. Basil’s recall of Photios cannot
be exactly dated, but occurred sometime after 872.97 Before this date he was

93 The attribution of the Contra Manichaeos to Metrophanes has traditionally been rejected.
See Carl R. Moeller, De Photii Petrique Siculi libris contra Manichaeos scriptis (Bonn, 1910),
pp. 9–​11; Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 38–​39.
94 Van Deun, “La chasse aux trésors,” pp. 346–​367.
95 See Van Deun, “La chasse aux trésors,” pp. 353–​360.
96 See Rosangela Salvemini, “Empieta e follia nella caratterizzazione degli eretici. Alle
origini del lessico di Fozio,” Nicolaus. Rivista di teologia ecumenico-​patristica 27 (2000),
pp. 355–​389.
97 The date when Photios was recalled from his first exile is obscure. Varona Codeso and
Prieto Domínguez variously give this as 872, or 873–​74. Dvornik’s more circumspect dat-
ing of after 872 should be favoured. See Patricia Varona Codeso, Óscar Prieto Domínguez,
“Deconstructing Photios: Family Relationship and Political Kinship in Middle Byzantium,”
Revue de études byzantines 71 (2013), pp. 7; 18–​19; Dvornik, The Photian Schism, pp. 161–​164.
80  Chapter 1

confined, probably in the monastery of Skepe on the Bosphorus.98 Curiously,

however, there are no references to exile whatsoever in the Brief History. One
of the major difficulties that Photios experienced during this exile was his lack
of access to books, as he complains in a letter to Basil.99 Although his treatment
was subsequently relaxed, it is difficult to believe that he could have had access
to and therefore metaphrased the Treatise and the History so soon after their
supposed publication by Peter of Sicily.100 Moreover, the subsequent influence
of the Brief History suggests that it was not written by an exile during the 870s.
After all, how could the work of an imperially appointed ambassador possibly
be supplanted by that of an exile with numerous enemies at court and else-
where, not least when that same court must have known of Peter’s mission and
hence Photios’ plagiarism? Yet despite this, the Brief History is richly attested in
manuscripts and its testimony is followed faithfully by later writers, while the
History’s subsequent influence is inconsequential. All indications suggest that
the contexts of both works are not what they seem.
There are few clues to be gained from the aims of the Brief History, which
are singularly obscure. Given the vociferousness with which the History argues
that the Paulicians should be subject to the death penalty, we might imagine
that a swift riposte from Photios would argue forcefully against such a punish-
ment, since he favours more conciliatory approaches elsewhere.101 However,
there are no allusions whatsoever to the punishment to which Paulicians
should be subjected in the text. References to punishment in the genuinely
Photian sermons which follow it are rare and imply a harsh approach, but
this is unsurprising since they were written at the apogee of Paulician power.
When read with a closer eye, they imply that severe punishments should only
be applied in exceptional circumstances.102 As for the Brief History, its silence
on the most contentious emphasis of the History renders it difficult to identify

98 Janin favours this location, which is more likely than Shirinian’s hypothesis that the
monastery was near Lake Van. See Raymond Janin, La géographie ecclésiastique de l’em-
pire byzantin, 3 vols, vol. 3 (Paris, 1969), p. 455; Manea E. Shirinian, “Armenian Elites
in Constantinople,” in Armenian Constantinople, eds. Richard G. Hovannisian, Simon
Payaslian (Costa Mesa, 2010), p. 64. Moeller did not necessarily believe that the work was
written in exile, but most later scholars have assumed this. Moeller, De Photii Petrique,
p. 20; Scheidweiler, “Paulikianerprobleme,” p. 36; Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 39.
99 Photios, Epistulae, in Photii patriarchae Constantinopolitani Epistulae et Amphilochia, Ep.
98, eds. Basil Laourdas, Leendert G. Westerink, 6. vols, vol. 1 (Leipzig, 1983), p. 133, l. 17–​21.
100 Photios, Epistulae, Ep. 99, vol. 1, pp. 136–​137; Dvornik, Photian Schism, pp. 161–​163.
101 See his letters to Chrysocheir, which attempt to bring about reconciliation. Photios,
Epistulae, Ep. 33–​40, vol. 1, pp. 85–​89.
102 See Chapter 2. Photios, Contra Manichaeos II-​IV, 3:19, col. 175–​178. Photios, Contra
Manichaeos II-​IV, 4:3, col. 183–​186.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 81

a rationale for its composition. Matters of patronage do not help us with this
enigma, since the text curiously omits the flattery of Basil i so beloved of Peter
of Sicily, even though texts such as the Vita Ignatii claim that Photios’ principal
objective while in exile was to convince Basil to recall him by whatever means
necessary.103
To the above issues can be added the stylistic deficiencies of the Brief History,
most of which Grégoire demonstrated.104 Although it cites a greater range of
anti-​Manichaean works than the History, these sources are never employed in
the work.105 The brief reference to Chrysocheir can hardly be reconciled with
the fact that Photios wrote to this Paulician leader on several occasions.106
Grégoire’s most pressing criticism of the authenticity of the source was the
terminus post quem that he posited. He noticed that the Brief History refers
to Melitene as a former Muslim possession, although the city was only recap-
tured by Byzantine forces in 932.107 The text must therefore be dated after this,
although this date has subsequently been emended to 934.108 Grégoire’s argu-
ment is dependent on the single word τότε (then). Consequently, some schol-
ars have maintained that this terminus post quem arose from a corruption of
the text.109 However, such a corruption is unlikely because the word is present
in every manuscript of the Brief History.110 Grégoire’s objection is a serious one.
Lemerle makes an ingenious argument to account for this terminus post
quem, asserting that the relevant phrase was originally a marginal note which

103 See Niketas David, Nicetas David, the Paphlagonian. The Life of Patriarch Ignatius, 89–​90,
ed. and trans. Andrew Smithies (Washington, D.C., 2013), pp. 118–​121.
104 Grégoire, “Les sources,” pp. 109–​111.
105 Grégoire, “Les sources,” p. 112.
106 Photios, Epistulae, Ep. 33–​40, vol. 1, pp. 86–​89; Ep. 57, vol. 1, p. 104; Ep. 80, vol. 1, p. 121; Ep.
134, vol. 1, pp. 176–​178.
107 Grégoire, “Les sources,” pp. 95–​96.
108 Melitene surrendered to the empire in 932, but its control was subsequently contested.
It was only captured by John Kourkouas in 934. See Alexander A. Vasiliev, Byzance et les
Arabes: T.2 La dynastie Macédonienne (867–​959), trans. Henri Grégoire, Marius Canard
(Brussels, 1950), pp. 268–​271.
109 Scheidweiler, Scharf, and Loos also believed that the passage in question arose from
later interpolation. Scheidweiler, “Paulikianerprobleme,” pp. 36–​ 37; Scharf, “Zur
Echtheitsfrage,” p. 493; Milan Loos, “Deux contributions à l’histoire des Pauliciens. I: A
propos des sources grecques reflétant des Pauliciens,” Byzantinoslavica 17 (1956), p. 55.
Loos changed his view subtly after the publication of the Travaux et mémoires edition,
believing that Photios simply made a blunder while attempting an elegant paraphrase.
See Milan Loos, “Deux publications fondamentales sur le paulicianisme d’Asie Mineure,”
Byzantinoslavica 35 (1974), pp. 197–​198.
110 Pseudo-​Photios, Brief History, 137, p. 169.
82  Chapter 1

was incorporated into the text.111 At this point it must be remembered that
the Brief History was metaphrased from the History. Therefore, if we were to
find a passage akin to the relevant phrase within the corresponding part of the
History, it would show that this phrase was not a marginal note. This proves to
be the case. The relevant sections are worth quoting in full:

Brief History:

Thus, after the inquiry, the judgement, and the reckoning had proceeded,
the so-​called Kynochoritae and those whom they named Astatoi decided
on the slaughter of the aforementioned judges. These men [the Astatoi]
were picked from the students of Sergios. And so the Astatoi, who were
bound to no other except themselves, slew the already-​mentioned exarch
[Parakondakes] by means of deceit and treachery. On the other hand,
since a leader for the crime was lacking among the Kynochoritae, one of
the aforementioned Astatoi stood forward, and these men also slew the
high priest of God, Thomas. When these transgressions had occurred
without restraint, the previously mentioned Astatoi –​for they were, it
is said, the architects of each blood-​letting –​fled in haste with their fol-
lowers from all the land which the law of the Christians governed, and
arrived in Melitene, a city in the Second Armenia, whose government
was then that of the Christ-​hating Saracens, ruled by an emir whom they
called Monocherares (πολιτείαν οὖσαν τότε τῶν μισοχρίστων Σαρακηνῶν ἧς καὶ
ἀμηρᾶς ἦρχεν, ὃν ἐπεκάλουν Μονοχεράρην).112

History of the Paulicians:

But later some of the students of Sergios, the so-​called Astatoi, slaugh-
tered the exarch by means of cunning and trickery, and the Kynochoritae
likewise slaughtered Thomas the Metropolitan. Thus, the Astatoi fled to
Melitene. The emir Monocherares then ruled the Saracens living there
(Ἀμηρᾶς δὲ τότε τῶν ἐκεῖσε ὄντων Σαρακηνῶν ὑπῆρχεν ὁ Μονοχεράρης).113

111 Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 39–​40. Lemerle argues that the phrase πολιτείαν οὖσαν τότε τῶν
μισοχρίστων Σαρακηνῶν comprises the marginal note, observing that πολιτείαν οὖσαν does
not agree with πόλει, with which it should be in apposition. Nevertheless, it is possible to
treat πολιτείαν οὖσαν as an accusative of respect, as Paramelle does in his translation. See
Paramelle, trans., Pseudo-​Photios, Brief History, 137, p. 168.
112 Pseudo-​Photios, Brief History, 136–​137, pp. 167–​169.
113 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 178, pp. 64–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 90. The translation used here is my own.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 83

The dependence of the Brief History on the History of the Paulicians is appar-
ent in the above passage. Although Pseudo-​Photios changes the syntax of the
History and subtly alters its meaning, he retains most of the original vocabulary.
In fact, we can pinpoint exactly the section he metaphrased while describing
Melitene –​and critically this includes the τότε upon which Grégoire’s argument
rested.114 Further to this, we can posit a convincing rationale which shows why
Pseudo-​Photios made this mistake. His faithfulness to the History leads him
to expand and clarify this text, employing the same vocabulary wherever pos-
sible. Thus, he offers more geographical precision by placing Melitene in the
Second Armenia and, in an analogous way, attempts to be more temporally
precise by using the τότε of the original text.115 In doing so, he made the critical
error of employing the geography of his time rather than that of the 870s. This
was evidently Pseudo-​Photios’ mistake, as the manuscript tradition suggests.116
It follows that the Brief History should be dated after 934 with greater certainty
than at the time of Grégoire’s observation –​and on this occasion the philolog-
ical evidence is truly decisive.
However, the same cannot necessarily be said for the palaeographical evi-
dence. The crucial witness here is Palatinus graecus 216, the earliest extant
copy of the Brief History. The manuscript has been dated between the last
third of the 9th century and the first quarter of the 10th by Joseph Paramelle.117
This dating is corroborated by Maria Agati, who prefers a date in the late 9th
century.118 Having consulted the manuscript myself, I thoroughly endorse their
conclusions, but this entails serious difficulties for the interpretation presented
above. After all, how can we date the Brief History to the mid-​10th century if
our earliest extant manuscript is around half a century older? This is obvi-
ously a major stumbling block. Yet it is crucial to note that exactly the same
objection applies if we were to argue that the Brief History is genuine. As noted

114 The relevant section is signposted by the words Μονοχεράρης, Ἀμηρᾶς, and ἦρχεν/​ὑπῆρχεν in
both works. We see not only the crucial τότε between these, but also the repetition of τῶν
Σαρακηνῶν and a particle form of εἶμι.
115 For further discussion of this passage, see Loos, “Deux publications fondamentales,”
pp. 197–​198.
116 It was perhaps an easy mistake to make at Constantine vii’s court, since references to the
capture of Islamic cities in his reign are prominent in other texts, such as the foretelling
of the capture of Adata in the Vita Basilii. See Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita
Basilii, 48, pp. 170–​175.
117 Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), p. 101.
118 Maria Luisa Agati, “Il problema della progressiva divisione delle parole tra IX e X sec-
olo,” in I manoscritti greci tra riflessione e dibattito: atti del V Colloquio internazionale di
paleografia greca, ed. Giancarlo Prato (Florence, 2000), p. 193.
84  Chapter 1

above, Lemerle accounts for Grégoire’s terminus post quem by arguing that it
was a marginal note that was incorporated into the text after 934. But Palatinus
graecus 216 places the relevant phrasing within the main body, even though
it seemingly dates well before 934. As a result of this, when Lemerle came to
date this manuscript, he noted the paradox between the palaeographical and
philological evidence, observing that he favours a date of c.900 on the former
grounds, but that the textual evidence necessitates a later date.119 Likewise,
recent research on the Mystagogia has shown that the variant preserved within
Palatinus graecus 216 should be dated later than the palaeographical evidence
would warrant.120 It therefore follows that this manuscript appears too early
regardless of whether the Brief History is interpreted as a forgery or not.
There are two obvious ways to account for this difficulty. Firstly, it could be
argued that the manuscript itself is of dubious authenticity. This is appropri-
ate insofar as the hypothesis that our heresiological texts are forged naturally
presupposes the existence of forged manuscripts. What is more, there are good
grounds for supposing that Palatinus graecus 216 contains the archetypal text
of the Brief History, since its orthography is excellent and its marginal notes do
not suggest any dependence on earlier manuscripts.121 Alternatively, a more
flexible approach may be necessary when dating of manuscripts of this period.
An interesting observation on the works of Metrophanes of Smyrna points
in this direction. Peter Van Deun has accounted for the poor orthography of
Metrophanes’ writings by showing that he, or his scribe, still wrote in uncial
script at the beginning of the 10th century.122 Consequently, the script used
was several decades out of date, that is, a similar margin of error to that of

119 Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 38–​40. Leroy and Laourdas both favour a mid-​10th century date,
but it is unclear whether they do so on philological or palaeographical grounds. For Leroy,
see Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 38, n. 48; Basil Laourdas, “Τὰ εἰς τὰ << Ἀμφιλόχια >> τοῦ Φωτίου
σχόλια τοῦ κώδικος 449 τῆς Λαύρας,” ellhnika 12 (1953), p. 270.
120 Polidori, “Photius and Metrophanes,” pp. 200–​201.
121 For the manuscript tradition, see Travaux et mémoires 4, pp. 99–​118. There are four mar-
ginal corrections within the Brief History, none of which indicate a dependence upon
earlier manuscripts. The marginal additions of ποθεν and μακροῖς are incorporated into
all subsequent manuscripts. See Pseudo-​Photios, Brief History, 37; 150, pp. 131; 173 respec-
tively. The final correction of αὐτὸν is omitted in some manuscripts. Pseudo-​Photios, Brief
History, 120, p. 163. The only lengthy correction corresponds to the words προσκυνεῖν, οὐ
μὴν ἔνθα τοῦ τιμίου σταυροῦ ὁ τύπος. The prefix προσ from προσκυνεῖν is present in the manu-
script and the rest of the word could be supplied from the wider context of the passage.
Moreover, the phrase τὸ ἀπεικόνισμα τοῦ σταυροῦ could have been used to paraphrase τοῦ
τιμίου σταυροῦ ὁ τύπος. The suggested words suffice to make the clause comprehensible in
light of the rest of the passage. See Pseudo-​Photios, Brief History, 35, pp. 130–​131.
122 Van Deun, “La chasse aux trésors,” p. 366.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 85

Palatinus graecus 216. I still have misgivings on the authenticity of our manu-
script, but without definitive proof that it is suspect, it is most judicious to note
that the difficulties it poses are not without parallel in our period. The crucial
point of significance is that the apparently early date of this manuscript does
not substantiate the authenticity of the Brief History.
For our aims, it is not enough to demonstrate the inauthenticity of the Brief
History. We must also uncover its aims and situate it within its proper intel-
lectual context, which necessarily involves explaining its relationship with
the History. This endeavour properly belongs in the following chapter, but it
is worthwhile to note instances where these concerns impact our interest in
forgery here. The most obvious fact is that since both of our main sources con-
cerning the Paulicians are forgeries, they must have occasioned a great deal of
effort. They not only had to be substantiated within the philological and palae-
ographical context of the 9th century, but the circumstances of their discovery
had to be convincing enough to alleviate any suspicions of forgery. For this
degree of effort to be considered worthwhile not once but twice, the concerns
which animated these texts must have been very important indeed. The close
textual relationship of these forgeries reinforces this impression and opens the
possibility that the same forgers were responsible for both texts. Intertextual
references within the two texts further support this theory, as do the instances
where the Brief History corrects the History.123 As noted above, the Brief History
is a curiously characterless work that conveys nothing of Photios’ personality
even as it aspires to his style. It seems probable that this was a deliberate strat-
egy which counterpoises the text to the belligerent, verbose, but not necessar-
ily well-​received History, while aspiring to similar ends. I remarked above the
consensus opinion that Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v was composed in order
to redress the deficiencies of Genesios’ Basileion and it may well be that, in an
analogous fashion, the unconvincing political context and rabidly polemical
tone of the History were not received favourably, thereby leading to the com-
position of the conventional, but mundane, Brief History.
That the Brief History did supersede the History is apparent from its sub-
sequent reception. The Letter of Theophylaktos Lekapenos draws heavily
upon it, as do later texts such as Euthymios Zigabenos’ Dogmatic Panoply.124

1 23 Appendix 1.
124 Euthymios notes his debt to ‘Photios’ in the title of his chapter on the Paulicians. As
Kusabu has shown, although Euthymios depends heavily on the material attributed to
Photios, he carefully reworks and revises this to form the nexus of a different account,
rather than parroting his source. See Euthymios Zigabenos, An Annotated Edition of
Euthymios Zigabenos, Panoplia Dogmatikē, Chapters 23–​28, 25:1, ed. Metin B. Berke, PhD
Thesis (Queen’s University Belfast, 2012), p. 46, l. 1–​2; Hisatsugu Kusabu, Comnenian
86  Chapter 1

Nevertheless, it is difficult to judge its impact due to the obscurity of its aims.
In its original context, it could conceivably have supported or subverted the
History’s espousal of capital punishment. In summary, the Brief History is
something of a metaphrastic iceberg: the extant textual and palaeographical
evidence probably convey only ten percent of its meaning, while the unseen
ninety percent comprises the religio-​political context which engendered the
text, the manner in which it was forged, the way that forgery was corroborated
and then deployed in order to advance the aims of its authors and patrons. As a
result, when we come to contextualise our texts within their 10th-​century con-
text, a definitive interpretation will be neither possible nor desirable. A little
assistance is, however, offered by the one 10th-​century source whose authen-
ticity is not subject to doubt.

4 The Letter of Theophylaktos Lekapenos to Peter of Bulgaria

Scant attention has traditionally been devoted to the Letter of Theophylaktos

Lekapenos to Peter i of Bulgaria for the understandable reason that it is depen-
dent upon what were perceived to be much earlier sources.125 Given our find-
ings on the History and Brief History, the political and intellectual contexts
of this letter and, more particularly, its relationship with the aforementioned
texts become imperative concerns. The letter is the only surviving witness of
a prolonged exchange.126 It was written by the cartophylax John, the keeper
of the patriarchal records, on Theophylaktos’ behalf, although it is not clear
if the same is true of any of the previous correspondence.127 Theophylaktos
was the Patriarch of Constantinople from 933–​956 and these dates have tradi-
tionally provided the termini for the letter, although, as we shall see, the text is

Orthodoxy and Byzantine Heresiology in the Twelfth Century: A Study of the Panoplia
Dogmatica of Euthymios Zigabenos, PhD Thesis (University of Chicago, 2013), pp. 125–​130.
On the reception of the Dogmatic Panoply, see Nadia Miladinova, The Panoplia Dogmatike
by Euthymios Zygadenos (Leiden, 2014).
125 On the letter, see Ivan Dujčev, ed., “L’epistola sui Bogomili del patriarca constantinop-
olitano Teofilatto,” Mélanges E. Tisserant II. Studi e Testi 232 (1964), pp. 283–​316; Georgi
Minczew, “Remarks on the Letter of the Patriarch Theophylact to Tsar Peter in the Context
of Certain Byzantine and Slavic Anti-​Heretic Texts,” Studia Ceranea 3 (2013), pp. 113–​130.
1 26 A single manuscript (Ambrosianus graecus E9 sup.) survives. See Dujčev, ed., “L’epistola
sui Bogomili,” pp. 283–​284.
127 For the reference to John, see Theophylaktos Lekapenos, “L’epistola sui Bogomili del
patriarca constantinopolitano Teofilatto,” ed. Ivan Dujčev, in Mélanges E. Tisserant II
(Vatican City, 1964), p. 311. English translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine
World: c.650–​1450, eds. Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), p. 98.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 87

dependent on the Brief History, and is therefore also later than the History.128
The most probable date for the letter’s composition thus rests between 945
and 956, or between 934 and 956 if we adopt a flexible approach to the dating
of the History.
Helpfully, the letter informs us about the prior correspondence between
Theophylaktos and Peter. The cartophylax John notes that Peter had written in
reply to a previous letter from the patriarchate, which asked for more informa-
tion on the heresy that currently afflicted his lands. In our letter, John identifies
this heresy as a mix of “Manichaeanism and Paulianism,” which is how the
Treatise characterises Paulician belief, although modern scholars have gener-
ally thought that the heretics that Peter inquired about were actually Bogomils,
largely because the letter describes many in the priesthood ascribing to the
heresy.129 This is considered inimical to Paulician belief, which placed little
emphasis on asceticism.130 In any case, the cartophylax observes that Peter had
given more information on the heresy in his previous letter and had asked for
a reply written in clear and simple terms.131 From this, we can assume that our
letter was the fourth in this correspondence which was specifically devoted
to identifying this heresy: Peter first wrote to the patriarchate informing him
of the heresy, as a result of which the patriarchate sent a reply which Peter
deemed unsatisfactory, so Peter wrote back giving further details on the heresy,
thereby allowing the cartophylax to write our surviving letter. Even considering
some amount of misunderstanding in the early stages of this correspondence,
it follows that classifying the heresy was not straightforward. Perhaps in his
role as archivist John had conducted further research to this end since the let-
ter derives much of its knowledge about the Paulicians from the Brief History.
This debt is particularly apparent in the abjuration formula which is appended
to the letter. So far as I am aware, the letter has no textual debt to the History
of the Paulicians. This is perhaps surprising given the pronounced similarities
between the letter and the History. Both sources refer to heresy in Bulgaria and

128 For this dating, see Dujčev, ed., “L’epistola sui Bogomili,” p. 310; Venance Grumel, Les
regestes des actes du Patriarcat de Constantinople, vol. 1, fasc. 2 (Paris, 1936), pp. 223–​224.
129 Theophylaktos Lekapenos, “L’epistola sui Bogomili,” p. 312. Translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies, pp. 98–​99. For Bogomil links, see Steven Runciman, The Medieval
Manichee: A Study of the Christian Dualist Heresy (Cambridge, 1947), pp. 67–​68; 87–​88;
Dimitri Obolensky, The Bogomils: A Study in Balkan Neo-​Manichaeism (Cambridge, 1948),
pp. 111–​117.
130 See Bernard Hamilton, “Introduction,” in Hugh Eteriano: Contra Patarenos, eds. Bernard
Hamilton, Janet Hamilton, Sarah Hamilton (Leiden, 2004), pp. 33–​34; 37.
131 Theophylaktos Lekapenos, “L’epistola sui Bogomili,” p. 312, l. 23–​27. Translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies, p. 98.
88  Chapter 1

both are concerned with how these heretics should be punished. Furthermore,
both sources incorporate an epistolary form, although the History is obviously
more problematic in this regard.
However, there is a significant difference between the two: the Letter of
Theophylaktos espouses a decidedly more clement approach to punishment.
Although the Letter states that it assigns appropriate punishments on the basis
of a threefold division of heretics, it covers many more eventualities than this,
particularly in the case of those who were misled into following the heresy.132
In the vast majority of cases, the punishments are founded upon a desire to
readmit the heretic into the church. For instance, rebaptism by holy chrism
is appropriate for those who are not among the heresy’s leaders. Even priests
who were misled into espousing the heresy may retain their priesthood upon
abjuration. Only the most unrepentant heretics merit capital punishment and
even here it is made clear that this is undesirable and a last resort.133 At the
end of the letter, Peter is once more reminded that salvation should be his
primary goal. The contrast with the History could not be starker. Insofar as the
cartophylax’s advice expresses the view of the patriarchate, it is indicative of
official policy, although it is possible that a different approach may have been
adopted within Byzantine territory. We should not rule out the eventuality that
Byzanto-​Bulgar relations led the patriarchate to adopt a different approach in
this instance. Be that as it may, the even-​handed approach of the Letter sug-
gests that the History of the Paulicians did not successfully influence official
policy. If the cartophylax knew of this text, it seems that he would have not
viewed it favourably.
This is borne out by the text of the Letter, which betrays no discernible debt
to the History and instead draws its testimony from the Brief History. To date,
interest in the sources of the Letter has been limited, perhaps understandably
considering that it was often considered a much later text than these sources.
The topic was broached by Grégoire in the 1930s, but he saw little reason to
question that the Letter’s source was Peter of Sicily’s History.134 Ivan Dujčev, by
contrast, observed that, while the History may have been the ultimate source, it

132 A tripartite division of heretics based on the seriousness of their departure from ortho-
doxy was a commonplace in Byzantine writings. The prototypical example lies in Timothy
of Constantinople’s treatise on admittance into the church. See Daniel J. Sahas, “Ritual
of Conversion from Islam to the Byzantine Church,” Greek Orthodox Theological Review
36:1 (1991), pp. 64–​65; Timothy of Constantinople, De iis qui ad ecclesiam accedunt sive de
receptione haereticorum, Patrologia Graeca 86:1, col. 69–​72.
133 Theophylaktos Lekapenos, “L’epistola sui Bogomili,” pp. 312–​313, l. 28–​63. Translation:
Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 98–​99.
134 Grégoire, “Autour des Pauliciens,” pp. 613–​614.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 89

was equally possible that this dependence was transmitted through one of the
its derivate texts.135 This position was nuanced by Gouillard, who thought that
several of the Letter’s anathemata (namely seven, eleven, twelve, and fourteen)
indicated a greater dependence on the Brief History.136 Neither of the latter
two authors definitively argued either way, perhaps understandably given that
the Letter could be drawn from both sources, but a study of the Letter’s anath-
emata upholds Gouillard’s view that its primary debt is to the Brief History.
Anathema 12, which states that the Paulicians obtained their name from both
Paul and John, the sons of Kallinike, is decisive in this regard.137 This can only
be a reference to the Brief History, since the History states that the Paulicians
received their name from Paul alone.138 The other anathemata which Gouillard
notes similarly suggest a greater dependence on the Brief History.139 Naturally,
this does not preclude the eventuality that the author of the Letter also con-
sulted the History, but as noted above, their diametrically opposed views on
punishment suggest that if the cartophylax did know of the History, he may
have put less store by its testimony. That being said, the interpolated address
to the Archbishop of Bulgaria in the History tentatively suggests a connection
of some kind between Peter of Sicily’s work and the letter. It is tempting to
read the exchange between Theophylaktos and Peter of Bulgaria as the inspi-
ration for this reframing, but this is not the only possibility. The relocation of
Paulicians from Antioch to Philippopolis by John i Tzimiskes c.970–​972 could
have provided a similar impulse. The reworking of the History is perhaps best
linked to more general concerns about heresy in Bulgaria, rather than fixing its
revision to a particular context.

5 The Treatise against the Paulicians

Having dispensed with our 10th-​century sources, we can finally turn our atten-
tion to the source contemporary to the Paulicians’ 9th-​century heyday: the

1 35 Dujčev, ed., “L’epistola sui Bogomili,” p. 307.

136 Jean Gouillard, ed., Travaux et mémoires 4, p. 187.
137 Theophylaktos Lekapenos, “L’epistola sui Bogomili,” p. 314, l. 106–​109. Translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies, p. 101.
138 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 85, pp. 36–​37. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 75.
139 The verb φρίσσω employed in anathema 11 is typical of Photios (and in this case the author
impersonating him) whereas this is never used by Peter of Sicily. See Theophylaktos
Lekapenos, “L’epistola sui Bogomili,” p. 314, l. 98–​106. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 101.
90  Chapter 1

Treatise against the Paulicians. This text has conventionally been attributed to
Peter the Hegoumen, but this name is found only in a single manuscript and
presumably arises from a connection with Peter of Sicily, whom we have seen
cannot be considered an early source for the heresy.140 Opinion has remained
divided regarding the precedence of the text: Grégoire and Lemerle believed
that it was an epitomised version of the History and should therefore be dated
after the latter text, whereas Ter Mkrttschian, Loos, Scheidweiler, and Garsoïan
believed it was the earliest of our polemical texts.141 These interpretations were
naturally conditioned by the century-​long tug of war over the authenticity of
the History and Brief History, in which the Treatise was often assigned a key
role. In what follows, I fall firmly into the camp arguing for the priority of the
text, proposing that it was originally composed in an iconoclast milieu, c.834/​
35-​843.
The precedence of the Treatise is convincing for several reasons. It survives
in a comparatively large number of manuscripts and was interpolated into the
Chronicon of George the Monk at an early date.142 As Dmitri Afinogenov has
shown, the first recension of the Chronicon dates to c.846/​47.143 The only signif-
icant surviving manuscript of this recension concludes with the interpolated
Treatise, which is placed after the reign of Constantine v (741–​775).144 By con-
trast, the Treatise is incorporated within the main body of the second recension
of the Chronicon between the reigns of Constans ii (641–​668) and Constantine
iv (668–​685).145 This expanded version of the text, whose additions from the

140 See Charles Astruc, ed., Travaux et mémoires 4, p. 71. For the association of Peter of Sicily
with Peter the Hegoumen, see Johann C.L. Gieseler, “Appendix ad Petri Siculi historiam
Manichaeorum seu Paulicianorum,” Academiae Georgiae Augustae prorector cum senatu
Sacra Christi Natalitia anno MDCCCXLIX pie celebranda indicunt (Göttingen, 1849),
pp. 58–​59; Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 29–​30.
141 See Grégoire, “Les sources,” pp. 101–​109; Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 26–​31; Ter Mkrttschian,
Die Paulikianer, pp. 1–​4; Scheidweiler, “Paulikianerprobleme,” pp. 10–​29; Loos, “Deux con-
tributions I,” pp. 31–​36; Loos, “Deux publications fondamentales,” pp. 190–​191; 195–​196;
Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 43–​54. Since I subscribe to the precedence of the Treatise,
I have adopted Garsoïan’s name for the source, rather than the misleading Épitomé or
Précis of Grégoire and Lemerle. See Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 40; 44.
142 For the manuscript tradition of the text, see Astruc, ed., Travaux et mémoires 4, pp. 69–​78.
143 Afinogenov, “Le manuscrit grec,” p. 246. See also Afinogenov, “The Date of Georgios,”
p. 446.
144 George the Monk, Georgii Monachi chronicon, ed. Carl de Boor, 2 vols, vol. 2 (Leipzig, 1904),
p. 765 (apparatus). The manuscripts are Parisinus Coislinianus 305 and Vindobonensis
jur. gr. 6. The former is incomplete, whereas the latter comprises only a single folio. See
Afinogenov, “Le manuscrit grec,” p. 241.
145 George the Monk, Chronicon, 24, vol. 2, pp. 718–​725. Note that Peter of Sicily places
Constantine-​Silvanos’ activity during these years.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 91

first were added by another editor rather than George, was probably compiled
during the last third of the 9th century, since it culminates with an account
of the reign of Michael iii (842–​867).146 Although we cannot be exactly sure
when these interpolations occurred (and they probably happened at different
times in different variants of the Chronicon) the second half of the 9th century
presents the most likely hypothesis, especially because the Paulicians were a
pressing concern in the empire from Theodora’s persecutions (843/​44) to the
fall of Tephrikē (878/​79). This poses a conundrum for those who maintain the
precedence of the History, since the Treatise seems to have been circulating
before they argue its parent text was composed, but because the interpolation
events cannot be dated precisely the evidence is not decisive.147
A more compelling argument for the precedence of the Treatise is that all
of the later polemical works preserve it in some form. The sole manuscript of
the History is preceded by a now fragmentary copy of the Treatise attributed to
Peter of Sicily, whereas the Brief History begins with a metaphrasis of the text.
Briefer sources such as the abjuration formulae and Letter of Theophylaktos
Lekapenos have a similar format to the Treatise and retain its focus on Paulician
belief.148 Finally, as already noted, the text is preserved within all variants of
George the Monk’s Chronicon. Consequently, the textual tradition shows that
it is the most widely disseminated text. An analysis of the text’s contents shows
that it was the earliest, but, surprisingly, it is not especially illuminating for
investigating the history and beliefs of the Paulicians, since the later forged
texts make fuller use of Paulician sources. Although the Treatise’s author
almost certainly had access to the Didaskalie and the Letters of Sergios, he does
not use them extensively.149

1 46 Afinogenov, “The Date of Georgios,” p. 445.

147 As a result, proponents of this view have maintained a later date for the Chronicon (albeit
without offering evidence for doing so). On this, see Grégoire, “Sur l’histoire,” pp. 225–​
226; Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 5. Compare Afinogenov, “The Date of Georgios,” pp. 439–​441;
Afinogenov, “Le manuscrit grec,” p. 246.
148 Our extant variants of these formulae suggest a degree of influence from the History or
Brief History and should therefore probably be dated to the 10th century. In the case of
Formulae i and iii, this debt seems evident in the references to Sergios’ synekdemoi, who
are otherwise only attested in our 10th-​century forgeries. Formula ii is appended to the
Letter of Theophylaktos and therefore more certainly dates to the 10th century. Formula
iv, on the other hand, is trickier to date, but it may be a variant of Formula iii. On these
formulae, see Abjuration Formula I-​IV, ed. and trans. Jean Gouillard, Travaux et mémoires
4 (1970), pp. 190–​207. English translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine
World: c.650–​1450, eds. Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), pp. 103–​110.
149 In the case of the Didaskalie, this is evident in the Treatise’s knowledge of the didaskaloi,
particularly in the identification of Zacharias as “a mercenary and not a true shepherd,”
which derives from the Paulician exemplar. See Treatise, 5, ed. and trans. Charles Astruc,
92  Chapter 1

As for the source, it is somewhat difficult to characterise. Garsoïan has

described it as “a sort of inquisitor’s manual” and while this description is valid
insofar as it is a practical text concerned with identifying heretics, it is problem-
atic given our ignorance of how Romans identified and combatted heresy.150
Nevertheless, Garsoïan was perhaps correct when she ascribed a “semi-​offi-
cial” character to it, since although it circulated widely and influenced later
texts, its anonymous character and uncertain legal context do not suggest that
it stemmed from the patriarchal authorities.151 Loos’ assumption that it was
originally of monastic provenance seems likely.152 As for the legal context, this
defies a straightforward solution because the prosecution of heresy necessi-
tated collaboration between secular and ecclesiastical authorities. The former
were responsible for punishing heretics and, as a result, the Treatise never
articulates the penalties associated with the heresy. In addition, it implies that
other texts were used to combat Paulicians, since it notes that they anathema-
tised Mani together with Paul and John, the sons of Kallinike, thereby suggest-
ing that in earlier periods they were examined with Manichaean abjuration
formulae.153 As we shall see, references within the Treatise also show that its
author used creedal statements in his encounters with Paulicians. The source
therefore operated within a wider framework of texts, probably with a variety
of functions, since its incorporation into the Chronicon hardly stems from pas-
toral concerns or an attempt to enforce orthodoxy.
Since the Treatise occupies a pivotal position in early Byzantine under-
standings of the heresy, it merits a full discussion here. It has a loose bipar-
tite structure which describes Paulician history and beliefs in succession, but
there is a crucial difference between these parts, since the historical section
depends on Paulician sources (both the Didaskalie and Letters of Sergios),
while the section on belief derives from an orthodox standpoint and hence

Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), p. 82. English translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the
Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds. Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998),
p. 93; Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 125, pp. 50–​51. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 82. Its knowledge of the Letters of Sergios is apparent in its reference to the
Paulician churches since Peter of Sicily notes that this reference appears in the letters. See
Treatise, 7, p. 84. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 93–​94; Peter of Sicily, History
of the Paulicians, 163, pp. 60–​61. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 88.
150 Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 52–​53.
151 Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, p. 54.
152 Loos, “Deux contributions I,” p. 36. Loos favours a monastic origin, but he proposes that
the monastic in question was actually Peter of Sicily, who wrote the work prior to his mis-
sion to Tephrikē. This view cannot be sustained in view of the arguments presented above.
153 Manichaean Formula, in Texte zum Manichäismus, ed. Alfred Adam (Berlin, 1954),
pp. 97–​103.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 93

is less trustworthy. Interestingly, the Treatise departs from earlier understand-

ings of Paulician belief by considering Paul, the son of Kallinike, as its ultimate
inspiration, in contrast to the earliest Byzantine source to attest the heresy,
Theophanes’ Chronographia, which considers them Manichaeans.154 There is
still admittedly some emphasis on Manichaeism in the Treatise, but it does
not identify any Manichaean heresiarchs among the precursors of the didas-
kaloi. This change of emphasis could conceivably be indebted to a knowledge
of Paulician sources, since the Didaskalie traces their religiosity to a Paul,
although this is the apostle, not Paul, son of Kallinike, so in this case a misread-
ing of the source would be evident.155 Such a misreading is perhaps apparent
in the unusual characterisation of Paul, who, as we have already seen, appears
to be confused with Paul of Samosata in some witnesses to the polemical tra-
dition. Besides this, the Treatise is notable for being concise, systematic, and
comparatively unpolemical. It probably served mainly as a practical guide for
those tasked with identifying Paulicians, but it could also operate as a pastoral
warning if read before Roman audiences.
Among those scholars who considered the Treatise to be the earliest repre-
sentative of the heresiological tradition, only Garsoïan attempted to provide
a date for the text. She dated it to the patriarchate of Methodios (843–​847),
that is during Theodora’s regency for her infant son Michael iii, believing that
the text was consistent with both the restoration of orthodoxy and Theodora’s
persecutions.156 These persecutions may explain the subsequent dissemina-
tion of the text, but the interpretation offered here implies that the Treatise
originally belonged to an iconoclast milieu. Determining a terminus post quem
is straightforward, since it speaks of the last didaskalos Sergios in the past tense
and the History states that Sergios died in 834/​35.157 It betrays no knowledge of
Karbeas, the infamous Paulician leader from 844 onward and so was probably
authored prior to the mid-​840s; an impression which is corroborated by the
traces of iconoclast authorship.
While the historical material preserved within the Treatise has its origin in
Paulician sources, the heretical tenets that the text ascribes to the Paulicians

154 Treatise, 1–​2, p. 80. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 93; Theophanes, Theophanis
chronographia, ed. Carl de Boor, 2 vols, vol. 1 (Leipzig, 1883), p. 488, l. 22–​23. English trans-
lation: The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, eds. and trans. Cyril Mango, Roger Scott
(Oxford, 1997), p. 671.
155 Treatise, 6; 9; 18. pp. 83; 85; 90. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 93–​95.
156 Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 53–​54.
157 See also Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, p. 53. The History’s dates are always worthy of suspi-
cion, but in Sergios’ case seem reliable.
94  Chapter 1

come from the perspective of a Roman writer. This is evident from its account
of their alleged dualism:

They [the Paulicians] have the first heresy of the Manichaeans, confess-
ing two principles as those men do. They say that: “There is only one
difference between us and the Romans, that we say that the Father in
heaven is one God, who has no authority in this world, but does in the
world to come, and that another God is the creator of the cosmos, who
has authority in the present world. The Romans confess that one and the
same God is the Father in heaven and the creator of all the world.” They
call themselves Christians and us Romans.

And they eagerly say to those who do not know them: “We believe in the
Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, the heavenly Father, and anathema
to whoever does not believe as we do.” They studiously conceal their evil,
for when they say “the Father in heaven” they do not add “the only true
God, the maker of heaven and earth and everything in them.” It is necessary
for the orthodox interrogator to ask the Manichaean to say the creed which
begins “I believe in one God, the Father, the almighty, the maker of heaven
and earth, of all things seen and invisible” and the things which follow.158

The extract, which is by far the fullest explanation of any heretical tenet in
the Treatise, begins by explaining Paulician cosmology, in the process mas-
querading as the voice of a Paulician discoursing amongst coreligionists.
It then discloses how the Paulicians conceal their belief from the orthodox,
before explaining how an orthodox believer may unmask this strategy. Thus,
the account of this tenet has been framed by a Roman writer to give others
a means of identifying heretics. It is not accurate, however, because the ini-
tial statement is not a profession of belief promulgated among Paulicians in
secret, as the passage would like us to think, but rather a statement put into
their mouth by the Treatise’s author, whose thought throughout this passage
is preconditioned by his method of interrogating heretics using the Niceno-​
Constantinopolitan Creed. When the Paulician speaks among their peers, for
instance, God is conceptualised in terms of the Father, rather than the Trinity,
which indicates that the terms of debate have already been circumscribed by
the emphasis on the Father in the creedal statement, even though reference
to the latter only comes at the end of the passage. The text’s Paulician voice

158 Treatise, 9–​10, pp. 85–​86. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 94.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 95

is therefore even more elusive and problematic than first impressions sug-
gest. Like many heresiological compositions, the Treatise is a richer source for
understanding orthodox beliefs and preconceptions than for learning about
heretics. Consequently, the order in which Paulician errors are described can
also be interpreted as arising from orthodox concerns, since these are listed in
an order corresponding to the seriousness of their transgression of orthodoxy.
The first tenet listed by the Treatise is the Paulicians’ dualism; a belief which
contradicts the basis of Christian cosmology. The second is the rejection of the
sanctity of the Virgin, who had been considered the protector of Constantinople
from the end of the 6th century and even more so after the Avar-​Sasanian siege
of 626.159 As a result, a repudiation of Marian sanctity could be interpreted
as an attack on the city, or on the empire more generally. In this sense, the
first two tenets could be interpreted as assailing the Christian religion and
the empire, thereby suggesting that the author listed the beliefs most likely to
shock a Roman audience first. Given this fact, the next two tenets are of crucial
importance to us. These are the rejection of the cross and the eucharist: the
two true images of Christ according to iconoclast theology.160 As we have seen,
the form and content of the text have been conditioned by its author, who has
brought his conceptions of orthodoxy into the text. This orthodoxy certainly
seems to be an iconoclast one and the theory only becomes more convincing
the deeper we dig into the polemical tradition. Most notably of all, icons are
never mentioned in the Treatise, even though Armenian sources allege that
earlier Paulicians in the Caucasus were characterised by their rejection of

159 Treatise, 11, p. 87. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 94; Averil Cameron, “The
Virgin’s Robe: An Episode in the History of Early-​Seventh Century Constantinople,”
Byzantion 49 (1979), pp. 42–​56. For our period, where the evidence is relatively mea-
gre, see Dirk Krausmüller, “Making the Most of Mary: The Cult of the Virgin in the
Chalkoprateia from Late Antiquity to the Tenth Century,” in The Cult of the Mother of God
in Byzantium: Texts and Images, eds. Leslie Brubaker, Mary B. Cunningham (Aldershot,
2011), pp. 219–​245. More recently, see Mary B. Cunningham, The Virgin Mary in Byzantium,
c.400–​1000: Hymns, Homilies and Hagiography (Cambridge, 2021). For iconoclast devotion
to Mary, see Kenneth Parry, Depicting the Word: Byzantine Iconophile Thought of the Eighth
and Ninth Centuries (Leiden, 1996), pp. 191–​201; Niki Tsironis, “The Mother of God in the
Iconoclastic Controversy,” in Mother of God: Representations of the Virgin in Byzantine Art,
ed. Maria Vassilaki (Athens/​Milan, 2000), pp. 27–​39.
160 Treatise, 12–​13, pp. 87–​88. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 94–​95. For iconoclast
reverence of the cross, see Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A
History, pp. 140–​143. For the eucharist, see Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast
Era, c. 680–​850: A History, pp. 181; 192; 374. The Paulician rejection of the church hierarchy
would also be received unfavourably by iconoclasts, who placed considerable emphasis
on obedience to authority. See Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​
850: A History, pp. 376–​383; 392–​400.
96  Chapter 1

images.161 The reason is obvious: the Treatise’s author belonged to the icono-
clast party and, as such, would only have noted his concern if the Paulicians
were conspicuous venerators of images. The iconoclast authorship of the tract
also influenced later sources appreciably, since accusations that the Paulicians
rejected images are rare until the 10th century, particularly in heresiological
texts.162 Photios’ letters to Chrysocheir are the only unequivocal allegation of
iconoclasm in the 9th century and even in this case the patriarch never seems
to have reached a clear understanding of his correspondent’s beliefs.163 All of
this explains the curious inattention to images in later works. Neither Peter of
Sicily nor Pseudo-​Photios accuse the Paulicians of rejecting images and both
seem almost oblivious of the iconomachy, as is apparent in their bizarrely
neutral characterisation of the iconoclast Leo iii.164 Surprisingly, the first alle-
gation that Paulicians rejected images within heresiological texts occurs in
10th-​century abjuration formulae.165 Needless to say, all of this implies that the
Paulicians were not associated with iconoclasm in practice, contrary to what
has traditionally been assumed. As for the Treatise, the observations offered
above suggest that it was written after the death of Sergios c.834–​35 and before
the restoration of icon veneration in 843, since it seems improbable that an
iconoclast work could be written and widely disseminated after this date.
There is an intriguing postscript to this interpretation, however. As we
have already seen, Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v places the beginning of the
Paulician presence at Argaous after Karbeas’ defection, when the site was
granted to him by ‘Amr al-Aqṭa‘.166 Since Karbeas’ break with the empire
occurred after the restoration of the icons during Theodora’s regency, we would
not expect to find any references to Argaous in the Treatise, but this proves not
to be the case. Among the churches founded by Sergios-​Tychikos, the text iden-
tifies the Church of the Kolossians with the Argaoutes, who are assuredly the

1 61 See especially Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 164–​165; 201–​207.

162 Note, however, the implied association of iconoclasts and Paulicians in the Third
Antirrhetikos of the patriarch Nikephoros I. Nikephoros, Third Antirrhetikos, 68, Patrologia
Graeca 100, col. 501.
163 Photios, Epistulae, Ep. 37–​39, vol. 1, pp. 87–​88; Photios, Epistulae, Ep. 134, vol. 1, pp. 176–​178.
164 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 114, pp. 46–​47. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 80; Pseudo-​Photios, Brief History, 74, pp. 146–​147.
165 Abjuration Formula III, ed. and trans. Jean Gouillard, Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970),
pp. 200–​201 l. 35; pp. 202–​203, l. 81–​85. English translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in
the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds. Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester,
1998), pp. 106; 108. Abjuration Formula iv, pp. 202–​203, l. 8. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 108. On these formulae, see also note 148 above.
166 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:16, pp. 236–​
237, l. 21–​22.
Polemics, Punishment, and Forgery 97

inhabitants of Argaous.167 Although it is possible that the text was amended at

a later date, the most probable explanation for this inconsistency is that some
Paulicians had already settled at Argaous before the advent of the Islamic alli-
ance. Peter of Sicily tells us that Sergios-​Tychikos died in the mountains near
Argaous, which gives a corroborating witness for a Paulician presence there
before Karbeas.168 If so, while Peter’s account of a large-​scale flight to Melitene
before the 840s remains deeply suspect, it seems that the Continuator’s claim
that ‘Amr bestowed the site on Karbeas is also wide of the mark. Despite the
fact that the History is a forgery, it is not necessarily less reliable than our other
sources on all counts. For the present purposes, we must acknowledge that
this inconsistency cautions against dating either the Treatise or the Paulician
presence on the eastern frontier too precisely. It is conceivable, for instance,
that the Treatise had a limited circulation until the persecutions of Theodora
markedly increased its readership, potentially leading to revisions in the pro-
cess. If so, the dating adopted here is not necessarily mutually exclusive with
that formulated by Garsoïan.
To recap briefly, the analysis offered above suggests that the History of the
Paulicians, the Brief History, and the Letter of Theophylaktos were composed in
the order stated here, possibly between 945–​956, and more certainly between
934–​956, at least in the form in which they are now extant. On the surface,
this suggests a close relationship between these texts which is perhaps illusory.
The Letter of Theophylaktos only identified the Bulgarian heretics as Paulicians
after a prolonged exchange of letters, thereby suggesting that neither the carto-
phylax John, nor the patriarchate more generally, had Paulicians on the brain.
This in turn implies that the letter was written in a context far removed from
the forged texts, so the sources seem to have addressed a sporadically recurring
issue rather than a single religio-​political controversy. As a result, in the fol-
lowing chapter, we shall assume that the aims, contexts, and interrelations of
these texts were not consistent across the tradition. This will have most impact
upon our understanding of the History, whose genesis seems to have been pro-
tracted indeed.
As for our historical understanding of the Paulicians, the most signifi-
cant conclusion of this chapter is that the History’s account of their flight to
Melitene distorts the testimony of Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v and, as such,
is not reliable. It seems that some Paulicians did make small-​scale reprisals
against Romanía in response to the persecutions of Michael i and Leo v, but

1 67 Treatise, 7, p. 84. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 93–​94.

168 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 179–​181, pp. 64–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 90–​91.
98  Chapter 1

our sources suggest that systemic, widespread resistance only began after
Theodora’s persecutions. The dating that the History advocates does not align
with other sources, or the contemporary political situation in the ‘Abbāsid
Caliphate or Emirate of Melitene, although a modest Paulician presence on the
eastern frontier before Karbeas’ defection cannot be ruled out. Beyond this, it is
noteworthy that the authenticity of both the History and Brief History are cast
into doubt at precisely the point that this flight occurs. This is hardly a coinci-
dence. As we shall see in the following chapter, earlier Byzantine sources which
describe the Paulicians can be divided into two groups: texts composed in the
first half of the 9th century which sought to formalise the doctrinal threat that
the Paulicians posed; and 10th-​century histories which described the Paulician
military threat under Karbeas and Chrysocheir and encompassed this within
a narrative which extolled the Macedonian Dynasty. The contrasting concerns
of these groups of sources served to bifurcate Paulician history into religious
and militaristic phases which are scarcely reconcilable with one another. Peter
of Sicily was the first to bridge this gap, but as he did so he sought to emphasise
the religious threat of the didaskaloi for his own polemical ends, in the process
betraying his act of forgery. In an ironic coincidence, Pseudo-​Photios fell into
a similar trap while recounting the same episode. Only by unmasking these
texts as forgeries can we begin to untangle the two faces of the Paulicians and
understand the complexities of their legacy in the historical record.
 ­c hapter 2

Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century

If one thing should be apparent from the labours of historians over the past
few centuries, it is that the Paulicians have been a continued source of obfus-
cation and misunderstanding. It is somewhat comforting to know that the
same situation prevailed even in their own time. Paulicians were reinvented as
zealously by contemporaries as they have been by Protestants and Catholics,
by Armenologists and Byzantinists. This is hardly surprising. We have already
seen that both Peter of Sicily’s History of the Paulicians and Pseudo-​Photios’
Brief History of the Manichaeans are not the products of the well-​connected
eyewitnesses that they claim to be. Whatever agendas these pseudonymous
authors sought to advance, they evidently did, at great personal effort, through
subterfuge. Elucidating these agendas and their means of dissemination are
central to the aims of this chapter and, as previously hinted, the matter of pun-
ishment, which had been central to Byzantine debates about the Paulicians
throughout the 9th century, plays a pivotal role. However, the solution is not
as simple as might first appear because debates about punishment are closely
intertwined with another phenomenon of considerable importance: the rein-
vention of the Paulicians in the 10th century. Understandings of the heresy
were far from clear by the time our forgers laid quill to parchment; in near
contemporary texts portrayals of Paulician identity are underdeveloped and
inconsistent, and the reasons for the movement’s rise to historical prominence
are not always apparent. This situation arises for two reasons: firstly, because
Paulicians were of so little interest to Byzantine writers before the historical
projects associated with Constantine vii’s reign that several historians seem
to have been almost oblivious of them; and secondly, because the historians
of Constantine’s school experimented with their representation while mak-
ing them increasingly central to the historical narrative of Basil i’s reign. This
emphasis was imperative because both triumphs of Basil, Constantine’s grand-
father and the founder of the dynasty, were celebrated for victories over the
Paulicians. A clear account of the threat that they posed was therefore integral
for the purposes of legitimating the Macedonian dynasty. Partly as a response
to this historiographical project, Peter of Sicily’s History of the Paulicians rein-
vented our heretics once more by synthesising their two faces: the duplicitous
Manichaeans who promulgated their doctrines in secret from c.800–​840 and
the bands of marauding raiders who laid waste to the eastern provinces of the
empire with their Islamic allies from the 840s to the 870s. The success of Peter’s

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2022 | DOI:10.1163/9789004517080_004

100  Chapter 2

endeavour lies open to dispute; the account presented here suggests that con-
temporary readers received the History unfavourably, although this is perhaps
linked to its contextual shortcomings and heavy-​handed approach to punish-
ment rather than its historical narrative per se. Yet modern scholarship has
been far kinder to it: it has been the central paradigm by which the Paulicians
have been understood in scholarly circles from the 17th century until the pres-
ent day.
This chapter explores this reinvention of the Paulicians by examining the
evolution of their portrayal in Byzantine sources of the 9th and 10th centu-
ries, focusing particularly on the variety of labels applied to them. It then pro-
ceeds to situate our forged texts within this reinvention. The complexity of
the evidence is pronounced enough to preclude a definitive reconstruction,
but it seems most probable that the History of the Paulicians is the culmina-
tion of a concerted attempt by interested parties to enact more severe punish-
ments against the Paulicians (and perhaps heretics more generally), which in
all likelihood had its genesis before Constantine’s sole reign. Every indication
suggests that the composition of the History was prolonged and convoluted.
The same is not true of the Brief History, which could have been produced
relatively swiftly, but its enigmatic qualities render it difficult to ascertain its
relationship with the History. Here, I have inclined toward the view that it was
written in order to reassert the History’s message after the latter text failed to
achieve its aims. This interpretation is speculative and remains open to dis-
pute. Yet a rather more certain conclusion leaps from these pages: although
many of our surviving sources insist upon the application of the death penalty
to the Paulicians, this view was invariably contested. Persecution may have
been enacted zealously during the upheavals of the 9th-​century iconomachy,
but in the less frenzied climate of the 10th century, the application of the death
penalty was practically unthinkable. By investigating the reinvention of the
Paulicians here, we can gain some insight into why this was the case.

1 Byzantine Understandings of Paulicians c.810–​900

Somewhat surprisingly, given their status as one of the empire’s most dan-
gerous enemies from the 840s to the 870s, Paulicians are largely absent
from Byzantine sources before the main historical works associated with
Constantine vii’s sole reign. Even in those instances where they do appear, the
narrative focus is rarely on them until they impinge upon matters of impor-
tance to Byzantine history, such as warfare on the eastern frontier. There is no
indication of a coherent understanding of Paulician history, or an explanation
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 101

of their rise to prominence; they merely appear on the historians’ pages, often
to vanish shortly afterwards. All of this is complicated by the fact that Paulicians
are rarely termed as such in our sources. Instead, those whom we would
now call Paulicians are labelled, among other appellations, Manichaeans,
Paulianists, or even terms synonymous with Muslims, such as Agarenes and
Ishmaelites. This clearly complicates our objectives, but the challenge is not
an insurmountable one; the diverse and fluid use of ethnonyms and doctrinal
signifiers in Byzantine literature is well known, particularly in archaising
historical texts or religious polemics. The resultant difficulties are therefore
generic within the field. That being said, the issue is more pronounced in the
case of the Paulicians than in most others because our Greek sources entail
such difficulties, and because of a dearth of corroborating sources in other lan-
guages during the period.
Despite these complicating factors, most scholars have not considered
the diversity of names applied to the Paulicians to be a serious issue, largely
because the most commonly attested term, the Manichaean one, occasions
little confusion since Manichaeans were not present within the empire during
our period.1 As we have already seen, there is evidence for continuity between
the two faces of the Paulicians, so it seems that, where the context is appropri-
ate, there is little reason to question that they are being identified in the major-
ity of cases. Still, the diversity of appellations applied to them merits closer
attention than earlier scholarship has recognized and, accordingly, I shall
specify the nomenclature used by our sources in what follows. The point of
interest is not, however, the terminology in itself, but how coherent and consis-
tent understandings of Paulicians are across our sources. More specifically, our
main concern is whether the range of labels used represent creative or ambig-
uous uses of language which seek to exploit the different connotations of
these identifiers, or whether Roman understandings of Paulicians were simply
imprecise or confused in the 10th century. There is certainly something of the
former going on here; it is hardly coincidental that the History of the Paulicians,
which seeks to demonstrate above all that Manichaeans and Paulicians are
one and the same, is the most consistent in its terminology. However, it also
seems that understandings of Paulicians were evolving considerably at this
time, thereby explaining why their reinvention was such a contested process.
In what follows, I shall examine this reinvention in a broadly chronological
way, beginning in the early 9th century, but it bears emphasising that I am

1 Samuel N.C. Lieu, Manichaeism in the Later Roman Empire and Medieval China (Manchester,
1985), pp. 168–​175.
102  Chapter 2

not interested in chronology for its own sake and will not attempt a defini-
tive reconstruction of the sources under discussion. Direct textual influence
rarely explains the relationships between our sources, in my view. Instead, the
underlying rationale throughout presupposes sequential, overlapping, and
often lengthy compositional processes, texts reworked or redeployed for differ-
ent contexts, and important witnesses now lost. The aim is to identify broader
intellectual trends, rather than specific textual relationships.
The first extant Byzantine source to document the Paulicians is the
Chronographia of Theophanes, which refers to them relatively frequently from
c.800 until 813, when its narrative breaks off.2 Theophanes was a contempo-
rary to these events and habitually refers to our heretics as “Manichaeans, now
called Paulicians.” Like Peter of Sicily long after him, Theophanes approved
of their persecution and his explicit identification of the two heresies legit-
imates the punishment that he espouses.3 Beyond this, his association of
the Paulicians with a readily identifiable precursor suggests that their iden-
tity would not have been self-​evident to his audience, which in turn sug-
gests that their rise to prominence at the beginning of the 9th century was
sudden, as I shall argue throughout this book.4 Theophanes remains preoc-
cupied with the dangers that they posed in these years, such as their alleged
involvement in schemes to overthrow Michael i, as well as their persecution
by the same emperor.5 Several other sources attest the centrality of punish-
ment to understandings of Paulicians at this time. A solitary reference in the
Third Antirrhetikos of Patriarch Nikephoros i, which was probably written
c.818–​820, describes how some iconoclasts fell in league with “Manichaeans”
after the Second Council of Nikaea in 787.6 We can be sure that Nikephoros
is referring to Paulicians here, since he mentions that some were executed
after doing so, which can only be a reference to the persecutions of Michael i.
Nikephoros himself instigated these persecutions and his role is recounted
by both Theophanes’ Chronographia and Ignatios the Deacon’s account of

2 Cyril Mango, Roger Scott, eds., The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor (Oxford, 1997), pp. lvii;
lxi–​lxii. For Theophanes’ reference to Constantine v’s relocation of Paulicians, see Chapter 4.
3 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, ed. Carl de Boor, 2 vols, vol. 1 (Leipzig, 1883), pp. 488;
495. English translation: The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, eds. and trans. Cyril Mango,
Roger Scott (Oxford, 1997), pp. 671; 678.
4 See also Claudia Ludwig, “The Paulicians and Ninth-​ Century Byzantine Thought,” in
Byzantium in the Ninth Century: Dead or Alive?, ed. Leslie Brubaker (Aldershot, 1998),
pp. 31–​32.
5 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, pp. 494–​496; 501. Translation: The Chronicle of
Theophanes Confessor, pp. 678–​679; 684–​685.
6 Nikephoros, Third Antirrhetikos, 68, Patrologia Graeca 100, col. 501.
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 103

his life, the Vita Nicephori. From Theophanes’ testimony, we know that these
persecutions were also directed against the Athinganoi and the Vita Nicephori
adopts archaising terms for both groups, calling the Athinganoi “Phrygians”
and the Paulicians once again “Manichaeans.”7 Theophanes favours capi-
tal punishment in the Paulicians’ case, but the same is not true of Theodore
the Stoudite, who vociferously argued against this course of action. His letter
to Leo the spice dealer is the first extant source to refer to Paulicians alone,
with no hint of a Manichaean identification.8 In a later letter to Theophilos
of Ephesos, Theodore does refer to Manichaeans while discussing the punish-
ment of Paulicians, but in this instance he is clearly adopting Theophilos’ own
terminology.9
In the first two decades of the 9th century, then, the association between
Manichaeans and Paulicians seems to have been adopted as a matter of course,
with the possible exception of Theodore and others who opposed their punish-
ment. The identification was intrinsically linked with the issue of persecution,
which all of the sources noted above reference in some way.10 Surprisingly, ref-
erences to Paulicians during the rest of the 9th century are sparse, but there
is a shift away from association with Manichaeans. The most crucial text in
this regard is the Treatise, which is the only extant 9th-​century text that is
concerned solely with the heresy. Although it states that Paulicians are none
other than Manichaeans at the outset, it traces the source of their beliefs to the
brothers Paul and John.11 Paradoxically, it then undermines this claim by noting
that the Paulicians freely anathematise Mani and his forebears, as well as the
Samosatan brothers.12 References to Mani and his doctrines are rare elsewhere
in the tract, thereby suggesting that the identification favoured by Theophanes

7 Ignatios the Deacon, Nicephori archiepiscopi Constantinopolitani opuscula historica,

ed. Carl de Boor (Leipzig, 1880), p. 158, l. 25 –​p. 159, l. 8. English translation: “Life of
the Patriarch Nikephoros I of Constantinople,” in Byzantine Defenders of Images, trans.
Elizabeth A. Fisher, ed. Alice-​Mary Talbot (Washington, D.C., 1998), p. 65.
8 Theodore the Stoudite, Theodori Studitae epistulae, Ep. 94, ed. Georgios Fatouros,
2 vols, vol. 2 (Berlin, 1992), pp. 214–​215. For Theodore, see Roman Cholij, Theodore the
Stoudite: The Ordering of Holiness (Oxford, 2002).
9 Theodore the Stoudite, Theodori Studitae epistulae, Ep. 455, vol. 2, pp. 644–​647.
10 One exception is the Vita Nicetae Medicii, which does not address the punishment of the
Paulicians while mentioning them in the course of an exchange between the iconophile
bishop Peter of Nikaea and Leo v. It too identifies them as Manichaeans. Vita Nicetae
Medicii, 35, in Acta Sanctorum, April i, pp. 253–​266.
11 Treatise, 1, ed. and trans. Charles Astruc, Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), p. 80. English
translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds. Bernard
Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), p. 93.
12 Treatise, 6, p. 83. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 93.
104  Chapter 2

had become suspect.13 It is difficult to shake the suspicion of cognitive dis-

sonance here; the Manichaean identification was originally promulgated for
ideological reasons related to punishment and, although the label was quickly
found to be inaccurate in practice, its rhetorical function meant that the usage
died hard. As noted in the previous chapter, the Treatise was soon interpolated
in its entirety within both recensions of George the Monk’s Chronicon, prob-
ably during the period when the Paulicians posed the greatest threat to the
empire. There is an intriguing difference between these two recensions, since
whereas in the first recension the Paulicians are otherwise unmentioned, in
the second recension an allusion to the iconoclast emperor Constantine v has
been altered to characterise him as a Paulician.14 Two important conclusions
stem from this: firstly, the association between Constantine and the Paulicians
is late; and secondly, the polemical repertoire that Byzantines used to depre-
cate them was expanding at this time.
The main reason that the Treatise occupies such a pivotal position in
Byzantine understandings of the heresy is that it sits at the transition from the
religious to militaristic phases of the movement. As we have already observed,
it incorporates testimony from the Paulician sources and identifies their didas-
kaloi and churches, but betrays no knowledge of Karbeas and his break with
the empire. All of the sources we have examined to date have also focused
on the Paulicians’ religious threat, but the vast majority of sources we shall
encounter from the 10th century are preoccupied with their military dimen-
sion. The prospect of an insurrectionist Paulician menace must have seemed
remote indeed during the final years of iconoclasm, as attested by the Vita
Macarii Peleketae. In this text, the titular monastic converts “Paulicians, that
is, Manichaeans” while imprisoned by Theophilos, thereby showing that the
Manichaean identification still endured and that Paulicians were still being
punished.15 On first impressions, antipathy for them during Theophilos’ reign is
corroborated by another hagiographical witness, version Γ of the 42 Martyrs of
Amorion, which describes the activity of Kallistos, the Duke of Koloneia newly
appointed by the emperor. Kallistos takes measures against “Manichaeans” in
his territories, but is captured by them and handed over first to Karbeas and
then to the caliph al-​Wāthiq, whereupon he is eventually executed with the

13 Treatise, 9; 18, pp. 85; 90. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 94–​95.
14 See also Chapter 4. George the Monk, 34, Georgii Monachi chronicon, ed. Carl de Boor, 2
vols, vol. 2 (Leipzig, 1904), p. 751, l. 18–​19 (apparatus).
15 Sabas, “S. Macarii monasterii Pelecetes hegumeni acta graeca,” 14, ed. Joseph van den
Gheyn, in Analecta Bollandiana 16 (1897), p. 159.
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 105

prisoners captured during al-​Mu‘taṣim’s sack of Amorion in 838.16 However,

although some modern scholars have dated this source nearly contemporane-
ously with the events that it describes (in the mid-​840s), it is most likely a 10th-​
century work.17 In its most idiosyncratic moment, it already considers Karbeas
an Islamic ally during Theophilos’ reign, even though his flight is convention-
ally placed after the emperor’s death. Despite these complicating factors, the
text is still a valuable witness, even though the “Manichaeans” it describes have
only an inconsequential role in the narrative.
References to Paulicians are notably scant after Karbeas’ break with the
empire. Their reception between c.840–​880 is characterised by the copying or
repurposing of earlier texts to fit this context, rather than the composition of
new works. This approach is similar to the interpolations of the Treatise into
the recensions of George the Monk’s Chronicon mentioned above, which most
probably belong to this period. It is worthwhile to pause for a moment and
speculate why this might be the case. The Chronicon aside, few Byzantine his-
torical works survive for the period. In the preface to his Basileion, Genesios
claims to have been the first historian to document the reigns of the emperors
from Leo v (813–​820) to Michael iii (843–​867), thereby situating his account
as the successor of Theophanes’ Chronographia.18 This claim should obvi-
ously not be taken at face value given the existence of George’s Chronicon.19
Moreover, other works containing historical source matter were certainly
composed during the intervening period, such as the Scriptor incertus de Leone
Armenio and the misleadingly named Chronicle of 811, even if neither of these
are primarily historiographical in nature.20 Finally, the sources common to

16 Michael, Monk and Synkellos, “De XLII martyribus Amoriensibus narrationes et carmina
sacra,” in Zapiski Imperatorskoĭ akademīi nauk po Istoriko-​filologicheskomu otdȋelenīȋu.
Mémoires de l’Académie impériale des sciences de St.-​ Pétersbourg. Classe historico-​
philologique. VIIIe série 7:2, eds. Vasily G. Vasil’evsky, Petr V. Nikitin (1905), pp. 22–​36.
17 Kazhdan dates the group of texts to which our variant belongs c.900 and it is clear that
our version is among the latest of these because its interest in the events at Amorion is
peripheral. See Mary B. Cunningham, ed., The Life of Michael the Synkellos (Belfast, 1991),
p. 37; Alexander P. Kazhdan, “Hagiographical Notes 13–​16,” Byzantion 56 (1986), p. 153.
18 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, eds. Anni Lesmüller-​Werner, Hans P. Thurn,
(Berlin/​New York, 1978), p. 3. English translation: Genesios. On the Reigns of the Emperors,
ed. Anthony Kaldellis (Canberra, 1998), p. 3.
19 Athanasios Markopoulos, “Genesios: A Study,” in Byzantinisches Archiv: Realia Byzantina,
eds. Giannis Mavromatis, Sofia Kotzabassi (Berlin, 2009), p. 141.
20 Scriptor incertus: testo critico, traduzione e note, ed. Francesca Iadevaia (Messina, 1987); “La
chronique byzantine de l’an 811,” ed. Ivan Dujčev, Travaux et mémoires 1 (1965), pp. 205–​
254; Leslie Brubaker, John F. Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era (ca.680–​850): The
Sources (Aldershot, 2001), pp. 179–​180.
106  Chapter 2

Genesios and the Continuator show that works which can broadly be defined
as historical were extant for the period c.870–​940, although these no longer
survive independently.21 Both authors had access to earlier material docu-
menting the Paulicians and this is also true of other sources, such as the Vita
Basilii’s account of Basil i’s campaign of 873, which is credible and meticu-
lously detailed.
It is therefore clear that texts which addressed Paulician activity were com-
posed during the 840s-​880s. What is lacking is a brand of history writing that
sought to explain and systematise events. It may be that literary production
at the time was focused on other textual forms, such as hagiographical and
administrative texts, or encyclopaedic projects, but it is also possible that reli-
gious dissension played its role.22 A succession of controversies, such as the
rivalry between Ignatios and Photios and the Tetragamy controversy over Leo
vi’s fourth marriage, characterise the reigns of Basil i and his successor.23 This
may have proved inimical to the composition and/​or preservation of historical
works given the importance of doctrinal fidelity in literature of the time. In fact,
the function of Byzantine historical writing may provide an important clue
regarding the curious silence about the Paulicians. After the final classicising
historians such as Prokopios and Theophylaktos Simokatta, Byzantine histor-
ical narratives had largely taken the form of chronicles whose narrative focus
privileged the empire’s orthodoxy and standing within the scheme of Divine
Providence. When disasters afflicted the empire during this period, they were
conventionally blamed upon the sins of the Roman people or their emper-
ors, but these travails were almost without exception inflicted by religious
outsiders such as Muslims and pagan Bulgars. Painted as Neo-​Manichaean
dualists, the Paulicians were theoretically just as alien, but the complexities

21 Aside from the principal common source, numerous sources have been posited for the
Basileion and Theophanes Continuatus books i-​i v. See Lesmüller-​Werner, Thurn, eds.,
Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, pp. xiii–​xiv; Kaldellis, ed., Genesios. On the
Reigns of the Emperors, pp. xxi–​xxiv; J. Michael Featherstone, Juan Signes Codoñer, eds.,
Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati nomine fertur
Libri I-​IV, (Boston/​Berlin, 2015), pp. 10*–​13*; Patricia Karlin-​Hayter, “Études sur les deux
histoires du règne de Michel III,” Byzantion 41 (1971), pp. 452–​496.
22 Alexander P. Kazhdan, A History of Byzantine Literature (850–​1000), vol. 2 (Athens, 2006),
pp. 37–​41; 53–​90.
23 For Ignatios and Photios, see Francis Dvornik, The Photian Schism: History and Legend
(Cambridge, 1948). The controversy was only settled in the 10th century by the Tome of
Union. On this, see Tome of Union, in Nicholas I Patriarch of Constantinople: Miscellaneous
Writings, ed. Leendert G. Westerink (Washington, D.C., 1981), pp. 56–​85. For the Tetragamy,
see Romilly J.H. Jenkins, Basil Laourdas, “Eight Letters of Arethas on the Fourth Marriage
of Leo the Wise,” ellhnika 14 (1956), pp. 336–​347.
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 107

of their relationship with the empire were such that Byzantine writers never
reached a coherent understanding of their background or faith. As a result, the
most logical options for contemporary historians were either to reassert the
Manichaean connection more vigorously or to subsume them within the cat-
egory of Muslims. As we shall see, when the Paulicians did become a locus of
interest in the 10th century, historians grappled with their identity and impor-
tance for some time.
Whether the above factors were crucial or not, surviving textual produc-
tion about the Paulicians c.840–​880 does not straightforwardly relate to their
activity and is instead focused on the refutation of classical Manichaeism.
Significantly, by this time the Manichaean label often existed independently
of the Paulician one, which is rarely attested after the Treatise and the Vita
Macarii Peleketae and would occupy a similarly meagre prominence during the
10th century. Notable examples of the focus on Manichaeism include the genu-
ine works of Photios that now comprise books ii-​i v of the Contra Manichaeos,
since there are plentiful references to cosmological dualism, but no refer-
ence to quintessentially Paulician individuals or ideas.24 The same is true of a
manuscript of anti-​Manichaean works dedicated to Basil i, which contains a
laudatory poem that Athanasios Markopoulos has convincingly argued was
composed by Photios.25 This poem prays for Basil’s victory over the “initi-
ates and friends of Mani,” and may have been written soon before the fall of
Tephrikē.26 In his preface to the Eisagoge, written c.885–​886, Photios refers to
the empire’s final triumph over the Manichaeans, whereas he also refers to the
conversion of Manichaeans in the capital in his earlier encyclical letter of 867.27

24 The first two sermons are devoted primarily to a critique of cosmological dualism, which
for Photios is closely intertwined with the notion that the God of the Old Testament is an
evil demiurge. The Retractatio has a similar emphasis, but its tone is more didactic and
less polemical as a result of its pastoral purpose. All of these writings focus on dualism
in an abstract or philosophical sense, so they are neither specifically anti-​Paulician, nor
anti-​Manichaean, although they do cover most of the allegations made by texts such as
the Treatise. Somewhat oddly, the most caustic passages are directed at the Jews. See also
Mauro Mormino, ed., Fozio di Constantinopoli: Contro i Manichei (Rome, 2019), pp. 15–​19.
25 The manuscript is Laurentianus plut. 9.23. See Alexander A. Brinkmann, ed., Alexandri
Lycopolitani contra Manichaei opiniones disputatio (Leipzig, 1895), pp. iii-​v. Athanasios
Markopoulos, “An Anonymous Laudatory Poem in Honor of Basil I,” Dumbarton Oaks
Papers 46 (1992), pp. 227–​230.
26 Markopoulos, “An Anonymous Laudatory Poem,” pp. 227; 229–​230.
27 Willem J. Aerts, Thomas E. van Bochove, et. al., “The Prooimion of the Eisagoge: Translation
and Commentary,” Subseciva Groningana 7 (2001), pp. 96–​97; Photios, Epistulae, in Photii
patriarchae Constantinopolitani Epistulae et Amphilochia, Ep. 2, eds. Basil Laourdas,
Leendert G. Westerink, 6. vols, vol. 1 (Leipzig, 1983), p. 41, l. 27–​30. Note that the passage
in the encyclical letter is sometimes considered an interpolation. On this, see Paul Speck,
108  Chapter 2

The Manichaean identification thus seems to gain greater traction in Photian

works. Once again, however, initial impressions deceive, for Photios’ letters to
the Paulician leader Chrysocheir never attribute a Manichaean background
to his correspondent. Several of these letters comprise appeals which seek to
persuade Chrysocheir, who was a Roman client at the time, to remain faithful
to the empire, but Photios’ increasingly despairing tone suggests the Paulician
leader’s eventual estrangement.28 Those letters (Ep.33–​38) which specifically
address religious matters are not aimed against Manichaeism, but a disparate
variety of theological positions encompassing Miaphysitism, Monoenergism,
Monotheletism, and, most prominently of all, iconoclasm.29 Aside from the
letters devoted to iconoclasm, none of these letters are lengthy and it seems
throughout that Photios is not well informed on the views of his correspon-
dent. Whether we trust the iconoclast emphases or not, it is clear once again
that Manichaeism was invoked much more freely in rhetorical contexts than
practical ones. Photios’ writings are our last window on Paulician activity
during the 9th century and in many respects epitomize the intricacies of the
literary record. To recap briefly, the Manichaean identification favoured at the
outset of the century remained at the crux of contemporary discourse, despite
the fact that the Treatise and Photios’ correspondence with Chrysocheir imply
its accuracy had been undermined. The portrayal of the Paulicians was more
conditioned by Byzantine ideological needs than reality so, unsurprisingly, a
coherent explanation of their origins and activity never seems to have been
attempted. As a result, the crucial, but obscure, transition from the didaskalos
Sergios-​Tychikos to Karbeas is never acknowledged by our sources, let alone
explained. The complexities of the topic only increase when we move into the
10th century, by which time Manichaean signifiers had come to be supplanted
with Islamic ones.

“Die griechischen Quellen zur Bekehrung der Bulgaren und die zwei ersten Briefe des
Photios,” in Polypleuros nous: Miscellanea für Peter Schreiner zu seinem 60. Geburtstag, eds.
Cordula Scholz, George Makris (Munich, 2000), p. 356; Tia M. Kolbaba, Inventing Latin
Heretics: Byzantines and the Filioque in the Ninth Century (Kalamazoo, 2008), pp. 57–​65.
28 Photios, Epistulae, Ep. 57, vol. 1, p. 104; Ep. 80, vol. 1, p. 121; Ep. 134, vol. 1, pp. 176–​178. On the
letters more generally, see also Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 40–​42.
29 Photios, Epistulae, Ep. 33–​38, vol. 1, pp. 85–​89. On iconoclasm, see Photios, Epistulae, Ep.
37–​39, vol. 1, pp. 87–​88; Photios, Epistulae, Ep. 134, vol. 1, pp. 176–​178.
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 109

2 Reinventing the Paulicians in Macedonian History Writing

The preceding overview suggests that the Paulicians had attracted only spo-
radic interest from Byzantine writers between the composition of the Treatise
and that of Symeon the Logothete’s Chronicon, Genesios’ Basileion, and the
Vita Basilii over a century later. By this time, awareness of the conflict between
Byzantines and Paulicians seems to have receded, with the result that it was
customarily subordinated to the more enduring narrative of Byzantine-​Islamic
warfare on the eastern frontier, which was a recurring concern throughout the
10th century. Consequently, we often read of Agarenes in our sources when
the wider context indicates that we would expect to find Paulicians. In some
instances, the former designation seems so axiomatic that it is unclear whether
some authors have any historical conception of the Paulicians whatsoever.
This tendency is most pronounced in Symeon the Logothete’s Chronicon
and Theophanes Continuatus vi, sources which are favourable to Romanos i
Lekapenos (920–​944), the co-​emperor who steadily usurped the prerogatives
of the young Constantine vii after supplanting the latter’s regents in 920. Even
in other sources though, conceptions of Paulician identity shift away from the
Manichaean designations of the 9th century. The most interesting text from
this perspective is the Vita Basilii, where Islamic and Manichaean identifi-
cations coexist. Unlike the two sources noted above, it seems well informed
on the Paulicians, thereby showing that ignorance of the 9th-​century context
cannot solely account for their association with Muslims. It may be that the
Vita’s nomenclature represents a perception that Paulicians had adopted some
Islamic customs and/​or that there was a significant Muslim presence in their
territories. In a complementary sense, it may reflect a rhetorical strategy to
associate Paulicians with Islam in order to emphasise their alienation from the
empire. Most probably, all of the above explanations are valid to some degree.
Whatever the truth of the matter, a decisive shift had evidently occurred in
Roman conceptions of the heresy.
Few important sources survive from the early decades of the 10th century
and those that do show no interest in the Paulicians. Determining which of the
mid-​century histories predates the others is not an easy task, but it is possible
that the source with the earliest roots is the Chronicon of Symeon the Logothete;
a text with a particularly undeveloped understanding of the Paulicians. In con-
trast with most of the works we shall examine here, the Chronicon is favourable
to Constantine vii’s domineering co-​emperor Romanos i, which suggests that
portions of its narrative may date considerably earlier than its final codifica-
tion, which its most recent editor, Staffan Wahlgren, places in either 948 or
110  Chapter 2

959.30 Curiously, the Chronicon never refers to Paulicians or Manichaeans in

historical contexts where they are appropriate and instead terms the actors
in question “Agarenes.” There are two discernible reasons to account for its
apparent ignorance: firstly, it could result from the form of Symeon’s work,
since the Chronicon is concise and betrays little interest in religious matters;
and secondly, it may arise from the ideological standpoint of the source,
since other texts critical of the Macedonian Dynasty have a similar empha-
sis. The Chronicon is a valuable source, since it is our only witness of the cru-
cial 844 battle of Mauropotamos, which is of considerable importance while
investigating Karbeas’ defection, although Symeon himself never mentions
Karbeas.31 Here and elsewhere, the chronicler’s attention is principally centred
on Islamic-​Byzantine conflict. Yet even this does not explain his belief that
Basil i was campaiging against “Agarenes” when he unsuccessfully assailed
Tephrikē in 871.32 This identity is never problematised in any way and there is
no indication in the preceding pages of the Paulician menace that plays such a
crucial role in the narrative of Basil’s reign in the Basileion and the Vita Basilii.
Symeon’s ignorance is puzzling and raises the possibility that a heightened
understanding of Paulician activity only arose through scholars patronised
by Constantine vii, who uncovered a wealth of information on the reign of
Constantine’s grandfather Basil i.
This impression is corroborated by the testimony of Theophanes Continuatus
vi, which is written in the style of a chronicle and contains two recognisably
different parts, the first of which relates the reigns of the emperors from Basil
i to Romanos i with a distinctly anti-​Macedonian emphasis and the second
of which portrays the Macedonian emperors Constantine vii and his son
Romanos ii in a more positive light.33 The text contains one passage that inter-
ests us here and this falls in the first, anti-​Macedonian, section. While describ-
ing the death of Eustathios Argyros during the reign of Leo vi, the source
offers a short excursus on his ancestor Leo Argyros and the campaigns he con-
ducted in the vicinity of Tephrikē during the reign of Michael iii. This places
Leo’s activities during the height of Paulician control in the area, but, despite
this, the source also refers to the populace of Tephrikē as “Agarenes.”34 As in

30 Staffan Wahlgren, ed., Symeonis Magistri et Logothetae chronicon (Berlin/​New York, 2006),
pp. 5*-​8*.
31 Symeon the Logothete, Chronicon, 131:4, p. 233.
32 Symeon the Logothete, Chronicon, 132:7, p. 262, l. 42–​43.
33 Featherstone, Signes Codoñer, eds., Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae
Theophanis Continuati, pp. 3*–​4*; 16*–​19*.
34 Theophanes Continuatus vi, in Theophanes continuatus, Ioannes Caminiata, Symeon
Magister, Georgius monachus, 27, ed. Immanuel Bekker (Bonn, 1838), p. 374, l. 11–​19.
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 111

Symeon’s case, there is no indication that this designation is unusual in any

way. In both accounts a conception of the Paulicians as a historical phenome-
non seems lacking, but it is unclear whether this results from their dating and
compositional contexts (which are obscure in both sources), their form (rela-
tively concise chronicles), or their pro-​Lekapenid emphases. What is clear is
that, in some sources at least, Paulician raiding had been subsumed within the
overarching narrative of Islamic-​Byzantine warfare several generations after
their eclipse as a military power.
However, there is another trajectory of contemporary thought which sug-
gests that the Paulicians and the wars they fought were evocative enough
to endure in the contemporary memory. These are the oral traditions of the
Digenis Akritis poems, which later crystallised into written form around the
12th century. Two principal variants are now extant: the late 13th/​early 14th
century Grottaferrata text and the late-​15th century Escorial version.35 Despite
their late date, both variants invoke personages and events redolent of 9th-​
century frontier life. This is especially true of the Grottaferrata version, which
alludes to a handful of characters from the Paulicians’ heyday.36 The titular
hero Digenis’ paternal grandfather is one Chrysovergis (Chrysocheir), whose
father-​in-​law is in turn Ambron (‘Amr al-Aqṭa‘), who sired a son named Karoïs
Moursis (Karbeas).37 The relationships between these figures do not corre-
spond with the historical actors with whom we are concerned, but it is appar-
ent that the memory of these figures persisted and the same is also true of
the frontier world they inhabited, which in Digenis is not divided rigidly along
religious or ethnic lines.38 The crucial questions are where and how these ideas
resonated. Elizabeth Jeffreys, the most recent editor of these works, believes
that the first oral accounts circulated in eastern Asia Minor and that the incor-
poration of Paulician and Islamic figures into the hero’s family tree suggests the
synthesis of Greek and Arabic traditions.39 Such oral accounts seem to have
been known to Constantinopolitan historians during our period, but were not
necessarily highly regarded. In the course of the Continuator’s description of
Paulician activity following Karbeas’ flight, he notes that “the vulgar, somehow

35 Elizabeth Jeffreys, ed., Digenis Akritis: The Grottaferrata and Escorial Versions (Cambridge,
1998), pp. xviii–​xxx.
36 In a voluminous succession of articles, Henri Grégoire argued for the historicity of many
aspects of the poems, particularly regarding the Paulicians. This work was not well
received and is rarely cited nowadays.
37 Jeffreys, ed., Digenis Akritis, pp. xxxiv–​xxxv.
38 Jeffreys, ed., Digenis Akritis, pp. xxxv–​xli.
39 Jeffreys, ed., Digenis Akritis, pp. xxxii.
112  Chapter 2

jumbling the letters” called ‘Amr al-Aqṭa‘ Ambron, just as in the Grottaferrata
variant of Digenis, thereby suggesting he knew similar or related traditions.40
It therefore seems apparent that broadly coherent understandings of the
Paulicians’ role in frontier warfare were current during the early and mid-​10th
century, but were not yet systematised in the elite preserve of historiography.
It may simply be that Roman authors had no reason to document their activity
until the intellectual projects of Constantine vii. Nevertheless, the existence
of an enduring counternarrative to official lines is invaluable and suggests that
contemporary representations of Paulicians were plural and contested.
Irrespective of how we interpret these oral traditions, a remarkable sea
change in the written sources occurs in the historiographical works of
Constantine vii’s school, in which Paulician activity is not only recounted,
but is found so compelling that it becomes increasingly central to concep-
tions of Basil i’s reign. The reason why the Paulicians were so crucial to the
historiographical strategy of Constantine’s school is obvious: victory over
them marked the military highpoints of Basil’s reign, presenting the occasion
for both of his triumphs (in 873 and 878/​79), although in the first instance his
gains in Paulician territory were negligible.41 Victories on this scale were few
and far between and hence a thorough account of Paulician aggression was
essential in attributing to Basil the martial glory that was considered para-
mount for every successful Roman Emperor. This fact neatly explains the rise
of the Paulicians from the historical obscurity in which they seemed to have
languished under the Lekapenids. Even more crucially, Constantine seems to
have held an interest in the Paulicians himself, as the anti-​Miaphysite tract
of Demetrios of Kyzikos attests. Specifically, the preface of Demetrios’ treatise

40 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:16, pp. 236–​
237, l. 25–​26.
41 The importance of Constantine’s representation of Basil to our understanding of the
Paulicians at Tephrikē is noted by Redgate. See Anne E. Redgate, “Catholicos John III’s
Against the Paulicians and the Paulicians of Tephrike,” in Armenian Sebastia/​Sivas and
Lesser Armenia, ed. Richard G. Hovannisian (Los Angeles, 2004), p. 108. The exaggerated
portrayal of Basil is evident from a passage in De thematibus where Constantine gives
his grandfather the credit for defeating both Chrysocheir and (incorrectly) Karbeas.
Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, De thematibus. Introduzione –​testo critico –​com-
mento, 9, ed. Agostino Pertusi (Vatican City, 1952), p. 74. The 873 triumph was primar-
ily celebrated for victories at Samosata and Melitene, since Tephrikē had resisted Basil’s
efforts. Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 104; Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:31; 4:35,
pp. 81–​82; 86. Translation: On the Reigns of the Emperors, pp. 101–​102; 106–​107. Constantine
vii Porphyrogennetos, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati nomine fertur liber
quo Vita Basilii Imperatoris amplectitur, 49, ed. and trans. Ihor Ševčenko (Berlin/​Boston,
2011), pp. 174–​177.
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 113

describes Constantine’s refutation of Jews, Athinganoi, and Paulicians, per-

haps in the context of formal debates. Gerhard Ficker, the original editor of the
preface, suggested that the emperor in question was Constantine viii (962–​
1028; sole reign 1025–​1028), but this has not met with general approval and the
identification with Constantine vii is usually preferred.42

Exposition of an abridged doctrine of the Jacobites and others who

falsely claim ecclesiastical and orthodox belief and descent, written by
Demetrios, Metropolitan of Kyzikos, at the behest of the Christ-​loving
Constantine, Emperor and Porphyrogennetos, in which are also matters
concerning the Chazinzarians.43

Since God bestowed something extraordinary on your lofty and, more to

the point, most regal nature, O benevolent master, showing favour to your
rule through your expertise in all respects, he wondrously brought together
in you only the purest of all things, the capacity to rule and teach, the
blooming of the purple, and the power of words. As a result, you already
converted many of the Jews from their ancestral error, you refuted not a
few of the Athinganoi and Paulicians, and were yourself found worthy of
becoming the mouth of God in accordance with the Lord’s sayings …44

The value of Demetrios’ laudatory preface cannot be underestimated since

it provides the most direct link we possess between Constantine vii and the
Paulicians, thereby implying we are on the right track by placing the forgery
of the History of the Paulicians and Brief History in his reign. There are, how-
ever, undeniable suggestions that Demetrios’ flattery of Constantine has ele-
vated his master’s proficiency to an unwarranted degree. Notably, the treatise

42 Gerhard Ficker, ed., Erlasse des Patriarchen von Konstantinopel Alexios Studites (Kiel, 1911),
pp. 22–​23; Joshua Starr, “An Eastern Christian Sect: The Athinganoi,” Harvard Theological
Review 29:2 (1936), p. 97, n. 19. A letter of the patriarch Nicholas i Mystikos (912–​925)
is addressed to one Demetrios of Kyzikos, who is surely our author, c.920–​925. On this,
see Nicholas Mystikos, Letters of Nicholas I, Patriarch of Constantinople: Greek Text and
English Translation, Ep. 157, ed. Romilly J.H. Jenkins, Leendert G. Westerink (Washington,
D.C., 1973), pp. 478–​481. See also, Ep. 107, pp. 390–​391, with context at p. 569.
43 Demetrios’ treatise tells us that the Chazinzarians are a branch of Armenian heretics
who devote excessive devotion to the cross, although unlike the majority of the heretics
described in the treatise, they are dyophysite ‘Nestorians’ rather than Miaphysites. On
this, see Patrologia Graeca 127, col. 881–​884.
44 Demetrios of Kyzikos, De Jacobitarum hæresi et Chatzitzariorum, preface in Erlasse des
Patriarchen, ed. Ficker, pp. 22–​23. This section of the text is found only in the manuscript
Escorial R. I. 15.
114  Chapter 2

is only a brief primer of Miaphysite ideas which covers their historical origins,
their Christological position, and their sacramental and liturgical practices.
It does not provide a starting point for the systematic refutation of the her-
esy, to which Demetrios implies that Constantine aspired. It is doubtful that
Constantine had the theological acumen to engage in Christological minutiae
in the manner that the preface suggests, so it should probably be interpreted as
demonstrating Constantine’s interest in heresy rather than his active involve-
ment in combatting it. He may well have debated with Paulicians, Athinganoi,
and Jews, but, if so, the success of his endeavours were almost certainly exag-
gerated by Demetrios.
While the preface implies that Constantine was interested in heterodoxy
more generally, the Paulicians seem to have been the most pressing concern, as
is apparent in the development of their portrayal throughout the works of his
school. More precisely, it seems that the initial fulcrum of interest centred upon
Chrysocheir and Tephrikē, which were of crucial importance to the under-
standing of Basil i’s reign, and that a more cohesive understanding of Paulician
activity and identity only gradually coalesced around them. An investigation
into this matter logically begins with the first historical source of Constantine’s
circle: Genesios’ Basileion. As most Byzantinists are aware, it is a difficult text
full of Atticising language and at times torturous syntax. Even nowadays, when
historians are more attentive to reading texts on their own merits and less
likely to make sweeping stylistic judgements, their patience with the Basileion
has often worn thin.45 The intricacy of Genesios’ expression must be borne
in mind while assessing the periphrastic language with which he often terms
the Paulicians. He is clearly aware of heresiological sources which document
Paulician belief, probably including the Treatise, since he includes among their
heretical forebears “Paul of Samosata, Koubrikos (i.e. Mani) and Montanos.”46
The last-​named exhibits Genesios’ fondness for elaboration and archaising,
since Montanos, the originator of the New Prophecy in 2nd-​century Phrygia, is
an unlikely forebear of Paulician doctrine who is never mentioned as such else-
where.47 Despite the fact that Genesios considers Mani one of the Paulicians’

45 Kaldellis, ed., Genesios. On the Reigns of the Emperors, pp. xxiv–​xxvii.

46 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:34, p. 85, l. 48–​49. Translation: On the
Reigns of the Emperors, p. 106. Koubrikos was Mani’s birth name according to polemical
tradition. See Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 51–​52, ed. Denise Papachryssanthou,
trans. Jean Gouillard, Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), pp. 24–​25. English translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds. Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton
(Manchester, 1998), untranslated.
47 On Montanism, see Christine Trevett, Montanism: Gender, Authority and the New Prophecy
(Cambridge, 1996).
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 115

inspirations, he is only one of several. Atypically, heretical identifications are

not central to Genesios’ understanding of the Paulicians. He habitually refers
to them in a curiously characterless way, by describing them periphrastically
as inhabitants of Tephrikē, usually with a pejorative slant.48 This, in fact, is how
he introduces them upon their first intrusion into the narrative. Their heretical
forebears are only recounted during a later episode. He never uses the terms
Manichaean or Paulician and, in the only instance in which he appends a col-
lective label to the group, he considers them Paulianists.49
Genesios therefore downplays the Manichaean roots of the Paulicians and,
interestingly, he displays a similar indifference to their Islamic links. He never
refers to the crucial alliance with Melitene and instead confines his interest
in the Paulicians to the leadership of Chrysocheir, which is particularly sur-
prising because he knows of Karbeas, noting that both he and, more puz-
zlingly, Kallistos had led the Paulicians previously.50 Genesios’ only reference
to Paulicians before Basil’s reign lies in a problematic reference, repeated by
the Continuator, to their involvement in the invasion of Thomas the Slav.51
The closest he comes to positing a link between Paulicians and Muslims is
when he claims that the former took advantage of the disruption caused by
Roman-​Islamic conflict to make their own raids, but even here the agencies of
Muslims and Paulicians are clearly separated.52 As a result, Genesios’ concep-
tion of the Paulicians barely extends beyond Chrysocheir’s leadership and fails
to position them within the diplomatic context of Byzantine-​Islamic warfare.
A crucial product of this is that the victories of Basil and his subordinates are
achieved against a readily identifiable enemy which is decisively defeated after
the death of Chrysocheir and the fall of Tephrikē. Leader and city predominate
over any broader conception of Paulician identity in both the Basileion and,
as we shall see, the Vita Basilii, thereby implying that they were the starting

48 See Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:31, p. 81, l. 34–​35. Translation: On the
Reigns of the Emperors, p. 101; Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:35, p. 85,
l. 47–​48. Translation: On the Reigns of the Emperors, p. 106.
49 Note that although Kaldellis gives the translation “Paulicians” this is not the reading in the
manuscript. Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:37, p. 88. Translation: On the
Reigns of the Emperors, pp. 109–​110.
50 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:35, p. 86. Translation: On the Reigns of the
Emperors, p. 107. The reference to Kallistos perhaps results from a confused reading of
variant Γ of the 42 Martyrs of Amorion, in which Kallistos is an opponent of the Paulicians.
51 For a thorough discussion, see Chapter 5. Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor,
2:2, p. 24, l. 17–​21. Translation: On the Reigns of the Emperors, pp. 29–​30; Theophanes
Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 2:12, pp. 82–​83.
52 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:31, pp. 81–​82. Translation: On the Reigns of
the Emperors, pp. 101–​102.
116  Chapter 2

points for interest in the Paulicians during Constantine’s reign, for the reason
that they were integral to extolling the military successes of Basil i.
That this is so is abundantly clear from the fate of both in the Basileion’s
narrative, which conflates the demise of Chrysocheir and Tephrikē into a sin-
gle episode, with the latter recounted first despite the fact that it occurred six
or seven years after the former.53 In an account which has similar religious
overtones to the Vita Basilii, Basil beseeches the archangels that he might not
expire before taking Tephrikē, which is then obliterated by a storm. As for
Chrysocheir, his death is related in an account which is practically identical
to that of the Vita Basilii, with only a few differences of emphasis evident.
Genesios’ account of these victories enjoys a privileged place in his narrative,
insofar as it appears just before the culmination of his work, which comprises
an account of Basil’s character, his benefactions, and the hunting prowess
which eventually contributed to his death.54 It is thus evident that campaigns
against the Paulicians were crucial to understandings of Basil’s reign in the
Basileion, but this emphasis had not yet reached the eulogistic heights attained
in the Vita Basilii, since the Basileion barely portrays Basil more favourably
than his predecessors. Notably, he occupies a passive role in the conflicts with
the Paulicians; most of the fighting is done by his subordinates. It is conceiv-
able that Genesios’ attempts to praise Basil may be due to a later revision of the
text, as is suggested by the marked similarity of Genesios’ narrative to that of
the Vita Basilii.55 However, it is difficult to determine this because it is unclear
whether either text is borrowing from the other, or alternatively if they share
a common source. All things considered, the legitimation of Basil i had not
yet reached its full development in the Basileion, but, despite this, his victories
over the Paulicians occupy a prominent position within Genesios’ narrative.
Unsurprisingly, the Vita Basilii gives a much more laudatory account of
Basil’s reign and, although the episodes which refer to Paulician activity are
similar to those recounted in the Basileion, the ends to which they are put are
rather different. Whereas Basil’s role is passive in Genesios’ narrative, in the
Vita he takes the field himself, most notably during the life’s extensive and
detailed account of his campaign of 873 through Paulician and Islamic terri-
tory, which is so geographically precise that it suggests the use of first-​hand

53 Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 96–​108.

54 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:36–​42, pp. 86–​91. Translation: On the
Reigns of the Emperors, pp. 108–​113.
55 Compare Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:36–​37, pp. 86–​88. Translation: On
the Reigns of the Emperors, pp. 108–​110 with Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita
Basilii, 41–​43, pp. 149–​159.
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 117

sources.56 The Vita notes Basil’s triumph following this campaign and, in this
episode and elsewhere, it places Paulicians and Muslims into a more cohesive
picture of warfare on the eastern frontier, although it never explicitly alludes to
an alliance between them. As well as expanding upon Basil’s military role, the
Vita also sheds further light on why the Paulician wars were so important to a
eulogistic portrayal of his reign. For the most part, his wars are fought by his
generals and in places the Vita implies that some considered Basil an inactive
and unwarlike leader.57 His victories over the Paulicians were key in countering
this criticism, thereby explaining the importance they had in Constantine vii’s
understandings of his grandfather’s reign.
As for its portrayal of the Paulicians, the Vita picks up from the Basileion by
introducing and concluding its account by invoking Chrysocheir and Tephrikē,
rather than a collective term of belonging.58 In other places, the Vita melds the
two most commonly espoused identifications of the Paulicians, implying that
they are “Ishmaelites” in some instances, while calling them “Manichaeans”
in others. They are occasionally termed “barbarians,” but never “Paulicians.”59
By all indications, the source’s ambiguous nomenclature attempts to convey a
variegated social fabric along the Anti-​Taurus Mountains, since the territories
traversed by the 873 campaign comprised a smorgasbord of ethnic and confes-
sional identities. On the whole, the Vita’s portrayal of the Paulicians is more
detailed and sophisticated than the Basileion. It is especially noteworthy for
placing the wars against Paulicians and Muslims into a more cohesive narra-
tive, but, crucially, it never refers to an alliance between them, or explains why
the Paulicians became such a dangerous enemy to the empire in the first place.
It, like the Basileion, sees the threat to the empire in terms of Chrysocheir and
Tephrikē, with little indication of what came beforehand.
This ambiguity is resolved by the final major historical work of Constantine
vii’s reign: Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v. This text was probably conceived inde-
pendently of the Vita Basilii, but, despite this, the fact that it does not recount
Basil’s reign means that the two accounts were perhaps intended be read along-
side one another.60 The Continuator’s references to Paulicians are confined to
two distinct episodes, the first of which is central to our understanding of the

56 Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 37–​40, pp. 136–​149.

57 This is suggested by some revealing slips in the Vita Basilii. Constantine vii
Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 39; 46, pp. 142–​143; 162–​165.
58 Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 37; 43, pp. 136–​137; 158–​159.
59 Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 38; 42, pp. 141–​142; 150–​151.
60 Warren T. Treadgold, The Middle Byzantine Historians (Basingstoke, 2013), pp. 165–​180;
188–​196; Ševčenko, ed., Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, p. 9*.
118  Chapter 2

Islamic-​Paulician alliance. In the scope of this dense but convincing account,

which condenses over a decade of Paulician and Muslim activity into a page
and a half of Greek text, the Continuator recounts Theodora’s persecution, the
resultant flight of Karbeas, and the beginnings of the alliance with the Emirate
of Melitene, followed by the settlement of Argaous and Amara, the joint raids
of Karbeas and ‘Amr al-Aqṭa‘ against Byzantine territory, and finally the foun-
dation of Tephrikē.61 This constitutes a thorough explanation of the beginnings
of Paulician militarism which contextualises the accounts of the Basileion and
Vita Basilii. The passage itself is of paramount importance, but its introduction
conveys two points of significance which require further attention here:

The empress rejoiced in this, and as if desiring to set up a greater trophy,

she made an attempt also on the Paulicians in the east, either to convert
them to piety, as she wished, or else to do away with and wipe them out
from mankind; and this brought many evils upon our land.62

The first of these points is prosaic but crucial: with the possible exception of the
preface to Demetrios of Kyzikos’ anti-​Miaphysite treatise, which has not been
precisely dated, this is the first extant Greek source to refer to the Paulicians by
this name since the Treatise and the Vita Macarii Peleketae a century earlier. In
fact, it invokes the label on three occasions, although all of these occur within
the space of this one episode. Despite doing so, it nowhere associates them
with Manichaeans, although the passage noted above marks them out as here-
tics, and, in the only other instance that it refers to Paulician affairs, it depicts
Karbeas as a debauched and unscrupulous character.63 In contrast to the Vita
Basilii, the Continuator’s narrative distinguishes clearly between Muslims and
Paulicians and explains why they came to ally with one another. Regardless of
the circumstances of their composition, the two accounts complement one
another by reciting the rise and fall of the Paulician insurrection.
The second point, which is paramount to the concerns of this chapter, lies in
the Continuator’s judgement that Theodora’s actions were counterproductive.
This judgement stands in marked contrast to the attitude of Peter of Sicily and
may partially explain why Peter reimagined the Paulician flight to Melitene,

61 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:16,

pp. 236–​239.
62 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:16,
pp. 236–​237.
63 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:23,
pp. 252–​253.
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 119

but the view itself is unusual enough to merit attention. The episode is in some
regards emblematic of the purposes of Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, in that
by blaming the Paulician threat against the empire on the Amorian dynasty, in
this instance represented by Theodora, the elimination of this threat by Basil
serves to right the wrongs of his predecessors. This legitimates Basil in a similar
way to the blackening of the name of Michael iii which is evident through-
out the text.64 However, the sentiment that persecution of the Paulicians was
detrimental to Roman interests can only have been articulated in this way
long after the threat they posed had passed. It is easiest to see this retroactive
appraisal originating from the Continuator himself and, if so, this corrobo-
rates the impression that the moderate attitudes to punishment articulated in
the Letter of Theophylaktos Lekapenos predominated after the memory of the
Paulicians’ raids had receded.
Thus far, we have seen that the Paulicians became an increasingly import-
ant concern for historians as a result of Constantine vii’s efforts to formalise
a narrative legitimating the Macedonian dynasty. Perhaps unsurprisingly,
other sources suggest an increase in Paulician activity at just this time. There
are obvious difficulties of distinguishing cause and effect here: it may be that
the interest of our historical sources in Paulicians at this time is motivated
by an increase in their activity, which is inherently plausible given the steady
expansion of Roman power eastward in the 10th century; or, alternatively, the
awareness of Paulicians among historians and court circles could mean that
Byzantines were aware of their agency and increasingly liable to see it wher-
ever possible. In all probability, we are dealing with a combination of the two.
As noted already, the Letter of Theophylaktos Lekapenos identifies Paulicians in
Bulgaria soon after our forged heresiological texts were composed, although
the fact that many characteristics of the heretics in question depart from
Paulician norms have suggested a case of mistaken identity to many. Still, it
took several prior letters and a great deal of effort to make this identification,
so Byzantines were not looking for Paulicians wherever they might find them.
The most interesting aspect of this upturn in Paulician activity is that it doc-
uments a contemporary method of dealing with them that is never mentioned
in our heresiological sources, namely relocation. The most notable example of
this, which pertains to Bulgaria, is the relocation of Paulicians to Philippopolis
by John i Tzimiskes at the request of Theodore ii, the Melkite Patriarch of

64 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:18–​21,

pp. 240–​247; 4:35–​41, pp. 280–​295.
120  Chapter 2

Antioch.65 An analogous episode, albeit one that entails difficulties of contex-

tualisation, lies within the Vita Pauli Iunioris, in which the eponymous Paul
(912–​955) also deals with the problem posed by nefarious “Manichaeans” in
“Kibyrrhaeotis and Miletus,” by writing to the (unnamed) emperor and asking
him to relocate them.66 Although the event itself dates to the 10th century, the
life was composed in the mid-​11th century and the reference to Paulicians may
more logically pertain to that period.67 Beyond demonstrating the validity of
relocation as a means of combating heresy at this time, these two latter exam-
ples are notable for showing that it was acceptable to write to the emperor in
order to persuade him to take action against heresy. Crucially, however, there
is no indication in either of these cases that Theodore or Paul recommended
a course of punishment. Doing so may well have risked appearing presumptu-
ous by encroaching upon imperial prerogatives, particularly if a more stringent
punishment were advocated. This may well explain the ingenuity with which
Peter of Sicily (and maybe also Pseudo-​Photios) used to advance their agendas.
Hence, by the middle of the 10th century, that is, when we argued that the
History of the Paulicians and Brief History were forged, textual representations
of Paulicians in Greek historical sources were not consistent. In the early 9th
century, the association of Paulicians with Manichaeans was widely espoused
and this emphasis proved enduring even as its accuracy came into question.
It was still invoked during the 10th century, but by this time the Paulicians
were also frequently conflated with Islam as a result of their role in frontier
warfare. Interest in the Paulicians increased markedly through the writings of
Constantine vii’s school since a coherent narrative of their military activity

65 John Skylitzes, Ioannis Scylitzae synopsis historiarum, 3, ed. Hans P. Thurn (Berlin/​
New York, 1973), p. 286. English translation: John Skylitzes: A Synopsis of Byzantine History,
811–​1057, ed. and trans. John Wortley (Cambridge, 2010), pp. 273–​274; John Zonaras,
Ioannis Zonarae epitome historiarum, 17:1, ed. Ludwig A. Dindorf, 5 vols, vol. 4 (Leipzig,
1871), pp. 92–​93.
66 Vita Pauli Iunioris, 45, ed. Iacobo Sirmondi, Analecta Bollandiana 11 (1892), p. 156.
67 The source has attracted little attention. Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast
Era (ca.680–​850): The Sources, p. 223. See also Marie-​France Auzépy, L’Hagiographie et
l’Iconoclasme Byzantin: le cas de la Vie d’Etienne le jeune (Aldershot, 1999), pp. 192–​193;
Ihor Ševčenko, “The Hagiography of the Iconoclast Period,” in Iconoclasm: Papers Given
at the Ninth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, University of Birmingham, March 1975,
eds. Anthony Bryer, Judith Herrin (Birmingham, 1977), p. 114. Another 11th century source,
the Life of Lazaros of Mt. Galesion, also refers to the conversion of Paulicians. See Gregory
the Monk, Vita Lazari in monte Galesio, 10; 115, in Acta Sanctorum, November iii, pp. 512;
543. English translation: Vita S. Lazari auctore Gregorio monacho. The Life of Lazaros of
Mt. Galesion: An Eleventh-​Century Pillar Saint, ed. and trans. Richard P.H. Greenfield
(Washington, D.C., 2000), pp. 86–​88; 205.
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 121

was necessary in order to represent Basil –​and by implication the Macedonian

dynasty more widely –​as militarily capable. This concern is evident to some
degree in Genesios’ Basileion and to a greater extent in the Vita Basilii and
Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v. These works did not provide an encompassing
account of Paulician activity, but rather referred to them in the course of iso-
lated episodes which were generally connected with warfare on the eastern
frontier. Despite this, a broadly coherent account of the Paulician insurrection
is apparent when these works are read together. The same cannot be said for
the rise of the Paulicians during the early 9th century, which is undocumented
in our sources, despite the fact that both Genesios and the Continuator
recount events as distant as the reign of Leo v. An important consequence
of this is that there was no explanation of the relationship between, on the
one hand, the didaskaloi of the Treatise and the persecutions documented by
Theophanes and, on the other, the militaristic threat posed by the Paulicians
during the reigns of Michael iii and Basil i. It is this gap that Peter of Sicily
sought to bridge while writing the History of the Paulicians. In the process, he
emphasised the religious threat that the Paulicians posed in order to persuade
Constantine’s court to enact the death penalty against them.

3 Reinventing through Forgery i: The History of the Paulicians

Throughout this and the preceding chapter I have interpreted sources as prod-
ucts of sometimes lengthy compositional processes, which might encompass
a number of revisions to fit a new context or patronage. Part of the reason
for doing so is that there are few texts as conducive to such a reading as our
most important source: Peter of Sicily’s History of the Paulicians. Although its
aims initially seem straightforward, several observations suggest the text had a
prolonged inception. Although I prefer the theory that it was codified in some-
thing like its extant form during Constantine vii’s sole reign, it seems likely
that the concerns that animate it had been circulating for some time before-
hand. It is, for instance, possible that attempts to render the Paulicians sub-
ject to the death penalty were advanced in the reigns of earlier emperors, but
were received unfavourably, with the result that more indirect methods were
used when the goal was reprised in Constantine’s reign. Although the History’s
author was most probably an ecclesiastic or monastic, it does not follow that
the lines of dispute were drawn rigidly between the religious and secular arms,
perhaps hinting that disagreements were not solely confined to the prosecu-
tion of heresy. Since this issue would have intersected with many other aspects
of religious policy during the 10th century, the History could potentially reflect
122  Chapter 2

a deep-​seated frustration with aspects of ecclesiastical governance. At the very

least, several of its oddities imply that the contexts which engendered it were
contentious and multifaceted.
One complicating factor is immediately obvious: the fact that the History is
a forgery. As Theodore of Antioch’s request to John Tzimiskes demonstrates, it
was perfectly acceptable for Byzantines to appeal to their emperor in order to
address the problem of heresy. The fact that the same method is espoused in
the historically more doubtful request of Paul the Younger further testifies to
this. If a direct appeal to the emperor was possible, why would forgers employ
such a tremendous amount of effort and ingenuity to make their point? As
hinted above, the answer surely resides in the fact that the History recom-
mends a specific course of punishment and this punishment is far harsher
than contemporary norms. The actions of John Tzimiskes, the advice of the
cartophylax John to Peter of Bulgaria, and the judgement of the Continuator
on Theodora’s persecutions suggest that the History’s viewpoint would be con-
sidered extreme in the second half of the 10th century. An analogous exam-
ple, albeit a later one, suggests that directly appealing for capital punishment
would be considered presumptuous and inexpedient.
The text in question is the Contra Patarenos of the Pisan theologian Hugo
Etheriano, one of the most prominent theological advisers of Manuel i (1143–​
1180). The treatise, which was dedicated to Manuel, was probably composed
after 1166.68 Like the History, the Contra Patarenos insists that the Patarenes
merit the death penalty, but, significantly, Hugo goes to some lengths to shield
the patrons who asked him to write this work from appearing to have aspi-
rations beyond their station. He never explicitly identifies them, only noting
that they were “certain men of rank and influence, whose intelligence is active
and whose wide-​ranging experience knows no bounds.”69 As Hugo presents
it, their wish to have Manuel impose the death penalty upon the Patarenes
is in accordance with earlier imperial enactments which are not currently in
force. Hugo’s references to imperial precedent are presumably conditioned by
the fact that he thought that Manuel would find this convincing, but there is a
deliberate ambiguity in the introductory passages of his work which suggests
a reluctance to encroach upon the imperial prerogative of determining appro-
priate punishments. A more direct approach was impudent, thereby explain-
ing Hugo’s vague description of his patrons.

68 Bernard Hamilton, ed., Hugh Eteriano: Contra Patarenos, eds. Bernard Hamilton, Janet
Hamilton, Sarah Hamilton, (Leiden, 2004), p. 9.
69 Hugo Eteriano, Contra Patarenos, pp. 155, 177.
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 123

We must suspect that concerns such as these may underlie the indirect route
by which the History appeals to the court of Constantine vii, but they cannot
wholly account for such an exceptional text. It seems far-​fetched to propose
that forgery was so commonplace during this period that it was the intuitive
choice by which to influence policy. As a result, it seems highly probable that
concerned parties had tried to advance the History’s agenda more directly
beforehand, perhaps even for a previous emperor. An important precondition
for the composition of the History needs to be borne in mind: the rediscovery
of the Paulician sources which inform it. There is no suggestion that any of
the 10th-​century histories described above had access to these, but Peter of
Sicily makes sophisticated use of them, thereby suggesting that he had con-
sulted them for some time.70 In order to compose the History, Peter of Sicily
not only needed access to these sources, he also had to repurpose them so that
they could support his polemical ends and then place this material within an
encompassing doctrinal and historical narrative in order to form a coherent
polemical argument. This task would be difficult enough in itself, but becomes
yet more complex when the text is conceived as a forgery, since then it is nec-
essary to substantiate a plausible and convincing context for the work and its
manuscript tradition. As if that were not enough, this process of composition
seems to have run in parallel with the deepening understanding of Paulician
history brought about by the composition and publication of texts such as the
Basileion, Vita Basilii, and Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, as well as the research
which informed them.
It seems advisable to disassociate these processes and speculate that the
History was conceived and probably reworked over an extended period. It
presumably only took on a form recognisable with our extant text after failed
attempts to advance its primary goal by other means. This goal had been
espoused often enough previously. Paulicians were considered worthy of
the death penalty in the reigns of Michael i and Leo v, as well as the regency
of Theodora. There are unsurprising indications that the same view was
espoused during the Paulicians’ military ascendancy during the second half of
the 9th century. As we shall see, the genuine sermons of Photios which follow
the Brief History certainly suggest this. It is hardly strange that the same sen-
timent was espoused in the mid-​10th century, particularly because the under-
lying rationale –​that Paulicians were Manichaeans –​fit within a preexisting
legal framework. Quite probably, concerned parties had attempted to express
sentiments of this kind beforehand, but had failed in their attempts. Most of

70 On this, see the appendices.

124  Chapter 2

our 10th-​century evidence simply suggests that Byzantines thought that more
conciliatory options constituted the best way of dealing with the Paulicians. It
is unclear whether these previous efforts had taken place during Constantine
vii’s reign, but I am inclined to think they had not, both for chronological
reasons and because Constantine’s court would have been more attentive to
forgery if similar sentiments had been espoused recently. For this reason, it
seems most appropriate to disassociate earlier attempts to impose a hard-​
line religious policy from his sole reign and posit that they originated some
time earlier, most probably during the ascendancy of Romanos i Lekapenos.
A more direct approach was probably employed, but was largely unsuccessful,
if we use the context of the History as an indicator. It is unclear whether earlier
attempts used something like the History, but our extant version of the text
does offer some clues as to why some contemporaries were so preoccupied
with the Paulicians.
Most presciently of all, the History conceives of them in a completely dif-
ferent way to historical works of the 10th century, which, as we have already
seen, betray no knowledge of Paulicians in the early 9th century and pay little
attention to the doctrines attributed to them in the Greek heresiological tradi-
tion. From the perspective of those familiar with the claims of texts such as the
Treatise, it hardly seems outlandish to say that historians such as Genesios and
the Continuator fundamentally misunderstood the Paulicians and the threat
that they posed, since they never addressed their origins or beliefs. In order
to redress this balance, it was necessary to circulate a text which outlined the
Paulician religious threat and explained its relationship to the Paulicians who
menaced the empire in the mid-​and late 9th century. The History does pre-
cisely this. While articulating this aim, it also addresses the principal point of
ambiguity found in the historical sources. Contemporary historians may have
labelled Paulicians as Manichaeans, Ishmaelites, Agarenes, or inhabitants of
Tephrikē, but Peter of Sicily’s terminology is clear and unambiguous through-
out: Manichaeans and Paulicians are one and the same. Taken together, these
observations suggest that the History contests the portrayal of Paulician activ-
ity found in contemporary historical sources. The interpretations of both par-
ties are, for the most part, indicative of different authors with different aims
approaching the same topic from fundamentally different angles, rather than
common sources and the textual dependence of one party upon another. The
History’s reworking of Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v is an outlier in this regard
and merits further scrutiny here.
One of the most attractive reasons for supposing that the History had a long
genesis is that doing so makes its borrowing from Theophanes Continuatus
i-​i v less central to our understanding of the text. Besides the one passage
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 125

examined in the previous chapter (the account of Theodora’s persecution of

the Paulicians), there is scant indication that Peter of Sicily has used this text
elsewhere. In the passage in question, Peter not only reappropriates the narra-
tive event itself, but also the value judgement that the Continuator attributes
to it, since, as we saw above, the latter considered Theodora’s actions to be
misguided and counterproductive, whereas for Peter the episode is only the
latest in a series of events which demonstrate the danger which the Paulicians
posed. Since Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v is the last historical production of
Constantine’s circle, it is possible, although not necessary, that Peter’s borrow-
ing from this work stems from a late revision of the History resulting from the
recent publication of the Continuator’s work, rather than an integral part of
its narrative. This is especially so if its composition was a prolonged affair. It is
difficult to reach a conclusion either way, however. If the History’s borrowing
from Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v is the result of a late emendation to the text,
it certainly took place prior to its initial dissemination because it is integral to
the core meaning, unlike the later reframing of the work as a letter to the head
of the Bulgarian Church. Without an explanation of the flight to Melitene, the
significance of the Paulician threat would not be apparent, and the career of
the didaskalos Sergios would not be brought to its conclusion. Yet from this
point onward the History’s narrative is abbreviated and unconvincing, which
perhaps explains a hurried attempt at revision.
From all of the above, it should be evident that the History is a complex
and often ingenious work. But for contemporaries it was not necessarily a
convincing one. Several considerations suggest that its reliability was doubted
at the time of its composition. Most notably, there is no indication that the
Letter of Theophylaktos employs it, even though the letter must have been com-
posed within a decade or so of the History’s dissemination. Furthermore, as
we shall see, its metaphrasis, the Brief History, addresses many of its textual
ambiguities and deficiencies, thereby implying that its errors were noticed by
contemporaries. While Pseudo-​Photios’ work is well attested in manuscript
traditions and is used as a source by later heresiologists, the History’s influence
is inconsequential.71 Finally, the approach to punishment it espouses differs

71 The attribution of one manuscript (Parisinus graecus 852) of the Treatise to a Peter
Hegoumenos potentially testifies to the influence of the History. See Travaux et mémoires
4 (1970), pp. 70–​71. Similarly, Abjuration Formula I demonstrates a debt to the History,
notably in that it refers to Leo iii as “the Isaurian” while describing the allegorising tactics
of Gegnesios-​Timothy, but it may also be informed by the Brief History. See Abjuration
Formula I, ed. and trans. Jean Gouillard, Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), pp. 190–​195, espe-
cially n. 36. English translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​
1450, eds. Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), p. 104.
126  Chapter 2

markedly from the methods that Romans advocated and employed in the fol-
lowing decades. It is therefore readily apparent that the authority, although
not necessarily the authenticity, of the History was questioned upon its dis-
semination. Determining why this was the case is much less straightforward.
Modern critics have found fault with the History’s stylistic inconsistencies, its
faulty knowledge of its purported context, and the draconian punishments
that it advocates. The last of these points differs from the views commonly
espoused by contemporaries, so it may have proved the primary bone of con-
tention. As the Brief History jettisons both the context and rhetorical excesses
of the History, these may well have aroused suspicion too. Ultimately, though,
it remains difficult to assess why it did not command the credibility the Brief
History came to enjoy.
Nevertheless, it is clear that the History is a sophisticated compilatory text
whose familiarity with Paulician sources and revision of contemporary under-
standings of Paulician identity imply a deep engagement with the subject,
which in turn implies a text with a lengthy and complex genesis. Although
its extant form most probably dates to the sole reign of Constantine vii, the
concerns which animate it had evidently circulated beforehand. More than
any other text, it influenced how the 10th-​century reinvention of the Paulicians
was received by posterity. Unlike the authors who preceded him, Peter of Sicily
placed the Paulicians at the centre of his narrative –​and this narrative was
rabidly polemical. His account differed from his predecessors in its historical
specifics, but it was the ends to which he put these which were truly radical.
Texts such as the Basileion, the Vita Basilii, and Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v
may have considered the Paulicians to be enemies of the empire, but they also
acknowledged that reconciliation was possible, whether this lay in the remarks
of the Basileion and Vita Basilii that Diakonitzes led a Paulician contingent in
the Byzantine army soon after the death of Chrysocheir, or in the Continuator’s
surprising admission that it would have been better if Theodora had never per-
secuted the Paulicians at all. Peter, on the other hand, placed the Paulicians
firmly beyond the pale by insisting upon the preeminence of their religious
threat, which had long predated their appearance as a military power and
remained as relevant as ever. Whereas other writers recognized that Paulicians
could be welcomed back within the fold, he remained unflinching: they mer-
ited only death. Given its outright departure from all that went before it, we
must surely suspect that the History proved provocative, although not, I think,
convincing or authoritative, when it began to circulate. It is not surprising that
it occasioned a response, but we might not expect one quite as enigmatic as
the Brief History.
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 127

4 Reinventing through Forgery ii: The Brief History

The aims of the Brief History are so obscure that it is difficult to ascertain how
it stands in relation to the History. Since it too is a forgery, it would initially
seem likely that it was intended either to support or subvert the History’s aims,
but neither position is easy to substantiate. Its later reception suggests that it
eventually served to subvert it, since the Brief History is used faithfully by John
the cartophylax when he advocates a clement approach to punishing heretics
on behalf of Theophylaktos Lekapenos, yet it is far from clear whether this was
the intention of those responsible. If Pseudo-​Photios were so intent on censur-
ing the death penalty, why is his text silent on the issue of punishment, which
only appears in two isolated passages within the genuinely Photian sermons
which follow the text? Another sizable obstacle to the theory also presents
itself: if the Brief History were intended to contest the draconian punishment
of the History, why go to the lengths of penning a forgery when alternative
means of undercutting the History’s authority were available? It would surely
be more intuitive to point out its deficiencies in a less roundabout way. In the
end, the difficulty of substantiating the Brief History’s stance on punishment
suggests a cleaner solution to this conundrum: concerns about punishment
were not as central to the Brief History’s meaning as we might initially think.
I remarked in the previous chapter that Pseudo-​Photios’ work was something
of a metaphrastic iceberg, in that perhaps ten percent of its meaning was con-
veyed by the text, while the remaining ninety percent lay in the religio-​political
context in which it was forged and situated. Since that context is now lost, it
is unsurprising that we are unable to securely situate the text. It is ambiguous
by design.
The observations presented thus far perhaps point the way forward. As
we have seen, many 10th-​century texts differed in their means of labelling,
demarcating, and systematising Paulician activity. The History’s primary differ-
ence from these lay in the fact that it considered the religious threat that they
posed far more significant than the militaristic one. In expressing this line of
argument, it provided the first comprehensive account of Paulician activity
within Romanía. It is possible that the Brief History aspired to the same objec-
tive while divesting itself of the History’s polemical excesses. If the same, or a
closely related, group of forgers were indeed responsible for both texts, it may
be that these forgers sought to reiterate the narrative of the History’s account
when its contemporary reception did not align with their interests. This is
the position that I shall adopt here, but it is just one of many possible recon-
structions and I have no wish to insist upon it. The point of true significance is
the sheer complexity of the relationship between our texts, which once more
128  Chapter 2

attests the ingenuity and contention which informed Byzantine conceptions

of Paulicians in the 10th century.
We have seen that the History of the Paulicians has a clear aim and audi-
ence. The same is not true of the Brief History, which is silent on the crucial
themes that the History develops, such as imperial authority or capital pun-
ishment. Despite this, the form and content of both texts implies that the
Brief History was intended to corroborate the History. The principal narrative
threads of both texts are identical, since Pseudo-​Photios too argues that the
Paulicians are Manichaeans.72 The History uses this narrative to substantiate
its endorsement of the death penalty and thus it follows that, if the sources
are read together, the Brief History supports the History’s rationale that capital
punishment is appropriate for the Paulicians, even if it does not discuss this
itself. We cannot, however, be certain that the two sources were intended to
be read together in their original contexts. The form of Pseudo-​Photios’ work
sheds little light on this conundrum. Metaphrasis, a typical 10th-​century liter-
ary device particularly common in hagiography, involves the rewriting of a text
in a higher register so that it would be more amenable to contemporary tastes.
In this instance, the method constitutes omitting large sections of the original
text and suppressing its authorial voice. Implicit in metaphrasis is the idea of
superseding the source text, which suggests that our two texts would not have
been intended to be read together.73 However, this assumption is contradicted
by the fact that in our example intertextual references do link the two texts.74
At every turn, the Brief History eludes an obvious interpretation.
That being said, since it aspires to a greater authority than the History, it
is unsurprising to see that it addresses some of the latter text’s deficiencies.
It jettisons the most idiosyncratic aspects of the History’s narrative, includ-
ing the context of a prisoner exchange which Peter of Sicily used to frame his
work. The History’s eulogisation of Basil i and its insistent advocacy of the
death penalty are also discarded. In a similar vein, the Brief History corrects
some ambiguities and factual errors. It correctly gives the birthplace of Leo iii
as Germanikeia in Syria, rather than stating he is an Isaurian like the History.
Like the History, it mystifyingly fails to assail Leo’s iconoclasm, but it at least

72 Pseudo-​Photios, Brief History, 1–​2, ed. Wanda Conus-​Wolska, trans. Joseph Paramelle,
Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), pp. 120–​131.
73 Daria D. Resh, “Toward a Byzantine Definition of Metaphrasis,” Greek Roman and
Byzantine Studies 55 (2015), p. 787.
74 Note the observations on number symbolism made in Appendix 1.
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 129

downplays his theological competence.75 Whereas the History is grammat-

ically unclear about whether the Paul from whom the Paulicians take their
name is Paul, son of Kallinike, or Paul the Armenian, the Brief History resolves
this by giving three possibilities. At the beginning of its account, it states that
the Paulicians either take their name from Paul, son of Kallinike, alone, or from
both him and his brother John, whereas while discussing Paul the Armenian
it also states that some think that the Paulicians take their name from him.76
Hence, it explicates and resolves the deficiencies of the History. The History’s
primary problem seems to have been the authority it conveyed and, signifi-
cantly, the Brief History goes some lengths to address this even if many of its
scholarly pretentions are only illusory. It may refer to more anti-​Manichaean
works than the History, including the writings of Titos of Bostra, Serapion of
Thmuis, Alexander of Lykopolis, and Herakleianos of Chalcedon, but there is
no indication that these were ever used in the work.77 In a similar vein, there is
no indication that Pseudo-​Photios participated in the reinterpretation of the
Paulicians so beloved of authors of his era. All indications suggest that he only
consulted the History and the Treatise, yet his erudition is superficially impres-
sive. This is further accentuated by the text’s attribution and style. Whether
it was originally credited to Photios or Metrophanes of Smyrna, its supposed
authorship would have commanded more gravitas than the shadowy Peter of
Sicily.
When all is said and done, however, we must read the Brief History with
attention to the same axis around which the History and Letter of Theophylaktos
revolve: the matter of punishment. As noted several times already, the Brief
History does not address this issue whatsoever, but the second and third of the
three genuinely Photian works which follow it do. These texts merit a short
introduction here. The first is a sermon which refutes dualism by employing
philosophical and scriptural approaches. Like many sermons, its audience is
complex, in that it serves as a warning to orthodox listeners as well as a cor-
rective to heretics. As a result, its language is often combative.78 This is even

75 Pseudo-​Photios, Brief History, 74, pp. 146–​147. Stephen Gero, Byzantine Iconoclasm during
the Reign of Leo III: With Particular Attention to the Oriental Sources (Louvain, 1973),
pp. 25–​32.
76 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 112, pp. 46–​47. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 80; Pseudo-​Photios, Brief History, 4; 72, pp. 120–​121; 144–​145. See also Hamilton,
Hamilton, eds., Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 80, n. 42.
77 Pseudo-​Photios, Brief History, 37, pp. 130–​131; See also Henri Grégoire, “Les sources de
l’histoire des Pauliciens. Pierre de Sicile est authentique et ‘Photius’ un faux,” Académie
Royale de Belgique, Bulletin Classe des Lettres, 5e série 22 (1936), p. 112.
78 Photios, Contra Manichaeos II-​IV, 3, Patrologia Graeca 102, col. 85–​122.
130  Chapter 2

more evident in the second sermon, which addresses the rejection of the Old
Testament using scriptural witnesses from the Old and New Testaments. Its
final section is of crucial importance here since it is the sole developed dis-
cussion of punishment in the sermon.79 Like the History, it is concerned with
capital punishment and it too implies that the death penalty is appropriate,
although Photios does invoke the possibility of repentance. His discussion
centres upon Luke 19:27, which is also true of the last book of the Contra
Manichaeos, perhaps implying that this quotation was central to ideas of pun-
ishment when Photios was writing.80 The third work, otherwise known as the
Retractatio, is rather different in form from those that precede it.81 It provides
a refutation of the heresy of two principles, often intertwined with expositions
of orthodox doctrine, to an individual who is variously identified as Antonios
of Kyzikos or Arsenios of Hiera in response a prior request. Accordingly, it is
rather more sympathetic in tone than the sermons which precede it.82 Like the
second sermon, the Retractatio implies that the death penalty does apply to
the Paulicians, but, again, its exhortations to contrition imply that Photios only
thought this appropriate in the case of the most unrepentant heretics.
Let us now examine the relevant sections of these sermons, beginning with
the passage from the second sermon. It bears reiterating that concerns with
punishment are far from central to their content. The following are merely the
most relevant passages:

What punishment does the just judge demand for apostates? It is better
to hear that decree itself: it says “My enemies, those who do not wish me
to rule over them, bring them and slaughter them before me.”83 Since
they disregarded the creator with their own eyes and instead looked away

79 Photios, Contra Manichaeos II-​IV, 4, Patrologia Graeca 102, col. 121–​178.

80 Peter of Sicily invokes the same quote in regard to the imperial prosecution of heresy.
Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 87, pp. 38–​39. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 75.
81 Photios, Contra Manichaeos II-​IV, 4, Patrologia Graeca 102, col. 177–​264. Convincing argu-
ments suggest that the work dates to Photios’ second exile (877–​893). Lemerle, “L’histoire,”
pp. 45–​46; Mormino, ed., Fozio di Constantinopoli, p. 19.
82 Antonios is named as the recipient in Palatinus graecus 216 (which attributes the
text to Metrophanes of Smyrna). He was a partisan of Ignatios and therefore aligned
with Metrophanes. See Travaux et mémoires 4, pp. 180–​181; Basil Laourdas, “Τὰ εἰς τὰ
<<Ἀμφιλόχια>> τοῦ Φωτίου σχόλια τοῦ κώδικος 449 τῆς Λαύρας,” ellhnika 12 (1953),
pp. 271–​272; Dvornik, Photian Schism, pp. 53; 63. Arsenios, who has been identified as a
close acquaintance of Photios, is now conventionally interpreted as the correct addressee.
Dvornik, Photian Schism, pp. 160–​162.
83 Luke, 19:27.
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 131

toward the deceiver, for this reason they call down upon themselves the
fitting punishment, face to face with the all-​seeing, all-​ruling eye of jus-
tice. Slaughter them before me, those who are not willing to recognize
the kingdom, so that they might recognize the kingdom and justice
unwillingly, those who called down chastisements upon themselves …

But consider these things and after considering them flee the blow which
you saw being inflicted on others, before the imposition of torture, that
fearful and dreadful manifestation of pain, recoil from your folly before
the punishment is due. For repentance and the fear of suffering know
that this holds no gain. Until the time of penitence we shall point the way
to repentance. So long as the door of pardon remains open, we would
not delay to pass through it. So long as there are thoughtless boasts, we
shall show correction. For when the signal is given and life is dissolved,
no route to salvation remains at all, nor is there any hope of not suffering
what was threatened. For when the teacher of apostasy inscribes some-
thing, clearly and without any subtlety, besides the gospel phrases, will
the just judge exact punishment –​which is manifest and completely
clear from all the things shown –​over these sort of people, those stu-
dents of that teacher who do not wish the judge to rule over them, or
will those who still love the apostasy after all these things find some
remaining defence? What remnant of pardon do they leave behind for
themselves? Which eye will drip tears of pity for them? Their teacher –​
that is clearly the devil –​learnt from the Gospels about students before
his own, that these were slaughtered before the Lord, those who did not
wish him to rule over them. The august Gospels of our Saviour teach this
loudly because they are venerators of the devil, because those insulters of
the creator divide the kingdom of God –​the same holy works have pro-
claimed this too. Surely if the judge did not turn them away from apos-
tasy on these accounts, the thing remaining to them is the endless fire,
and the outer darkness, which has been prepared for their teaching. The
devil and those unwilling men, being bereft of aid, should shrink from
their war against God. But these things should be very obvious from this
discourse and homily.84

Although the tenor of Photios’ thought is complex here, he clearly considers

the death penalty appropriate for those who remain impenitent and empha-
sises punishment more than repentance throughout. On first impressions,

84 Photios, Contra Manichaeos II-​IV, 3:19, Patrologia Graeca 102, col. 175–​178.
132  Chapter 2

his antagonistic language is only slightly more clement than the History. The
manner in which repentance is developed is, however, of considerable inter-
est, since Photios implies that while this is a possibility, in practical terms it
is almost impossible for the heretics under discussion. The door of pardon
may remain theoretically open, but Photios implies that it is effectively shut.
Given the seriousness of their heresy, “what remnant of pardon do they leave
behind for themselves?” In the context of this passage, Photios considers cap-
ital punishment appropriate for the Paulicians, which is not surprising given
that his career saw the highpoint of their military threat. Nevertheless, it is still
important that the possibility of repentance is acknowledged, even if it does
not apply in this specific rhetorical context.
The Retractatio, by contrast, implies that repentance is a real possibility,
which is not surprising given the pastoral concerns which animate it:

For behold, he who is benevolent by nature imposes a vengeful decree

against them with such great severity and zealousness. He says: “My
enemies, those who do not wish me to rule over them, lead them here
and slaughter them before me.” What do you say? Do you shudder at the
decree and flee the slaughter? And by dividing yourself from others, do
you depart the kingdom of the good God? And do you look toward correc-
tion, by which you may confess the Lord’s perfect principle, and recover
the dominion of both body and soul? Or will your love of strife go so far
as suffering the most wretched things which can be suffered, about which
nothing harsher can be shown in writing? For he not only kills you, nor
leads you from the present life, but after killing you he places you in the
eternal, perpetual, fiery Gehenna and consigns you to be punished in soul
and body. For I certainly know which of the two is better for you: either
to be inflicted with piercing missiles which destroy utterly, ingeniously,
and in many ways by still persisting in such greatly impious thought, or
to take the saving drugs and remedies of disease from the benevolent
and all-​ruling tongue itself, you will then have a love of health, instead
of lying wounded. Overcome this, I exhort you, and I shall assist with the
deliverance from disease.85

As in the previous extract, Photios employs the quotation Luke 19:27 to show
that the rejection of God leads to death and eternal damnation, but in this
instance repentance is not an abstract notion which is ultimately denied, but a

85 Photios, Contra Manichaeos II-​IV, 4:3, Patrologia Graeca 102, col. 183–​186.
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 133

real possibility to which he exhorts his correspondent. The difference between

the two views that Photios espouses is clearly context specific. When this is
acknowledged, the fact that he refers to repentance in the first instance is sig-
nificant in itself, since it implies that this is often appropriate, albeit not in that
instance. Photios’ thought in these sermons is considerably more nuanced than
Peter of Sicily’s approach in the History, which argues for a blanket application
of the death penalty. This is further supported by the conciliatory approach
that Photios used in other instances, such as his reference to the conversion
of Paulicians in his encyclical letter of 867.86 Overall, the views which animate
these references fit more comfortably with the approach outlined in the Letter
of Theophylaktos, even though the bellicose language that Photios employs is
not entirely out of kilter with the History. We should not necessarily assume
that he disavowed harsh punishments in all instances, whereas his repeated
invocation of Luke 19:27 perhaps suggests that the passage was often cited in
contemporary discourse, in which case more ruthless penalties may well have
been advocated or adopted.
Despite the fact that Photios’ rhetoric suggests a context-​specific approach
to punishment, we cannot necessarily conclude that this would have been how
these sermons and, by extension to them, the Brief History were read at the
court of Constantine vii, particularly because their references to punishment
are so few. It is most probable that readings of the text did not centre upon pun-
ishment at all. As acknowledged at the outset, Pseudo-​Photios’ text is ambigu-
ous enough to be conducive to contrasting readings and this ambiguity is only
accentuated when it is read in conjunction with other works. The interpretive
possibilities are legion, as is to be expected given the evolving representation
of Paulician activity in Byzantine sources of the 10th century. If we seek more
clarity, the pseudonymous attribution of the work does not prove of help –​and
suggests that the interpretive ambiguity is deliberate. Although the text was
attributed to Metrophanes of Smyrna early in its manuscript tradition, its style
is so characteristically Photian that the patriarch must have been credited with
its authorship soon after the text’s circulation. The attribution itself therefore
suggests an intention to deceive or obscure. To add to these difficulties, the
reputation of both authors were contested during Constantine vii’s reign.87

86 Photios, Epistulae, Ep. 2, vol. 1, p. 41, l. 27–​30.

87 Rabidly anti-​Photian texts such as the Vita Ignatii show that Photios’ reputation was
contentious in the early 10th century. The same seems to be true of Constantine vii’s
reign. Genesios’ account of the conflict between Ignatios and Photios shows sympathy
to the former and fails to recount Photios’ accession. The Continuator and the Vita Basilii
are more favourable to Photios and consider him to be the legitimate patriarch, albeit
in the latter source this is only made explicit after Ignatios’ death. See Niketas David,
134  Chapter 2

That being said, many of the observations presented thus far indicate that
the Brief History was intended as a response of some kind to the History and
this is further implied by the circumstances of its forgery. Since the Brief
History involved such scant consultation of other works, it could have been
composed comparatively swiftly. There are good reasons to suspect that the
forgers of the History, or at least individuals close to them, were responsible for
it. The number symbolism which underlies the dating schemata of both texts,
detailed in Appendix 1, implies a close familiarity with the History, or at the
very least, a method of reading heresiological texts common to it. Moreover,
numerous factors, including its scholarly pretensions and its correction of
the History’s ambiguities and errors, suggest an attempt to redress the defi-
ciencies of its parent text. If the same forgers were responsible for both texts,
and the testimony of the History was questioned upon its initial circulation,
the production of a corroborating text may have served to allay some of these
suspicions. If so, the History may never have reached its intended audience
at the court of Constantine vii, or it may have been received unfavourably
there. In this scenario, we must suspect that the controversy surrounding the
History had receded before the Brief History was ‘discovered’, or contemporar-
ies would surely have suspected foul play. Given the uncontroversial and out-
wardly erudite character of the Brief History, it is possible that it represents
an attempt to corroborate aspects of the History’s account without insisting
upon its more contentious arguments. Contemporary witnesses suggest that
the History’s standpoint was politically inexpedient, so it was futile to reiterate
it. This strikes me as the best way of reconciling our disparate evidence, but
I have no desire to insist too forcibly on an interpretation which is necessarily
speculative.88 Taking into account the equivocation that characterises the Brief

Nicetas David, the Paphlagonian. The Life of Patriarch Ignatius, ed. and trans. Andrew
Smithies (Washington, D.C., 2013), in passim; Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quat-
tuor, 4:18, pp. 70–​72. Translation: On the Reigns of the Emperors, pp. 87–​90. See also
Kaldellis, ed., Genesios. On the Reigns of the Emperors, p. xviii; Theophanes Continuatus
i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:30–​34, pp. 274–​279; Constantine vii
Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 32; 44, pp. 124–​137; 158–​161. Meanwhile, both Genesios and
the Continuator implicate Metrophanes’ mother in an iconoclast plot to discredit the
patriarch Methodios, in which Metrophanes’ mother alleged that Methodios had seduced
her and, it is implied, fathered her son. Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:5,
pp. 59–​60. Translation: On the Reigns of the Emperors, pp. 75–​76; Theophanes Continuatus
i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:10, pp. 224–​229.
88 Naturally, the above reconstruction assumes that the History was disseminated prior
to the Brief History. Might it also be possible that the History was found deficient by its
patrons, in which case it was not necessarily circulated upon its composition? This might
more readily explain why the Brief History was commissioned as a replacement and why
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 135

History and the political tensions inherent in debates about punishment, any
reconstruction of the text’s context soon multiplies the number of assump-
tions beyond the limits that prudence dictates, particularly when factors as
problematic as reception and intentionality are at play. If little else is clear, it at
least seems probable we are dealing with a charged atmosphere incorporating
a multiplicity of competing agencies and contextual factors. Perhaps the most
apposite conclusion to draw is that, for all the shortcomings of Peter of Sicily’s
composition, it did provide a holistic account of Paulician activity that drew
on little-​known sources and enlightened hitherto unexplained phases of the
movement’s history. Contemporaries seem to have found the History unfit to
fill the niche it carved out, but, whether by design or not, in time its preten-
sions were realised in the form of the Brief History.
There are, however, a myriad of other ways to interpret our forgeries, so
instead of ploughing this furrow any further, let us return to the aims of this
chapter and address the relevance of the Brief History to the reinvention of
the Paulicians. Most notably, this text suggests that the History, despite being
the first attempt to provide a coherent account of Paulician activity, was not
received well by contemporaries due to its polemical aims. By contrast, the
Brief History, whose original insights were negligible, had a significant influ-
ence on subsequent texts. Irrespective of how these forgeries are interpreted,
the very fact of their production shows that the Paulicians and their beliefs
provoked a deep-​seated interest among Byzantines during the mid-​10th cen-
tury. This is a point which needs emphasising, since we have seen that they
were often peripheral to the concerns of contemporary histories such as the
Basileion, the Vita Basilii, and Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, which interpreted
them in terms of overarching objectives such as a desire to legitimate a ruler,
dynasty, and/​or ideological position, in the process portraying them in a poly-
valent fashion which incorporated Manichaean and Islamic identifications.
The inescapable conclusion seems to be that it was the research which under-
pinned these histories that led to the subsequent interest in the Paulicians.
In this sense, their reinvention by successive historians led them to become a
locus of interest in and of themselves.

it had greater influence on later texts. This reconstruction has its advantages, but it is
also problematised by the fact that the History evidently did circulate at some point, as is
shown by the reference to Peter Hegoumenos in Parisinus graecus 852 and the fact that
Abjuration Formula I is indebted to it.
136  Chapter 2

5 Forgery, Authority, and Authenticity in the 10th Century

With the Brief History we reach the last of the 10th-​century texts that partic-
ipated in the reinvention of the Paulicians. The texts which follow it, most
notably the Letter of Theophylaktos Lekapenos, are content to reiterate its tes-
timony, whereas those 10th-​century events which concern Paulicians, such as
John Tzimiskes’ relocation of them from Antioch to Philippopolis, are them-
selves recounted in later sources. Two remarks need stressing here. Firstly, the
Letter of Theophylaktos was probably written some years after the composition
of the Brief History, since only in this fourth letter in the correspondence did the
cartophylax John identify the heresy which preoccupied Tsar Peter as a mix of
“Manichaeanism and Paulianism.” It is hardly likely that he would have taken so
long to do so if Paulicians were a subject of contemporary dispute. It seems that
the reinvention of the Paulicians that we have seen during Constantine vii’s
reign may not have had immediate resonance in ecclesiastical circles, although
admittedly the oversight of the patriarchate in this instance may stem from the
inefficacy of Theophylaktos, who was apparently more preoccupied with his
horses than his responsibilities.89 Secondly, the modifications and interpola-
tions which gave the History of the Paulicians a closer relevance to Bulgarian
affairs are presumably related to either the context which underpins the cor-
respondence between Tsar Peter and the patriarchate and/​or John Tzimiskes’
relocation of Paulicians to Philippopolis. This reorientation of the text shows
that Paulicians continued to be relevant after the History’s initial dissemination
and that this relevance bridged multiple contexts. It is now time to step back
from the specifics of textual reception and instead examine the repercussions
of our findings for the broader intellectual context of the 10th century.
One of the most attractive possibilities that this chapter raises is that it
decentres intellectual activity in Constantine vii’s reign from the emperor him-
self. Debates about the literary output of Constantine and his court have tradi-
tionally focused on whether works such as the Vita Basilii should be attributed
to Constantine’s hand, whether he was the driving force of contemporary
intellectual activity, or, as Ihor Ševčenko’s famous article would have it, he was
something of an armchair critic whose classicism and literary output have
been grossly overstated.90 This chapter tends towards the latter view, but it also

89 John Skylitzes, Ioannis Scylitzae synopsis historiarum, 10, pp. 242–​244. Translation: John
Skylitzes: A Synopsis of Byzantine History, pp. 234–​235.
90 Ihor Ševčenko, “Rereading Constantine Porphyrogenitus,” in Byzantine Diplomacy: Papers
from the Twenty-​fourth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, Cambridge, March 1990,
eds. Jonathan Shepard, Simon Franklin (Aldershot, 1992), pp. 167–​196.
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 137

suggests that literary production was not just confined to officially sanctioned
works of the court circle. However we interpret our two forgeries, it seems incon-
ceivable that Constantine or any of his most trusted officials were aware of their
composition. Contemporary intellectuals evidently tried to hoodwink his court
into inflicting capital punishment on the Paulicians. All indications suggest that
this attempt failed and more merciful approaches remained the norm, but it is
unclear how and why this was so. It is similarly uncertain whether the revised
version of the text, with its references to Bulgaria, was intended for a similar
courtly audience or whether it simply sought to reaffirm its sentiments regard-
ing the validity of punishment. Finally, it seems eminently probable that these
texts were not wholly about Paulicians, heresy, and capital punishment. The
ingenuity and controversy we have seen over the course of these two chapters
perhaps hint at deeper tensions which cut across the ecclesiastical and secular
arms of government. Be that as it may, it appears that advocating the death
penalty for heretics during Constantine vii’s reign was considered an extreme
position which was on the fringes of being politically acceptable.
Beyond these concerns, I have sought throughout to develop a greater sense
of intellectual continuity between Constantine’s sole reign and the period
which preceded it. The works attributed to his school are manifold, but it
does not follow that all of these texts had their genesis after he achieved pre-
eminence. Irrespective of whether they are considered forgeries or not, our
Paulician texts have often been dated uncomfortably close to one another. For
my part, it is easiest to explain this, and the literary productions of Constantine’s
reign more generally, by positing that literary activity did not begin in earnest
upon Constantine’s eventual triumph over his imperial rivals and that much of
the preliminary research had been well underway beforehand. The ideological
agenda which came to underpin the new regime presumably existed in embry-
onic form, only to be refined and reimagined within the texts commissioned
under his tutelage. It is possible, for instance, to read the respective portrayals
of Basil i in Genesios’ Basileion and the Vita Basilii, as well as the blackening
of Michael iii’s name in Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, as a series of attempts
to articulate Basil’s centrality to the Macedonian dynasty. In the case of his
grandfather’s portrayal, it seems likely that Constantine himself was actively
engaged, but in other instances his input was perhaps more peripheral.
Another significant point of interest lies in the importance and prevalence
of forgery in this period. It may indeed be futile to discern the contemporary
relationships, intended or otherwise, between the History and Brief History,
but the former text evidently impelled the composition of the latter. A forg-
ery was considered the most appropriate response to another forgery. This is
surely an exceptional state of affairs. We cannot assume that similar dynamics
138  Chapter 2

applied in even a minority of cases. But still, these findings do suggest that
forgery was practiced in this period –​and more frequently than has commonly
been acknowledged. In our instance, it seems to have been considered an intu-
itive, perhaps even an appropriate response. Why was this the case? Forgery
had long been a matter of concern in Byzantine society. It was a notable pre-
occupation of the Third Council of Constantinople (680–​681), where the acts
of prior councils were subjected to rigorous palaeographical scrutiny.91 The
testimony of roughly contemporary texts on forgery –​the most notable being
Niketas David’s allegations of forgery against Photios in the Vita Ignatii –​imply
that, for those with the means and contacts, sophisticated and convincing
forgeries could be made.92 This seems to be true of the Brief History, as there
are no indications that its authenticity was questioned until the 19th century.
The same cannot necessarily be said for the History, whose influence seems
to have been negligible and fleeting. We have seen above that it is difficult to
determine whether ideological, contextual, or palaeographical factors explain
this. As a result, it is eminently possible that the relative preponderance of
forgeries at this time was impelled by a comparative wealth of expertise and
also by the greater reverence that textual authority and the past commanded
in the mid-​10th century.93 It may also be that contemporary understandings of
authenticity were not black and white. In certain genres, notably hagiography,
a certain degree of literary licence seems to have been expected.94 Perhaps
heresiology was no different. There is little in the above interpretation to sug-
gest that forgery was a heinous act in and of itself. The fact that one forgery
could be a response to another forgery attests to this. Instead, it seems that
forgery became problematic when it aspired to improper ends or sought to
circumvent the usual channels of power.
The final point which merits attention here is that, despite the contro-
versy over the death penalty, the reinvention of the Paulicians was not overtly
ideological and, in some senses, it was not even fundamentally about them.
The crystallisation of a narrative of Paulician activity in the mid-​10th cen-
tury stemmed largely from the traditional historiographical concerns of

91 Susan Wessel, “Literary Forgery and the Monothelete Controversy: Some Scrupulous Uses
of Deception,” Greek Roman and Byzantine Studies 42:2 (2001), pp. 201–​220.
92 Niketas David, The Life of Patriarch Ignatius, 89–​90, pp. 118–​121.
93 On the intellectual context of the period and remarks on the practicalities of textual
reproduction, see András Németh, The Excerpta Constantiniana and the Byzantine
Appropriation of the Past (Cambridge, 2018).
94 Denis F. Sullivan, Alice-​Mary Talbot, Stamatina McGrath, eds., The Life of Saint Basil the
Younger. Critical Edition and Annotated Translation of the Moscow Version (Washington,
D.C., 2014), p. 14.
Reinventing Paulicians in the 10th Century 139

legitimating a dynasty. In this case, historians sought to legitimise the origins

of the Macedonian Dynasty by portraying Basil i as a successful and energetic
ruler, which in turn necessitated raising the profile of the enemy over which he
prevailed. Strikingly, this did not occasion a pejorative view of the Paulicians.
The Continuator sees their insurrection against the empire as a consequence
of Byzantine actions and even if it is possible to interpret this as an attempt
to lay blame upon the Amorian Dynasty through the person of Theodora, this
does not wholly account for our author’s appraisal. Among our sources, both
Genesios and the Vita Basilii mention Paulicians fighting among Byzantine
forces not long after the death of Chrysocheir.95 By contrast to the shrill accu-
sations of heresiologists, Roman historians noted that Paulicians could cross
the blurry line between friend and foe. In the early decades of the 9th century,
we often encounter belligerent accusations and heavy-​handed responses from
Byzantine authorities, but the machinery of empire did not inevitably lead to
repressive policies. There were dissenters to the official position then and even
at the height of the Paulician threat Photios would not forsake the possibility
of repentance. A century after Theodora’s underlings imposed a bloody confor-
mity on the east, a more measured response won out.
95 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:37, p. 88. Translation: On the Reigns of the
Emperors, p. 110; Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 71, p. 244, l. 16 –​p. 245, l. 8.
 ­c hapter 3

The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician

Belief c.800–​835

Among the foremost perils of studying religious dissidents in premodern peri-

ods is the axiom that we generally know of their beliefs solely through the
accusations and refutations of their enemies. This axiom does not apply to the
Paulicians, although even an attentive reader who has perused many works on
the subject might be forgiven for thinking that it did. Peter of Sicily’s polemi-
cal retorts may remain fixed on showing that the Paulicians were the contem-
porary descendants of the Manichaean heresy, but there are many emphases
throughout the History of the Paulicians which contradict this, not least in
Peter’s narrative of their history, which has long been recognized as an account
originally drawn from Paulician testimony.1 Scattered among Peter’s fervent
denunciations of his principal bugbear, the didaskalos Sergios-​Tychikos, are
extracts of Sergios’ letters that Peter notes that he had in his possession –​and
these letters paint a very different picture to Peter’s scattergun accusations.2
Earlier scholars may have probed these passages to a limited extent, but it was
only with the pioneering analysis of Claudia Ludwig in the 1980s that the para-
digms of debate shifted, most notably with her proposition that the Paulicians
were not dualists at all, but rather saw themselves as the spiritual descendants
of the early Christian communities described in the Acts of the Apostles and
the Pauline Letters.3 Her work comprises the bedrock on which this chapter
is built, but here I look to place her conclusions about Paulician belief into a
more specific historical context, as well as to articulate the tensions and evolu-
tions within Paulician doctrine. Paramount among the resulting conclusions is

1 Carl R. Moeller, De Photii Petrique Siculi libris contra Manichaeos scriptis (Bonn, 1910), pp. 41–​
43; Nina G. Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy (Paris/​The Hague, 1967), pp. 62–​67; Paul Lemerle,
“L’histoire des Pauliciens d’Asie Mineure d’après les sources grecques,” Travaux et mémoires 5
(1973), p. 56; Paul Speck, “Petros Sikeliotes, seine Historia und der Erzbischof von Bulgarien,”
ellhnika 27 (1974), pp. 384–​387.
2 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 43, ed. Denise Papachryssanthou, trans. Jean Gouillard,
Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), pp. 20–​23. English translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the
Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds. Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), p. 73.
3 Claudia Ludwig, “Wer hat was in welcher Absicht wie beschreiben? Bemerkungen zur
Historia des Petros Sikeliotes über die Paulikianer,” Varia 2 Πoikila byzantina 6 (1987),
pp. 149–​227.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2022 | DOI:10.1163/9789004517080_005

The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 141

a reassertion of Ludwig’s central thesis: our Paulician sources not only portray
an idiosyncratic type of Pauline Christianity, they also fatally undermine the
thesis that Paulicians espoused cosmological dualism in the early 9th century.
We have met the two Paulician sources which allow us to make these con-
clusions briefly before: they are the Didaskalie and the Letters of Sergios, which
were respectively commissioned and composed by the didaskalos Sergios-​
Tychikos. Both are now only preserved in a reworked form within the History of
the Paulicians, although the means of their preservation is rather different. The
Didaskalie has been substantially reworked because its extant authorial voice
is descriptive and dispassionate, which was evidently not true of the Paulician
original. The only emotive passages in the extant account are Peter of Sicily’s
polemical asides, which serve to denigrate the didaskaloi and their claims to
sanctity, but these are thankfully easy to discern from the original Paulician
material. Rather more problematic is the matter of suppressed or omitted epi-
sodes, since the accounts of several didaskaloi are unusually brief and hint at
a modification of the archetype. Also dubious are the chronological references
which pervade the text. Several commentators have found these suspicious
and I am fully convinced that they are not original.4 The longevity the text
ascribes to Paulician leaders is inconceivable in this period and it seems cer-
tain that Peter of Sicily has historicised the Paulician account to fit it within the
framework of Byzantine history.5 In view of the above caveats, it might surprise
the reader to see so much value attributed to the Didaskalie, but the rich sym-
bolic depth of the original source has ensured that its core meaning survives
in spite of the Sicilian’s revisions. The main narrative arc features recurring
topoi and intertextual references to other scriptural texts (principally Acts)
that contradict the Manichaean portrayal that Peter wishes to impose upon
the Paulicians, thereby demonstrating that much of the original voice survives.
The text’s symbolism, moreover, clearly delimits its beginning, end, and cen-
tral narrative aim: that the didaskalos’ predominant concern is to safeguard his
community.
Similar pastoral concerns underpin the Letters of Sergios, whose surviving
state is subtly different from the Didaskalie. The extant fragments preserved in
the History have been excerpted from a more substantial collection, with the
result that contextualising them is fraught with difficulty.6 Pleasingly, however,

4 Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” pp. 166–​167; 221; Leslie W. Barnard, “The Paulicians and Iconoclasm,”
in Iconoclasm: Papers Given at the Ninth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, University of
Birmingham, March 1975, eds. Anthony Bryer, Judith Herrin (Birmingham, 1977), p. 75.
5 See also Appendix 1.
6 For the extant fragments of these letters, see Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 153, 157,
158, 161, 163, 166, 167, pp. 56–​63. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 86–​89.
142  Chapter 3

Peter of Sicily has quoted Sergios’ words without making any emendations
in accordance with the familiar heresiologist’s trope of refuting a heretic by
his own words.7 This circumstance is valuable, since it reveals several unusual
Greek readings, which probably indicate that Peter found the texts before him
corrupt or difficult to read.8 The value of the letter extracts is often limited,
principally because they cannot be securely contextualised, but they can occa-
sionally be valuable indeed, not least because they convey genuinely Paulician
attitudes and expressions of belief. When the intended meaning behind such
passages shines though, the extracts can be of the utmost importance to our
understanding of Paulician thought.
The preceding overview assumes that our two Paulician sources were sepa-
rate texts which differed in form and aims, but this impression has not found
favour with earlier scholarship, since many authorities, including luminaries
such as Garsoïan and Ludwig, have argued that the fragments of the Letters
of Sergios had already been subsumed within the Didaskalie when Peter
employed the text. This seems unlikely not only in light of the different means
of preservation described above, but also because every indication suggests
that the Didaskalie originally did not relate the career of Sergios –​and there-
fore could hardly incorporate his letters within a preexisting account.9 In fact,
it seems that the account of Sergios’ career in the History was partially con-
ceived by Peter himself, since its narrative of a young man corrupted into her-
esy by a Manichaean woman hardly seems representative of how a Paulician
author would portray their most famous didaskalos, but it does owe much to
topoi beloved of heresiological traditions. As now extant, the account of his
career constitutes an exemplary warning of the dangers of heretification.10
The uncertain parameters of Sergios’ career in the History cause difficulties in
contextualising the surviving fragments of the Letters of Sergios and thus we

7 As he acknowledges at Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 137, pp. 52–​ 53.
Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 84.
8 A couple of unusual phrases within these extracts suggest either issues of transmission or
idiomatic phrasing by Sergios. Most notable of these is the extract at Peter of Sicily, History
of the Paulicians, 153, pp. 56–​57. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 86. As Ludwig
notes, the difficulties are not confined to the unusual phrase τοῖς ἐμοῖς γόνασι βαρήσας, since
the combination of present and aorist participles is also an issue. See Ludwig, “Wer hat
was,” p. 214.
9 Garsoïan’s contention that an earlier Paulician compiled the Didaskalie and Letters into
a polemical account remains plausible, however. Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 62–​67;
Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” pp. 213–​221. By contrast, Speck believes that they comprised sepa-
rate sources. Speck, “Petros Sikeliotes,” pp. 385–​386.
10 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 135–​152, pp. 52–​57. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 83–​86. See also Appendix 2.
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 143

can go no further than noting that the letters were composed during his min-
istry (c.800/​01-​834/​35). They generally convey pastoral concerns and take the
Pauline letters as their models.11
Ludwig argued convincingly that the Didaskalie also belongs to an early 9th-​
century milieu, proposing that it was composed under Sergios-​Tychikos’ direc-
tion.12 Since the text serves to legitimate him, her view is well founded, but we
can also offer the additional precision that it was composed in the aftermath
of the persecutions enacted by Michael i and Leo v due to the recurring prom-
inence of persecution within the text. We lack the temporal markers to furnish
an exact date, but for clarity’s sake I consider the years between 815–​830 most
probable for its composition. Both sources were composed in Greek and their
cultural worldview indicates that they belong within a Christian and Byzantine
orbit. Imperial officials investigate and bedevil every didaskalos described in
the text and the empire is thereby portrayed as a hostile and oppressive power,
but, despite this, it remains the principal locus of Paulician activity and when-
ever they flee its grasp they inevitably return. By contrast, references to Islamic
and Armenian actors are infrequent, although the text’s reference to migra-
tions between the empire and Armenian territory suggests that we would be
unwise to draw too clear a distinction between Roman and Armenian cultural
zones here. The primary axis of articulating difference seems to be religious,
since although Muslims too are portrayed as dangerous to the Paulicians, their
characterisation is less developed and of lesser narrative importance than the
Romans. Needless to say, this portrayal suggests a compositional context rather
different to that of the 840s-​870s, when Paulicians and Muslims were close
allies. The text’s primary intended audience seems to have been an internal
Paulician one, but, as we shall see, Paulician identity was rather unstable at this
time, so it may also have circulated more widely. If so, this probably occurred
as a result of the text’s invocation of recognisable scriptural topoi, rather than a
deliberate attempt to foster a broader appeal. We can also imagine an internal
Paulician audience for the Letters of Sergios, since their spiritual archetype, the
Pauline letters, were often authored for a particular church community and
were expected to be circulated widely within that congregation.13 In summary,

11 See especially Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 158; 161, pp. 58–​ 61.
Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 87–​88. For similar themes, see 1 Cor.; 2 Cor.; Gal.
12 Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” pp. 209–​210. Elsewhere, she notes that the text was codified after
Sergios and his followers fled to Melitene, but, as we have seen, this flight did not occur
during Sergios’ career. Claudia Ludwig, “The Paulicians and Ninth-​Century Byzantine
Thought,” in Byzantium in the Ninth Century: Dead or Alive?, ed. Leslie Brubaker (Aldershot,
1998), p. 25.
13 John A. Ziesler, Pauline Christianity (Oxford, 1983), pp. 3–​6.
144  Chapter 3

the Didaskalie and Letters of Sergios had a similar authorship, audience, and
aims, while both were consciously modelled upon scriptural precedents from
the apostolic period. These parallels surely indicate that these sources were
intentionally related to one another and the biblical works that inspired them.
Peter of Sicily notes that the Paulicians considered the Letters of Sergios canon-
ical and the same is presumably true of the Didaskalie.14 In their scriptural
proclivities as well as much else, the Paulicians of the 9th century invoked,
reinterpreted, and, in some sense, relived the zeal and turbulence that charac-
terised the age of the apostles.

1 The Didaskalie

Nowhere is this conception more apparent than in the Didaskalie. As Ludwig

has noted, the text is a mythologised account reflecting how Sergios and his
immediate circle conceived of Paulician history rather than an accurate histor-
ical narrative.15 It transposes the concerns of the present onto the past, most
notably in the ubiquitous references to persecution. No event that the source
describes can be corroborated independently of it. Since Sergios-​Tychikos
directed the composition of the text, it follows that his aims, unsurprisingly
including his own legitimation, predominate, but the Didaskalie is also rich
enough to include perspectives which differ from –​and even oppose –​his. It
bears emphasising that we have before us an exceptional source. Narratives
which describe the growth of heretical movements from their own perspec-
tive are of rich value due to their scarcity.16 Perhaps unsurprisingly for such an
unusual work, it resists the confines of conventional genre boundaries. This
may be due to its confessional background, its provincial origins, or alterna-
tively, an indebtedness to oral culture. In any event, its value is not appreciably
diminished by the circumstance that it has been fundamentally rewritten by
Peter of Sicily, even though I believe that Peter’s modifications go far beyond

14 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 43, pp. 20–​23. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 73.
15 Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” pp. 209–​211.
16 A parallel from the same region, but without reference to heresy, is Şikari’s History of the
Karamanids, a “semi-​historical” Turkish source with roots in nomadic society and oral
culture which dates from the 16th century but deals with 13th-​century events. See Sara
N. Yildiz, “Reconceptualising the Seljuk-​Cilician Frontier: Armenians, Latins, and Turks
in Conflict and Alliance during the Early Thirteenth Century,” in Borders, Barriers and
Ethnogenesis: Frontiers in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, ed. Florin Curta (Turnhout,
2005), pp. 115–​117.
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 145

what Ludwig supposed. This is because, in spite of the above, the Didaskalie’s
underlying narrative and many of its symbolic motifs still survive in our extant
text, as does its primary aim of legitimating the didaskalos.17 In the source,
this concern manifests itself through the recurring topos of a leadership dis-
pute in which an individual who is not the heir of his predecessor triumphs
on account of his greater piety. This theme has obvious relevance to Sergios-​
Tychikos, who was not the appointed successor of his predecessor Joseph-​
Epaphroditos. Despite this, in what follows it will become apparent that the
Didaskalie forms a multi-​layered narrative which is not entirely subordinated
to Sergios’ interests.18
We begin in Mananalis in Armenia, where a certain Constantine sheltered a
deacon who was returning home after being held in Syria as a prisoner of war.
In recompense for his hospitality, the deacon gave Constantine the books of
“the Gospel and the Apostle.” In conventional Byzantine usage, the former
of these corresponds with the Gospels, while the latter contains both the Acts
of the Apostles and the Pauline letters.19 According to both the History and the
Treatise, which probably dates shortly after the Didaskalie, Constantine for-
bade the use of any other scriptural texts than these, but it is unclear whether
this statement belongs to the Paulician exemplar, since we find Paulicians
using other texts, including books of the Old Testament, in Sergios’ time. In
any case, Constantine left Mananalis and came to Kibossa, near Koloneia in
north-​eastern Asia Minor, claiming that he was the same Silvanos referred to
in Acts and the Pauline letters. Hearkening back to the apostolic era once more,
he identified those at Kibossa with the Church of the Macedonians founded
by Paul. Constantine-​Silvanos taught at Kibossa for twenty-​seven years, during
which time the Paulician community seems to have lived a harmonious exis-
tence without any outward interference. Then, for reasons which Peter of Sicily
cannot explain, Constantine came to the attention of the reigning emperor,
another Constantine, who could conceivably be either Constans ii (641–​668)
or Constantine iv (668–​685).20 This emperor dispatched one of his officials,

17 A useful overview of the Didaskalie’s symbolism is given at Ludwig, “Wer hat was,”
pp. 226–​227.
18 On the below, see also Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” pp. 154–​194.
19 See Robert S. Nelson, “Gospel Book,” in The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, ed. Alexander
P. Kazhdan, vol. 2 (New York/​ Oxford, 1991), p. 861; Johannes Irmscher, Alexander
P. Kazhdan, Annemarie Weyl Carr, “Acts,” in The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, ed.
Alexander P. Kazhdan, vol. 1. (New York/​Oxford, 1991), pp. 16–​17.
20 On the difficulty of identifying this emperor, see Lemerle, “L’histoire des Pauliciens,”
pp. 56–​61. As noted above, it is most likely that the references to specific emperors were
added by Peter of Sicily.
146  Chapter 3

Symeon, in order to dispose of Constantine and bring his followers back within
the orthodox fold. Symeon commanded Constantine’s students to stone their
master to death, but, in an evocative phrase which assuredly goes back to the
Paulician exemplar, they refused and cast their stones behind their backs. As
a result, Symeon ordered Justos, Constantine-​Silvanos’s adoptive son, to stone
his father, which he did, killing him at a location that would thereafter be
named Soros due to the number of stones piled there.21
For a time, the Paulician community remained leaderless, while Symeon
attempted to convert Constantine’s followers, who invariably preferred death
to reconciliation. Their devotion and tenacity made a great impression upon
Symeon, who, after returning to Constantinople for three years, repented of his
actions and fled back to Kibossa, collecting the disciples of Constantine and
renaming himself Titos.22 Symeon-​Titos led the Paulicians for a total of three
years, until he had a dispute concerning the interpretation of Colossians 1:16–​
17 with the same Justos whom he had ordered to kill his adoptive father sev-
eral years previously. Unfortunately, Peter of Sicily’s description of this dispute
does not give us any insight into Paulician exegetical practices, since he shoe-
horns Symeon and Justos into the binary categories of heresy and orthodoxy,
however Pseudo-​Photios is more explicit and makes Justos assail Symeon’s
dualism directly.23 This is clearly a crucial passage that will merit scrutiny
below. Evidently the dispute was not settled to Justos’ satisfaction since he
subsequently went to the Bishop of Koloneia for instruction on the matter.
The bishop forthwith informed the emperor Justinian ii, who ordered that all
those who persisted in the heresy should be burnt alive. Symeon evidently per-
ished in the ensuing conflagration, but it is unclear whether the same is true
of Justos.24 What is apparent is that the unlikely outsider Symeon, who had

21 The name Soros (Σωρός) perhaps exploits an ambiguity between σωρός (a heap, or mound)
and σορός (a funerary urn), both of which are appropriate to this context. Peter of Sicily,
History of the Paulicians, 104–​105, pp. 42–​45. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 78.
22 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 106–​107, pp. 44–​45. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 78–​79.
23 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 110, pp. 44–​47. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 79; Pseudo-​Photios, Brief History, 70, ed. Wanda Conus-​Wolska, trans. Joseph
Paramelle, Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), pp. 144–​145.
24 Pseudo-​Photios’ account suggests that both communities were eradicated, since he notes
the destruction of “the other multitude with Symeon” after the initial affair, thereby
suggesting that Justos’ followers were judged first. Given the deficiencies of the forger’s
account, it would be unwise to set much store by this, however. See Pseudo-​Photios, Brief
History, 71–​72, pp. 144–​145.
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 147

once persecuted the faith, eventually took precedence over the proclaimed,
but flawed, heir Justos.
As far back as Edward Gibbon, historians have recognized intertextual ref-
erences to Acts at play here, since Constantine is moulded on the protomar-
tyr Stephen and Symeon is based on the apostle Paul.25 This, together with
the reappropriation of the names of Paul’s disciples and churches throughout
the text, testifies to the central place of Paul and the apostolic era to concep-
tions of Paulician identity.26 Surprisingly, this intertextuality is not continued
throughout the rest of the narrative, which becomes rather shadowy after
the mass immolation described above. After this, some refugees regrouped in
Episparis, a village whose name is rich in symbolism, but has never been pre-
cisely identified, under the command of an obscure figure known as Paul the
Armenian.27 He is never listed among the didaskaloi by Roman writers and is
never credited with the name of a Pauline disciple, although the fact that he
carries the apostle’s name is surely a crucial piece of symbolism.28 He held
some form of authority, since he proposed that his son Gegnesios should be
the next leader of the Paulicians and, unlike him, Gegnesios is elsewhere iden-
tified as a didaskalos. The latter’s status was, however, contested by Theodore,
another of Paul’s sons. The two quarrelled not only over the leadership, but
also a form of sanctification that is perhaps closely associated with it: “the
grace of the Spirit,” which we shall see assumes a place of paramount impor-
tance in Paulician thought. Gegnesios ultimately prevailed in the dispute since
he subsequently adopted the name Timothy and is acknowledged as such in
Byzantine sources which without exception omit mention of Theodore. Peter
of Sicily has evidently compressed the particulars of the dispute between the
two, so the reasons why Gegnesios-​Timothy triumphed cannot be ascertained,
but it seems apparent that this episode does not conform to the topos of the

25 Edward Gibbon, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, vol. 6, ed. John Bagnell Bury
(London, 1898), p. 122. Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” pp. 168–​171; Milan Loos, “Le mouvement
paulicien à Byzance,” Byzantinoslavica 24 (1963), pp. 258–​262.
26 Carl Dixon, “Paulician Self-​Defence and Self-​Definition in the Didaskalie,” Nottingham
Medieval Studies 63 (2019), pp. 61–​80.
27 The geography of the Didaskalie implies that Episparis should be within the empire. See
further, Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton, eds., Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine
World: c.650–​1450 (Manchester, 1998), p. 14, n. 44; p. 75; Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 77–​78.
28 For Paul’s status (and that of Gegnesios and Theodore below), see Treatise, 7, ed. and trans.
Charles Astruc, Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), p. 84. English translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds. B. Hamilton, J. Hamilton (Manchester,
1998), pp. 93–​94.
148  Chapter 3

outsider.29 As in the case of Symeon and Justos, the dispute between the broth-
ers brought them to the attention of the authorities. The reigning emperor
was Leo iii, who summoned Gegnesios to be interviewed by the Patriarch of
Constantinople.30 Peter of Sicily gives an account of the ensuing interrogation,
but it is highly likely that he has distorted his source text significantly, since
the patriarch’s six questions closely resemble the six main doctrines Peter him-
self imputes to the Paulicians.31 As Peter would have it, Gegnesios outwitted
the patriarch by speaking allegorically throughout. Whether this was true of
the original account or not, the patriarch exonerated Gegnesios, who subse-
quently fled imperial lands with his followers, until he reached the first didas-
kalos Constantine-​Silvanos’ home district of Mananalis. He died there after
leading the Paulicians for thirty years in all.32
Peter of Sicily does not tell us whom, if anyone, Gegnesios designated as
his heir, but upon his death the community once again fractured, with some
following Gegnesios’ biological son Zacharias and others favouring Joseph, an
abandoned bastard born of a prostitute. In this instance, the outsider, Joseph-​
Epaphroditos, prevails once more. In a crucial piece of symbolism, during the
course of their dispute Zacharias strikes Joseph with a stone and almost kills
him. Both leaders then left Mananalis separately, only to be intercepted by a
Muslim army. Faced by this predicament, Zacharias fled his companions and
allowed them to be massacred, whereas Joseph responded to the same situa-
tion by convincing the Muslims that he was heading to Syria in order to find
pasture for his flocks and make cheese. The ruse was effective and Joseph man-
aged to reach the comparative safety of Episparis. Thus, he saved his followers
and became the uncontested leader of the Paulician community.33 However,
dislocation is the norm in the Didaskalie and the Paulicians did not enjoy
this harmony for long. A Roman official named Krikoraches learnt of Joseph’s
presence and sought to capture him and, although the man himself eluded

29 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 113, pp. 46–​47. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 80.
30 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 113–​114, pp. 46–​47. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 80.
31 Compare Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 115–​120, pp. 46–​49. Translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies, pp. 80–​81 with Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 36–​45, pp. 18–​23.
Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 72–​74.
32 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 122, pp. 48–​49. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 81.
33 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 123–​125, pp. 48–​51. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 81–​82.
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 149

Krikoraches, the latter did apprehend his followers. Joseph, meanwhile, fled to
Antioch in Pisidia, where he would die some years later.
Joseph’s death marks the end of the Didaskalie proper, since the account of
Sergios-​Tychikos’ career as now extant in the History cannot have been written
under Sergios’ direction, not only because it is generally unflattering to him,
but also because the symbolism which animates the Didaskalie has already
reached its logical culmination beforehand. The symbolic references to the
stonings of Constantine-​Silvanos and Joseph-​Epaphroditos delimit the begin-
ning and end of the narrative, while, as we shall see, intertextual references to
the first four didaskaloi reveal that their careers were conceived as a unified
whole. The central message behind the Didaskalie’s literary and intertextual
acrobatics is clear. As Ludwig has noted, the narrative’s recurring motif is that
of the outsider, who saves the Paulician community through piety or cunning,
in the process overcoming a rival of more esteemed ancestry or rank. This has
obvious resonance for Sergios, whom the History states was not born into a
Paulician community and was not the designated successor of his predeces-
sor Joseph-​Epaphroditos. That honour fell to Sergios’ rival Baanes.34 Taken as
a whole, the Didaskalie shows that claims based on precedence should not be
taken seriously. Piety takes priority.
So runs the surface narrative, but the Didaskalie’s symbolism operates on
rather deeper levels than this. Ludwig was once again aware of this, noting
that the narrative groups the didaskaloi into two pairs, comprising firstly
Constantine-​Silvanos and Symeon-​Titos, and secondly Gegnesios-​Timothy
and Joseph-​Epaphroditos.35 The former pair teach in the same location, have
the same opponent and are both martyred, dying alongside their followers.36
Insofar as they are based on the apostolic figures of Stephen and Paul, they fit
within a scriptural archetype. By contrast, Gegnesios and Joseph too are con-
nected by location, since they both taught at Episparis and Mananalis, whereas
their career arcs are similar, since both die in relative peace, having saved their
communities from external dangers by deceiving their would-​be persecutors.
These two didaskaloi also legitimate their claim to leadership of the commu-
nity by claiming to have received “the grace of the Spirit,” which in the case
of Joseph took precedence over heredity in proving his legitimacy.37 The exis-
tence of these pairs was one of the reasons which led Ludwig to believe that

34 Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” pp. 190–​191; 209–​211; Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 171,
pp. 62–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 89.
35 Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” pp. 187–​194.
36 Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” pp. 187–​189.
37 Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” pp. 189–​190.
150  Chapter 3

the Didaskalie was designed as a whole, but there is no place in this framework
for an account of Sergios’ career, which must have originated independently.38
This becomes clearer when we consider a fact that Ludwig did not heed: that
these pairs of didaskaloi are connected to one another by associating one indi-
vidual from each pair, with Constantine-​Silvanos linked to Joseph-​Epaphroditos
and Symeon-​Titos linked to Gegnesios-​Timothy. This device serves to further
enrich the narrative framework. Thus, Constantine and Joseph both begin
their teaching within Mananalis before migrating westward into the empire.39
Both didaskaloi are struck with a stone by their rival, in what is perhaps the
Didaskalie’s most important piece of symbolism.40 Before Symeon’s inquiry,
Constantine leads a unified community, but this state of harmony ends when
Justos strikes him with a stone. This act brings dissension into the Paulician
community, which endures through the careers of the next two didaska-
loi Symeon and Gegnesios. However, with Joseph the story comes full circle.
At the outset of his career, Joseph contests his position with Zacharias, who
strikes Joseph with a stone and almost kills him. Yet since Zacharias’ followers
are slaughtered by the Muslim army when their leader abandons them, Joseph
once more leads the Paulicians without opposition, as Constantine did before
Justos killed him. This symmetry must be problematised to some degree, since
Joseph was subsequently forced to flee his followers by Krikoraches’ inquiry.41
As for the second link, Symeon travels from Constantinople to Kibossa and is
martyred there with his followers. By contrast, Gegnesios makes a similar jour-
ney in reverse, travelling from Episparis to the capital, where he is pronounced
orthodox. He subsequently preserves his community by fleeing Roman lands.42
While the juxtaposition of Constantine and Joseph bounds the narrative, the
parallels between Symeon and Gegnesios accentuate the text’s central mes-
sage, since the declaration of Gegnesios’ orthodoxy at the religious centre of
the empire constitutes a stunning vindication of the value of obfuscation and
cunning rather than resistance and conflict. Once more, this serves the pur-
pose of legitimating Sergios, who valued accommodation in his dealings with
Byzantine authorities in preference to open defiance.

38 Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” p. 190.

39 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 94; 121–​124, pp. 40–​41; 81–​82. Translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies, pp. 76; 81–​82.
40 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 105; 124, pp. 44–​45; 48–​49. Translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies, pp. 78; 81–​82.
41 Krikoraches’ inquiry may be explained by the narrative logic of designating the Romans
as the Paulicians’ foremost enemies.
42 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 107; 114, pp. 44–​47. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 78–​80.
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 151

The difficulty of determining whether the emphases of the Didaskalie rep-

resent only Sergios’ views or those of a broader Paulician faithful will be a
recurring concern of this chapter, but the most important finding of the above
analysis –​that is, the nature of Paulician belief itself –​is not subject to this
problem. In her analysis of the text, Ludwig conclusively showed that the invo-
cation of Pauline names of didaskaloi and churches, as well as the intertextual
references to Acts, marked the Paulicians as Christians devoted to the works
and thought of the apostle Paul. Despite the habitual claims of Byzantine eccle-
siastics, indications of dualism are essentially non-​existent in the text and, as
we shall soon see, extracts from the Letters of Sergios show that the Paulicians
cannot have been dualists in any conventional sense. More importantly still,
the Didaskalie helps explain why their belief would spread so successfully in
the years after the Byzantine persecutions. By casting the Paulicians as the
Christian communities of Acts and their Roman adversaries as the persecutors
of the apostolic period, the text rationalised the experience of persecution in
an intuitive manner based upon scriptural texts that the Paulicians already
utilised.43 The simplicity and elegance of this response strongly suggests that
it became a pervasive element of Paulician discourse shortly after the Roman
persecutions, after which it was reworked within the Didaskalie. Since our
sources imply that Byzantine persecution was a brutal and heavy-​handed
affair, the Didaskalie could also encourage converts from those who were also
targeted by these persecutions (including groups such as the Athinganoi,
as well as those who were falsely identified as heretics) or those who were
otherwise disaffected with the empire. Context suggests that the Paulician
response to persecution was more successful than their contemporaries, since
whereas the Athinganoi faded from view during the 9th century, the Paulicians
became an ever-​increasing threat to the empire, albeit not only as a result of
their ideological sophistication. Be that as it may, the Didaskalie cannot have
been part of a deliberate propaganda campaign.44 Its primary audience is an
internal Paulician one, but it gives no indication that they would continue
to grow in prominence, since its narrative is one of continual setbacks. Even
when a didaskalos saves his community, a reversal is never far behind, as in

43 Dixon, “Paulician Self-​Defence,” pp. 73–​74. Note that the narrative of Acts lends itself
more easily to anti-​Jewish readings than anti-​Roman ones. On this, see Shelley Matthews,
Perfect Martyr: The Stoning of Stephen and the Construction of Christian Identity (New York/​
Oxford, 2010), pp. 58–​77.
44 Contrary to the view I expressed in Carl Dixon, “Between East Rome and Armenia: Paulician
Ethnogenesis c.780–​850,” in Transmitting and Circulating the Late Antique and Byzantine
Worlds, eds. Mirela Ivanova, Hugh Jeffery (Leiden, 2020), p. 262.
152  Chapter 3

the case of Gegnesios’ flight from the empire after his patriarchal interview at
Constantinople, or Joseph’s escape from Krikoraches after saving his followers
from Muslim attack. The text does not therefore portray the Paulicians as a suc-
cessful movement, which implies that whatever wider appeal the text would
go on to enjoy was somewhat incidental. Nevertheless, the Pauline topoi noted
above suggest that the Paulicians bolstered their identity by conceptualising
their lived experience via the piety and perseverance that characterised the
Christians of the early church. In that period, the letters of Paul attest the frac-
tiousness of the early Christians and the same is true of the Paulicians, who
were equally prone to schism.

2 Schism and the Legitimacy of the Didaskalos

The persistent concern of legitimating Sergios in the Didaskalie suggests that

his authority was not as secure as he would have liked, but the narrative’s pro-
found anxiety about the proper sources of religious legitimacy implies that
this apprehension transcended his person. Successful challenges to recognized
authority are commonplace in the text: Symeon-​Titos may have become a
Paulician didaskalos, but before repenting he had ordered the execution of his
predecessor and consigned many of his followers to the grave while attempt-
ing to convert them. In a less sanguine vein, the orphaned bastard Joseph
became the legitimate didaskalos in preference to his predecessor’s legitimate
son and heir. These precedents clearly go some way to legitimating the upstart
Sergios’ challenge to his rival Baanes, but they could also have proved to be a
double-​edged sword with which pretenders could usurp his own authority. It
is in this sense that the wealth of symbolic language which pervades the text
becomes comprehensible. Symeon-​Titos may have been a former persecutor
of Paulicians, but he is identified as the legitimate didaskalos by the symbolism
of his Pauline name, his martyr’s death, and the intertextual references which
associate him with the Paul of Acts. As the narrative progresses, the repetition
and intertextuality of the symbolic framework ensure that it is readily appar-
ent who the true didaskalos is, despite the wealth of pretenders and rivals.
This is readily understandable: without such a depth of symbolic meaning, the
Didaskalie would be little more than an invitation to insurrection.
The overriding impression is therefore that the authors of the Didaskalie
had to go to some lengths in order to legitimate Sergios. This is apparent not
just in the above, but also in the observation that aspects of the source reflect
less positively on him, which in turn may indicate its incorporation of more
longstanding Paulician traditions. In particular, the unfavourable portrayals of
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 153

martyrdom and militarism are suspicious, since the former is celebrated in the
majority of Christian traditions, whereas Paulicians were especially famed for
the latter in the second half of the 9th century. There is perhaps a relationship
between the two, since both involve open defiance and the possibility of death,
while death in battle can be considered a form of martyrdom, most notably in
Islamic traditions.45 Unfortunately, we lack the evidence to discern whether
Paulicians had a similar ethic. In this particular case, the diminished value
attributed to martyrdom probably represents an attempt to ameliorate a crit-
icism that Sergios’ role dictated more courageous actions during the persecu-
tions of the 810s. Even Peter of Sicily, who seeks to portray Sergios as the most
dangerous of all heretics, does not credit the beginnings of organised Paulician
raiding to him. Instead, he assigns this to his followers and only has Sergios join
them at a later time.46 Peter should not necessarily be taken at face value here,
but some remarks within Sergios’ letters display a conciliatory attitude towards
Byzantines which must have angered martial Paulicians. In a critically import-
ant passage that unfortunately eludes precise contextualisation, Sergios notes
that he pleaded with his followers not to hold Romans captive: “I am innocent
of these evils, for many times I told them to desist from taking the Romans
prisoner and they did not listen to me.”47
The intended audience of this fragment, and the letter of which it was orig-
inally a part, are unclear. Since Sergios invokes “Romans” as a third party, his
audience is evidently not a Roman one, although his characterisation of such
abductions as “evils” implies that he is ultimately responding to allegations
from Romans or those who advocated a rapprochement with them. His most
likely correspondent is a Paulician sympathetic to his pacifistic methods. In any
event, Sergios disavowed his followers’ aggression and this perhaps drew his
personal bravery into question. Given the obscurity of the passage’s context, we
cannot necessarily link it to the era of persecution, but it seems apparent that
Sergios’ methods faced criticism from more warlike Paulicians and the authors
of the Didaskalie found this criticism serious enough to acknowledge it.48

45 David Cook, Martyrdom in Islam (Cambridge, 2007).

46 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 175–​179, pp. 64–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 90–​91.
47 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 157, pp. 58–​59. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 87.
48 Redgate intriguingly links this quote to Sergios’ residence at Argaous, arguing that he dis-
approved of the raiding and hostage-​taking there. This is a seductive idea but seems a lit-
tle wide of the mark. Sergios’ self-​righteous tone and reference to “evils” suggests that the
extract was written at a particularly low ebb of Paulician fortunes, which can hardly be
true of the presence at Argaous. I favour a date shortly after the persecutions of Michael
154  Chapter 3

Preexisting conceptions of what a didaskalos should be conditioned the text,

so its themes were not solely dictated by Sergios. The Didaskalie asserts that
the preservation of the community was of greater importance than personal
bravery, but we must suspect that many Paulicians held the opposite view.
Sergios’ legitimacy was therefore challenged on two axes: not only was he
not the appointed heir of his predecessor Joseph-​Epaphroditos, but he also
opposed militarised resistance and may well have responded indecisively to the
Roman persecutions of the 810s. This impression is confirmed by the Letters of
Sergios, which similarly set much store on themes such as schism and loyalty.
This may be expected of pastoral letters which encouraged Paulician commu-
nities to uphold their faith, but the prominence of schism within these letters
implies that it was a persistent concern. It is conspicuously evident in a pas-
sage of the most fundamental importance to our understanding of Paulician
belief, which will soon be examined in full. This crucial extract likens the rejec-
tion of Sergios’ teachings to murder and fornication and, in so doing, consid-
ers the expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden to be a lesser
evil than Cain’s murder of Abel, which it likens to apostatising the Paulician
community.49 Once more, the context which engendered this passage cannot
be precisely specified. A somewhat less obscure passage, which also concerns
dividing the community, is addressed to one Leo the Montanist. Although
Montanism (known to its adherents as the New Prophecy) attained most
prominence in the 2nd century, it is unclear whether believers still remained in
our period. Theophanes writes of Montanists resorting to self-​immolation en
masse in preference to forced baptism during the reign of Leo iii, but the group
may in fact have been a millennial sect of Jews.50 Which belief system Leo the
Montanist espoused is similarly unclear, but the best explanation is perhaps
that of Lemerle, who identifies him as a dissident Paulician.51 In this instance,
Sergios locates Leo outside the community and accuses him of dividing it:

i and Leo v. See also Anne E. Redgate, “Catholicos John III’s Against the Paulicians and
the Paulicians of Tephrike,” in Armenian Sebastia/​Sivas and Lesser Armenia, ed. Richard
G. Hovannisian (Los Angeles, 2004), p. 109.
49 Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” pp. 219–​220.
50 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, ed. Carl de Boor, 2 vols, vol. 1 (Leipzig, 1883),
p. 401. English translation: The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, eds. and trans. Cyril
Mango, Roger Scott (Oxford, 1997), pp. 554–​555. On the possibility that the events relate
to Severan Jews, see Andrew Sharf, “The Jews, the Montanists and the Emperor Leo III,”
in Jews and Other Minorities in Byzantium (Jerusalem, 1995), pp. 115–​116. On the New
Prophecy, see Christine Trevett, Montanism: Gender, Authority and the New Prophecy
(Cambridge, 1996).
51 Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 120.
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 155

As for you, give heed to yourself. Refrain from dividing the unwavering
faith; what accusation do you bring against us? Have I claimed more than
anyone or been haughty? You cannot say so; but if you do say so, your
witness is not true. May I never hate you, but rather exhort you to accept
shepherds and teachers just as you accept apostles and prophets, four in
number, so that you may not become the prey of wild beasts.”52

Irrespective of Leo’s confessional affiliation, Sergios accuses him of both

improper belief and of encroaching upon his own spiritual authority. Once
again, dividing the faith is an explicit concern.
Sergios’ principal method of addressing schism and his contested legiti-
macy is a traditional one of invoking continuity with his predecessors. As we
saw above, his career was not originally related in the Didaskalie, but, despite
this, his Letters show that he participated in the symbolism it expresses
by other means. Notably, while listing the didaskaloi and the churches that
they founded, he refers to himself in the third person using his Pauline name
Tychikos.53 A similar example of an appeal to tradition is found in his letter to
the Church of Koloneia:

Since we have foreknowledge of the reliability of your belief, we are mak-

ing a reminder to you that just as the churches who came before you54
received shepherds and teachers –​he speaks of Constantine and the
rest –​in this manner you received a shining lamp, a light-​giving star and
guide of salvation, as it is written that: ‘If your eye is sound, your whole
body will shine.’55

Here Sergios locates himself within the tradition of his predecessors to con-
vince the Church of Koloneia to maintain their loyalty and faith by imply-
ing that he shares mutual traditions with them, which are developed by his

52 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 166, pp. 62–​63. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 88–​89. The reference to four apostles/​prophets presumably corresponds to
the evangelists.
53 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 163, pp. 60–​61. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 88.
54 There is an inconsistency here. When Sergios references the Paulician churches in his
letters, the Church of the Macedonians, at Kibossa, near Koloneia, is the second church,
so it should not have been preceded by “churches.” Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians,
163, pp. 60–​61. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 88.
55 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 158, pp. 58–​59. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 87.
156  Chapter 3

language and quotations from the New Testament. These examples are crucial
since they show that although the Sergiote party dictated the Didaskalie as
now extant, the mythical didaskaloi that the text describes evidently instilled
considerable reverence in contemporary Paulicians. We must suspect that
their status as didaskaloi had been established for some time, in which case
the Didaskalie was evidently founded on more longstanding traditions.
To date we have only addressed the disputed legitimacy of Sergios. A related
matter, namely the means by which a didaskalos legitimated himself, suggests
that this concern afflicted the Paulicians in a more fundamental sense. In the
Didaskalie there are several factors which contribute to a didaskalos’s legiti-
macy, among which are being the acclaimed heir of their predecessor, preserv-
ing or expanding the faith community, or displaying courage in the face of an
enemy. Crucially, however, the formal process by which a didaskalos assumed
their authority is never defined in the Didaskalie. As we have seen, the first two
Paulician leaders, Constantine and Symeon, are legitimated by their martyr-
dom, while the third and fourth didaskaloi, Gegnesios and Joseph, are legiti-
mised by the preservation of their community. In the former case, there cannot
have been a formal means by which authority is transmitted from Constantine
to Symeon because there is an interval before Symeon’s conversion. While
martyrdom is the primary way in which their sanctity is portrayed, this cannot
have been a method of legitimation in practice because it can only be fulfilled
at death. By contrast, at the time of Gegnesios and his conflict with Theodore,
there are two competing succession mechanisms at play: heredity and the
“reception of the grace of the Spirit” (τὴν χάριν εἰληφέναι τοῦ πνεύματος).56 In this
episode it is unclear which of these two mechanisms predominates, since the
History notes that Gegnesios and Theodore were still in conflict at the end of
their lives, even though Gegnesios is characterised as the legitimate didaskalos
throughout. If this episode is not decisive, in the next conflict Joseph triumphs
over Zacharias and the “reception of the grace of the Spirit” definitively trumps
heredity because Zacharias is Gegnesios’ son.57
Insofar as Sergios is associated with Gegnesios and Joseph through his abil-
ity to preserve the Paulician community, we may suspect that “the grace of the
Spirit” may be associated with this too. In fact, there is little in the Didaskalie
to imply so. Critically, there are indications that both Constantine-​Silvanos
and Symeon-​Titos too received “the grace of the Spirit” despite their failure

56 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 112–​113, pp. 46–​47. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 80.
57 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 123–​124, pp. 48–​49. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 81–​82.
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 157

to safeguard their communities. Immediately before his martyrdom in Acts,

the protomartyr Stephen is filled with the Spirit and sees a vision of the Son
of Man beside God in the heavens.58 Given the parallels between Stephen and
Constantine-​Silvanos, it seems likely that the Paulicians understood the latter
as receiving the Spirit, whether at his martyrdom or beforehand. By extension,
the same was probably true of Symeon-​Titos also. Despite its prominence in
the narrative, like other factors such as heredity and the preservation of the
community “the grace of the Spirit” cannot have been a legitimating criterion
in practice because it is only ever claimed in the Didaskalie and these claims
are habitually contested. This is apparent in the dispute between Gegnesios
and his rival Theodore:

And there was a conflict between both of these brothers, Gegnesios, I say,
and Theodore, one saying that he had received the divine grace of the
Spirit, the other again alleging this for himself. And thus quarrelling with
each other and hating one another completely, the leaders of abomina-
tion remained so until the end of their lives.59

In this example, the reception of “the grace of the Spirit” does not legitimate
Gegnesios since Theodore still retains his claim until his death. Instead, the
symbolic allusions of the text, such as the assumption of a name of a Pauline
disciple, demonstrate that Gegnesios was the legitimate didaskalos. “The grace
of the Spirit,” like martyrdom, could not legitimate a didaskalos in practice. The
only criterion which could provide legitimacy, that is, heredity, is dismissed by
the Didaskalie because Zacharias does not succeed his father Gegnesios. As a
result, every signifier that the text connects with the legitimation of the didas-
kalos cannot have operated outside the confines of a narrative.
The most obvious explanation for this conundrum is that the assumption of
this title –​and the authority and responsibilities associated with it –​were not
clearly formalised. This would certainly explain both the frequency of lead-
ership disputes among the Paulicians and the Didaskalie’s incessant concern
with symbolically designating the legitimate didaskalos. By all indications, the
questions of legitimacy that pervade the text are more fundamental than an
attempt to legitimise Sergios and instead involve more longstanding disagree-
ments about the virtues and responsibilities associated with earthly spiritual
authority. Our source may fail to adequately explain the legitimation of the

58 Acts 7:55–​56.
59 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 113, pp. 46–​47. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 80.
158  Chapter 3

didaskalos, but a ready explanation presents itself: the status of the didaskalos
was dictated by his charismatic leadership and his acceptance by Paulician
communities. These factors were presumably central to Sergios’ challenge to
Baanes, but we should not reduce inter-​Paulician conflicts to a binary prob-
lem of one leader or another. It is eminently possible that several competitors
could have been accepted by different communities at any one time –​partic-
ularly if early Paulicians arose independently in different places and with dif-
ferent doctrinal emphases before coalescing into a recognisable identification.
This is precisely what I think happened. In the process, the characteristically
Paulician phrase “the grace of the Spirit” became associated with the sanctifi-
cation of the didaskalos, but it is probable that this phraseology was originally
confined neither to this nor the religious hierarchy more generally. The ordi-
nary Paulician adherent is essentially invisible in the Didaskalie, which nar-
rates the actions of male clerical elites, as is only to be expected for a work of
this period. A deeper reading suggests something rather different: the judge-
ment of the rank and file could make or break a didaskalos. The reluctance of
our Paulician sources to acknowledge this implies a movement in considerable
flux during the early 9th century. The Didaskalie may not provide a reliable
account of Paulician history, but it tells us much about the period of its com-
position. When read in conjunction with the Letters of Sergios, it allows us to
shatter a longstanding illusion: the Paulicians’ alleged dualism.

3 Dualism and “the Grace of the Spirit”

The Paulicians have rarely impinged upon the popular imagination, but where
they have it is as precursors of the much better known Cathars, who are a rarity
in consistently provoking the interest of both popular and academic historians.
As a consequence, the starting point for the uninitiated is that the Paulicians
were dualists who founded a religious tradition which spread over the course
of four centuries from Asia Minor to Bulgaria and thence to the Languedoc
and Lombardy, where these later manifestations would imperil the heartlands
of the Catholic Church. This emphasis, or at least the dualist identification,
have been maintained by most authorities, unsurprisingly since Paulicians
are consistently accused of dualism in contemporary Greek sources. While
Armenian specialists have dissented from this position and instead interpreted
them as adoptionists, the most pressing critique of the dualist position was
raised by Ludwig, who employed a methodology so self-​evident that it is dif-
ficult to conceive why it had not been utilised before: she read the Paulician
material on its own merits to see whether it justified the accusations of the
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 159

Greek heresiologists. Concluding that it did not, she interpreted the Paulicians
as largely conventional Christians whose beliefs were indebted to the teach-
ings and writings of the apostle Paul, although she did not tackle the matter of
dualism head on. This shall be our task here and our conclusions will resound-
ingly endorse Ludwig’s position.
Our primary points of comparison on the Paulician side are naturally
the Didaskalie and the Letters of Sergios, while from the Byzantine perspec-
tive I have preferred the Treatise to the History of the Paulicians and the Brief
History because it is almost contemporary with the Paulician texts, being at
most a couple of decades later than them (c.834/​35–​843). Moreover, since it
refers to the didaskaloi and churches described by the Didaskalie and Letters
of Sergios, its writer evidently knew of these sources or traditions closely
related to them. It is, however, important to note that, since the later forged
texts make much the same accusations as the Treatise, our argument would
be similar irrespective of the Roman source used. Equally notably, since we
have insufficient testimony from other periods, the arguments made here
are most applicable to the early 9th century and should not be transposed to
other periods without adequate justification. It does seem safe to posit that the
Paulicians did not espouse dualism before the composition of the Didaskalie
and Letters of Sergios, not only because there are no indications of dualism
in these sources whatsoever, but also because, as we shall see, in a number of
instances the accusations of the Byzantine texts are mendacious, manifestly
inaccurate, and betray scant engagement with these works. Given the absence
of later Paulician testimony, we lack the means to appraise the existence of
dualism in subsequent periods, including during the careers of Karbeas and
Chrysocheir. Taking into account the momentous changes that had occurred
during the intervening years and the dynamism of Paulician belief in the early
period, we would be complacent to posit straightforward continuity with later
eras. As a result, although these conclusions present a serious obstacle to the
traditional thesis of Paulician influence on the later Bogomils and Cathars, sur-
mounting this impediment would entail a separate study in itself.
In existing scholarship, the Paulicians are considered absolute dualists,
that is, they held that the good and evil principles were coeternal and in no
way subordinate to one another, much like the ancient Marcionites and, in
Christian eyes, Manichaeans (the latter’s cosmology, while broadly reducible
to a conflict between good and evil, was in fact much more complex).60 This

60 On Manichaean cosmology, see Samuel N.C. Lieu, Manichaeism in the Later Roman
Empire and Medieval China (Manchester, 1985), pp. 8–​24.
160  Chapter 3

interpretation has been substantiated through the allegations of the Greek

polemical sources, which combine accusations of dualism with related doc-
trines, such as docetism and the rejection of the Old Testament.61 By contrast,
here we shall place less store on these allegations and instead base our analysis
on the Paulician testimony in the Didaskalie and the Letters of Sergios, with
the latter assuming most prominence. The Didaskalie does, however, contain a
little-​known passage whose significance for the dualist interpretation has not
yet been sufficiently recognized. The extract in question is the dispute between
Symeon and Justos noted above, which revolves around the interpretation of
Colossians 1:16–​17.62 This passage relates to the Son’s relationship with both
the Father and heavenly and terrestrial authority, so it certainly would be of
interest to dualist exegetes:

For in him [the Son] all things in heaven and on earth were created,
things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or
powers –​all things have been created through him and for him. He him-
self is before all things and in him all things hold together.63

Before addressing this passage specifically, it is important to note in passing

that this dispute argues against a conventionally Marcionite provenance for
Paulician doctrine, as many have proposed, since the passage in question was
not accepted as canonical by Marcion.64 As for our aims here, it is difficult
to contextualise the interpretation of Colossians 1:16–​17 with other Paulician
testimony because this is the only scriptural quotation invoked within the
Didaskalie that focuses upon the Son and the Father. Other Paulician uses of
scripture, which are mostly confined to the Letters of Sergios, focus overwhelm-
ingly on the Holy Spirit, which seems to have been rather more central to their
thought.
The way forward therefore lies in the interpretation of the above quo-
tation given by our polemicists. Somewhat surprisingly, Peter of Sicily and

61 Treatise, 9–​24, pp. 85–​92. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 94–​96; Peter of
Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 36–​45, pp. 18–​23. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies,
pp. 72–​74.
62 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 110, pp. 44–​47. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 79.
63 Col. 1:16–​17.
64 Judith Lieu, Marcion and the Making of a Heretic: God and Scripture in the Second Century
(Cambridge, 2015), p. 264; Tertullian, Adversus Marcionem, 5:19.3–​6, ed. and trans. Ernest
Evans, 2 vols, vol. 2 (Oxford, 1972), pp. 630–​633.
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 161

Pseudo-​Photios give different emphases, with only the latter explicitly invok-
ing a dualist interpretation. Peter of Sicily explains the dispute as follows:

Although Justos insisted, saying, ‘Let us not deceive the people and in
ignorance destroy their souls, by teaching something other than the
words of the apostle. We shall have to pay for their souls at the terrifying
judgement.’ Symeon did not agree; he persisted in twisting and pervert-
ing the sense of the words in this way and that, as was his habit.65

Here Peter portrays Justos as a pseudo-​orthodox figure in contrast to the

heretical Symeon, but he never explains the nature of Symeon’s error. Pseudo-​
Photios, on the other hand, explicitly alleges that Symeon taught that the
Father did not create the earth:

Having put this passage forward, [Justos] opposed the interpretation of

Symeon, saying that they had fallen into error and deceived their follow-
ers by not truly identifying the creator of heaven and earth as the Father
of our Lord Jesus Christ, but some other, whom the apostolic sayings do
not know.66

This is the sole reference within our Paulician sources that testifies to a dual-
istic conception of the cosmos and accordingly it deserves great respect.
It seems certain that the dispute itself was original to the Didaskalie, since
the contested phrase lies within the Pauline letters which were so crucial to
Paulician thought, but it is much less clear whether any indications of dualism
were present in the archetype. If they were, for instance, we would expect Peter
of Sicily to have made the claim in addition to Pseudo-​Photios. The two most
convincing explanations are either that the passage attests a genuine dualist
emphasis in the Didaskalie that is now only evident in this one instance, or
that Pseudo-​Photios has imposed a dualist reading upon the text. As we shall
see, the latter possibility seems most likely because there is abundant evidence
elsewhere that Roman polemicists did not meaningfully engage with the spiri-
tual emphases of the Paulician material. When we compare Roman allegations
with the Letters of Sergios it quickly becomes apparent that these claims are
tenuous or distorted at best and that the Paulicians cannot have been dualists
in the sense that the Byzantine tradition insists.

65 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 110, pp. 44–​47. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 79.
66 Pseudo-​Photios, Brief History, 70, pp. 144–​145.
162  Chapter 3

This becomes apparent while appraising their alleged rejection of the Old
Testament, or more properly, the sense of continuity between the Old and New
Covenants. It is often stated that dualists rejected the Old Testament, but, in
most instances, they did in fact refer to it in their writings, reading it allegori-
cally to show that its god was not the heavenly Father who had sent the Son.67
Notably, the Treatise does not accuse the Paulicians of straightforwardly reject-
ing the Old Testament:

They reject the prophets and other saints. They abhor and reject the holy
Peter, the great chief apostle even more so. They say that none of these is
in the party of those who are to be saved.68

The passage is clearly directed against several spiritual authorities, rather than
the Old Testament as such. Peter of Sicily, by contrast, alleges a more whole-
sale rejection, noting that “they do not accept an ancient book of any sort,
calling the prophets brigands and cheats.”69 Neither of our heresiological texts
directly refers to the Old Testament, but this is unsurprising given that it was
so rarely consulted as a single work in our period.70 Both texts do, however,
imply that the Paulicians did not use it in another instance, while noting that
Constantine-​Silvanos forbade the consultation of any book except “the Gospel
and the Apostle.”71 Constantine’s prohibition is among the most enigmatic
references in all our sources. Since it posits canonical scriptural texts as the
foundation of Paulician belief, we would expect that it derives from genuine
Paulician testimony, but, as we shall see below, the Letters of Sergios show that
Sergios used other texts, which Peter of Sicily corroborates by noting that the
Paulicians accept the epistles of James and Jude, as well as the three epistles of
John.72 In fact, it seems that Constantine’s belief in the primacy of the Gospel

67 Lieu, Marcion and the Making of a Heretic, pp. 121–​122; 230; Evgenïa Moiseeva, “The Old
Testament in Fourth-​Century Christian-​Manichaean Polemic,” Journal of Late Antiquity
11:2 (2018), pp. 281–​282.
68 Treatise, 13, p. 88. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 95.
69 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 42, pp. 20–​21. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 73.
70 James Miller, “The Prophetologion: The Old Testament of Byzantine Christianity?,” in The
Old Testament in Byzantium, eds. Paul Magdalino, Robert S. Nelson (Washington, D.C.,
2010), pp. 55–​57.
71 Treatise, 4, p. 81. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 93; Peter of Sicily, History of the
Paulicians, 96, pp. 40–​41. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 76–​77.
72 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 42, pp. 22–​23. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 73. The Hamiltons noted a passage pertaining to Bogomils in the Synodikon
of Orthodoxy which accuses one Tychikos of misinterpreting the scriptures, especially
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 163

and the Apostle does derive from the Paulician archetype, but that this inflexi-
bility had been rejected by the time of Sergios, if not beforehand. For instance,
several of our texts state that Constantine only taught orally, but the existence
of Sergios’s letters show that the final didaskalos did not, whereas the fact that
he adopted conventional modes of exegesis shows that he broke Constantine’s
prohibitions in both letter and spirit.73 This is nowhere more evident than
in Sergios’ use of the Old Testament, which assumes great importance here
because a sense of discontinuity between the two testaments is fundamental to
dualist belief systems such as Marcionism and, less certainly, Manichaeism.74
That the Paulicians did not posit such a discontinuity –​and therefore
cannot have been dualists in any conventional sense –​is evident from a fasci-
nating extract of the Letters of Sergios, which likens schism to sin and fornica-
tion by reading Genesis in combination with 1 Corinthians 6:18. As with most
extracts of Sergios’ correspondence, articulating the context of the passage is
troublesome, but the phrase “We are the body of Christ,” strongly suggests a
Paulician audience, as does the fact that the passage is concerned with avert-
ing schism:75

Elsewhere you [Sergios] said: “The first fornication which we have inher-
ited from Adam is a good work (εὐεργεσία), but the second fornication is
more serious (μείζων),76 about which it is said: ‘He who fornicates sins

the Gospel of Matthew, which they interpret to mean that Sergios-​Tychikos composed a
commentary on Matthew. The source is too late and confused to support this view, how-
ever. On this, see Hamilton, Hamilton, eds., Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 39, n. 125; p. 137;
Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), pp. 191; 207–​208.
73 While the History never states that Constantine-​Silvanos only taught orally, this is noted
by the Treatise and the Brief History, although the latter is dependent on the former.
See Treatise, 4, p. 81. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 93; Pseudo-​Photios, Brief
History, 6, pp. 122–​123.
74 Lieu, Marcion and the Making of a Heretic, p. 6. There is some indication that the
Manichaean rejection of the Old Testament may have postdated Mani and arose under
his disciples, notably Adda. On this, see Moiseeva, “The Old Testament,” pp. 285–​292.
75 The passage has rarely been discussed in recent times, aside from the analyses of Lemerle
and Ludwig, with which I shall largely agree in the following discussion. See Lemerle,
“L’histoire,” pp. 121–​122; Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” pp. 219–​220. The extract received some
attention in 19th-​century scholarship, such as in the work of Neander, who interprets it
in light of Paulician dualism, and Döllinger, who argues that it testifies to the reformer
Sergios’s criticism of the traditional antinomian party under Baanes. See August Neander,
Allgemeine Geschichte der christlichen Religion und Kirche, vol. 3 (Hamburg, 1834), pp. 523–​
526; J.J. Ignaz von Döllinger, Beiträge zur Sektengeschichte des Mittelalters, 2 vols., vol. 1
(Munich, 1890), pp. 17–​18.
76 The translation of εὐεργεσία is troublesome, as noted by Lemerle. Discussion of the term
has generally focused on how the Fall of Adam and Eve could be considered a ‘good work’,
164  Chapter 3

against his own body.’ ”77 You go on to say, “We are the body of Christ; if
anyone overthrows the traditions of the body of Christ –​these are my
things –​he sins, because he runs to those who teach otherwise and dis-
obeys healthy words.”78

As Lemerle and Ludwig among others have rightly noted, the first fornication
described here is Adam’s and Eve’s expulsion from paradise, whereas the sec-
ond is Cain’s murder of Abel, but it is surprising to see the latter labelled “a
fornication.”79 It is usually characterised as a sin, for reasons which Paul notes
in 1 Corinthians 6:18, but which Sergios leaves unsaid: “Every sin that a person
commits is outside the body.” Cain’s act of murder is only considered a forni-
cation because Sergios understands Abel to be part of Cain’s own body in the
sense that they are both allegorically part of the body of Christ. This reading
is entirely conventional, since at 1 Corinthians 6:15 Paul invokes “the body of
Christ” as a vehicle of communal self-​understanding for the Christian faithful.
As a result, the passage interprets sinning against the Christian –​that is, the
Paulician –​community as more serious than bodily sin, thereby once again
addressing the concern with schism we have observed throughout this chapter.

but it should be noted that this is not the focus of the passage, which is far more con-
cerned with an allegorical reading of Cain’s murder of Abel and, by extension, sin and
schism. The Fall is probably invoked only because it is the obvious comparison point for a
discussion of sin. In any case, it is apparent elsewhere in his writings that Sergios’ diction
is unconventional when compared with Byzantine texts of the period. It is, for instance,
unusual that he refers to the “traditions of the body of Christ” as “my things” when he
invokes a communal “We” earlier in the passage while identifying the Paulician commu-
nity as this “body of Christ.” The uncertain context of the passage and its selective quota-
tion by Peter of Sicily are evidently stumbling blocks to resolving these ambiguities. See
also Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 121–​122.
77 1 Cor. 6:18.
78 1 Tim. 6:3. Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 167, pp. 62–​63. Translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies, p. 89.
79 Gen. 3–​4. Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 121–​122; Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” pp. 219–​220. Both
Lemerle and Ludwig believe the passage is concerned with sin and schism. Lemerle reads
the scriptural passages cited in the extract together with Rom. 5:12–​21 to suggest that the
grace of one man (Christ) ultimately redeemed all those who fell as a result of the sin of
one man (Adam). Therefore, in a broader soteriological context this might be considered
a good thing, whereas the same is not true of division and schism. Ludwig, by contrast,
notes the significance of schism to the events of the Didaskalie, such as the respective
rivalries of firstly Gegnesios and Theodore; and secondly Joseph and Zacharias. In partic-
ular, the divine favour shown to Abel in preference to the firstborn Cain correlates well
with the lack of emphasis on heredity and appointed succession in the Paulician mythos.
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 165

Read with an attentive eye, this passage convincingly proves that the
Paulicians did not reject the Old Testament in Sergios’ day –​and it strongly
intimates that they were not dualists either.80 Since Sergios uses examples
from the Old Testament to orient his discussion and articulate its theological
meaning, he evidently does not reject it. He is clear that both pericopes from
Genesis have continued relevance to his own followers if read according to
the standard exegetical practice of interpreting the Old and New Testaments
together to corroborate one another. By reinterpreting Cain’s actions in light
of the Pauline letters, Sergios appeals to his followers to hold to their faith and
remain united, as we might expect of any pastoral sermon. His approach is
entirely conventional; it is only the confessional affiliation which would sur-
prise a contemporary. Furthermore, since Sergios does not clarify what the
second fornication is, it follows that he expects his Paulician audience to under-
stand this for themselves, thereby suggesting that they too would be familiar
with books of the Old Testament. The conclusion is clear: in the early 9th cen-
tury, the Paulicians did not reject the Old Testament and its continuity with
the New Testament.81 But we can go further than this. In all of the above, there
is no indication of the allegorical readings that are beloved of dualist exegetes.
This is especially significant because the episodes that Sergios recounts were
of paramount importance to dualist cosmology and soteriology, since Adam’s
creation and transgression mark the beginning of the evil principle’s dominion
over human affairs, whether by confining their souls in his own material ves-
sels or by fashioning humanity himself. The idea that the debasement of the
human species could be invoked positively in any dualist tradition is anathema
irrespective of context, but it is utterly unthinkable here, since any allusion to
man’s alienation from the higher god would subvert Sergios’ intended aim of
fostering unity. Yet the didaskalos’ meaning is clear: the fall of Adam can be
interpreted positively, either because it is the trigger which ultimately neces-
sitates the Redeemer’s incarnation or, in this context specifically, because it
proves an edifying example in comparison with Cain’s murder of Abel. As a
result, his thought is irreconcilable with any known branch of Christian dualist
teaching.
Since neither of our Paulician sources explicitly discuss cosmological themes,
we cannot yet seal the coffin of Paulician dualism, but Sergios’ exegesis represents

80 For Lemerle’s conjectural dualist readings of the extract, which he acknowledges are ten-
tative because the passage does not reflect an attempt to reconcile original sin with dual-
ism, see Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 121, n. 23.
81 Even though both of their interpretations necessitate this, both Lemerle and Ludwig
oddly fail to acknowledge this fact.
166  Chapter 3

a very substantial nail in its bulk. There are other nails to hand in the Letters
of Sergios, however, notably regarding the alleged docetism of the Paulicians,
which in the Treatise and History of the Paulicians underlies their rejection of the
Virgin.82 We have already seen in Sergios’ exegesis that he refers to the Paulician
faithful as “the body of Christ,” which seems to be derived from the idea of
Christ’s body as community articulated at 1 Corinthians 12:12–​27. This emphasis
sits very uneasily indeed with the idea that Christ’s body was only illusory and
references elsewhere in the Letters further reiterate the formulation and imply
that the Paulicians can in no way have been docetists. Most notably of all, Sergios
personifies his importance to this “body of Christ” in two separate passages:

Let no-​one deceive you in any way. You have these promises from God,
be confident. I have written to you, having confidence in your hearts, that
I am the door-​keeper, the good shepherd, the guide of the body of Christ,
the light of the house of God, and I am with you always to the close of the
world. If I am absent in the body, still I am present in the Spirit.83 For the
rest, farewell, be strong, and the God of peace will be with you.84

Having heard the reputation of your faith, I remind you that, just as the
churches which preceded you had shepherds and teachers (he means
Constantine and the rest), so you have received a shining torch, a star of
daybreak, a guide to salvation, as it is written: ‘If your eye is sound, your
whole body will be full of light.’85

In the first of these extracts, the equivalence of “the body of Christ” with the
Paulician community is clear once more, with Sergios assuming the role of
guide. Just as crucially, the physical and spiritual are given comparable signif-
icance for the Paulician believer: “If I am absent in the body, still I am present
in the Spirit”; a phrase which refutes a dualist conception of spirit and matter
and once more implies that Paulician dualism is only a mirage. In the second
passage, the pastoral emphasis is similar but inexplicit; Sergios’ invocation of
Matthew 6.22 serves to understand himself as “the eye” of “the body of Christ,”

82 Treatise, 11, p. 87. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 94; Peter of Sicily, History of the
Paulicians, 22; 39, pp. 14–​15; 20–​21. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 69; 72.
83 1 Cor. 5:3; Col. 2:5.
84 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 161, pp. 60–​61. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 87–​88.
85 Matt. 6:22. Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 158, pp. 58–​59. Translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies, p. 87.
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 167

but much of the underlying spiritual meaning is unarticulated because Sergios

expects his followers to understand that they belong to this body. Rather than
considering Christ’s body an illusion, as Byzantine heresiologists alleged,
Paulicians imbued it with an allegorical significance that had great signifi-
cance for their communal sense of belonging, as is true of Paul’s own writings.
Here as elsewhere, Roman allegations are considerably wide of the mark.
In many respects, the above misreadings of Paulician ideas are egregious
enough that it is difficult to take any Roman accusation of doctrinal error seri-
ously unless there is corroborating evidence to substantiate it. The claim that
they denied the sanctity of the Theotokos, for instance, seems untenable given
that the rationale behind it is demonstrably false. Other claims, such as their
supposed rejection of the eucharist and cross, are also questionable consider-
ing that their conception of “the body of Christ” is founded on 1 Corinthians,
which champions both of these images of the divine.86 I am equally scepti-
cal that they rejected Peter or the prophets of the Old Covenant, particularly
because their use of the Old Testament is now established, but it does seem
probable that they found these witnesses much less authoritative than the
Pauline Letters and Gospels, which were fundamental to their thinking.
All of this is not to say, however, that the Paulicians were perfectly conven-
tional in their beliefs. The deeper we dig the more indications of heterodoxy
and heteropraxy become apparent. This is most apparent in their under-
standing of the Holy Spirit, which once more attests a deep interest in Pauline
texts. Any inquiry into the Paulicians’ conception of the Holy Spirit necessar-
ily begins with its most important expression: “the reception of the grace of
the Spirit.” As we have already seen, in the Didaskalie this phrase is central
to the legitimacy of a didaskalos. In conventional theological understandings,
the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father and inspires both the Church and
individual Christians who have reached a requisite level of sanctification or
purification.87 Hence, “the grace of the Spirit” is often associated with import-
ant rites, such as baptism or salvation, as well as the spontaneous inspiration
of prominent individuals, including apostles and prophets.88 All of this is

86 1 Cor. 1:17–​18; 10:16–​17; 11:23–​34.

87 For the example of Peter and Paul, see Basil of Caesarea, Homilia 15: De fide, 3, Patrologia
Graeca 31, col. 469D. English translation: On Christian Doctrine and Practice, ed. and trans.
Mark DelCogliano (Yonkers, 2012), p. 238.
88 For baptism, see Gregory of Nyssa, De perfectione Christiana ad Olympium monachum,
in Gregorii Nysseni opera, ed. Werner W. Jaeger, 10 vols, vol. 8:1 (Leiden, 1952), p. 202, l. 6–​
14. English translation: Saint Gregory of Nyssa: Ascetical Works, ed. and trans. Virginia
W. Callahan (Washington, D.C., 1967), p. 114. For salvation, see Gregory of Nyssa, De insti-
tuto Christiano, in Gregorii Nysseni opera, ed. Werner W. Jaeger, 10 vols, vol. 8:1 (Leiden,
168  Chapter 3

broadly in keeping with the Paulician usage, but the latter also has a distinctly
Pauline emphasis which stresses the participation of the ordinary believer in
the divine. In fact, the terminology used by the Paulicians implies a complex
borrowing from Pauline texts and contemporary theology. Grace and the Spirit
are both important themes in Acts and the Pauline epistles, but they are never
employed in combination.89 A term related to grace, ‘spiritual gifts’ (χάρισματα),
is used in conjunction with Spirit, but this combination never appears in our
Paulician texts.90 It therefore follows that the Paulician usage departs from that
of Paul in some respects, but it still seems evident that his reading influenced
them considerably. Notably, for example, Paulician texts are similar to Paul’s
works in that they generally refer to Spirit rather than the Holy Spirit.91 The
latter usage was rare in the early centuries of Christianity because differentiat-
ing the activity of the Holy Spirit from that of the Father and Son only became
a point of acute theological concern from the First Council of Constantinople
(381) onwards. As a result, even if the Paulicians’ views are heavily dependent
on Paul here, they also demonstrate influence or intercourse with contempo-
rary Christian traditions.
The Paulicians did, however, depart from these traditions in important
respects and this is particularly evident in their conception of an exclusivist or
permanent indwelling of the Spirit. We have already seen that Gegnesios and
Theodore remained in conflict until the end of their lives about which of them

1952), p. 77, l. 9. English translation: Saint Gregory of Nyssa: Ascetical Works, ed. and trans.
Virginia W. Callahan (Washington, D.C., 1967), p. 151. On the remission of sins, see Basil of
Caesarea, Basile de Césarée. Traité du Saint-​Esprit, 19:49, ed. Benoit Pruche (Paris, 1968),
p. 420, l. 18–​19. English translation: On the Holy Spirit, ed. and trans. David Anderson
(Crestwood, 1980), p. 77. On prophecy, see John Chrysostom, In principium Actorum, 2,
Patrologia Graeca 51, col. 96, l. 20–​21. On reception of the Spirit, see Pseudo-​Makarios,
Homilia 17, in Makarios/​Symeon: Reden und Briefe, 2:1, ed. Heinz Berthold, 2 vols, vol. 1
(Berlin, 1973), p. 189, l. 3–​5; Pseudo-​Makarios, Homilia 49, 6:5, vol. 2, p. 121, l. 17–​20. English
translation: Pseudo-​Macarius: The Fifty Spiritual Homilies and the Great Letter, ed. and
trans. George A. Maloney (New York, 1992), p. 452; Athanasios, Orationes tres contra
Arianos, Patrologia Graeca 26, col. 273C. English translation: The Orations of S. Athanasius
against the Arians, ed. and trans. William C.L. Bright (London, 1889), pp. 152–​153; Basil
of Caesarea, Traité du Saint-​Esprit, 22:53, p. 442, l. 24–​26. Translation: On the Holy Spirit,
p. 84; Basil of Caesarea, Traité du Saint-​Esprit, 26:11, p. 468, l. 16–​19. Translation: On the Holy
Spirit, p. 93.
89 Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” p. 185.
90 Grace is generally considered as an attribute of the Godhead as a whole. Paul’s letters
emphasise χάρισμα (which can be loosely translated as spiritual gifts), which are consid-
ered manifestations of the Spirit. See Gordon D. Fee, God’s Empowering Presence: The Holy
Spirit in the Letters of Paul (Grand Rapids, 1994), pp. 32–​35; 886–​895.
91 Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” p. 185.
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 169

had received “the grace of the Spirit,” which implies that they believed it could
only be true of one of them. The Didaskalie’s attribution of a Pauline name
to the legitimate didaskalos surely underlies this exclusivist position, which
restricts the activity of the Spirit solely to the didaskalos. This notion contra-
venes conventional theological perspectives, which allow that “the grace of the
Spirit” may inspire any number of individuals at one time, or may join people
together.92 Since there are no indications in the Didaskalie that a didaskalos
ever relinquished his grace, it also seems that the indwelling of the Spirit was
considered permanent.93 Peter of Sicily’s accusation that Sergios claimed to
be the Paraclete perhaps refers to just such a permanent assumption of the
Spirit.94 As the Didaskalie would have it, only a legitimate didaskalos could
receive “the grace of the Spirit,” which he would thereafter retain. The pressing
question is whether we can trust the Didaskalie on this point since its central
aim is to legitimate the didaskalos. It may simply be a case of Sergios coopting
an existing Paulician idea for his own self-​aggrandisement.
This, in fact, is indicated by isolated remarks in the History of the Paulicians.
Peter of Sicily observes that Sergios’ disciples pray using the phrase “Let the
prayer of the Holy Spirit have mercy upon us” and even though Peter connects
this with Sergios’ reputed claim to be the Paraclete and therefore states they
were praying to their teacher, it is also eminently plausible that they were seek-
ing intercession directly from the Spirit.95 The latter is suggested by the tenor
of Pauline thought, which understands immersion in the Spirit as an integral
part of membership in Pauline communities, since it unifies believers and
orchestrates the free worship embraced within these traditions.96 If Paulicians
interpreted the intercession of the Spirit like this, then they surely believed
that the Spirit dwelt within themselves, rather than just their didaskalos. In
fact, Sergios’ own words show this in his correspondence with the Church of

92 For the use of “the grace of the Spirit” in a communal sense, see Athanasios, Epistula
ad Marcellinum de interpretatione Psalmorum, Patrologia Graeca 27, col. 20B. English
translation: The Life of Antony and the Letter to Marcellinus, ed. and trans. Robert C. Gregg
(New York, 1980), pp. 107–​108. Basil of Seleucia refers to it as an entity which unites the
apostles. See Basil of Seleucia, Homilia in sanctum Andream, Patrologia Graeca 28, col.
1101–​1104.
93 Basil of Caesarea understands “the grace of the Spirit” to always be present in a person,
even if it is not necessarily in operation. See Basil of Caesarea, Traité du Saint-​Esprit, 26:11,
p. 468, l. 16–​19. Translation: On the Holy Spirit, p. 93.
94 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 134; 156, pp. 52–​53; 58–​59. Translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies, pp. 83; 87.
95 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 156, pp. 58–​59. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 87.
96 Fee, God’s Empowering Presence, pp. 870–​895.
170  Chapter 3

Koloneia noted above, where he states “I am with you in the Spirit,” thereby
suggesting that the latter inspired and connected all Paulicians, rather than
inhering in him alone.97 Immersion in the Spirit was therefore common to all
adherents, but “the grace of the Spirit” seems to have been a more specific for-
mulation which indicated a higher degree of sanctification associated with the
greater piety and authority of the didaskalos. In most theological understand-
ings, prophets and apostles only differ from ordinary believers in the extent
to which they have received grace and it seems that for the Paulicians, the
didaskaloi were numbered among the most hallowed of all. The most obvious
conclusion resulting from this is that Paulician Christianity had a strong char-
ismatic focus that proved a source of vitality and conflict. This conception is,
needless to say, conspicuous in the Didaskalie, where the rivalry of spiritual
leaders provides the motive force for conceptions of their past.

4 Paulician Customs, Worship, and Organisation

One of the most keenly felt frustrations of studying Romanía during our period
is the dearth of information on the everyday life of provincials and non-​elites.
The Paulicians inevitably suffer from the same problem, but our sources still
hold much of interest. The Didaskalie, for instance, holds incidental details
that enrich our understanding of their customs, informing us that the didas-
kaloi did not have a markedly ascetic way of life.98 We have already noted that
both Gegnesios-​Timothy and Joseph-​Epaphroditos had children, so the didas-
kaloi could evidently procreate and presumably therefore marry, much like
contemporary Byzantine clergy.99 The same source notes that Paulicians raised
livestock, which renders vegetarianism or any atypical dietary restrictions
improbable. This should be as true for the didaskaloi as other Paulicians since
there are no indications that the didaskaloi were subject to extra prohibitions
as a result of their status. The higher echelons were not markedly different from
the mass of believers, as the Treatise tells us: “They call their own priests synek-
demoi and notaries: they are not distinguished from the others by dress or diet

97 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 161, pp. 60–​61. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 87–​88.
98 This has long been noted in secondary scholarship. See Dimitri Obolensky, The Bogomils: A
Study in Balkan Neo-​Manichaeism (Cambridge, 1948), p. 44.
99 See Peter L’Huillier, “The First Millennium: Marriage, Sexuality, and Priesthood,” in Vested
in Grace: Priesthood and Marriage in the Christian East, ed. Joseph J. Allen (Brookline,
2001), pp. 23–​65.
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 171

or the rest of their manner of life.”100 The status and responsibilities associated
with these offices are unknown, but it is notable that the synekdemoi (literally,
companions or fellow travellers) were attached to a particular didaskalos, rather
than a hierarchy as such, further confirming the charismatic nature of the move-
ment.101 On a different tack, there is little indication that Paulician family life
was different from the norm. As we have seen, the Didaskalie does not consider
heredity a compelling source of legitimacy, but the fact that this needed to be
articulated suggests that parentage and status were still considered important
within the social and cultural environments that Paulicians inhabited. It seems
they preferred a less stratified conception of community and clerical authority
than contemporaries, but this evidently had its problems, particularly where
confessional stability was concerned.
On the basis of Pauline thought, we would expect Paulician communities
to be centred primarily around the church as understood as a collective body
of believers rather than a physical location, but the Didaskalie contradicts this
somewhat and suggests a developed conception of sacred space. As we have
seen, locales such as Episparis and Mananalis recur frequently in the text and
were evidently of some importance. The same is true of Soros, the place out-
side Kibossa where Constantine-​Silvanos and Symeon-​Titos found martyrdom.
The most revealing testimony for understanding Paulician ideas of space and
community lies in Sergios’ description of their churches, which is punctuated
by Peter of Sicily’s explanatory gloss:

“Yet I say, Paul founded the church at Corinth, Silvanos and Titus the
church at Macedonia” and by Macedonia he means the assembly at
Kibossa, and he calls Constantine Silvanos and Symeon Titus. “Timothy
taught the church of Achaea” and by Achaea he means Mananalis, and he
names Gegnesios Timothy who was really ‘Thumotheos’. “Epaphroditos
ministered at the church of the Philippians” and he means by him Joseph
the goatherd, born of fornication, who was really ‘the Senseless’. He
names his students the Philippians. “Tychikos taught the church of the
Laodikaeans and Ephesians, and still yet that of the Kolossians” and by
Kolossians he means the Argaoutes, by Ephesians those at Mopsuestia,
and by Laodikaeans the dogs who inhabit the land of the dog [i.e., the

1 00 Treatise, 19, p. 90. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 95.

101 See the reference to Sergios’ synekdemoi. Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 182–​
183, pp. 66–​67. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 91. Paul’s travelling companions
Gaius and Aristarchus are called synekdemoi at Acts 19:29.
172  Chapter 3

Kynochoritae]. Concerning all these, it is said that the three are one and
are taught by one, by Tychikos.102

The most notable feature of Sergios’ genealogy is that it ties churches firmly
to the didaskaloi that founded them. We have already seen above that in his
letter to the Church of Koloneia he beseeches it to accept his authority, which
implies that these churches were semi-​autonomous. This hints that Paulician
activity at this time is best characterised as a network of loosely connected
nodes rather than a unified community, which helps explain why the author-
ity of the didaskalos was more circumscribed and contested than we might
initially expect. It perhaps also explains the centrality of missionary activity to
the status of the didaskaloi, since founding their own churches would secure
them a reliable power base. It is significant that Sergios uses the term church
in the above passage, since the Treatise claims that Paulicians referred to their
assemblies as ‘places of prayer’ (προσευχαί). The latter term connotes a less
formalised place of worship, as we would expect given the tenor of Pauline
thought and the Paulicians’ mobility, but this usage of προσευχαί is rare in the
New Testament, so it is unclear whence the Paulicians took the term if the
Treatise attributes it to them correctly.103 Given their peripatetic ways, it seems
likely that they worshipped wherever they found themselves if they were on
the move. Their lack of contact with the institutional church would not have
been especially surprising in Asia Minor in any case, since private churches
were common throughout Kappadokia and elsewhere in the peninsula.104 In
this respect as in others, their loosely knit organisation suggests a heteroge-
neous movement, which coheres well with the prominence of infighting in the
Didaskalie.
One of the more interesting insights into Paulician lived religion lies in the
observation that its practices were nowhere near as different from those of
the institutional church as Byzantine invective would lead us to believe. The
Treatise is the key source here, since, while claiming that the Paulicians contra-
vened both established belief and praxis, it goes on to contradict many of these

102 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 163, pp. 60–​61. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 88. For an equivalent passage in the Treatise, see Treatise, 7, p. 84.
Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 93–​94.
103 Treatise, 15, p. 88. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 95. The usage is found at Acts
16:13, 16:16, but not in the Pauline letters.
104 J. Eric Cooper, Michael J. Decker, Life and Society in Byzantine Cappadocia (Basingstoke,
2012), pp. 154–​158.
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 173

allegations, thereby suggesting that Paulician and Roman devotional practices

were perhaps not so different after all. The following passages are illustrative:

They also blaspheme the holy cross, saying ‘Christ is the cross; it is not
right to worship wood because it is a cursed tool.’105

Some of them, when they fall sick or are in pain, place the cross on them-
selves, and when they are healthy again, they break the cross and throw it
into the fire to be burnt, or trample it under foot.106

They reject our priests and other members of our hierarchy. They call
their own priests synekdemoi and notaries; they are not distinguished
from the others by dress or diet or the rest of their manner of life.107

Some of them even have their children baptised by our priests if they are
prisoners among them. Others come secretly into our orthodox churches
and receive the sacred mysteries to better deceive the simple.108

Quite how seriously we should take acts like the supposed destruction of
the cross after the invalid’s recovery is unclear, but it seems apparent here
that Paulician and Roman spiritualities were not as mutually exclusive as
the author of the Treatise would like. There are two ways to account for this;
firstly, that the source is trying to justify accusations, such as the rejection
of the cross, that were spurious in the first place. The contradictory tenor of
these passages falls within a topos that pervades the Treatise, namely that
the Paulicians conceal their heterodoxy by lying, speaking allegorically, and
behaving as an orthodox believer would. In numerous cases, the document
gives a Paulician allegory which supposedly articulates how they subscribed
to the institutional church’s creedal statements while surreptitiously con-
travening their meaning.109 These deviations should not be accepted at face
value, as whatever alleged mendacity exists here is just as likely to be Roman
as Paulician. Secondly, the contradictions may reflect the notion that some
believers did not perceive, or attributed negligible importance to, a distinc-
tion between orthodox and Paulician forms of worship, for the simple reason

1 05 Treatise, 13, p. 88. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 95.

106 Treatise, 22, p. 91. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 96.
107 Treatise, 19, p. 90. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 95.
108 Treatise, 23, p. 92. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 96.
109 Treatise, 9–​13, pp. 85–​88. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 94–​95.
174  Chapter 3

that they could identify as both Roman and Paulician, if they even recognized
this distinction. As a result, they participated in both Byzantine and Paulician
rites and gatherings. We have no means to address the pervasiveness of this
notion and must suspect it varied widely depending on context given the vio-
lent and unpredictable reversals of Byzantine-​Paulician relations. The pre-
dominant impression is that the Treatise is seeking to articulate boundaries
where these have not yet been drawn and the same is probably true of the
Didaskalie; both were, we must not forget, written during a pivotal period of
Roman-​Paulician conflict.
We may lack sufficient testimony to determine how different Paulician sac-
ramental practices were to those of contemporary Byzantines, but the above
remarks do contain some surprising emphases. It is peculiar to see baptism
identified as a sacrament that Paulicians would accept from orthodox priests,
since we might expect this to be the rite which differed most between the two,
given the considerable emphasis that Paulicians placed on the Holy Spirit. If
Paulicians did indeed bring their children to orthodox priests for baptism, it
would at least demonstrate that they favoured infant baptism, but it would be
unwise to maintain this while our evidence is so slight. The Treatise is rather
fuller on the matter of the eucharist, alleging that the Paulicians considered
bread and wine to be merely Christ’s words at the Last Supper.110 Meanwhile, it
rationalises their supposed rejection of the cross by claiming that the Paulicians
consider Christ himself to be the cross, designating the material counterpart
to be an accursed tool.111 These two allegations may conceivably have some
historical foundation, but we cannot endorse the Treatise’s claims when the
tenor of Pauline thought suggests that the Paulicians would have venerated
these manifestations of the divine. As noted above, both are endorsed by
Paul in 1 Corinthians. Paulicians almost certainly worshipped differently from
other Romans, and the differences no doubt became more pronounced with
time, but the specifics of their devotional practices unfortunately elude us. It
is, however, notable that much of the above evidence suggests that Paulician
and Roman lived religion was not irreconcilably different at this early stage in
their interaction. This raises a possibility that will be pursued in the following
chapters: that Paulician belief developed organically from within conventional
forms of Christianity.

1 10 Treatise, 12, p. 87. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 94–​95.

111 Treatise, 13, p. 88. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 95.
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 175

5 Paulician Hamartocentricism and Apocalyptic

Thus far we have seen that Paulician belief was founded upon a reverence for
Paul and the apostolic period, rather than cosmological dualism and, although
in many cases our sparse evidence has left us unable to determine points of
doctrine and practice, we have been able to build a picture of an innovative,
but troubled, movement preoccupied with schism from within and persecu-
tion from without. It is now time to plumb murkier waters and investigate
several emphases that are expressed in our sources and are common in con-
temporary religious thought, but which cannot be straightforwardly applied
to Paulician belief as a whole. These are two closely interrelated phenom-
ena: firstly, the sense that, as a result of their sins, the Paulicians were respon-
sible for their own sufferings (or, as I shall call it here, hamartocentricism); and
secondly, tantalising indications that they were experimenting with apocalyp-
tic thought. Both are difficult to interpret. Since they are minor emphases, the
initial impression is of strands of thought which were only beginning to per-
colate into their belief systems or, alternatively, ideas that were coopted by the
Sergiote party for its own ends. However, since apocalyptic and hamartocen-
tric symbolism are often closely related to eschatology, which does not feature
noticeably in the Didaskalie or Letters of Sergios, it may be that the Paulicians
had longstanding ideas about their fate and that of the world, but these were
expressed elsewhere.112 Even if this is the case –​and it is far from certain –​we
lack the evidence to posit how deep-​rooted Paulician ideas about sin and rev­
elation were, but it does seem that these aspects of their thought were evolving
by the time of (and probably as a response to) the Byzantine persecutions.
The clearest indication that Paulician understandings of the world incorpo-
rated eschatological aspects is their conception of sin, which played a central
role in many religious narratives of our period. In Christian contexts, sin was
inextricably linked with the expulsion of Adam and Eve from paradise, which
we have already seen that Sergios invoked in order to bolster the faith and
loyalty of his fellow Paulicians. Beyond this, many Near Eastern communities
intrinsically linked the sins of their community with the evils inflicted upon it.
Most pertinently to our context, Byzantine and other Christian authors inter-
preted the disasters of the 7th century, notably the successive invasions of the
Sasanian Empire and the early Muslims, within a “biblical eschatology,” which
identified the Romans as the successors of the Jews as God’s Chosen People,

112 On the distinction between apocalypticism and eschatology, see Bernard McGinn, Visions
of the End: Apocalyptic Traditions in the Middle Ages (New York, 1998), pp. 1–​36.
176  Chapter 3

largely through readings of Old Testament texts. In doing so, they placed partic-
ular emphasis on the sins of the community, and more especially those of their
leaders, while interpreting the empire’s decline. Correct belief was connected
to military success and hence the defeats of the 7th century were associated
with the heterodoxy (generally Monothelite) of the emperors at that time.113
In a similar vein, Leo v’s restoration of iconoclasm was impelled by the popu-
lar conception that the empire’s repeated defeats at the hands of the Bulgars
signified God’s displeasure.114 An intriguingly similar connection between sin
and a people’s fate is evident in the Didaskalie.
In her pioneering study of this text, Ludwig made one crucial observa-
tion that she uncharacteristically did not follow up. She noted that almost all
instances of persecution, by both Romans and Muslims, are intimately con-
nected with disputes over the Paulician leadership, but attributed little wider
importance to this.115 In fact, this observation shows us that the text envisages
persecution as a punishment for the Paulicians’ sins. The sins in question are
invariably connected with schism, which we have already seen was a concern
that transcended the anxieties of the Didaskalie and its commissioner Sergios-​
Tychikos. Most conspicuously, the links between sin, schism, and persecution
run through the plotline of the Didaskalie as recounted at the beginning of
this chapter. As noted there, while Constantine-​Silvanos taught at Kibossa he
led a unified and harmonious community, free from schism. He then becomes
subject to an imperial inquiry that Peter of Sicily is at a loss to explain, not-
ing: “For the emperor, I do not know how he understood the affairs regarding
him (Constantine-​Silvanos) …”116 In this instance, there is no link between per-
secution and the sins of the Paulician community, for the simple reason that
the community is as yet sinless. Sin only conditions the narrative after Justos’
stoning of his teacher and adoptive father Constantine. The momentous and
transgressive nature of this act is signalled by two observations. Firstly, ston-
ing is closely connected with sin in Christian traditions, most notably in John
8:7, while sin is by extension associated with the rejection of Paulician tradi-
tions in Sergios’ exegesis of the respective sins of Adam and Cain.117 Secondly,

113 John F. Haldon, The Empire that Would Not Die: The Paradox of Eastern Roman Survival,
640–​740 (Cambridge, MA, 2016), pp. 79–​83.
114 Leslie Brubaker, John F. Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c.680–​850: A History
(Cambridge, 2011), pp. 366–​370.
115 Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” pp. 191–​192.
116 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 103, pp. 42–​43. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 78.
117 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 167, pp. 62–​63. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 89.
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 177

when Symeon, who still is an imperial official at this point in the narrative,
orders Constantine’s students to stone their master, they refuse and instead
cast their stones behind their backs, thereby leading him to single out Justos
for the deed.118 All of this signposts to the Paulician reader the gravity of Justos’
act. Even Peter of Sicily seems to have heeded this: it bears emphasising that he
notes his inability to explain how the emperor learnt of Constantine-​Silvanos,
thereby suggesting that he recognized the connection between schism and
persecution in the rest of the narrative. In subsequent instances, he acknowl-
edges the link.
This is apparent in the dispute between Symeon and Justos, where the
familiar link between the actions of the didaskalos and the Paulicians’ internal
and external enemies is first explicated. The two rivals’ disagreement over the
passage Colossians 1:16–​17 leads Justos to consult the Bishop of Koloneia, who
refers the matter to Justinian ii. The emperor then orders the Paulicians to be
judged, sentencing those who do not repent to be burned, but the narrative
implies that he would never have learnt of them had the dispute not broke
out.119 In this instance, the outcome for the Paulicians is disastrous, but the
same pattern presents itself when the repercussions are more benign. Hence,
Peter of Sicily observes that it is the quarrel between Gegnesios and Theodore
which brings them to the attention of Leo iii:

There was a rift between the two brothers, that is Gegnesios and Theodore,
one saying that he had received the divine grace of the Spirit, the other
making this claim for himself. So they quarrelled among themselves and
hated each other completely, and so the leaders of abomination remained
to the end of their lives. When the emperor heard all this (at the time it
was Leo the Isaurian), he sent for Gegnesios (who should be better called
Thymotheos) and sent him to the patriarch of Constantinople.120

Again, it is an internal Paulician dispute which impels a Byzantine response,

this time on the part of Leo iii. There is no such link between schism and
inquiry in the case of Joseph and Zacharias since the particulars of their

118 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 104, pp. 42–​45. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 78.
119 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 111, pp. 46–​47. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 79–​80.
120 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 114, pp. 46–​47. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 80. Thumotheos (he who angers God) is Peter of Sicily’s pejorative for
Gegnesios-​Timothy.
178  Chapter 3

dispute differ from the examples above. While disputing who should lead
the Paulician community, Gegnesios’ son Zacharias strikes the upstart Joseph
with a stone, in a piece of symbolism which redresses the transgression of
Justos’ stoning of Constantine-​Silvanos. It is difficult to substantiate this con-
clusively though, principally because the subsequent confrontation does not
occur with a Roman official, but rather an Islamic army that happens upon
both Joseph’s and Zacharias’ followers. It is not clear in our extant text whether
the Muslims’ interception of the Paulicians follows as a result of their schis-
matic impulses, as in the case of earlier Roman inquiries, but the fact that the
Muslims intercept both groups suggests that the episode had some relevance
to Paulician understandings of community. Since Joseph saves his followers
from the Islamic threat while Zacharias abandons his, it might initially appear
that Joseph would lead a community free from schism, particularly given the
symbolism of his stoning. However, this is clearly not the case, since Joseph
subsequently comes to be pursued by the Roman archon Krikoraches, who
causes him to flee while capturing his followers.121 In this instance, there is
no indication that Krikoraches’ actions proceeded from a Paulician dispute,
so the relationship between sin and persecution is not apparent here either.
Evidently, the Didaskalie did not reconcile the relationship between sin and
persecution at the culmination of its narrative, but this is entirely appropriate
considering the subsequent dispute between Sergios and Baanes.
As in the case of contemporary eschatological narratives, Byzantine or
otherwise, the Paulician preoccupation with sin was therefore intimately
entwined with ideas about the leadership, unity, and doctrinal orthodoxy of
their community. In the Paulician case too, this hamartocentricism seems
to have been intrinsically linked with their understanding of the fate of the
world and their community’s role in it. This much is apparent from scattered
indications of apocalyptic symbolism within the Letters of Sergios and, more
specifically, its author’s subtly different standing in the ranks of the didaskaloi
in his Letters compared to the Didaskalie. In an extract of the latter we have
already examined, Sergios describes himself, his predecessors, and the founda-
tion of the Paulician churches, in the process identifying the apostle Paul and
the four didaskaloi Constantine-​Silvanos, Symeon-​Titos, Gegnesios-​Timothy,
and Joseph-​Epaphroditos as his forebears. These founded four churches
between them: Paul founded the Church of Corinth, Silvanos and Titos held
sway over the Church of Macedonia, Timothy taught the Church of Achaea,

121 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 128, pp. 50–​51. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 82.
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 179

and Epaphroditos ministered at the Church of the Philippians. By contrast,

Sergios-​Tychikos established three Paulician churches, those of the Kolossians,
the Ephesians, and the Laodikaeans.122 Consequently, he identifies himself as
the sixth didaskalos who brought the number of churches to seven.123
This passage is of such interest due to the prominence of the number seven
in apocalyptic narratives. The best known example is Revelation (or, to give
it its Greek name, Apocalypse) and, although this book was rarely accepted
as canonical in Byzantine ecclesiastical traditions, the same topos is found
in other apocalyptic texts, most notably including the apocalypse of Pseudo-​
Methodios, which circulated widely in our period.124 In fact, the importance of
the number seven was not exclusively Christian; rather it was a parascriptural
topos which pervaded apocalypticism throughout the Near East, including
Islamic and Zoroastrian traditions.125 In late 8th-​century Khurāsān, for exam-
ple, the veiled prophet al-Muqanna‘ conceived of himself as the seventh or
eighth of God’s prophets (the uncertainty stems from the ambiguous standing
of the famous ‘Abbāsid revolutionary Abū Muslim in his thought).126 In our
case, the importance attributed to the seven churches elsewhere implies that
Sergios was looking to invoke apocalyptic symbolism by referencing them in
this way, while his identification of himself as the sixth didaskalos offers the
intriguing possibility that he conceived of his successor, the seventh didaska-
los, as having an epochal role in Paulician history. This much is suggested by

122 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 163, pp. 60–​61. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 88.
123 Note that the Treatise adopts a different reading. Treatise, 8, p. 85. Translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies, p. 94.
124 Pseudo-​Methodios, Apocalypse of Pseudo-​Methodius: An Alexandrian World Chronicle,
ed. and trans. Benjamin Garstad (Cambridge, MA, 2012), pp. 2–​71. On the acceptance
of Revelation, see Johannes Irmscher, Annemarie Weyl Carr, Alexander P. Kazhdan,
“Apocalypse,” in The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, ed. Alexander P. Kazhdan, vol. 1
(New York/​Oxford, 1991), p. 131. Note that some Byzantines did utilise the text, includ-
ing Arethas of Caesarea in the 10th century. On this, see Tia M. Kolbaba, “Byzantine
Orthodox Exegesis,” in The New Cambridge History of the Bible. Volume 2, from 600 to 1450,
eds. Richard Marsden, Ann E. Matter (Cambridge, 2012), p. 489. Notably, the Paulician
churches do not coincide with the Seven Churches of Asia invoked at Rev. 1:11.
125 András Kraft, “The Last Roman Emperor Topos in the Byzantine Apocalyptic Tradition,”
Byzantion 82 (2012), p. 215; John C. Reeves, Trajectories in Near Eastern Apocalyptic: A
Postrabbinic Jewish Apocalypse Reader (Atlanta, 2005), pp. 17–​24.
126 Patricia Crone, The Nativist Prophets of Early Islamic Iran: Rural Revolt and Local
Zoroastrianism (Cambridge, 2012), pp. 128–​130.
180  Chapter 3

the fact that Sergios had no direct successor; this seventh didaskalos was per-
haps a messianic or occulted figure, as in many such traditions.127
We are admittedly dabbling in speculation here, but the theory remains
attractive insofar as it is based on Sergios’ representation of himself. On initial
impressions, the hypothesis seems to be fatally undermined by the Didaskalie,
which only documents the activity of four didaskaloi and therefore contradicts
Sergios’ portrayal even though the source originated within his school. However,
we have already seen that the Didaskalie incorporates traditions which pre-​
dated and critiqued Sergios, so it perhaps follows that this apocalyptic imagery
was a recent development that he sought to use for his legitimation. The evo-
lution of Roman eschatology perhaps provides a clue here. Pivotally, the belief
that the Romans were the new Chosen People only arose due to the disintegra-
tion of narratives which had previously explicated their thought-​world.128 It
is easy to envisage a similar process occurring among the Paulicians after the
persecutions of the 810s, particularly since they inform the Didaskalie so fun-
damentally.129 Given the pervasiveness of eschatological explanation in con-
temporary societies, this development could even have occurred in popular
strands of Paulician thought before being appropriated by the Sergiote party.
In contrast to contemporary Byzantine eschatologies, which were founded
upon Old Testament texts, Paulician explanations of the world were suffused
with references to New Testament works, particularly Acts. They were there-
fore readily distinct from their Byzantine counterparts and could evolve in dif-
ferent directions. Nevertheless, even if all the above is accepted, we still have
no indication of what Paulician eschatology comprised. This is a major stum-
bling block, but a potential outcome of the above merits discussion. One of the
uglier facets of these Byzantine eschatologies is that they could logically lead
to Jewish supersessionism, insofar as the Romans supplanted the Jews as God’s

127 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v invokes a similar messianic emphasis in the case of the
Khurramite Theophobos, who was believed by his followers to have remained incor-
ruptible after death. This has been linked to the Khurramite concept of an imamate. See
Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati nomine fertur
Libri I-​IV, 3:38, eds. J. Michael Featherstone, Juan Signes Codoñer (Boston/​Berlin, 2015),
pp. 194–​197; Juan Signes Codoñer, The Emperor Theophilos and the East, 829–​842: Court
and Frontier in Byzantium during the Last Phase of Iconoclasm (Farnham, 2014), p. 141.
128 Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A History, pp. 18–​22; Haldon,
The Empire, pp. 79–​80.
129 For the applicability of eschatological modes of explanation to peripheral and unruly
areas, see James C. Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of Upland
South East Asia (New Haven/​London, 2009), pp. 283–​323. For an instructive example of
messianism among the Mardaïtes/​Jarājima, see Paul M. Cobb, White Banners: Contention
in ‘Abbasid Syria, 750–​880 (Albany, 2001), pp. 113–​115.
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 181

Chosen People. If taken to its logical extreme, the Didaskalie could similarly
imply Roman supersessionism because the Paulicians’ Roman foes are charac-
terised as brutal and arbitrary persecutors throughout. The Treatise’s allegation
that the Paulicians “call themselves Christians and us Romans” surely attests an
abnegation of Roman claims to sanctity at the same time as it extols Paulician
belief.130 Considering Sergios’ pleas for fellow Paulicians not to take Roman
prisoners, it seems probable that the most martial among them reached this
logical extreme, although others evidently did not. We should not push this
possibility too far, however. As we saw above, the Treatise suggests that some
Paulicians still considered the boundary between the two identities porous in
the middle of the 9th century. Undoubtedly, much depended on context and
individual inclinations. Nevertheless, it is significant that Paulician belief had
the capacity to evolve in more radical directions.
It is difficult to draw conclusions from material as intractable as this, but a
few points stand out. The persecutions of the 810s clearly affected Paulician
understandings of themselves and their place in the world in fundamen-
tal ways that can now be glimpsed only imperfectly. It seems certain that
Paulician communities across the empire grappled with these tensions and
explained them in new ways. The resulting ideas may then have been utilised
by Sergios and his followers in the Didaskalie, but even if they invented these
emphases themselves, it seems Sergios and other elites were reacting, often
indecisively, to events during these troubled years rather than dictating them.
Beyond this, it is notable that these apocalyptic traces are largely in agreement
with contemporary thought, much like Sergios’ exegetical methods and the
conception of “the grace of the Spirit.” Traditional approaches to the heresy
have interpreted it as a fossilised remnant of belief systems codified in the 3rd
century, so it bears reiterating here that their thought was both creative and
well informed on recent developments. This vitality was, needless to say, cru-
cial to the trailblazing path they would forge throughout the 9th century.
Just as it was not an ancient relic, however, Paulician belief was also not
a harbinger of things to come. We have already seen that the dualist inter-
pretation that sees them as forebears of the Bogomils and Cathars does not
withstand scrutiny and the same is true of adoptionist readings. Early expo-
nents of the adoptionist thesis, as well as others who have emphasised the
Pauline character of Paulician belief, often characterised them as adherents
of a primordial Christianity or reformers of the contemporary church, often
with proto-​Protestant emphases. This latter tendency is understandable

130 Treatise, 9, p. 85. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 94.

182  Chapter 3

to some degree, given that the Paulicians hearkened back to the apostolic
period and suffered heavy handed punishment by the prevailing church of
the day, but it ought to be eschewed.131 Early Protestant-​oriented readings
of the Paulicians privileged their religious purity over that of the Roman
and Constantinopolitan churches and extolled their defence of a primitive
Christianity against these churches or aggressors from other faiths, in some
cases excising or obfuscating the uncomfortable circumstance that they
frequently aligned themselves with Islamic polities.132 Even as I write, I can
imagine how the interpretation advanced herein could be subverted within
modern analogues to these positions and this prospect is heinous enough to
warrant curtailment at the outset.133 We have seen above that the Paulicians’
conception of the Holy Spirit, their veneration of charismatic didaskaloi, and
their apocalyptic leanings mark them out as heterodox by the standards of
ancients and moderns alike. It may be seductive to some, but any attempt to
depict them as reformers or proto-​Protestants necessarily neglects this and
only replaces the ancient clerical teleology of dualism with a modern one.

6 Historical Implications

As we approach the historical chapters of this book, it seems appropriate to

pause and reflect on the implications that this chapter has for our historical
understanding of the Paulicians. The Didaskalie may not be historically accu-
rate, but, despite this, it and the Letters of Sergios are still of prime importance
for our understanding of the Paulicians in the early 9th century and, to a lesser
extent, beforehand. For Ludwig, our Paulician sources only reliably described

131 Early exponents of this approach include Gieseler, Febvrel, and Conybeare. Johann C.L.
Gieseler, “Untersuchen über die Geschichte der Paulikianer,” Theologische Studien und
Kritiken, 2:1 (1829), pp. 79–​80; Adrien Edmond Febvrel, Des Pauliciens: Thèse presenté à
la Faculté de Theologie protestante de Strasbourg (Strasbourg, 1868), pp. 51–​53; Frederick
C. Conybeare, ed., The Key of Truth. A Manual of the Paulician Church in Armenia (Oxford,
1898), pp. lvi-​lvii. The antiquity and simplicity of Paulician belief is also stressed in the
works of Garsoïan. Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 151–​230. Even Ludwig attributes a
reformist character to them. See Ludwig, “The Paulicians,” pp. 34–​35.
132 See especially Conybeare, The Key of Truth, pp. lxxv; civ–​cv.
133 The view that Armenian religiosity prefigured the Protestant Reformation is still promul-
gated by some Armenian churchmen in the USA. See, for instance, Charles A. Vertanes,
“The Rise of the Paulician Movement in Armenia and Its Impact on Medieval Europe,”
Journal of Armenian Studies 2:2 (1985–​86), pp. 3–​27; Krikor Haleblian, “The Origins of
Armenian Protestantism,” in Defending the Faith, ed. Vartan Kasparian (Burbank, 2015),
pp. 111–​115.
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 183

the career of Sergios, although some events in Joseph’s career also seemed
credible to her.134 Loos was slightly more positive in his appraisal, believing
that the events described by the text provide convincing reasons for explaining
the Paulicians’ rise to prominence from the middle of the 8th century onward,
largely as a result of his belief that the Paulicians made common cause with
the iconoclasts.135 As we shall soon see, there are reasons to doubt such an
alliance, but, irrespective of this, everything we have seen thus far suggests that
the Didaskalie’s historical memory is only reliable for one or two generations
at the most. Notably, the career of Sergios’ predecessor Joseph-​Epaphroditos
has been fully integrated into its symbolic framework, so evidently the source’s
propagandistic function and indebtedness to New Testament scriptures over-
rode any concern with historical accuracy. This, naturally, must be kept in mind
while interpreting it. Still, it seems evident that Joseph-​Epaphroditos was a his-
torical figure, since Sergios’ rival Baanes legitimated himself by claiming con-
tinuity with him and it is difficult to account for why Sergios would refer to an
individual who called his own legitimacy into question unless Joseph’s legacy
remained important in his own day. The historicity of Joseph’s supposed prede-
cessors is rather more doubtful, but, despite this, some Paulicians seem to have
considered them figures worthy of veneration for some time. It is, of course,
unlikely that Sergios could have systematically reinvented the origin narrative
of the community when he originally came from outside it. We saw above that
while the first didaskalos Constantine-​Silvanos prohibited the use of scriptures
aside from the “Gospel and the Apostle,” Sergios used other texts, including
books of the Old Testament. In a similar vein, while Constantine would only
teach orally, Sergios also spread his message through pastoral letters. It is dif-
ficult to conceive why Sergios would have admitted these facts unless it were
necessary, which suggests that Constantine was popularly understood as the
movement’s founder.
Thus, although Paulician conceptions of their history may have been mal-
leable –​and they were certainly not as chronologically precise as those of con-
temporary Byzantines –​it seems certain that semi-​codified explanations of
their origins were circulating before Sergios’ career. The first event of certain
historicity described in the History of the Paulicians, however, is Sergios’ con-
flict with Baanes. In the History, this dispute endures even after Sergios’ death,
but it seems likely that its most important phase was confined to the years
immediately after Sergios contested Baanes’ authority, which presumably

1 34 Ludwig, “Wer hat was,” p. 223.

135 Loos, “Le mouvement,” p. 266.
184  Chapter 3

occurred soon after Joseph’s demise. The History gives us no indication of how
the persecutions of Michael i and Leo v affected the conflict between Sergios
and Baanes, if this was still a live issue at the time, but it is at least evident that
this era saw no large-​scale migration to Melitene, which occurred only in 843/​
44, as the Continuator states. As we have seen, the Didaskalie was composed
in Greek and operates within a Roman thought-​world, while its characterisa-
tion of Muslims is underdeveloped. This would hardly be the case if it were
written soon after a Paulician flight to Muslim territory. Its narrative arc is one
of stagnation rather than success and therefore shows no awareness that the
Paulicians would grow progressively more prominent in the following decades.
In our analysis of legitimating mechanisms, we saw that it is unclear how an
individual became a didaskalos, while the formal responsibilities associated
with the title are similarly obscure. Despite this, the position had evidently
been extant at least as long ago as Joseph-​Epaphroditos and quite probably
longer. If its particulars were really so indistinct in spite of this, it seems evi-
dent that the role had a strong charismatic focus that explains why challenges
to accepted authority were so commonplace. Despite this, the difficulties that
Sergios faced while attempting to legitimate himself suggest that conceptions
of what a didaskalos (and probably also a Paulician in general) should be were
already well developed by the turn of the 9th century. The Didaskalie would
have us believe that cunning and an ability to protect the community were
among the foremost desirable traits, but other Paulicians no doubt placed
greater emphasis on personal piety and bravery.
In some respects, most notably in the frequent references to schism and
disputed transmission of authority, our Paulician texts seem to represent the
contradictions which naturally arise from an attempt to impose a clerical super-
structure on a movement which originally developed without one. Sergios,
who sought to minimise conflict with Romans and extolled his position to
new heights, certainly stands out as the most obvious exponent of such an
approach, even if such a development could conceivably have predated him.
It bears emphasising here that although the primary impression of our texts is
a divergence between Byzantine and Paulician norms caused by the violence
of the former against the latter, contrasting emphases are also present. Most
notably, Sergios’ contravention of Constantine-​Silvanos’ command to only
read “the Gospel and the Apostle” implies a convergence with the established
church in scriptural norms as well as institutional practices. This could per-
haps foretell a period when Roman attitudes to Paulicians were more favour-
able. Theophanes the Confessor claims that the emperor Nikephoros i (803–​
811) allowed Paulicians and Athinganoi to practice their faith openly and, while
Theophanes’ utter contempt for Nikephoros means that we should not accept
The Didaskalie, the Letters of Sergios, and Paulician Belief 185

this at face value, it seems possible that Paulicians and Romans had coexisted
more peaceably in the decades before the persecutions of the 810s.
In practice, the most difficult obstacle to investigating matters like these is
that Paulicians are not mentioned in any extant Byzantine source before the
Chronographia of Theophanes. Barring an unreliable reference in the reign of
Constantine v, this text only refers to Paulicians from the reign of Nikephoros
i onwards. Although this fact is valuable in showing us that the Paulicians only
provoked significant interest from Romans from the turn of the 9th century,
shortly before the advent of persecution against them, it gives us little indica-
tion of how they came to prominence in the 8th century. This matter will be
tackled in the following chapter, but here I shall anticipate the conclusions
presented there, by noting how conducive the Didaskalie is to a reading that
sees the Paulicians as a constellation of identity phenomena that had only
recently coalesced. In short, prior to the 9th century they are most convincingly
conceptualised as a series of disjointed networks, rather than a monolithic
community. Although the Didaskalie portrays them as an initially united move-
ment that subdivided as a result of schisms, this portrayal mirrors a common
topos in ecclesiological discourse where an expansionist church invokes the
notion of primordial unity in order to uphold its position and appeal for oth-
ers to acknowledge its preeminence. In practice, however, its origins were not
necessarily older nor more revered than its competitors.136 In a similar vein, it
is eminently possible that early Paulician ideas arose in a variety of places in
different forms before gradually coalescing into a more cohesive movement
that Sergios sought to unite after the shared experience of Roman persecution
fostered centripetal impulses. As we have seen, Paulician doctrines and praxes
were not particularly different from provincial norms and may therefore have
developed spontaneously from conventional forms of Christianity in Armenia
and Asia Minor. It is natural to see the career of Sergios as a watershed at the
culmination of this process of evolution considering that his authority was
questioned and flouted by some. Although we lack sufficient testimony to
prove it more conclusively, it seems most likely that Paulician communities
converged, fragmented, and realigned throughout our period. The Didaskalie
customarily portrays confessional choices as binary options between char-
ismatic leaders, but we must suspect more complex dynamics were at play,
including factors such as doctrine, practice, organisation, geography, and

136 The most famous exposition of this is the Bauer thesis, which interpreted the earliest
heresies as indigenous forms of Christianity which developed prior to a notion of ortho-
doxy. See Walter Bauer, Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity, ed. and trans. Robert
A. Kraft, Gerhard Krodel et. al. (Philadelphia, 1971).
186  Chapter 3

historical antipathies between individuals and communities. Such a perspec-

tive best accounts for the continual anxiety that the Didaskalie and the Letters
of Sergios show regarding schism and legitimate authority.
This reconstruction not only explains why not all Paulicians in the early 9th
century were beholden to the authority of Sergios, it also suggests that oppo-
sition to him may have proceeded along several different axes and potentially
explains why he did not have a like-​for-​like successor. Earlier scholarship has
portrayed him as the most successful didaskalos, but our reconstruction implies
he may have been merely their most effective propagandist. This impression is
perhaps unfair: given the developments that occurred on his watch, he may
have been contending with forces that could not realistically be contained.
Although the shared experience of persecution proved to be a unifying fac-
tor, centrifugal forces were also at play, particularly among those who opposed
Sergios’ methods and took reprisals against the empire. As we have seen, his
career may also have been situated at an eschatologically pivotal juncture. The
suspicion, however, remains that the problems Sergios faced may have led to
the abeyance of the role of the didaskalos. At the very least, the composers of
the Didaskalie could not ride roughshod over preexisting conceptions of what
a didaskalos should be. This is a boon from our perspective, since it means that
although our Paulician texts would have us believe that affairs were dominated
by the disagreements of elites, they reveal that Paulician adherents and com-
munities wielded substantial influence in practice. Although the Didaskalie
never explicitly acknowledges it, it was the acclaim of ordinary Paulicians who
decided the relative success of Sergios and Baanes. Our sources suggest that
Sergios was ultimately the more successful of the two, but his position was
still undermined by his pacific ways. This portrayal of a spirited, but fractious,
movement evolving in the face of persecution will retain vital prominence in
the analysis of Paulician history in the following chapters.
 ­c hapter 4

Paulicians in the 8th Century: The Genesis of a

Heresy c.750–​800

Whether by means of persecution, rebellion, or warfare, the 9th century saw

dramatic changes in the lived experience of Paulician communities as the mil-
itarised insurgence they metamorphosed into became one of the Byzantine
Empire’s most threatening enemies. This trajectory appears even more excep-
tional when we note the almost total lack of reference to them before the cen-
tury’s advent. They only appear in connection with two events during the 8th
century and both of these are described in 9th-​century sources which betray
signs of anachronism and rhetorical flourish. 8th-​century sources, which are
admittedly thin on the ground, do not refer to Paulicians whatsoever. The
Didaskalie and Letters of Sergios, which are not historically reliable, offer little
assistance in addressing this lacuna, although the broader trends that animate
these texts, notably their portrayal of a fractious community directed by char-
ismatic leaders, can be usefully applied to earlier periods of Paulician history.
As a consequence of the above, there is a paucity of evidence for explaining
why the Paulicians rose to prominence within the empire. One explanation has
traditionally predominated above all others: that their growth was due to a de-​
facto alliance with Byzantine iconoclasts, including the oft-​reviled Constantine
v. In the opening salvo of this chapter, we shall see that the evidence for such
an alliance cannot endure critical scrutiny. Furthermore, in the previous chap-
ter we saw that the Paulicians were neither adoptionists nor dualists, but
instead founded their beliefs and practices upon a reverence for the apostle
Paul and, as such, espoused doctrines and sentiments familiar to provincials
in Asia Minor. This raises the possibility of explaining the rapid expansion of
their influence by the development of an indigenous Christianity attuned to
Asia Minor and Armenia, rather than marking the resurgence or reconfigu-
ration of a long moribund heresy. By adopting this position here, I argue that
early Paulician communities arose through multidirectional negotiations of
identity in frontier regions whose complexity undermines the conceptual util-
ity of ostensibly axiomatic designations such as Roman or Armenian.
Explaining a process as complicated as this risks becoming overwrought
at times, so there is some merit to laying my cards on the table at the out-
set. Numerous historians have sought to determine which Paul is the epony-
mous figure who gave the Paulicians their name, without any clear consensus

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2022 | DOI:10.1163/9789004517080_006

188  Chapter 4

emerging.1 This approach is, in my view, misguided. We have already seen that
the name of the Paulicians is contested. Roman writers sought to pin an asso-
ciation with Paul, son of Kallinike, or Paul the Armenian upon them, whereas
it seems abundantly clear that their primary spiritual authority was Paul the
apostle. It thus appears that their name does not reflect a self-​evident associ-
ation with one individual or another, but is rather a product of labelling and
reappropriation in which Paulicians and others contested their respective
sanctities and identities.2 Insofar as the label Paulician is Armenian in origin,
it follows that these exchanges originated in western Armenia and eastern Asia
Minor among Armenian speakers, in which a minority labelled as ‘Paulicians’
emphasised their veneration of the apostle Paul in order to emphasise their
religious credentials. This process would reach its full realisation in a commu-
nity whose leaders adopted Pauline names, founded Pauline churches, and
wrote Pauline letters. At the turn of the 9th century, this Pauline Christianity
had become so successful that it came to the attention of Byzantine authori-
ties, whose subsequent persecution of its adherents resulted in the production
of the Didaskalie, whose witness testifies to the Pauline nature of their belief.
This, in a nutshell, is how I think a dynamic Paulician faith originated in Asia
Minor. Quite why it spread so quickly is a matter of debate. Although identity
mediation between Armenian actors was crucial in the Paulicians’ formative
years, they clearly remained a minority, probably an unpopular one, among
Armenian communities. At various stages of their ascendancy, it seems that
militarism, pastoralism, and anti-​institutional sentiment played a part in their
success, but it also seems that provincial Asia Minor was ripe for a charismatic
vision of Christianity that placed the Pauline churches and the preaching of
the Gospel in the present.3

1 Milan Loos, “Deux contributions à l’histoire des Pauliciens. II: Origine du nom des
Pauliciens,” Byzantinoslavica 18 (1957), pp. 202–​217; Karen B. Yuzbašyan, “De l’origine du
nom «Pauliciens»,” Revue des études arméniennes 9 (1972), pp. 355–​377; Hratch M. Bartikian,
“Encore un fois sur l’origine du nom Pauliciens,” Revue des études arméniennes 9 (1972),
pp. 445–​451.
2 Albeit implicitly, Ludwig too suggests that the origins of Paulician identity stemmed from
interaction with others, noting that the Paulicians “saw themselves as Byzantines” and that
the “segregation of the group as a distinct heretical sect is a Constantinopolitan construct.”
Claudia Ludwig, “The Paulicians and Ninth-​Century Byzantine Thought,” in Byzantium in the
Ninth Century: Dead or Alive?, ed. Leslie Brubaker (Aldershot, 1998), p. 23.
3 See also Carl Dixon, “Between East Rome and Armenia: Paulician Ethnogenesis c.780–​850,”
in Transmitting and Circulating the Late Antique and Byzantine Worlds, eds. Mirela Ivanova,
Hugh Jeffery (Leiden, 2020), pp. 251–​273.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 189

This interpretation –​and, more fundamentally, the approach underlying

it –​contradicts that of generations of scholarship and, accordingly, it will be
necessary to justify this position at length, focusing particularly on grounding
it in the social, cultural, religious, and economic contexts of the area. Given the
limitations of our evidence for this period, certain specifics must remain up
for debate, but in pursuing this approach I hope to at least show that Paulician
identity was too multifaceted to be reduced to a particular ethnic designation
or socio-​economic niche; rather, it was able to adapt itself to new conditions
precisely because it was attuned to some, but by no means all, aspects of pro-
vincial life and, as a result, instilled a strong sense of community in its adher-
ents. This interpretation goes some way to explaining the tenacity with which
Paulician communities in Thrace held to their identity when transplanted by
Byzantine authorities in later periods. Equally, however, we must not overstate
the transformative potentialities of Paulician religion. Despite their successes,
the Paulicians clearly remained a minority who invoked distrust among oth-
ers. Before we explain their success and notoriety, their apostolic doctrines
and martial ardour, we must first dispel perhaps the most misleading topos
found in prior scholarship: that is, the de-​facto alliance between Paulicians
and iconoclasts.

1 Paulicians and the Iconomachy

The Paulician-​iconoclast alliance has a long tradition in scholarship. It was first

adduced in the late 19th century by Ter Mkrttschian and Conybeare, whose
interpretations were conditioned by a romanticised characterisation of the
Paulicians as doctrinally pure, militaristic Christians who challenged the dec-
adent Orthodox church with their characteristically Armenian form of icon-
oclasm.4 That the reality may be more complex than this was hinted at by
Grégoire, who observed that neither Peter of Sicily’s History nor the Letter of
Theophylaktos Lekapenos levelled accusations of iconoclasm at the Paulicians.
He therefore determined that the allegation of iconoclasm postdated the latter

4 See Karapet Ter Mkrttschian, Die Paulikianer im byzantinischen Kaiserreiche und verwandte
ketzerische Erscheinungen in Armenien (Leipzig, 1893), pp. 112–​117; Frederick C. Conybeare,
ed., The Key of Truth. A Manual of the Paulician Church in Armenia (Oxford, 1898), pp. xxxvi;
xlviii; lxxiii–​lxxv. See also Tiran Nersoyan, “The Paulicians,” The Eastern Churches Quarterly
12 (1944), pp. 403–​412. For Armenian Paulicians and iconoclasm, see also Paul J. Alexander,
“An Ascetic Sect of Iconoclasts in Seventh Century Armenia,” in Late Classical and Medieval
Studies in Honor of Albert Mathias Friend, Jr., ed. Kurt Weitzmann (Princeton, 1955), p. 159.
190  Chapter 4

text, but his observation went unheeded and the old interpretation endured.5
By the middle of the 20th century, the strength of the alliance had been down-
graded, with the likes of Milan Loos and Leslie Barnard stressing the distinc-
tiveness of iconoclasts and Paulicians, whose common cause they attributed to
similar anti-​clerical impulses.6 Garsoïan, by contrast, saw a closer link between
these groups, arguing that the dualist Paulicians she considered a distinctly
Byzantine phenomenon derived their beliefs from iconoclasm.7 Only Lemerle
dissented from the consensus position after Grégoire, considering any con-
nection between the two movements fleeting and superficial, but, perhaps
because he did not treat the matter systematically, his view was rarely heeded
subsequently.8
On first impressions, there are good reasons to uphold the thesis of
a Paulician-​ iconoclast alliance which underlies many of these analyses.
Paulicians are associated with iconoclasts in numerous secondary sources,
including Theophanes’ Chronographia, George the Monk’s Chronicon, and
the Third Antirrhetikos of Patriarch Nikephoros i. However, a closer reading
of these sources shows that rather than positing an alliance between the two
movements, these authors rhetorically compared Paulicians and iconoclasts
in order to defame the latter. Other criticisms of the alliance are more seri-
ous. The most notable is a trend which runs throughout our sources: while the
historiographical texts noted above do link Paulicians and iconoclasts, even
if the links are late and indirect, heresiological and epistolary sources give a
rather different picture. We have already seen in Chapter 1 that the Treatise,
the oldest surviving text against the Paulicians, was written by an iconoclast,
which certainly does not suggest common cause between the two. Moreover,
as Grégoire pointed out, the History of the Paulicians does not accuse the

5 Henri Grégoire, “Autour des Pauliciens,” Byzantion 11 (1936), pp. 613–​614; Henri Grégoire,
“Communication sur les Pauliciens,” Atti del V Congreso Internazionale di Studi Bizantini,
vol. 1 (Rome, 1939), pp. 176–​177. For Grégoire, there is no indication that the Paulicians were
iconoclasts during the period 668–​872. He seems not to have considered historiographical
sources, which do associate Paulicians with iconoclasm prior to the 10th century. These will
be addressed below.
6 Milan Loos, “Le mouvement paulicien à Byzance,” Byzantinoslavica 24 (1963), pp. 267–​276;
Leslie W. Barnard, “The Paulicians and Iconoclasm,” in Iconoclasm: Papers Given at the Ninth
Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, University of Birmingham, March 1975, eds. Anthony
Bryer, Judith Herrin (Birmingham, 1977), pp. 75–​82.
7 Nina G. Garsoïan, “Byzantine Heresy. A Reinterpretation,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 25 (1971),
pp. 97–​105.
8 Paul Lemerle, “L’histoire des Pauliciens d’Asie Mineure d’après les sources grecques,” Travaux
et mémoires 5 (1973), pp. 76–​77; 80; 130. For instance, Barnard cites Lemerle’s study, but does
not note his view on this matter.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 191

Paulicians of rejecting images and the same is true of the Brief History.9 In
fact, with the exception of Photios’ letters to Chrysocheir, Byzantine sources do
not accuse Paulicians of iconoclasm until the abjuration formulae of the mid-​
10th century.10 Contemporary evidence that Paulicians favoured iconoclasm
is essentially non-​existent, whereas our sources have abundant testimony
for iconoclast hostility towards them. After his adoption of iconoclasm, Leo
v persecuted Paulicians as zealously as his iconodule predecessor Michael i
and their punishment is similarly attested by the Vita Macarii Peleketae during
the reign of the last iconoclast emperor Theophilos. Throughout our sources,
the overriding impression is that iconoclasts opposed Paulicians just as vehe-
mently as iconodules did.
The best way of demonstrating this fact is to address the relevant epi-
sodes recounted by our historiographical sources thematically, focusing on
two recurring motifs: first, the association of Paulicians with Constantine v;
and second, the invocation of the term ‘Paulician’ to rhetorically question the
Christian credentials of an individual or group.11 Both are apparent in the first
Byzantine source to mention Paulicians: the Chronographia of Theophanes.
Aside from Nikephoros’ Third Antirrhetikos, it is the only Roman text to refer
to Paulicians during the 8th century. It is somewhat surprising to see this in
Nikephoros’ case, since his Breviarum, a text written in the 780s or 790s, does
not allude to Paulicians at all, but Nikephoros was still a layman at the time
of its composition.12 From the 810s onward, two important observations unite
our authors: both Theophanes and Nikephoros resisted the restoration of icon-
oclasm and both endorsed the persecution of Paulicians in the 810s. In fact,
our sources indicate that Nikephoros instigated the first round of persecutions
during the reign of Michael i. These observations go some way to explaining

9 Grégoire, “Communication sur les Pauliciens,” pp. 176–​177.

10 Even Photios’ letters do not necessarily imply a close relationship with iconoclasm,
since he also attempts to dissuade Chrysocheir from Miaphysitism, Monoenergism,
Monotheletism, and earlier heresies. His understanding of Chrysocheir’s beliefs seems
patchy at best. See Photios, Epistulae, in Photii patriarchae Constantinopolitani Epistulae et
Amphilochia, Ep. 33–​38, eds. Basil Laourdas, Leendert G. Westerink, 6. vols, vol. 1 (Leipzig,
1983), pp. 86–​88. For the mid-​10th-​century sources, see Abjuration Formula III, ed. and
trans. Jean Gouillard, Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), pp. 200–​201, l. 35; pp. 202–​203, l. 81–​
85. English translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds.
Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), pp. 106–​108; Abjuration Formula
iv, pp. 202–​203, l. 8. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 108–​110.
11 Martin proposed long ago that Theophanes uses the term ‘Paulician’ polemically. See
Edward J. Martin, A History of the Iconoclastic Controversy (New York/​Toronto, 1930),
pp. 275–​278.
12 Cyril Mango. ed., Short History (Washington, D.C., 1990), pp. 11–​12.
192  Chapter 4

the hostility of these authors to both groups and their readiness to assimi-
late them. We turn first to the Chronographia, whose importance to Roman
understandings of Paulicians at the turn of the 9th century is so great that it
will form the nexus of our account here. The extant text was codified during
the latter part of 814, shortly after Michael i had been deposed but before
Leo v had restored iconoclasm and restarted persecution of the Paulicians.13
Unsurprisingly given Theophanes’ attitude to persecution, the text betrays a
pronounced distaste for Paulicians, especially from the reign of Nikephoros i
onward. It contains only one reference to them beforehand, which is the first
such allusion in any Byzantine source. The events in question are relocations
of Paulicians to Thrace from Melitene in 750 and Theodosiopolis in 754/​55,
that is, during the reign of the infamous iconoclast emperor Constantine v.14
The Chronographia reads: “The Emperor Constantine transferred to Thrace
the Syrians and Armenians whom he had brought from Theodosiopolis and
Melitene and, through them, the heresy of the Paulicians spread about.”15
Although the extract seemingly refers to a single event, the Chronographia
elsewhere makes clear that the campaigns against these cities took place
in different years, which is hardly surprising given the distance between
them.16 For our purposes here, the passage provides an example of our first
polemical device, the association of Paulicians and Constantine. It does

13 Cyril Mango, Roger Scott, eds., The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor (Oxford, 1997),
pp. lvii; lxi-​lxii. Mango argued that the majority of first-​hand observations in the
Chronographia for this period originated with George Synkellos, rather than Theophanes.
I shall not address this matter here. Cyril Mango, “Who Wrote the Chronicle of
Theophanes?,” Zborknik radova Vizantinoškog instituta 18 (1978), pp. 14–​17.
14 See also Basil Lourié, “Syrian and Armenian Christianity in Northern Macedonia from the
Middle of the Eighth to the Middle of the Ninth Century,” Materialy po arheologii i istorii
antičnogo i srednevekovogo Kryma 10 (2018), pp. 464–​473.
15 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, ed. Carl de Boor, 2 vols, vol. 1 (Leipzig, 1883),
p. 429, l. 19–​20. English translation: The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, eds. and trans.
Cyril Mango, Roger Scott (Oxford, 1997), p. 593. On this migration, see also Łewond, History
of Łewond, the Eminent Vardapet of the Armenians, 29, ed. and trans. Zaven Arzoumanian
(Wynnewood, 1982), pp. 123–​124.
16 Ralph-​Johannes Lilie, Die byzantinische Reaktion auf die Ausbreitung der Araber: Studien
zur Strukturwandlung des byzantinischen Staates im 7. und 8. Jhd. (Munich, 1976),
pp. 164–​165; Warren T. Treadgold, A History of the Byzantine State and Society (Stanford,
1997), pp. 359–​362. See Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 427, l. 14–​16.
Translation: The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, p. 590; Theophanes, Theophanis
chronographia, vol. 1, p. 493, l. 19–​22. Translation: The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor,
p. 593; Michael the Syrian, The Syriac Chronicle of Michael Rabo (the Great): A Universal
History from the Creation, 11:24–​25, ed. and trans. Matti Moosa (Teaneck, 2014), pp. 510;
512–​513.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 193

not necessarily indicate the de-​facto alliance favoured by prior scholarship

because relocations of this kind are often informed by a complex concate-
nation of factors that cannot straightforwardly be reduced to benevolent or
hostile intentions.17 More importantly, there are indications that this event
has no relevance to the Paulicians whatsoever, since the relocations are men-
tioned in other sources without any reference to them. Before discussing the
passage fully, it is important to examine an earlier relocation of populations
by Constantine, with which the above events are sometimes confused.18 This
earlier relocation took place after Constantine’s campaigns in northern Syria
in 746, after which he also relocated Christians to Thrace.19 These events are
related by Nikephoros’ Breviarum, the Chronographia, and George the Monk’s
Chronicon.20 Nikephoros only mentions the campaign, but Theophanes and
George, who follows Theophanes closely, both mention Constantine’s reloca-
tion of the populace and link this to the spread of Miaphysite belief in the area.
Thus, we have an earlier analogue for our event, which our sources associate
with the spread of Miaphysitism.
As for the later relocations from Melitene and Theodosiopolis, although
Theophanes links these events to the subsequent spread of the Paulicians,
this interpretation is not corroborated by Nikephoros or George. Nikephoros’
Breviarum is particularly interesting here, since it shares a common source
with the Chronographia for the period 668–​769, thereby covering both epi-
sodes with which we are concerned here.21 Unlike the relocation of 746, the
Breviarum notes that the 754/​55 campaign was followed by a relocation of the
local populace, but Nikephoros does not associate this with religious devi-
ance.22 It is therefore probable that Theophanes has developed a topos linking

17 Johannes Preiser-​Kapeller, “Aristocrats, Mercenaries, Clergymen and Refugees: Deliberate

and Forced Mobility of Armenians in the Early Medieval Mediterranean (6th to 11th
Century A.D.),” in Migration Histories of the Medieval Afroeurasian Transition Zone, eds.
Johannes Preiser-​Kapeller, Lucian Reinfandt, Yannis Stouraitis (Leiden, 2020), pp. 333–​338.
18 Barnard, for instance, confuses the two events. Leslie W. Barnard, The Graeco-​Roman
and Oriental Background of the Iconoclastic Controversy (Leiden, 1974), p. 109. The same
is true of Martin, who favours a Miaphysite identification of these heretics. See Martin,
Iconoclastic Controversy, p. 277.
19 Lilie, Die byzantinische Reaktion, p. 164.
20 Nikephoros, Short History, 70, pp. 142–​143; George the Monk, 34, Georgii Monachi chron-
icon, ed. Carl de Boor, 2 vols, vol. 2 (Leipzig, 1904), p. 752, l. 12–​17; Theophanes, Theophanis
chronographia, vol. 1, p. 422, l. 11–​18. Translation: The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor,
p. 584. For the date of the Breviarum, see Paul J. Alexander, The Patriarch Nicephorus of
Constantinople: Ecclesiastical Policy and Image Worship in the Byzantine Empire (Oxford,
1958), p. 162; Mango, ed., Nikephoros, Short History, pp. 8–​12.
21 Mango, Scott, eds., The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, vol. 1, p. liv.
22 Nikephoros, Short History, 73, pp. 144–​145.
194  Chapter 4

Constantine v’s forced migrations with heresy, since the second relocation is
not associated with the spread of heresy by Nikephoros and therefore presum-
ably the common source. Such a polemical topos is comprehensible given the
many forms of invective hurled at Constantine and the fact that Paulicians
were a matter of acute concern when the Chronographia was composed.23
But the critical point is that later authors did not follow the Chronographia’s
identification of Paulicians. George the Monk’s account of the relocations dif-
fers markedly and does not mention heresy.24 More notably, the Chronicon of
Symeon the Logothete, whose first recension perhaps dates to the late 940s,
adopts a different interpretation.25 Symeon has assimilated the two migrations
noted here into a single event, but claims that the relocated heretics “hold fast
to the heresy of the tyrant,” that is, Constantine v.26 For Symeon, therefore, the
heretics are iconoclasts. Michael the Syrian, by contrast, considers the heretics
Miaphysites, as does Nikephoros’ Third Antirrhetikos, which identifies them as
“Armenian and Syrian Christians.”27 The Armenian historian Łewond, mean-
while, treats the affair as a voluntary migration of the Miaphysite populace.28
In summary, only the Chronographia associates the migrations of 750 and 754/​
55 with Paulician activity. This identification is questionable because there are
other indications of anachronism in the Chronographia, notably in its 7th cen-
tury reference to themata.29 The association of Constantine and the Paulicians
therefore most probably arose in the 810s, when the Chronographia was com-
posed and, more importantly, when Paulicians were persecuted. Even histori-
ans who have maintained Paulician links with iconoclasm have not found the
Paulician identification of this passage persuasive.30
Despite the complexities of Theophanes’ claim, it does hold one observa-
tion of some importance for us, namely that when he was writing in the 810s
Paulicians were associated with Theodosiopolis and Melitene and had some

23 For the proposition that polemic directed at Constantine originally took several forms,
see Paul Speck, Ich bin’s nicht, Kaiser Konstantin ist es gewesen (Bonn, 1990), pp. 139–​190.
24 George the Monk, Chronicon, 34, vol. 2, p. 763, l. 14–​18.
25 Dating the various recensions of the Chronicon is a troublesome endeavour. See Staffan
Wahlgren, ed., Symeonis Magistri et Logothetae chronicon (Berlin/​New York, 2006),
pp. 5*–​8*.
26 Symeon the Logothete, Chronicon, 122:5, p. 190, l. 77–​83.
27 Michael the Syrian, The Syriac Chronicle, 11:25, p. 513; Nikephoros, Third Antirrhetikos, 72,
Patrologia Graeca 100, col. 507–​510.
28 Łewond, History of Łewond, 29, pp. 123–​124.
29 John F. Haldon, The Empire that Would Not Die: The Paradox of Eastern Roman Survival,
640–​740 (Cambridge, MA, 2016), pp. 267–​268.
30 Barnard, Graeco-​Roman and Oriental Background, p. 109.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 195

presence in the Balkans. Since the first reliable reference to their presence at
Melitene elsewhere dates to the 840s, this testimony is important. Still, the
passage does not provide reliable evidence of Paulician activity during the
8th century. The next reference to Paulicians in the Chronographia dates to
Nikephoros i’s reign and, therefore, the above interpretation undermines the
link between the Paulicians and Constantine v. A passage in the Chronicon of
George the Monk shows more conclusively that the association between the
two is polemical. The excerpt refers to Constantine v’s alleged repudiation of
the Theotokos. The version quoted below comes from the second, revised ver-
sion of the Chronicon, which dates to the last third of the 9th century:31

In this manner he said that even Mary (for the impious man was not wor-
thy to call her Theotokos) began to be honoured when she held Christ
within herself, but after she bore him she was not different from other
women. Alas for the daring abuse of the Saracen-​believing and Jewish-​
minded! For he was not a Christian –​let it not be so! –​but a Paulician, to
speak more truly and more fittingly, an idolater, servant of demons, and
devotee of human sacrifice.32

This passage is emblematic of our concerns here because as well as connecting

Constantine and the Paulicians, it also illustrates our second polemical usage
of the term Paulician: juxtaposing it with a deviant Christian identity, gener-
ally an iconoclast one, to imply that the Christians involved are so far from
orthodoxy as to invite comparisons with dualist heretics.33 This is the essential
meaning of this passage, which certainly does not state that Constantine was a
Paulician or, for that matter, a worshipper of demons. Critically, this polemical
association arose during the third quarter of the 9th century, that is, the zenith
of Paulician militarism, since the first recension of the Chronicon (c.846/​47)
characterises Constantine in a different manner:34

… for he was not a Christian, but a worshipper of gold, to speak more

truly and more fittingly, an idolater …35

31 Following the dating advocated in Dmitri Afinogenov, “The Date of Georgios Monachos
Reconsidered,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 92 (1999), pp. 438–​441.
32 George the Monk, Chronicon, 34, vol. 2, p. 751, l. 13–​20.
33 See also Martin, Iconoclastic Controversy, pp. 276–​277.
34 Dmitri Afinogenov, “Le manuscrit grec Coislin. 305: la version primitive de la Chronique de
Georges le Moine,” Revue de études byzantines 62:1 (2004), p. 246.
35 George the Monk, Chronicon, 34, vol. 2, p. 751, l. 18–​19 (apparatus).
196  Chapter 4

As in the case of Theophanes above, the polemical identification associating

Constantine with the Paulicians is not contemporary, but arose in a period
when the latter posed a geopolitical menace and were subject to severe pun-
ishments. A final example from the Chronographia pertains to a similar con-
text and, in so doing, combines the two polemical tropes we have examined
thus far.
Sandwiched between Theophanes’ account of the preparations for the bat-
tle of Versinikia, where the Bulgar Khan Krum decisively defeated Michael i,
and his terse description of the battle’s outcome, he recounts that a group of
iconoclasts broke into the tomb of Constantine v and entreated the long-​dead
iconoclast emperor to save the faltering empire. Loos and Barnard considered
this episode of particular importance, since in their view it suggested that
Paulicians and iconoclasts were distinct groups yet held shared interests.36 The
passage reads as follows:

In the City, while the people and patriarch were performing a litany in the
church of the Holy Apostles, some impious members of the foul heresy
of the God-​hated Constantine prised up the door of the imperial mauso-
leum (no one was paying any attention because the throng was so thick)
and made it open suddenly with some kind of noise as if by a divine mir-
acle. They then rushed in and fell before the deceiver’s tomb, calling on
him and not on God, crying out “Arise and help the State that is perish-
ing!” They spread the rumour that Constantine had arisen on his horse
and was setting out to fight the Bulgarians –​he who dwells in Hell in the
company of demons! The City prefect arrested those men and at first they
lied, pretending that the doors of the mausoleum had opened automati-
cally by God’s will. But when they had been brought before the prefect’s
tribunal and failed to produce witnesses, they admitted the stratagem of
the wrenching before any torture had been applied to them. The prefect
had them suitably ‘wrenched’ and condemned them to be paraded in
public and to cry aloud the reason for their punishment … Most of those
who uttered such blasphemies were Christians only in semblance, but
in truth were Paulicians who, unable to make manifest their own loath-
some doctrines, seduced the ignorant by this device, extolling the Jewish-​
minded Constantine as a prophet and victor …37

36 Loos, “Le mouvement,” pp. 275–​276; Barnard, “Paulicians and Iconoclasm,” p. 79.
37 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 501, l. 3–​25. Translation: The Chronicle of
Theophanes Confessor, pp. 684–​685.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 197

Above all else, this extract expresses the pervasiveness of iconoclast senti-
ments within Constantinople at the time, particularly because it was written
before the restoration of iconoclasm and therefore without the benefit of hind-
sight. As for the episode itself, the participation of Paulicians is doubtful since
they are only referred to after the event and its repercussions are recounted. As
in the example from George the Monk above, they are juxtaposed with icono-
clasts to emphasise the latter’s heterodoxy and undermine their claims to reli-
gious authority. Contrary to Loos and Barnard, there are no indications that
the two groups are distinct actors. Instead, it seems that Theophanes conceives
of heterodoxy in an amorphous fashion, which is perhaps not unsurprising
given the dangers the empire faced at the time and the popular opposition to
icon veneration. His fixation on the dangers of conspiratorial heterodoxy is
apparent from other references in the text. An earlier plot to replace Michael
i with the surviving sons of Constantine v is blamed on the “Paulicians and
Athinganoi, Iconoclasts and Tetradites” and Michael’s predecessor Nikephoros
i is smeared by association with the Paulicians and Athinganoi.38 There is little
reason to believe that Theophanes is being precise when he refers to Paulicians,
or other heretics for that matter.
There is an elephant in the room while discussing Theophanes’ conception
of the Paulicians: their contemporary persecution during the reign of Michael
i and Theophanes’ endorsement of it. When understood in this context, his
account of the affair of Constantine’s tomb assumes a more insidious read-
ing. As the Paulicians were considered worthy of the death penalty, identifying
iconoclasts as Paulicians could justify inflicting harsher punishments upon
them. Since the above event occurred at the end of Michael’s reign, when
the persecution of the Paulicians had been halted, such a justification does
not necessarily apply in this instance. It is, however, sobering that blurring
the lines between the two groups could be used to justify the persecution of
iconoclasts. There is little indication that such an approach was systematically
pursued as policy, since if it were we would hardly expect to see Paulicians

38 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 496, l. 8–​16. Translation: The Chronicle

of Theophanes Confessor, p. 679; Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 488,
l. 22–​25. Translation: The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, p. 671. The term ‘Tetradites’
refers to those whose belief was thought to imply a Godhead of four persons. It was
most often applied to those with a heterodox understanding of the crucifixion, such as
Theopaschites, Julianists, and the followers of Peter the Fuller, Bishop of Antioch. To the
opponents of these groups, their teaching implied that the crucified Christ was essen-
tially a fourth person. See William H.C. Frend, The Rise of the Monophysite Movement
(London, 1972), pp. 167–​168; Krikor Haleblian, “Heresy and Orthodoxy in the Armenian
Church,” Exchange 31:1 (2002), p. 60.
198  Chapter 4

persecuted again immediately after the restoration of iconoclasm, yet this is

precisely what happened. In this instance, it seems that while polemical asso-
ciation was used relatively freely in rhetorical terms, in practice the authorities
drew a firmer distinction between dissident groups.39 This may not have been
true in all cases, however, and for this reason we should not rule out limited
persecution of iconoclasts on this basis, particularly from the 840s onward
when polemic against iconoclasts and Paulicians began to converge.40
Somewhat surprisingly, a persistent concern of associating Paulicians and
iconoclasts does not arise as readily in the work of Patriarch Nikephoros i,
but this may be because his own treatise against the Paulicians, which both
Theophanes and Nikephoros’ own vita credit with inspiring their persecution,
does not now survive. Only one reference to Paulicians survives within his
extant works and this employs the same coincidence of iconoclasts, Paulicians,
and punishment beloved of Theophanes. The passage is found in his Third
Antirrhetikos, which Paul Alexander has dated c.818–​820.41 The stated aim of
this source is to recount the main scriptural arguments for icon veneration,
but it also incorporates a section of historical and polemical material. Speck
doubted whether this material was original to the source, but he concluded that,
even if it were interpolated, it was probably written by Nikephoros.42 As such,
it merits our attention here. The relevant passage states that after the Second
Council of Nikaea (787) many iconoclasts became Manichaeans; the habitual
term for Paulicians in sources of this period. The council is placed within a
loose framework of historical events, including the plague of Constantine v’s
reign. Nikephoros describes these events to counter the popular opinion that
iconoclasts enjoyed divine favour.43 He then proceeds to state:

For a short time beforehand, when [Eirene], who was known for piety,
ruled the empire and demonstrated inspired and praiseworthy zeal on
behalf of our belief, God awakened the spirit and with a divinely inspired
vote [the iconoclasts] were fairly and auspiciously banished from this

39 See also John Arnold, “Persecution and Power in Medieval Europe: The Formation of a
Persecuting Society, by R.I. Moore,” The American Historical Review 123:1 (2018), pp. 169–​170.
40 For the view that iconodules did not persecute iconoclasts, see Paul J. Alexander,
“Religious Persecution and Resistance in the Byzantine Empire of the Eighth and Ninth
Centuries: Methods and Justifications,” Speculum 52:2 (1977), p. 244.
41 For this work and related texts, such as the first and second Antirrhetikoi and the
Apologetikos Major, see Alexander, Patriarch Nicephorus, pp. 167–​173.
42 Speck, Ich bin’s nicht, pp. 553–​556. If the material is indeed interpolated, it was presum-
ably added before Nikephoros’ death in 828.
43 Nikephoros, Third Antirrhetikos, 65, col. 496–​497.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 199

city, the city in which they had settled impiously and wickedly at the
behest of the one who had gathered them. Wandering around like plan-
ets, they began to strive for a religion in which visible icons and memo-
rials of the ministry of Christ were not exhibited, and so they discovered
the faithless and godless thing vomited forth from the many –​I mean that
of the Manichaeans. They were in accord with their doctrines, entrusted
their belief to them, and proclaimed things which were enjoyed and
rejoiced at long ago. At any rate, because of these things the majority of
them abjured our confession entirely and delivered themselves wholly
into this madness. Some of them were discovered among these and paid
the ultimate price, which the laws commanded, and were given over to
the sword.44

The reference to capital punishment in this extract can only refer to the perse-
cutions instigated by Nikephoros himself, since we know of no other contem-
porary persecution of Paulicians, or indeed Manichaeans. Almost twenty-​five
years elapsed between these events and Nikaea ii, so chronological preci-
sion is hardly the text’s focus. Be that as it may, the passage implies that the
Paulicians only became a significant concern after 787, as the Chronographia’s
testimony also suggests. Most notably, the reference to iconoclasts “wander-
ing around like planets” before “the majority” discovered Manichaean belief
implies that the Paulicians only came to prominence sometime after Nikaea ii.
Such a period of wandering does not suggest a preexisting alliance between
iconoclasts and Paulicians and, insofar as the latter’s persecution was revived
by the iconoclast emperors, any common cause between the two must have
been short lived. Besides this, it is notable that Nikephoros only states that
the Paulicians did not display icons, which implies that they had no interest
in or made no use of them, rather than that they overtly rejected them. This is
in keeping with the tenor of debate early in the 9th century, when iconoclasts
predominantly focused on removing images from places of improper promi-
nence, not rejecting them wholesale or destroying them.
Having now dispensed with the sources that are conventionally used to sug-
gest common cause between Paulicians and iconoclasts, we can see that the
evidence for an alliance of any sort is extremely slim. Although our sources do
associate the two groups, these associations arise after the fact, almost exclu-
sively as a means to discredit iconoclasts by comparing them to a heresy most
Romans considered beyond the pale. Tellingly, most references between the

44 Nikephoros, Third Antirrhetikos, 68, col. 501.

200  Chapter 4

two groups occur when punishment is invoked. The combination of polemic

and punishment is mirrored in the reinvention of the Paulicians we saw in
the mid-​10th century, although in this earlier case the impact on the histor-
ical record is much less pronounced. All of this tells us little about how the
Paulicians engaged with the iconomachy in practice. The answer to this,
I think, is a reasonably simple one: iconoclasts and iconodules had little inter-
est in the Paulicians’ views about images and the Paulicians were indifferent
to developments in a hierarchical church whose ethos was inimical to theirs.
Although iconodule opposition to Paulicians is often considered self-​evident,
it is worth pointing out that the iconoclast preoccupation with circumscribing
the sources of spiritual authority also renders it hostile to Paulician norms.45
While the sources tell us very little about how Paulicians considered iconoclasts
and iconodules, the evidence is much fuller for how these groups positioned
the Paulicians within their own thought-​worlds. We have already seen that ico-
nodules emphasised the heterodoxy of their iconoclast opponents by compar-
ing them to Paulicians. We lack the sources to confirm it, but iconoclasts may
well have used a similar approach in turn. Besides such polemical tactics, both
groups also invoked the Paulicians in a more subtle way: by conjuring the spec-
tre of these heretics in order to contain the religious tensions associated with
images by deflecting attention towards a common enemy. There is no more
cogent expression of this stratagem than the coincidence of the persecution of
the Paulicians with the iconomachy’s most turbulent years, that is, the resto-
ration of iconoclasm by Leo v in 815 and the Triumph of Orthodoxy in 843. If
this concern with restraining the tensions of the iconomachy is only implicit in
what we have seen thus far, it comes to the fore in an extract which describes
one such period of crisis.
The source in question is the Vita Nicetae Medicii and its setting is Leo v’s
attempt to persuade recalcitrant bishops to support his policy of reimposing
iconoclasm. For an iconodule source, Leo’s portrayal is relatively favourable: he
follows a conciliatory policy and implies that he will only resort to more force-
ful measures if absolutely necessary.46 This suggests that the source, which
dates before 844/​45, is a credible witness.47 In the course of the debate, the
iconophile bishop Peter of Nikaea complains to the emperor that his power is

45 Leslie Brubaker, John F. Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​85: A History
(Cambridge, 2011), pp. 182–​184; 234–​247; 366–​385; 392–​404.
46 Vita Nicetae Medicii, 34–​35, in Acta Sanctorum, April i, p. 262.
47 Leslie Brubaker, John F. Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​85: The Sources
(Aldershot, 2001), p. 222.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 201

so great that even if he allied with the Manichaeans –​that is, the Paulicians –​
they would be victorious as a result of his support:

Then Peter, the Bishop of Nikaea, said: “Whatever can you say that will
lead us to speak with [the iconoclasts], while you fight with them and
on their behalf? Do you fail to realise that even if you brought forward
Manichaeans to speak, if you wished to fight on their behalf, would we be
bested or aided by you?” It was not without reason that the most saintly
Peter said: “Whenever power is combined with impiety, truth succumbs
to necessity and equality toils under tyranny.”48

The bishop’s words here are emblematic of the practice of rhetorically invok-
ing the Paulicians to delimit the tensions of the iconomachy. By associating
Leo with the heterodoxy which was assumed to be most dangerous at this
time, he attacks Leo’s behaviour and expresses the helplessness of his own
position. But his reductio ad absurdum shows that he could not countenance
an alliance between Leo and the Paulicians in reality, which is hardly surpris-
ing given that the emperor reimposed persecutions against them at around
this time. As in the other examples discussed above, when the Paulicians are
mentioned in the context of the iconomachy, it is the latter which is the focus
of our authors’ concern. Our heretics are invoked as a point of comparison
whose flagrant heterodoxy in the imagination of iconodules and iconoclasts
alike rendered it subject to the most severe punishments. It is sobering to think
that in another period, when discontent was not so rife, their beliefs may not
have been so misunderstood.

2 The Armenian Connection

Given the observations offered above, an alliance between Paulicians and

iconoclasts cannot sufficiently explain the rise of the former in the 8th cen-
tury. A new explanation is needed. As stated at the outset, I believe the answer
lies in the crystallisation of a shared socio-​religious identity through dialectical
interactions and labelling processes between many different actors in eastern
Asia Minor and Armenia. This marks a sea change from earlier reconstructions,
whose emphasis on the importation of Paulician doctrines from Armenia to the

48 Vita Nicetae Medicii, 35, p. 262.

202  Chapter 4

empire has rarely implied the possibility of evolution or transformation.49 The

Armenian connection to Paulician identity is undeniable: the word Paulician
has a recognisably Armenian root and is attested in Armenian sources before-
hand, while Byzantine sources consistently locate Paulicians within Armenia
and neighbouring provinces of the empire. Finally, the second half of the 8th
century, which logically marks the period when the Paulicians began their
growth to prominence within the empire, saw a period of consistent migration
from Armenia and other regions to the east. However, Armenian sources do
not document the apostolic elements of Paulician belief covered in the last
chapter and they also do not agree with the dualist accusations of the Greek
sources. Besides interpretations derived from the suspect Key of Truth, little
focus has been paid to the Armenian sources at all. It therefore seems that we
are dealing with a more complicated phenomenon than the mere importation
of a belief system across the Anti-​Taurus Mountains.
Even if a direct doctrinal relationship is jettisoned, the geographical basis
of Paulician settlement still suggests a strong connection with Armenia.
The Didaskalie locates the earliest phases of Paulician activity at Mananalis,
Kibossa, and Episparis. The location of the latter is open to dispute, but the
first two lie close to the main migration routes from Armenia to the empire.
Mananalis is not a site, although it is habitually treated as such in Byzantine
sources, but a district, located in western Armenia, south-​west of the major
city of Theodosiopolis, which Theophanes associated with the Paulicians
when he was writing in the early 9th century.50 Migration from Theodosiopolis
to the empire is well attested in our period. A notable case is the flight of
Armenians following the unsuccessful rebellions of 747–​750, after which many
went on to serve in Byzantine armies.51 As we saw earlier, Miaphysites were
also transferred from Theodosiopolis to Thrace by Constantine v c.754/​55. To
the northwest of Theodosiopolis are the main mountain passes from Armenia
into the empire and, more specifically, the Lykos valley. The major settlement
in the upper reaches of this valley is Koloneia, outside which lies the kastron

49 Garsoïan’s thesis of a distinctly Byzantine and dualist subdivision of the Paulicians is the
notable exception. See Garsoïan, “Byzantine Heresy: A Reinterpretation,” pp. 85–​113.
50 On Mananalis, see Nina G. Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy (Paris/​The Hague, 1967),
pp. 71–​72, especially notes 164 and 165; Anthony Bryer, “Excursus on Mananalis, Samosata
of Armenia and Paulician Geography,” in Iconoclasm: Papers Given at the Ninth Spring
Symposium of Byzantine Studies, University of Birmingham, March 1975, eds. Anthony
Bryer, Judith Herrin (Birmingham, 1977), p. 83.
51 Aram Ter Ghewondyan, The Arab Emirates in Bagratid Armenia, trans. Nina G. Garsoïan
(Lisbon, 1976), p. 33.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 203

of Kibossa, where the Didaskalie places the first two Paulician didaskaloi.52
Koloneia was located at the intersection of important road networks and was
ideally situated for travelling southward into the interior of the Anatolian pla-
teau, while following the Lykos downstream leads to the fertile grain growing
lands of Paphlagonia.53 This area was well connected with Constantinople
via Black Sea ports such as Amisos and Sinope.54 According to the Treatise,
it also marks the location of Episparis, which the source places in the plain
of Phanaroia; a broad tract of agricultural land to the east of Amaseia.55 This
identification seems a little dubious since Episparis fulfils the role of a ref-
uge from both Roman and Islamic aggression in the Didaskalie and therefore
might more logically be placed in an inaccessible location between Kibossa
and Mananalis.56 Be that as it may, for most of our period, all of the above
sites (with the exception of Mananalis) lay within the Armeniakon province

52 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 101, pp. 42–​43. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 77–​78. See also the reference to Koloneia in version Γ of the 42 martyrs.
Michael, Monk and Synkellos, “De XLII martyribus Amoriensibus narrationes et carmina
sacra,” in Zapiski Imperatorskoĭ akademīi nauk po Istoriko-​filologicheskomu otdȋelenīȋu.
Mémoires de l’Académie impériale des sciences de St.-​ Pétersbourg. Classe historico-​
philologique. VIIIe série 7:2, eds. Vasily G. Vasil’evsky, Petr V. Nikitin (1905), p. 27.
53 Anthony Bryer, David Winfield, The Byzantine Monuments and Topography of the Pontos,
vol. 1 (Washington, D.C., 1985), p. 46. In the midst of an otherwise incisive critique,
Kaldellis, quoting the De thematibus, notes that Constantine vii wrote that Koloneia was
a particular locus of Armenian settlement during the emperor’s own time. Extrapolating
from this, he then argues that Koloneia was the exception rather than the rule, but this is
questionable because most of the relevant passage is not concerned with its present ethnic
composition and is instead antiquarian in nature, focusing on the etymology of provinces
and place names. Immediately after this reference to Koloneia, for instance, Constantine
writes of Amaseia and Dazimon being populated by the long-​vanished “White Syrians.”
Tracing the “Armenian” component in a population induces methodological difficul-
ties, as will become apparent below. See Anthony Kaldellis, Romanland: Ethnicity and
Empire in Byzantium (Cambridge, MA/​London, 2019), pp. 177; 214–​215; Constantine vii
Porphyrogennetos, De thematibus. Introduzione –​testo critico –​commento, 2, ed. Agostino
Pertusi (Vatican City, 1952), pp. 63–​65.
54 Haldon, The Empire, pp. 240–​246.
55 Treatise, 2, ed. and trans. Charles Astruc, Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), p. 80. English
translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds. Bernard
Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), p. 93; Henri Grégoire, “Précisions géo-
graphiques et chronologiques sur les Pauliciens,” Académie Royale de Belgique, Bulletin
Classe des Lettres 5e série, 33 (1947), pp. 294–​296.
56 The Treatise’s testimony is doubtful here because it links Episparis with the Paulicians
via Paul and John, the sons of Kallinike, whom the Paulicians openly anathematised. On
the problems associated with Episparis, see Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 51–​52; 64–​65; 68;
Henri Grégoire, “Pour l’histoire des églises pauliciennes καινοχώριον du Pont, Episparis en
φανάροια,” Orientalia Christiana Periodica 13 (1947), pp. 513–​514.
204  Chapter 4

or thema, which by the Paulicians’ heyday had been subdivided into klei-
sourae such as Charsianon, Koloneia, and Chaldia, many of which gained the-
matic status during the latter half of the 9th century, thereby leaving a rump
Armeniakon on the Black Sea coast.57 The extent of Armenian settlement in
the area has been a source of dispute recently, but it is at least clear that the
name of the Armeniakon does not straightforwardly derive from the reputed
Armenian presence, which may still have been noticeable despite traditionally
being overstated.58 In any case, substantial Armenian influence on, or partici-
pation in, the early Paulicians seems secure.
While the influx of Armenians had bolstered the empire’s provincial popu-
lation for centuries, it appears that the trend was accelerating throughout the
8th century as a result of a harsher tax regime and increasing Islamicisation
within Armenia, especially during the second half of the century.59 The flight
following the suppression of the 747–​750 revolt noted above fits this pattern,
as do the similar movements which occurred after the 774–​775 rebellion.60 In
the same vein, the Armenian historian Łewond describes the exodus of over
twelve thousand Armenians under Shapuh Amatunik’ from Ayrarat province,
west of Dvin, to Hamshen, east of Trebizond, in 789–​790.61 Large-​scale migra-
tions such as these have traditionally attracted the attention of historians, but
continual low-​level inflow may have been more significant in bolstering the

57 Note that this was a complex process whose fiscal-​administrative and military facets did
not always align. On this, see Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​
850: A History, pp. 665–​771. For kleisourai in the east and their eventual assumption of
thematic status, see Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A
History, pp. 758–​760. For the connection between the Paulicians and the Armeniakon,
see Treatise, 2, p. 80. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 93; Peter of Sicily, History of
the Paulicians, 176, pp. 64–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 90.
58 Kaldellis has recently (and rightly) exposed the proclivity of some scholars to see Armenian
identity as omnipresent in Byzantine society, particularly in instances where invocations
of Armenian ancestry assume an explanatory logic all of their own. On this, see Kaldellis,
Romanland, pp. 155–​195. For more traditional views, see Nina G. Garsoïan, “The Problem
of Armenian Integration into the Byzantine Empire,” in Studies on the Internal Diaspora
of the Byzantine Empire, eds. Hélène Ahrweiler, Angeliki E. Laiou (Washington, D.C., 1998),
pp. 53–​124; Peter Charanis, “The Armenians in the Byzantine Empire,” Byzantinoslavica
22 (1961), pp. 196–​240. On the Armeniakon thema, see Kaldellis, Romanland, pp. 176–​177;
Garsoïan, “The Problem of Armenian Integration,” pp. 53–​56; Charanis, “The Armenians
in the Byzantine Empire,” pp. 203–​206.
59 Loos, “Le mouvement paulicien,” p. 265. On migration from Armenia more generally during
this period, see Preiser-​Kapeller “Aristocrats, Mercenaries, Clergymen,” pp. 327–​384.
60 Ter Ghewondyan, The Arab Emirates, pp. 32–​33; Mark Whittow, The Making of Orthodox
Byzantium 600–​1025 (Basingstoke, 1996), p. 213.
61 Łewond, History of Łewond, 42, p. 149.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 205

empire’s Armenian population in the long run. In most cases, the predomi-
nant motive for flight was to escape retribution from Muslim authorities. The
Didaskalie suggests that the same predilection motivated the Paulicians and in
their case this expedient seems to have been successful. Koloneia, for instance,
was well protected from the depredations of Islamic raiding, which rarely tar-
geted this defensible locale.62 During the 8th century, most Islamic raids were
launched through the Kilikian Gates (and, less frequently, from Melitene) and
targeted Kappadokia and the Anatolikon. While the western stretches of the
Armeniakon, notably the cities of Paphlagonia, were common targets, and
hence some centres with a significant Armenian population were in harm’s
way, the sites favoured by Paulicians were safer still. They may have been less
lucrative, although the relative proximity of Paulician centres to large pro-
vincial centres and migration routes suggest that economic motives were not
wholly absent.
Paulician attempts to distance themselves from Muslim intervention seem
typical of regional practices, but there are also indications that they had an
uneasy relationship with their fellow migrants and non-​Islamic authorities.
Their tendency to locate themselves in marginal areas suggests this, but the best
indicator is the heretical Armenian label applied to them, which implies that
they were regarded suspiciously, or shunned altogether, by other Armenians.
This bears emphasising here, since some scholars have erroneously considered
Armenians and Paulicians identical in our period, although medieval writers
clearly distinguished between the two.63 To add to the difficulties of identifi-
cation, references to Armenians in Greek sources rarely give any indication
of the political, confessional, and cultural differences which made Armenia

62 A notable exception is an attack by Yazīd b. Usayd al-​Sulamī, the Ostikan of Armīniya,

in 778. See Bryer, Winfield, The Byzantine Monuments, vol. 1, pp. 145–​146; 167; Łewond,
History of Łewond, 38, p. 142.
63 As Garsoïan notes of Anna Komnene, although it should be observed that Anna still
assumes a reasonably close relationship between Armenian and Paulician identities in the
relevant passage. On this, see Garsoïan, “Byzantine Heresy,” p. 91; Anna Komnene, Annae
Comnenae Alexias, 14:8, eds. Diether R. Reinsch, Athanasios Kambylis (Berlin/​New York,
2001), pp. 454–​458. English translation: The Alexiad of the Princess Anna Comnena, ed.
and trans. Elizabeth A.S. Dawes (London, 1928), pp. 383–​387. For the unwarranted assim-
ilation of Armenians and Paulicians, see Hratch M. Bartikian, “Armenia and Armenians
in the Byzantine Epic,” in Digenes Akrites: New Approaches to Byzantine Heroic Poetry, eds.
Roderick Beating, David Ricks (Aldershot, 1993), pp. 86–​92. Seta Dadoyan also equates
the “Armenians” described by Michael the Syrian straightforwardly with Paulicians. Seta
B. Dadoyan, The Fatimid Armenians: Cultural and Political Interaction in the Near East
(Leiden, 1997), p. 43; Michael the Syrian, The Syriac Chronicle, 11:17, p. 490.
206  Chapter 4

so fractious in practice.64 Contemporary Armenian sources, however, reveal

internal divisions within migrating bands. On occasion, the Paulicians have
been associated with the inauspiciously named “sons of sinfulness,” who
appear in connection with the Armenian revolt of 747–​750 in the History of
Łewond.65 The most relevant passage describes the flight of Armenian nakha-
rars rebelling against Islamic rule to the province of Tayk‘, which lay in north-​
western Armenia close to the Black Sea. Upon fleeing to this area, these rebels
encountered the “sons of sinfulness” and incorporated them into their army.
Łewond’s characterisation of this group is not internally consistent, so it is not
apparent if they are heretics, as commonly assumed, or merely bandits:

Then all the sons of sinfulness came and joined the army of the rebels;
they knew neither the fear of God nor did they acknowledge the dread of
the princes, or respect for the elders. As foreigners and estranged people,
they spread their raids, seized their brothers and their compatriots, and
pillaged greatly, bringing suffering on their brothers through beatings
and tortures.66

Quite how this unscrupulous band were both foreign to the country and broth-
ers to its inhabitants is unclear. Łewond’s term cannot, however, designate
a distinct grouping, since he elsewhere refers to other “sons of sinfulness,”
such as those who participated in the Muslim general Suleiman’s invasion of
Vaspurakan in 762, whom he notes were from Persia.67 While the evidence
adduced here warns against identifying the “sons of sinfulness” as Paulicians,
it is significant that militarised bands of ill-​repute were active in regions of
Armenia that bordered the empire. More crucially, the passage suggests that
migration from the Caucasus was heterogeneous and included groups that
some held in low esteem.

64 The issues are considerable, especially in older scholarship. A recent overview of the pri-
mary sources and historical issues is given by Redgate, but this does not address the diffi-
culties of secondary scholarship. Kaldellis’ recent critique proves valuable in this regard.
See Anne E. Redgate, “Myth and Reality: Armenian Identity in the Early Middle Ages,”
National Identities 9:4 (2007), pp. 281–​306; Kaldellis, Romanland, pp. 155–​195.
65 Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 136–​137.
66 Łewond, History of Łewond, 26, pp. 120; 180 n. 6. For the background to this source, see
Tim W. Greenwood, “A Reassessment of the History of Łewond,” Le Muséon 125 (2012),
pp. 99–​167.
67 Łewond, History of Łewond, 30, p. 124. See also Łewond’s description of invading troops as
“sons of sinfulness and descendants of iniquity.” Łewond, History of Łewond, 5, p. 56.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 207

The Paulicians fit within this pattern to some degree, but the portrayal of the
“sons of sinfulness” most resembles Paulician activity during the zenith of their
military success in the second half of the 9th century, rather than that described
in the Didaskalie. In this text, the Paulicians do not seek conflict with others, but
are rather conditioned by a strategic disposition to avoid unwanted oversight
or interference. Their movements are neither permanent nor unidirectional, in
contrast with some of their contemporaries. When Armenian elites migrated to
the empire, they sought close contact with imperial institutions and the status
and rewards these might provide, but Paulicians moved back and forth between
their safe havens whenever they came to the authorities’ attention. Admittedly,
there are instances in which Armenian elites returned to their homeland when
shifts in the political landscape were amenable, so population movements
could be swiftly reversed in some instances.68 Evidently, migration was a com-
plex phenomenon. The essential difference between the above cases and that
of the Paulicians is that the latter seem to have had a more troubled relationship
with central authority from the outset. In the Didaskalie, of course, Byzantine
authorities are portrayed as the Paulicians’ most frequent foes. The historical
basis of this might rightly be questioned, since this emphasis probably stems
from its codification in the aftermath of the persecutions of Michael i and Leo v,
but the trajectory of Paulician history as a whole implies a distrust and hostility
toward authority. Despite this, their relationship with Byzantine provincials and
other Greek speakers is harder to assess. In contrast with much of what we have
seen above, where the earliest phases of Paulician activity are most easily rec-
onciled with a reclusive and well-​defined community, our sources also betray
signs of complex ethno-​cultural interaction between Romans and Paulicians.
Above all, as Garsoïan has shown, the personal names of Paulicians within
our sources disclaim the notion that the movement is essentially Armenian
in character, since Armenian names do not preponderate over Greek
ones.69 In fact, the Didaskalie implies a mixed Graeco-​Armenian ethno-​lin-
guistic composition both within and without its community throughout the
duration of its narrative, as is unsurprising in a setting where many may
have been multilingual. Three of the principal Paulician figures, Paul the
Armenian, his son Gegnesios, and Baanes, the rival of Sergios, are explicitly
identified as Armenians, but the fact that they are described as such prob-
ably owes more to Byzantine norms of identification than Paulician ones.70

68 Łewond, History of Łewond, 10, pp. 64–​66.

69 Garsoïan, “Byzantine Heresy,” pp. 91–​92.
70 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 112; 130, pp. 46–​47; 50–​51. Translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies, pp. 80; 83; Treatise, 5, p. 82. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 93.
208  Chapter 4

Armenian names are also attested among those who opposed the move-
ment, such as Joseph-​Epaphroditos’s pursuer, the archon Krikoraches.71 The
same pattern applies when we identify Greek names, which are also prom-
inent within the movement and outside it. Ultimately, Garsoïan concluded
that while the Paulicians originated in Armenia, the Armenian character of
the movement subsequently declined, especially from the career of Sergios-​
Tychikos onward.72 There is perhaps some truth in this, but matters are
probably more nuanced than a sequential transition from an Armenian to
Roman character. For instance, the Islamic author Qudāma b. Ja‘far, while
writing of the end of the Paulician presence on the Anti-​Taurus, character-
ises them as Romans whose departure created a vacuum later to be filled
by Armenians.73 Clearly, there are differences of perspective at play here,
but the suspicion remains that conventional ethnonyms cannot adequately
convey the ethno-​cultural complexity of the region. Interaction between
Greek and Armenian speakers, for instance, need not necessarily be con-
fined to the empire because the former were also present in Armenia to the
east. Finally, engagement is not solely reducible to Roman-​Armenian inter-
actions since migrants from elsewhere in the Caucasus were also active in
areas where we find Paulicians.
That ideas of Paulician community had broadened out to transcend eth-
nic and linguistic distinctions is not especially surprising when we consider
that Paulician belief resembled conventional forms of Christianity. Since the
Didaskalie is very much a product of its time, we cannot posit that its Pauline
Christianity or its reappropriation of Acts had reached their full development
by the late 8th century, but it certainly seems that the apostolic core of the
Paulician faith was close to provincial Christianity at this time and could there-
fore attract adherents among the populace of the borderlands. Besides this,
it is notable that the locations where Byzantines identified Paulicians mirror
the logic of the imperial system well. Paulicians are first attested around the
major passes from Armenia and then into the Lykos Valley and the ports of
the Armeniakon, whence they spread towards Constantinople. Whether this
dynamic reflects the migratory patterns of Paulicians, the transmission of their
ideas via proselytization, or merely the norms of identification utilised by the
Roman state is unclear. It does, however, suggest that commercial routes were

71 Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 68.

72 Garsoïan, “The Problem of Armenian Integration,” pp. 87–​88.
73 Qudāma b. Ja‘far, Kitāb al-​kharāj wa-​ṣinā‘ at al-​kitāba, partial translation in Bibliotheca
geographorum Arabicorum, vol. 6, ed. and trans. Michael Jan de Goeje (Leiden, 1870),
p. 194.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 209

important to the expansion of the movement before the turn of the 9th cen-
tury. It is unlikely that Paulician communities had yet become a significant
presence along the Anti-​Taurus, since our sources only place them in this area
in the 810s at the earliest. This matter will be examined in full in the following
chapter.
For now, it suffices to note that Paulician identity transcended distinctions
between Armenian and Greek speakers. Most probably, linguistic distinctions
such as these were arbitrary in the social contexts that Paulicians inhabited
anyway. Besides such ethno-​linguistic concerns, several puzzling inconsis-
tencies have become apparent in the character of the movement. Most con-
spicuously, the Didaskalie suggests a reclusive community who sought to
distance themselves from others, and the heretical label that was applied to
them implies a distaste for them among other provincials, yet the swift expan-
sion of their faith implies widespread and successful engagement with neigh-
bouring communities. Paradoxes such as this one are not surprising given that
our evidence often comes from widely different perspectives, but it also implies
that we may be dealing with a loose network whose internal contradictions are
best explained by the convergence of similar phenomenon which originally
developed independently within subtly different contexts. This hypothesis fits
perfectly with the frontier society that our Paulicians inhabited during their
formative period.

3 The Byzantine-​Islamic Frontier in the Long 8th Century

The enduring image of the Paulicians which arises from our sources, irre-
spective of whether it stems from the History of the Paulicians, Theophanes
Continuatus i-​i v, or their faint echoes in Digenis Akritis, is of a people on
the very periphery of the Byzantine world. Although Theophanes and others
locate Paulician dissidents within the heart of the empire, during our period
their locale of choice was in the inaccessible and unruly frontiers straddling
the empire’s eastern themata, as well as the Armenian principalities and
Islamic emirates which held sway along the mountainous crescent from Tarsus
on the shores of the Mediterranean to Theodosiopolis in the Caucasus. The
topography and climate of the area mark it as a geographical periphery that
inhibits control by outside powers, but, besides this, the space was also a cul-
tural frontier where Roman, Armenian, Arab (and, more debatably, Christian
and Muslim) ideas interpenetrated. Such areas have long been recognized as
quintessential sites for the evolution of new communal identities, which often
210  Chapter 4

transcend distinctions between culture, religion, and ethnicity.74 It is perfectly

natural that this area would stimulate the evolution of Paulician beliefs and
practices that were attuned to it; rather more noteworthy is that they could
spread and thrive elsewhere. Explaining their success here will necessitate dis-
cussing the social, economic, and cultural makeup of the region, as well as the
conceptual models that best apply to it.
On a regional level, the primary conditioning factor is the warfare and raid-
ing that had characterised Asia Minor ever since Muslim armies had driven
Byzantine forces from Syria in the reign of Herakleios.75 In the case of the
Roman side of the frontier at least, the impact of raiding has traditionally been
considered severe, such that the notion of a no-​man’s land preponderates in
scholarship. This no-​man’s land roughly corresponded to the old provinces
of Kappadokia, the Anatolikon, and the southern part of the Armeniakon: a
swathe of territory that holds particular resonance for us here, since it overlaps
almost identically with areas where Paulicians were active from the second
half of the 9th century, when they participated in such raiding activity them-
selves. According to the conventional interpretation, Byzantine actors created
this no-​man’s land through a scorched earth policy in the aftermath of the
Arab invasions of Syria and Palestine. It is argued that Herakleios uprooted
the area’s inhabitants and levelled its fortresses in order to prevent these fall-
ing into Muslim hands and also to make it an unappealing target for Islamic
attacks.76 A century or so later, Constantine v’s relocation of populations from
Muslim-​held territories served to undermine the infrastructure of Islamic raid-
ing.77 Meanwhile, the late 8th-​/​early 9th-​century reorganisation of the thughūr
has been interpreted as an attempt to institutionalise the raiding of Roman

74 Zaroui Pogossian, for instance, considers the frontier the greatest conditioning factor for
the Paulicians’ rise to prominence, allowing them to become “a religious entity with its
own particular interests [that] went beyond the traditional frontiers imposed by cultural
and linguistic heritage, whether Greek or Armenian.” Zaroui Pogossian, “The Frontier
Existence of the Paulician Heretics,” in Annual of Medieval Studies at ceu 6 (2000),
pp. 203–​206, quotation at p. 206.
75 Recent palynological studies have shown the predominance of anthropogenic factors
over climactic ones in conditioning land use. Warren J. Eastwood et al., “Integrating
Palaeoecological and Archaeo-​Historical Records: Land Use and Landscape Change in
Cappadocia (Central Turkey) since Late Antiquity,” in Archaeology of the Countryside in
Medieval Anatolia, eds. Tasha Vorderstrasse, Jacob Roodenberg (Leiden, 2009), p. 55.
76 Lilie, “The Byzantine-​Arab Borderland,” pp. 13–​16.
77 Lilie, “The Byzantine-​Arab Borderland,” pp. 15–​16.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 211

territories.78 This reorganisation is predominantly credited to Hārūn al-​Rashīd,

whose reign saw a highpoint of Islamic raiding activity, due to the caliphate’s
strength and the empire’s preoccupation with Bulgaria.79 Thus, it is argued
that the no-​man’s land was a depopulated and undeveloped area, largely as a
result of top-​down processes impelled by the Roman Empire and the ‘Abbāsid
Caliphate.
While the despoiled character of the region remains generally accepted,
critics have increasingly questioned the extent of this depredation and the role
of top-​down processes in conditioning it. This is exemplified by the work of
A. Asa Eger, who disclaims the applicability of the ‘no-​man’s land’, arguing that
this notion was retroactively imposed upon the area by later Islamic authors
such as al-​Balādhurī and al-​Ṭabarī.80 His analysis, which is primarily based
upon the Islamic side of the frontier, but also incorporates Byzantine data,
demonstrates that the region shows significant archaeological continuity from
Late Antiquity, while noting that longer-​term changes in subsistence patterns
have traditionally gone unnoticed due to the scant remains they leave in the
archaeological record and, moreover, the marginal interest that many archae-
ological surveys display for this period.81 The despoliation of Roman areas
through raiding, while significant, was partially ameliorated through changing
patterns of land use which had already been adopted for economic reasons.
Besides this, archaeological evidence shows that certain sites thrived during
the period. This is borne out by recent excavations at Amorion, which have
uncovered a prosperous centre of trade and industrial production, whose finds
indicate commercial exchange over surprising distances within Asia Minor.82
The ultimate fate of the city is a stark reminder of the period’s dangers, since

78 Walter E. Kaegi, Jr., “Confronting Islam: Emperors Versus Caliphs (641-​c.850),” in The
Cambridge History of the Byzantine Empire c.500–​1492, ed. Jonathan Shepard (Cambridge,
2008), pp. 388–​390.
79 Michael D. Bonner, Aristocratic Violence and Holy War: Studies in Jihad and the Arab-​
Byzantine Frontier (New Haven, 1996), pp. 99–​106.
80 Alexander Asa Eger, The Islamic-​Byzantine Frontier: Interaction and Exchange among
Muslim and Christian Communities (London, 2014), pp. 2–​12.
81 Eger, Islamic-​Byzantine Frontier, pp. 12–​18. On the area, see also J. Eric Cooper, Michael
J. Decker, Life and Society in Byzantine Cappadocia (Basingstoke, 2012).
82 See in particular the four volumes (to date) of reports from the site. Margaret A.V. Gill,
Christopher S. Lightfoot, Eric A. Ivison, Mark T. Wypyski, Amorium Reports, Finds I: The
Glass (1987–​1997) (Oxford, 2002); Christopher S. Lightfoot, ed., Amorium Reports 2: Research
Papers and Technical Reports (Oxford, 2003); Christopher S. Lightfoot, Eric A. Ivison, eds.,
Amorium Reports 3: The Lower City Enclosure. Find Reports and Technical Studies (Istanbul,
2012); Constantina Katsari, Christopher S. Lightfoot, Adil Özme, Amorium Reports 4: The
Amorium Mint and the Coin Finds (Berlin, 2012).
212  Chapter 4

it was ruthlessly sacked by al-​Mu‘taṣim in 838 in retaliation for Theophilos’

campaign against Sozopetra (Zibatra), Arsamosata (Shimshāṭ), and Melitene
in the previous year, but campaigns of this ferocity were not the norm. In fact,
the prohibitive expense and logistical difficulties of al-​Mu‘taṣim’s campaign,
whose ambition would not be matched for the rest of the century, betray the
fact that raiding was usually more modest and followed semi-​normalised pat-
terns of behaviour.83 The regular exchange of prisoners, for instance, attests to
a degree of mutual understanding, even if this could be jettisoned in periods
of more acute conflict.84 In a similar vein, the predictability of Islamic raids,
which were largely confined to the regular campaigning seasons, allowed
Byzantine authorities to take appropriate precautions.85 On the surface, inter-
actions such as these appear to be conditioned by the great powers of empire
and caliphate, but in reality local authorities played a greater role than is often
credited. This trend is particularly true in Islamic territories, where the periph-
eries increasingly became loci of power as the central authority of the caliphate
waned. As a result, the inhabitants of the region now assume a greater prom-
inence in scholarship devoted to the frontiers. A by-​product of this emphasis
is the attention paid to such areas in the engendering of new forms of identity
and social praxis, particularly in contexts which are heterogeneous in their cul-
ture, religion, and ethnic composition.86
By following this line of argument we must take care to clarify what exactly
frontiers constitute in our setting. Most obviously, the traditional depiction
of the no-​man’s land as a barren and sparsely populated area hardly seems
an ideal fit for ethno-​cultural interaction. Here it must be remembered that
the areas directly exposed to Islamic raiding lay within Kappadokia and the
Anatolikon. These areas are adjacent to the geographical frontier between
imperial and caliphal territory, but they do not encompass all of it. The north-
ern passes between the empire and Armenia, where the Paulician presence first
becomes evident, were not subject to conflict as regularly. While the empire’s

83 Juan Signes Codoñer, The Emperor Theophilos and the East, 829–​842: Court and Frontier in
Byzantium during the Last Phase of Iconoclasm (Farnham, 2014), pp. 298–​299; 307–​308.
84 Hugh N. Kennedy, “Byzantine-​Arab Diplomacy in the Near East from the Islamic
Conquests to the Mid-​Eleventh Century,” in Byzantine Diplomacy (Papers from the 24th
Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, Cambridge, March 1990), eds. Jonathan Shepard,
Simon Franklin (London, 1992), pp. 137–​140. For prisoner taking as a semi-​formalised
affair in near contemporary Calabria, see Adele Curness, ““Slavery” Outside the Slave
Trade,” in Transmitting and Circulating the Late Antique and Byzantine Worlds, eds. Mirela
Ivanova, Hugh Jeffery (Leiden, 2020), pp. 102–​122.
85 Eger, Islamic-​Byzantine Frontier, pp. 251; 253–​255.
86 Eger, Islamic-​Byzantine Frontier, pp. 9–​11.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 213

eastern boundary may at first seem firmly defined, not least because it follows
the main mountain chains of eastern Asia Minor, in practice the border was
hazy and permeable. Crucially, moreover, recent theoretical developments
serve to characterise this space as a deeper zone of interaction. James Scott’s
anthropological model of ‘shatter zones’, originally inspired by the uplands of
south-​east Asia, exemplifies areas whose inaccessibility fosters social struc-
tures and subsistence patterns that inhibit incorporation by empires or states.
The inhabitants of these areas may have been born entirely outside civilising
processes, or, more controversially, they may have consciously absconded from
sedentary society itself.87 Scott’s model is certainly not applicable to eastern
Asia Minor in all periods –​it is important not to deploy it as a vehicle of geo-
graphical determinism –​but it does fit our era of despoliation and frequent
Islamic razzias. If anything, the “bewildering ethnic and linguistic complexity”
that characterises shatter zones is more apt in the case of the mountains and
valleys of Armenia and greater Caucasia to the east.88 For our purposes, Scott’s
model is valuable because shatter zones are conducive to the formation of new
social entities that transcend the distinction between the religious and the
ethno-​cultural, thereby appearing as either millennial religiosities or identity
communities depending on perspective.89 Moreover, actors in shatter zones
often position their identities in conditional and malleable ways towards out-
siders, as well as invoking counterhegemonic narratives among themselves.
All of this resonates well with the Didaskalie, the Paulicians, and the areas
they inhabited. Similar phenomena are apparent in other marginal regions
across the Near East, such as the Mardaïtes (or, as they are described in Islamic
sources, Jarājima), who were active in the Taurus, Amanus, and Lebanese
mountains at various points during the 7th and early 8th centuries, or the
Khurramiyya who sprung up amid the inaccessible highlands on the periph-
eries of caliphal territory during the early 9th century.90 Scott’s model does

87 James C. Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of Upland Southeast
Asia (New Haven/​London, 2009), pp. 1–​13. I am indebted to Nik Matheou and Hugh
Jeffery for bringing the concept to my attention.
88 Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed, pp. 7–​8. For an application of Scott’s approach to
Asia Minor in earlier periods, see Peter Thonemann, “Phrygia: An Anarchist History, 950
BC-​AD 100,” in Roman Phrygia: Culture and Society, ed. Peter Thonemann (Cambridge,
2013), pp. 1–​40.
89 Scott devotes a chapter each to ethnogenesis and millenarian religious movements, while
noting that the latter can inform the former. See Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed,
pp. 238–​324, especially pp. 312–​313.
90 The Mardaïtes often formed a fifth column of sorts for the empire in Muslim territories,
although at times they were also part of the Islamic frontier defences. Many were reset-
tled in the empire under Justinian ii. See Hans Ditten, Ethnische Verschiebungen zwischen
214  Chapter 4

not, however, fit perfectly with our context. Throughout his analysis, much
emphasis is placed on a dichotomisation of state and counterstate, which
seems ill-​fitting to our context because Paulician identity seems to have arisen
through multidirectional interactions within local groups, rather than being
formed in contradistinction to a regional hegemon, at least initially.91 In our
case, the frontier is a source of vitality in and of itself, as is memorably evoked
in one of the most famous Byzantine literary texts: the Digenis Akritis poems
and, more specifically, the Grottaferrata recension. This version of the text not
only incorporates characters with a close resemblance to figures from later
Paulician history –​Karbeas, Chrysocheir, and ‘Amr al-Aqṭa‘ all have analogues
within it –​but its titular hero, Basil, the Frontiersman of Double Descent, is
the son of a Muslim emir and a Byzantine governor’s daughter.92 Even more
notably, the text conjures a convincing portrayal of frontier life: conflict is not
fought along narrow confessional lines, for the majority of Digenis’s exploits
are directed against fellow Christians, usually brigands. The survival of these
topoi in the Grottaferrata version (which was perhaps codified in the 12th cen-
tury, although the surviving manuscript dates from the late-​13th/​14th century)
implies that this setting resonated among contemporary societies while also
remaining evocative in later periods.93 The vitality of our context is further
confirmed by the rise of the Skleroi and Argyroi magnate families, who rose
to be among the principal political actors in the eastern reaches of Asia Minor
shortly after the eclipse of the Paulicians in the later 9th century.94 Again,
these families could be found in allegiance with Roman or Islamic actors
depending on circumstances: a certain “Son of Skleros” was an erstwhile ally

der Balkanhalbinsel und Kleinasien vom Ende 6. bis zur zweiten Hälfte des 9. Jahrhunderts
(Berlin, 1993), pp. 146–​147; Paul M. Cobb, White Banners: Contention in ‘Abbasid Syria,
750–​880 (Albany, 2001), pp. 113–​115. On the Khurramiyya, see most recently Patricia
Crone, The Nativist Prophets of Early Islamic Iran: Rural Revolt and Local Zoroastrianism
(Cambridge, 2012).
91 For a complementary example of non-​hegemonic identity formation, see Christopher
M. Stojanowski, Bioarchaeology of Ethnogenesis in the Colonial Southeast (Gainesville,
2010), pp. 128–​153.
92 Elizabeth Jeffreys, ed., Digenis Akritis: The Grottaferrata and Escorial Versions (Cambridge,
1998), pp. xxxiv–​xxxv.
93 Jeffreys, ed., Digenis Akritis, pp. xvii-​xxi. See also Hugh F. Graham, “Digenis Akritas as
a Source for Frontier History,” in Actes du XIVe congrés international des études byzan-
tines. Bucarest, 6–​12 septembre, 1971, eds. Mihai Berza, Eugen Stănescu (Bucharest, 1975),
pp. 321–​329.
94 Cooper, Decker, Byzantine Cappadocia, pp. 247–​252; Jean-​François Vannier, Familles
byzantines: les Argyroi, IXe-​XIIe siècles (Paris, 1975); Werner Seibt, Die Skleroi: eine
prosopographisch-​sigillographische Studie (Vienna, 1976).
Paulicians in the 8th Century 215

of ‘Amr al-Aqṭa‘ around the time of Karbeas’ defection.95 This implies that the
Paulicians were only one manifestation of a complex interplay of social forces
on the eastern frontier.
In short, the characterisation sketched above favours seeing the frontier not
merely as geopolitical, but also ethno-​cultural, as the respective analyses of
Eger and Scott advocate. Adopting such a perspective necessitates seeing fron-
tiers as plural, overlapping, and layered. To illustrate the point, since the migra-
tions of our period were altering the ethno-​cultural reality of regions from
Paphlagonia in the west to Tayk‘ in the east, we may speak of a deep ethno-​
cultural frontier zone in this region, whose extent would expand or contract,
thicken, or dilute, depending upon the intensity of intercourse. It is important
to stress that there were no absolutes in such a heterogeneous area. While the
underlying dynamics of most of the interaction we have seen above stem from
hostility between Christians and Muslims, this trend does not apply univer-
sally; by the mid-​9th century we see evidence for cooperation across the con-
fessional divide among Paulicians and others.96 Frontiers shifted, sometimes
radically and sometimes less so, even in cases where topography or culture
seems to preclude it. For our purposes, this observation is important because it
gives indications of how even a barren and unpopulated area could be a source
of dynamism. While areas of Kappadokia and the Anatolikon were despoiled
by raiding, these areas lay adjacent to zones of ethno-​cultural plurality that
could engender groups suited to marginal areas if the right opportunities pre-
sented themselves. In the case of the Paulicians in the 840s, the alliance with
‘Amr al-Aqṭa‘ provided such an opportunity. As we shall see in the following
chapter, there are indications that the early decades of the 9th century were
similarly conducive to new settlement in the area. However, this is not true of
the 8th century, so it seems that the entry of the Paulicians into eastern Asia
Minor must be due to other factors. One of these, namely pastoralism, merits
particular attention.

95 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati nomine fertur

Libri I-​IV, 4:16, eds. J. Michael Featherstone, Juan Signes Codoñer (Boston/​Berlin, 2015),
pp. 238–​239, l. 30–​31.
96 The phenomenon was not unknown earlier in the century. In addition to Thomas the
Slav’s defection to the caliphate, there is the example of Naṣr b. Shabath al-​ʻUqaylī, a Qaysī
warlord active in northern Syria in the early 9th century, who contemplated a Byzantine
alliance upon al-​Ma’mūn’s entry to Baghdād, although the proposal was rejected out of
hand by his furious supporters. See Hugh N. Kennedy, The Early Abbasid Caliphate: A
Political History (London, 1981), pp. 168–​169; Michael the Syrian, The Syriac Chronicle, 12:9,
p. 538.
216  Chapter 4

4 Paulicians and Pastoralism

In the latter half of the 9th century, Paulician economic strategy was predicated
largely on the raiding of Byzantine territory, which allowed them to seize pris-
oners, livestock, and other forms of loot. The approach was perhaps coopted
from established Islamic practices, given the long history of Muslim raiding
within Asia Minor. There is, however, no indication that Paulicians used this
approach systematically beforehand. Sergios-​Tychikos does claim in his letters
that he frequently and unsuccessfully sought to stop his followers from tak-
ing Roman prisoners, which implies continuity of practice, but the extent of
this activity seems limited in his career compared to later developments. The
Didaskalie, on the other hand, continually emphasises Byzantine aggression
against the Paulicians and never posits reprisal as a conceivable option. It is
also silent on their subsistence patterns, aside from a solitary reference to pas-
toralism, which it invokes when Joseph-​Epaphroditos dupes an Islamic army
by claiming that he and his followers were travelling to Syria for pasturage.
Despite the exceptionality of this reference, pastoralism merits serious consid-
eration as a facet of Paulician activity for a number of reasons.97 First, among
Eger’s observations of interaction across the frontier, he alludes to Christian
pastoral groups who migrated between areas in Byzantine, Armenian, or
Islamic spheres of influence, in the process displaying little regard for the terri-
torial niceties of the region.98 Second, pastoralism is given significant empha-
sis in Scott’s analysis of shatter zones, where it is one of several economic
strategies that social groups may adopt to preclude unwanted interference
from neighbouring powers. Other suitable niches include shifting cultiva-
tion and brigandage, the latter of which is well attested among Paulicians in
later periods. For Scott, actors may strategically shift between these niches
when circumstances render this appropriate; a portrayal which once again
seems fitting to our context.99 Since the pastoral connection may well provide

97 On pastoralism and the Paulicians, see also George Huxley, “The Historical Geography
of the Paulician and T‘ondrakian Heresies,” in Medieval Armenian Culture, eds. Thomas
J. Samuelian, Michael E. Stone (Chico, 1984), pp. 81; 89. A pastoral emphasis is also hinted
at in Garsoïan, “Byzantine Heresy: A Reinterpretation,” p. 98, which notes a passage in
the patriarch Nikephoros’ Refutatio et Eversio that states that Constantive v indoctrinated
Constantinopolitan troops, many of which he recruited from herdsmen, against the
orthodox. Garsoïan conjectures that these herdsmen may have originated among Joseph-​
Epaphroditos’ Paulician followers. For the passage, see Alexander, Patriarch Nicephorus,
p. 247.
98 Eger, Islamic-​Byzantine Frontier, pp. 259–​261.
99 Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed, pp. 182–​207.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 217

continuity with later Paulician militarism and potentially explain their rise to
prominence during the 8th century, it is essential to examine it here.
The Didaskalie’s sole allusion implies that the seasonal migration of pas-
toralists was common in the marginal zones between empire and caliphate.
The passage in question describes the respective migrations of Joseph and his
rival Zacharias from Mananalis. When they are unexpectedly accosted by an
Islamic army, Zacharias flees and thereby causes his followers to be slain, while
Joseph employs the following stratagem and guides his community safely to
Episparis:

And Joseph the Senseless, having learnt this [the massacre of Zacharias’
community], turned the wagons as if he were going toward Syria, and
when the Saracens came, he told them that he had set out for pasture and
cheese making. Since they were persuaded by this defence, the Agarenes
departed and allowed them to go unmolested.100

Although it is difficult to credit that a Muslim force would be fooled so easily

considering that they had only just intercepted Zacharias’ band, the passage is
valuable in showing that seasonal migrations were routine in this region. The
distances involved could evidently be significant, although it seems that by
heading “toward Syria” Joseph was merely claiming to be travelling southward.
More obviously, the passage attests practices of raising livestock among the
Paulicians, but it is unclear how far this emphasis should be extended. As we
saw in Chapter 3, the Didaskalie’s narrative aim is to extol the virtue of cunning
and since Joseph uses transhumant pastoralism as a ruse here, the account
perhaps suggests that it was not the normal form of subsistence among the
Paulicians. Even if this is true, it is clear that they could practice this activ-
ity when appropriate. Across the Near East generally, semi-​nomadic pastoral
practices involved coexistence and trade with neighbouring sedentary com-
munities whenever the demand for grazing land or other essentials made this
expedient.101 Practising this way of life would be most apposite in areas suited
to both itinerant and sedentary living patterns –​and this is exactly where we
find Paulicians in the early stages of the Didaskalie’s account. It describes fre-
quent migrations between Mananalis and Kibossa, both of which lay in areas
suited to pastoralism while being well connected with major urban hubs and

100 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 126, pp. 50–​51. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 82.
101 See, for instance, Michael B. Rowton, “Enclosed Nomadism,” Journal of the Economic and
Social History of the Orient 17:1 (1974), pp. 1–​7.
218  Chapter 4

trade routes. That being said, the Paulician presence in these areas is not explic-
itly connected with pastoralism and the suitability of their settlements to this
way of life diminishes as the narrative progresses. Joseph’s flight to Antioch
in Pisidia is difficult to rationalise on the basis of pastoral activity or indeed
a desire to escape further Byzantine interference. Most pertinently, we have
already seen that the spread of Paulician influence seems to have taken place
along an east-​west axis through northern Asia Minor, whereas in the centre
of the peninsula, where pastoralism is historically rather better attested, their
influence seems to have been less prominent. As a result, it seems that pas-
toralism was not intrinsic to their identity or success, but only one of several
subsistence strategies that could be adopted wherever appropriate.
This picture is largely borne out by the evidence for pastoral activity in Asia
Minor in our period, which, although scanty, implies forms of organisation
that do not fit well with the account of the Didaskalie. As noted above, it is
unwise to dissociate pastoralism too markedly from other modes of produc-
tion, since most agriculture in the peninsula was composite and diversified,
thereby involving symbiotic relationships between populations who were nei-
ther totally agrarian nor pastoral. Polyculture and cooperation were the norm
in most settings.102 In line with this, during earlier and later periods most pas-
toral activity in central Anatolia was highly specialised, with particular empha-
ses on cattle ranching and stud farms dedicated to providing mounts for the
army.103 These forms of production are well attested in the western and central
stretches of the Anatolian plateau, as well as Paphlagonia and Kappadokia, but
are less evident in the Paulician heartlands to the north-​east, which lacked the
abundance of great landholders characteristic of these regions.104 The salient

102 For polyculture, see Angeliki E. Laiou and Cécile Morrisson, The Byzantine Economy
(Cambridge, 2007), p. 12; Jacques Lefort, “The Rural Economy, Seventh-​Twelfth Centuries,”
in The Economic History of Byzantium: from the Seventh through the Fifteenth Century, ed.
Angeliki E. Laiou, vol. 1 (Washington, D.C., 2002), pp. 233–​234.
103 Lefort, “The Rural Economy,” pp. 263–​264.
104 Speros Vryonis, The Decline of Medieval Hellenism in Asia Minor and the Process of
Islamization from the Eleventh through the Fifteenth Century (Berkeley, 1971), p. 25, n. 132.
Although it dates from the later 10th century, the Book of the Eparch implies that ranching
was common in Anatolia, mainly from its reference to regulations concerning butchers in
the area. See Das Eparchenbuch Leons des Weisen, 15, ed. Johannes Koder (Vienna, 1991),
pp. 122–​127. English translation: Roman Law in the Later Roman Empire: Byzantine Guilds
Professional and Commercial: Ordinances of Leo VI c.895 from the Book of the Eparch, ed.
and trans. Edwin H. Freshfield (Cambridge, 1889), pp. 38–​39. For other textual sources
for livestock holding, see Nomos georgikos, in Vizantiĭskiĭ zemledel’cheskiĭ zakon, eds. Igor
Medvedev et al. (Leningrad, 1984). English translation: The Laws of the Isaurian Era: The
Ecloga and its Appendices, ed. and trans. Michael T.G Humphreys (Liverpool, 2017),
pp. 129–​139; “La vie de S. Philarète,” eds. and trans. Marie-​Henriette Fourmy, Maurice
Paulicians in the 8th Century 219

question is whether we can posit continuity of practice throughout our period,

since, if so, it suggests that pastoral activity was only a minor reason for the
Paulicians’ growth to prominence. This is a vexed question considering the
depredations that afflicted Asia Minor in previous centuries and the lack of
evidence in documentary sources and the archaeological record.
The most notable exponent of continuity is John Haldon, whose view is
founded on the belief that the landed elite retained their status throughout
our period.105 Others, notably Michel Kaplan, James Howard-​Johnston, and
Peter Sarris, believe that the scarcity of labour caused by dislocation elevated
the status of the peasantry, which thereby eroded the influence of the mag-
nates.106 Even if this is true, it is far from certain that patterns of land use
changed as a result. Both textual and archaeological sources are inconclu-
sive.107 Palynological data from Nar Gölü in south-​central Anatolia suggests
a decline in the extent of arable land between the late 7th and mid-​10th cen-
turies, with a corresponding increase in woodland.108 Pastoral activity also
declined, albeit not to the same degree.109 Eger links this data with the practice
of limited stock raising, as opposed to large-​scale ranching.110 It may well be
that the Didaskalie’s reference to pastoralism reflects a general trend towards

Leroy, Byzantion 9 (1934), pp. 112–​167. For ranching, see Alan Harvey, Economic Expansion
in the Byzantine Empire 900–​1200 (Cambridge, 1989), pp. 40–​41; 149–​157; John F. Haldon,
Byzantium in the Seventh Century: the Transformation of a Culture (Cambridge, 1997),
pp. 155–​160; Klaus Belke, Tabula Imperii Byzantini. Bd. 9, Paphlagonien und Honōrias
(Vienna, 1996), pp. 143–​144.
105 Haldon, The Empire, pp. 162–​177; 183–​187. He countenances that their influence may have
declined more in his early work. On this, see Haldon, Byzantium in the Seventh Century,
pp. 129–​130; 153.
106 Michel Kaplan, Les hommes et la terre à Byzance du VIe au XIe siècle: propriété et exploita-
tion du sol (Paris, 1992), p. 185; James Howard-​Johnston, “Social Change in Early Medieval
Byzantium,” in Lordship and Learning: Studies in Memory of Trevor Aston, ed. Ralph Evans
(Woodbridge, 2004), pp. 46–​48; Peter Sarris, “Economics, Trade and “Feudalism,”” in A
Companion to Byzantium, ed. Liz James (Oxford, 2010), pp. 33–​35. To a large degree, the
debate is still framed within the terms set by Georg Ostrogorsky, who saw the develop-
ment of a free peasantry as a key reason for the empire’s later successes against the caliph-
ate. On this, see Georg Ostrogorsky, “Agrarian Conditions in the Byzantine Empire in the
Middle Ages,” in The Cambridge Economic History of Europe: Volume I: The Agrarian Life of
the Middle Ages, ed. Michael M. Postan (Cambridge, 1966), pp. 207–​215, with criticism at
Haldon, The Empire, pp. 267–​268.
107 Cécile Morrisson, Jean-​Pierre Sodini, “The Sixth-​Century Economy,” in The Economic
History of Byzantium: From the Seventh through the Fifteenth Century, ed. Angeliki E. Laiou,
vol. 1 (Washington, D.C., 2002), p. 183.
108 Eastwood et al., “Integrating Palaeoecological,” pp. 52–​53.
109 Eastwood et al., “Integrating Palaeoecological,” p. 62.
110 Eger, Islamic-​Byzantine Frontier, pp. 259–​60.
220  Chapter 4

livestock rearing within the frontier zone, since, as a source of movable wealth,
animals were easier to relocate and protect in the event of aggression.111 If so,
then it seems that Paulician transhumance may have been attuned to regional
norms, but it does not follow that this was key to explaining their success or
distinctiveness around the turn of the 9th century.
One of the attractions of applying Scott’s concept of shatter zones to the
areas inhabited by the Paulicians is that, as noted above, it provides the tools to
interpret pastoralism as a strategic choice that may be adopted under certain
circumstances, rather than an intrinsic facet of their lifestyle.112 This portrayal
fits well with the Didaskalie, as well as aspects of later Paulician subsistence.
Much of their raiding activity in the mid-​and late 9th century focused on seiz-
ing livestock as a form of movable wealth, much in line with the “stock rus-
tling” or “militarised transhumance” that Hugh Kennedy sees as representative
of Muslim practices during the period.113 Paulicians and Muslims often raided
hand in hand: al-​Ṭabarī recounts that, during a raid in 860/​61, ‘Amr al-Aqṭa‘
seized 7000 livestock and Karbeas seized 5000.114 This combination of pasto-
ralism and militarism is emblematic of Scott’s shatter zones, while a martial
emphasis is also apparent in many migrating groups from Armenia, as already
noted.115 The confluence of militarism, pastoralism, and inter-​Armenian iden-
tity politics undoubtedly informed aspects of Paulician activity in certain
contexts, but it bears reasserting that other tendencies were evident in the
movement and are encapsulated above all in the person of Sergios. As we have
seen, this didaskalos sought reconciliation with Byzantine authorities, while
his career also marks an increasing institutionalisation of Paulician belief,
where an ecclesiastical hierarchy of sorts becomes apparent. These tensions
are best explained by proposing that the rapid growth of the Paulicians around
the turn of the 9th century involved the coalescence of previously semi-​inde-
pendent faith communities, many of which differed in their way of life and
their relationship with outsiders.

1 11 Eger, Islamic-​Byzantine Frontier, pp. 251–​256; 259–​261.

112 Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed, pp. 182–​207.
113 John F. Haldon, Hugh N. Kennedy, “The Arab-​Byzantine Frontier in the Eighth and
Ninth Centuries: Military Organisation and Society in the Borderlands,” Zbornik radova
Vizantološkog instituta 19 (1980), pp. 115–​116.
114 ‘Amr’s haul is listed as 15,000 in a variant manuscript. al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul wa-​al-​
mulūk. The history of al-​Ṭabarī, 40 vols, vol. 34, trans. Joel L. Kraemer (Albany, 1989), p. 167.
115 Garsoïan, “The Problem of Armenian Integration,” pp. 61–​64. For the presence of such
pastoral groups in military ventures, see Eger, Islamic-​Byzantine Frontier, pp. 282–​285.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 221

5 Labelling the Paulicians of Asia Minor

Thus far, we have seen that Paulician identities were positioned uneasily
against both their Armenian and Roman counterparts. The Armenian origins
of the name imply distrust rather than belonging, but, despite this, intercourse
among Armenian populations was crucial to their differentiation from other
identity categories. Similarly, while Roman aggression against the Paulicians
is common from the 810s onward, the prosopography of the latter implies that
they had appeal for Greek speakers, whereas Sergios’ attempts at reconciliation
also imply a sense of loyalty to the empire. All of this implies that Paulician
identity was not rigidly bounded, but carried sufficient appeal to infiltrate new
contexts and prosper in them. Other facets of their activity, such as pastoralism
or militarism, are insufficient to explain this appeal. The obvious solution is
that the religious views Paulicians espoused, whether expressed through nar-
ratives like that of the Didaskalie or the charismatic displays of their leaders
and adherents, instilled a sense of religious belonging that other provincials
found compelling. In the context of a recently persecuted community, it is easy
to see why the Didaskalie could make such a strong impression: it reasserted
the legitimacy and preeminence of Paulician belief and community, while
casting their Roman adversaries as harsh and indiscriminate persecutors. Such
a narrative was unimaginable prior to the era of persecution, but its essential
characteristics, such as its ability to explain contemporary events by invoking
recognisable scriptural precedents, could prove as evocative in earlier periods.
Above all, there is an immediacy to Paulician religion that distinguishes it from
its contemporaries; unlike the biblical eschatology that saw the Romans as the
successors of the Jews as God’s Chosen People, it was lived in the present and
was based on the core Christian texts of the New Testament. Sergios was still
founding new churches. Romans and Christians were not one and the same.
The conflict between them was still ongoing. Acts, the Pauline letters, and the
Gospels were not echoes of a distant past, but a living reality for the Paulicians
of 9th-​century Asia Minor.
The origins of this distinctly Pauline brand of Christianity remain mys-
terious, but it seems clear that Paulician belief grew organically from local
manifestations of Christianity, or at least something not appreciably differ-
ent from orthodox perspectives. Everything we have seen from Paulician tes-
timony implies that their scriptural inspiration was conventional in origin,
even if its utilisation was not. Indications from the Didaskalie imply deviation
in textual practices from the very beginnings of the movement. According to
its testimony, Constantine-​Silvanos taught orally, using only the Gospel and
the Apostle. Even if Constantine’s historicity can be questioned, the limited
222  Chapter 4

canon associated with him seems firmly attested, since later didaskaloi, such
as Sergios-​Tychikos, abandoned the practice and felt compelled to justify it.
Constantine’s approach evidently contravened the accepted orthodoxy of
the day, but explaining this deviance is not too much trouble: we can take the
Didaskalie at face value for once and posit that charismatic religiosity played
a crucial role in the early development of the movement and, to a lesser or
greater extent, remained a factor thereafter. Leadership of this kind seems to
have been a source of considerable energy, but it also led to discontent. The
factional disputes described in the Didaskalie suggest this and, even if the
historicity of many such events is doubtful, it does seem that tensions had
reached a head by the career of Sergios. On the one hand, he is the best attested
didaskalos and presided over the greatest expansion of the movement’s influ-
ence, but his authority was evidently questioned during his career, to such a
degree that his role fell into abeyance after his death. This fact alone shows
that charismatic leadership too cannot have been the determining factor in
the Paulicians’ rapid rise to prominence. It seems that Sergios was unable to
contain the centrifugal forces of a movement that had swiftly grown beyond
its original social basis, in the process accumulating internal contradictions
which were increasingly laid bare. Peter Brown’s concept of the itinerant holy
man, whose popularity and influence often exceeded those of provincial bish-
ops, has become almost ubiquitous in studies of religion in the Mediterranean
world.116 A similar appeal seems to lurk behind Paulician charismatic leader-
ship, probably more so in the early phases of the movement, but it seems that
this was swiftly transcended, in the process become something more organised
and ideologically sophisticated. Nevertheless, even this more organised man-
ifestation seems to have been disintegrating during the latter part of Sergios’
career.
On balance, it seems that charismatic leadership proved crucial to the
Paulicians’ success only when it was channelled toward the furtherance of
a communal identity that compelled the devotion of others. Ultimately, the
Paulicians’ ability to transcend distinctions between the urban and rural,
the pastoral and sedentary, Armenian and Roman, cannot be convincingly
explained except through a sense of religious community that outsiders found
appealing and evocative. No other hypothesis can account for the presence of
Paulicians in locales throughout Asia Minor and Thrace only a few years after
their first appearance in Byzantine sources. Since our knowledge of Paulician

116 Peter R.L. Brown, “Holy Men,” in The Cambridge Ancient History, XIV: Late Antiquity.
Empire and Successors AD 425–​600, eds. Averil Cameron, Bryan Ward-​Perkins, Michael
Whitby (Cambridge, 2000), pp. 781–​801.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 223

organisation, sacramental practices, or even doctrinal fundamentals are not

well illuminated within the Didaskalie, it is difficult to explain the appeal of
Paulician community beyond the fact that it was grounded in apostolic texts
and a Pauline conception of worshippers joined in the Spirit. These commu-
nities of the Spirit probably map onto the churches founded by the didaskaloi
to some degree, but since Byzantine writers consistently locate Paulicians in
other locations, such as Thrace and parts of western Asia Minor, the churches
evidently did not incorporate all Paulician adherents. Furthermore, it seems
that these churches were not tied together in a monolithic superstructure.
When Sergios wrote to the Church of the Macedonians at Koloneia, for
instance, his words imply that this community was not under his authority.117
The realisation of a community of the Spirit seemingly differed in its articula-
tion from place to place, which is understandable if missionary activity was as
important in disseminating ideas as the Didaskalie suggests. As a consequence,
the Paulician movement as understood in its broadest sense may have arisen
from the convergence of semi-​independent faith communities, rather than a
process of division from a single point of origin. The Didaskalie may invoke the
spectre of a primordial unity, but this has more to do with premodern narra-
tives of community, as expressed in foundation myths or even heresiological
texts, than the reality of social interaction.
The theory that Paulician origins were heterogeneous becomes more com-
prehensible when we note correspondences between their lived religion and
provincial Byzantine norms, which offer convincing reasons as to why their
ideas and religious practices had such appeal. Private churches and chapels
were an accepted practice throughout much of Asia Minor, so the institutional
church’s reach in the region was not all encompassing.118 This lack of oversight
may have been crucial to the spread of Paulician ideas, especially if the move-
ment were able to tap into commercial or kinship networks. Much has also
been made of similarities between Paulician opposition to imperial power and
other strands of anti-​institutional sentiment throughout peripheral areas of
the peninsula.119 Disgruntlement could often be acute, particularly in times of
onerous taxation or military service. Admittedly, when framed in such terms,
this impulse could apply almost universally. The empire must also have made
provincials feel enfranchised on some level since it is otherwise difficult to
account for its tenacious hold on its eastern provinces. Resistance to imperial

117 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 158, pp. 58–​59. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 87.
118 Cooper, Decker, Byzantine Cappadocia, pp. 154–​158.
119 Haldon, The Empire, pp. 183–​185.
224  Chapter 4

power seems to have been tactical for the most part, predicated on calculated
acts of resistance or non-​compliance in order to counteract egregious exac-
tions on daily life, or mitigate the effect of natural or man-​made disasters.
Only in exceptional circumstances, such as the Paulician campaign of insur-
rection from the 840s onward, did sentiments of this kind aspire to alter the
fundamental power dynamics of the region. The Didaskalie, unsurprisingly
for a text written shortly after Byzantine persecution, articulates discontent of
this nature starkly: the empire and its rulers are distant and brutal opponents
whose whims have the power to eradicate the Paulicians at a stroke.
Before the interventions of Michael i and Leo v, Paulician narratives may
not have been as bleak, but it is easy to see how anti-​or non-​imperial rheto-
ric could have mobilised support during the iconophile intermission, which
seemed a period of conspicuous divine displeasure to many. In the introduc-
tion, we noted the factional intrigues between Eirene and the son she eventu-
ally blinded, Constantine vi. One of the most acute conflicts between the two
was the Moechian Controversy, whose partisan fallout in the charged atmo-
sphere of ecclesiastical and monastic circles would rumble on into the reign
of Michael i. The affair centred on Constantine’s dissatisfaction with his wife
Maria, whom he unceremoniously divorced and packed off to a convent, much
to the chagrin of his mother and others. He then sought to force through a
marriage to his mistress Theodote by any means necessary, eventually gain-
ing the patriarch Tarasios’ acquiescence, if not support. The resulting union
was officiated by Joseph of Kathara, with whom many of the most intransi-
gent monastics, such as Plato of Sakkoudion, Theodore the Stoudite, and the
latter’s brother Joseph, Archbishop of Thessalonika, refused communion. This
led to their exile in the reign of Nikephoros, from which they were eventually
recalled by Michael i.120 If the De sanctis patriarchis Tarasio et Nicephoro is
to be believed, Constantine vi threatened the resumption of iconoclasm to
attain his aims and, even if this did not come to fruition, it would not be long
before iconoclasm reared its head again, for the empire’s troubles were not
solely religious.121 Although the civil war between al-​Amīn and al-​Ma’mūn
gave the empire some respite after Hārūn al-​Rashīd’s reign, this only coincided
with the rise of an arguably more dangerous threat: the Bulgar Khan Krum,

120 Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A History, pp. 290–​291;
360–​363. See also Thomas Pratsch, Theodoros Studites (759–​826) –​zwischen Dogma und
Pragma (Frankfurt, 1998), pp. 83–​114; 147–​178.
121 De sanctis patriarchis Tarasio et Nicephoro, Patrologia Graeca 99, col. 1852–​ 1853.
Constantine’s threat is probably a literary invention by Ignatios the Deacon, who authored
the life. See Pratsch, Theodoros Studites, pp. 87; 89, n. 25.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 225

whose decisive victories over the empire at Pliska and Versinikia eventually
brought Leo v to the throne and impelled him to restore iconoclasm in 815.122
Leo’s intervention sought to recover the divine favour which had deserted the
empire during the aforementioned travails.123 By all indications, he was not
the only one to think of it. It is doubtful that Constantine vi invoked it, but
numerous conspiracies were launched to bring the sons of the great iconoclast
Constantine v to the throne from the reign of Eirene to that of Michael i.124
Leo’s actions were ultimately an imperially centred response to a crisis at
the heart of imperial power. As is not surprising for such a protracted and con-
tentious debate, iconoclasm and iconodulism were as tied up with concep-
tions of imperial and ecclesiastical authority, and the personal rivalries and
institutional tensions that surrounded them, as much as they were with the-
ology and everyday devotional practices. Paulician belief, on the other hand,
stood apart from these concerns. It was therefore able to tap into anti-​insti-
tutional sentiments, but, more importantly, it had a religious message of its
own. Although this message may have differed in its articulation from context
to context, it remained founded on apostolic texts and the sense of belonging
they evoked. Roman narratives, on the other hand, were bound up with ideas
of imperial power and prestige and, around the turn of the 9th century at least,
it must have seemed that the empire and the narratives associated with it were
failing. As noted many times already, the Byzantines’ self-​identification as the
new Chosen People looked back to the Old Testament texts, but the increasing
prominence of the latter is also apparent in other aspects of Byzantine life, not
least law codes, such as the Ekloga of Leo iii, or the desire of certain emper-
ors to associate themselves with ancient Israelite patriarchs.125 Although the
Old Testament was conceptualised in terms of continuity with New Testament

122 For Pliska, see Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, pp. 489–​ 491.
Translation: The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, pp. 672–​673. For Versinikia, see
Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, pp. 500–​503. Translation: The Chronicle of
Theophanes Confessor, pp. 684–​686.
123 Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A History, pp. 366–​370.
124 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 454, l. 12–​25. Translation: The Chronicle
of Theophanes Confessor, pp. 626–​627; Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1,
pp. 496–​497. Translation: The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, pp. 679–​680.
125 Ecloga: das Gesetzbuch Leons III. und Konstantinos’ V., 17:52, ed. Ludwig Burgmann
(Frankfurt, 1983), pp. 242–​243. English translation: The Laws of the Isaurian Era: The Ecloga
and its Appendices, ed. and trans. Michael T.G Humphreys (Liverpool, 2017), p. 77. In our
period, the most notable parallel is Basil i’s association with David. Shaun Tougher, The
Reign of Leo VI (886–​912): Politics and People (Leiden, 1997), pp. 122–​132. See also Claudia
Rapp, “Old Testament Models for Emperors in Early Byzantium,” in The Old Testament in
Byzantium, eds. Paul Magdalino, Robert S. Nelson (Washington, D.C., 2010), pp. 175–​197.
226  Chapter 4

works, the message was complex and, even if the worldview did not suffer
appreciably as the empire’s prestige and legitimacy crumbled, it may have
been vulnerable to competitors with a more immediate appeal. We should not
unduly overplay the importance of this biblical eschatology, especially since
Byzantine religion was rich and could operate on many explanatory axes, but
it is not difficult to see how Paulician thought-​worlds could prove to be via-
ble contenders. Their scriptural practices were both simpler and more recog-
nisably Christian, espousing a religiosity that was suffused with references to
the foundational apostolic texts and extolled participation in a community of
the Spirit. Their recent lineage of Pauline-​monikered leaders may have helped
their cause, as may their missionary zeal, and imitation of canonical scripture.
Their appeal was not universal, but it was evidently sufficient enough to take
root, particularly in the more far-​flung reaches of the empire.
On balance, it seems to have been the apostolic message of the Paulicians
that proved most effective in their proselytising, whereas anti-​institutional
sentiment was only effective in certain contexts. More specifically, anti-​impe-
rial rhetoric only seems to have become crucial to Paulician identity after the
persecutions of Michael i and Leo v. The Didaskalie goes far beyond the norms
of contemporary critics by explicitly positioning emperors as enemies and
persecutors of the Paulician community, but, despite this, it seems clear that
Sergios favoured reconciliation with the empire at some point.126 As we shall
see in the following chapter, there are strong indications that relations between
Paulicians and the empire had been more cordial beforehand. Theophanes’
complaint that Nikephoros i favoured them may not have been wide of the
mark. Nonetheless, it seems that by the time of Sergios there were significant
internal divisions within the community, respectively based around a clerical-
ised hierarchy and more militaristic strands of Paulicians.
Let us now return to the thesis of Paulician origins articulated at the begin-
ning of this chapter and bring it into full focus. As noted there, the application
of the Armenian descriptor Paulician is crucial, since it implies that the initial
labelling of ‘Paulicians’ occurred in the frontier zone which straddled Armenia
and the empire, long before the Paulicians came to the attention of central
imperial authorities.127 There is no evidence for high-​level correspondence
between the Byzantine and Armenian churches from the squabble between
Germanos i and Yovhannēs Ōjnec‘i in the 720s until Photios’ exchanges with

1 26 For the limits of imperial criticism, see Haldon, The Empire, pp. 84–​87.
127 See also Anne E. Redgate, “Catholicos John III’s Against the Paulicians and the Paulicians
of Tephrike,” in Armenian Sebastia/​Sivas and Lesser Armenia, ed. Richard G. Hovannisian
(Los Angeles, 2004), p. 83.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 227

Zak‘aria in the 860s, so it seems unlikely that knowledge of the label came
about through formal ecclesiastical relations.128 The most likely initial point of
contact is rather the areas straddling the main migration routes between the
empire and Armenia, as the Didaskalie suggests. Łewond’s account of the flight
of Armenians after the 747–​750 revolt suggests that migrant groups were het-
erogeneous, which gives grounds for supposing that these labelling processes
were initially a largely inter-​Armenian affair. Quite why this minority were
picked out as deviant is open to question. If the point of contention related to
the prevailing theological concerns of the day, such as Christology, or the use
of images, this would have been noticed swiftly. Outwardly observable indica-
tors of alterity, such as pastoral subsistence patterns or idiosyncratic religious
practices could have played their part, but it is unlikely that these were unusual
enough in the areas that Paulicians were first attested to merit such attention.
Preexisting enmity or militaristic tendencies are perhaps more probable con-
ditioning factors. Still, it seems possible that Paulician alterity operated on
another axis, which may well have been connected with charismatic leader-
ship and the exclusive use of the Gospels and Pauline works. Most probably,
it was not their religious differences that attracted attention, but distinctive
forms of communal organisation that resulted from these, marking them out
from the norm and causing them to be considered distinct from others.
The specifics of these labelling processes are obviously unknowable, but
it seems certain that the interactions involved were multidirectional and
involved reappropriation on the part of the labelled.129 So far as we know,
the designation ‘Paulician’ always remained an exonym in our period, so this
reappropriation was not so much a reclamation of the label itself, but rather
the signifiers associated with it. The most likely eventuality is that Armenian-​
speaking actors deployed the term ‘Paulician’ against an abnormal form of
communal socio-​religious praxis that was not easily comprehensible within
contemporary doctrinal paradigms.130 The objects of this labelling process

1 28 Greenwood, “A Reassessment,” p. 162.

129 For a thought-​provoking study of the Paulicians and labelling processes from the 10th
to 12th centuries, see Hisatsugu Kusabu, “Seminaries, Cults and Militia in Byzantine
Heresiologies: A Genealogy of the Labeling of “Paulicians,”” in Radical Traditionalism: The
Influence of Walter Kaegi in Late Antique, Byzantine and Medieval Studies, eds. Christian
Raffensperger, David Olster (Lexington, 2019), pp. 181–​196.
130 For examples of the mutability of heretical names, see Kevin T. van Bladel, From Sasanian
Mandaeans to Ṣābians of the Marshes (Leiden, 2017), pp. 89–​97. Epiphanios’ remarks on
the Messalians are a good example from the sources. Epiphanios of Salamis, Epiphanius
Panarion, 80:1–​3, ed. Karl Holl, 3 vols, vol. 3 (Leipzig, 1933), pp. 484–​488. English transla-
tion: The Panarion of Epiphanius of Salamis, ed. and trans. Frank Williams, 2 vols, vol. 2
(Leiden, 2013), pp. 629–​631.
228  Chapter 4

consciously rejected the identification by emphasising their veneration of

Paul, thereby circumscribing the community by reinforcing its sanctity and
cohesion while challenging the religious credentials of those who had labelled
it. Quite whether the original application of the name ‘Paulician’ was apt or
not is unclear. Considering the obscurity of the term in Armenian sources, it
may have been bandied around as a general denigratory term, but if Paulician
religiosity had already developed a Pauline emphasis in its early days, as seems
eminently possible, there may have been some logic behind the name. In this
case, the external labelling process may have accentuated apostolic tendencies
that had already begun to take root. The limitations of our source material are
not conducive to dating these processes exactly (and, in my view, this endeav-
our is beside the point), but for clarity’s sake it seems most likely that these
proto-​Paulicians should be placed in the early/​mid-​8th century. Although the
historicity of the early didaskaloi is very much open to dispute, there seem
to be kernels of truth behind their surviving portrayals in the Didaskalie. The
Treatise tells us that later Paulicians would not anathematise them and Sergios-​
Tychikos evidently contravened the movement’s original focus of teaching
using only Pauline texts and the Gospels. This implies that Paulician identity
had been distinct for at least a few generations before him. Yet only he, his rival
Baanes, and the latter’s predecessor Joseph-​Epaphroditos seem to be securely
traceable historical figures.
If all of the above is accepted, then a charismatic preacher in western
Armenia may indeed have been the primordial source of Paulician belief. It
is unclear whether the new community migrated back and forth between
Armenia and the empire as frequently as the Didaskalie suggests, but it does
seem that it grew steadily in prominence during the latter half of the 8th
century. This has traditionally been explained by the thesis of an iconoclast
alliance, but the analysis offered above suggests a different explanation. We
have seen that migration from Armenia to the empire grew in intensity from
the 750 onwards and it seems that Paulicians were part of this trend, thereby
introducing new elements into what was already a region of some linguistic
and cultural diversity. The context seems tailor-​made for new evolutions in
social practices and identity boundaries and, as such, comprises an appropri-
ate setting for an intensification of the mechanisms of labelling and reappro-
priation posited above. These processes may have begun in Armenia proper,
but undoubtedly continued as Paulicians spread throughout Asia Minor. It is
possible that Armenian kinship networks were initially important in this dif-
fusion, but the spread of Paulician ideas was most aided by its apostolic focus,
which best explains its appeal to other Roman provincials. Since Paulician
ideas were similar to existing expressions of Christianity within Asia Minor,
Paulicians in the 8th Century 229

it could adapt itself to local conditions, thereby aiding its transmission to

other provincials. Equally, however, this similarity allowed it to evolve and
adopt influences from elsewhere. The weakness of the institutional church
undoubtedly helped in this regard. Commercial networks too were crucial and
perhaps explain the presence of Paulicians in the capital by the beginning of
the 9th century. As the Didaskalie would have it, this dissemination occurred
through a single line of didaskaloi whose legitimacy was manifest to all. In
fact, it seems certain that the expansion of the Paulician faith was more com-
plex than this. The Didaskalie also alludes to numerous rivals and pretenders
who headed their own communities. The difference between the true shep-
herd and fraudster is clearly dictated by the Didaskalie’s perspective, so rather
than accepting the dichotomy it presents at face value, we should instead see
Paulician proselytisation at this time as operating on various axes driven by
different strands of Paulicians, who may or may not have been affiliated with
one another. It should not be forgotten here that the movement incorporated
elements who opposed hierarchy and institutions for much of its history. This
tendency seems apparent in the internal dynamics of the movement, as well
as its relations with outsiders.
These, then, were the reasons that a new form of belief had gained signif-
icant ground by the final decades of the 8th century, on the eve of the career
of Sergios-​Tychikos. His ministry, which saw the tensions between a clerical-
ised hierarchy and a militant faction come to a head, illustrates the diversity of
views which had so recently crystallised around the idea of Paulician identity.
According to the above interpretation, charismatic leadership and scriptural
focus were crucial to Paulician belief, but only because they resonated with
the social reality of the region, whose ethnic, cultural, and economic com-
plexity rendered it conducive to new influences and interactions. A key point
to remember here is that these labelling processes were not isolated events,
but rather part of long-​term processes of identity negotiation, which in the
case of the Paulicians, continued in different forms for much of the 9th cen-
tury. Helpfully, these later negotiations are well documented, at least from the
Byzantine side. Theophanes’ conception of them as the new Manichaeans,
which seems to be informed by the contemporary rhetoric surrounding per-
secution, implies that they were slandered by an association with Mani during
the first decades of the 9th century. However, the Treatise, written a couple
of decades later, undermines this Manichaean identification and instead sug-
gests that their primary dependence was on Paul, son of Kallinike, although
even here its use of Paulician sources allows it to acknowledge that they anath-
ematised both him and Mani. We saw in Chapter 2 that in the 10th century
Byzantine writers frequently conflated Paulicians and Muslims, so labelling
230  Chapter 4

processes were still at work long after the Paulicians ceased to be a geopoliti-
cal irritant to the empire. Even more critically, our Byzantine sources indicate
that these processes operated in the reverse direction. The Treatise informs us
that Paulicians “call themselves Christians and us Romans,” which seems to be
the logical end point of the Didaskalie and its narrative reimagining of Acts,
whereby the Roman persecutors of the Paulicians are likened to the Roman
persecutors of the early church.131 This link might initially seem an obvious
one, but this is not necessarily true, since the prism of Acts presents persecu-
tion as a Jewish rather than Roman imperative.132 As a result, in many ways,
the Paulician reimagining of the Byzantines is similarly creative and polemical
as in the reverse case. The conclusion to draw from this is perhaps that, if we
wish to find the true significance of labels, we should look to the subjects of the
process and the process itself rather than the objects.
To recap briefly, the development of a distinctly Pauline form of Paulician
belief in Armenia and Asia Minor is not altogether simple to explain. The sole
Paulician account which remains to us, the Didaskalie, is not a conventional
historical source and its mythologised narrative is heavily influenced by the
legacy of Byzantine persecution against the movement. Earlier Armenian
sources do not enrich our historical understanding greatly, nor do they portray
the Paulicians in the quintessentially Pauline terms that the Didaskalie evokes.
Finally, the thesis of an iconoclast alliance cannot explain the increasing prom-
inence of the Paulicians in the 8th century, since the references which equate
the two are polemical in character and only arise in later sources. As a result,
explaining their origins necessitates a focus on the few reliable references pro-
vided by our sources, supplemented by the social, economic, and religious con-
texts of the area. Taken together, these suggest that the Paulicians who grew to
prominence within Romanía had little continuity with earlier Armenian here-
tics of the same name and were instead the propagators of a new faith, albeit
one that may have originated in the borderlands of western Armenia. Westward
migration from Armenia in the 8th century was heterogeneous and resulted in
the differentiation of groups, including some which were labelled as hetero-
dox ‘Paulicians’, probably by other Armenians. This community perhaps owed
its distinctiveness to the charismatic preaching of its religious leaders and/​or
divergent forms of communal organisation. Whether as cause, effect, or some
combination of the two, their labelling as ‘Paulicians’ resulted in a quintes-
sentially Pauline community, which revived the names of Paul’s churches and

1 31 Treatise, 9, p. 85. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 94.

132 Shelley Matthews, Perfect Martyr: The Stoning of Stephen and the Construction of Christian
Identity (New York/​Oxford, 2010), pp. 58–​77.
Paulicians in the 8th Century 231

disciples and reimagined them in the present. At various points pastoralism,

militarism, and the ethno-​cultural diversity of the frontier played an import-
ant role in their growing influence, but the ability of their belief system to instil
a sense of belonging among the provincials of Asia Minor was the most crucial
contributing factor, insofar as this rendered it comprehensible and intuitive
to outsiders, while also allowing it to incorporate elements from elsewhere or
attune itself to particular settings. Such was the state of affairs when Sergios
and Baanes confronted one another at the turn of the 9th century.
 ­c hapter 5

Paulicians in the Face of Persecution c.800–​845

Compared to the obscurity of the preceding period, information on the

Paulicians throughout the 9th century is abundant, reflecting the anxieties
they would pose during a turbulent period that would nonetheless see the
Byzantine Empire’s influence grow steadily at the expense of the ‘Abbāsid
Caliphate. At the century’s outset, a loose network of Paulician communities
had been established throughout Asia Minor and beyond, but besides its apos-
tolic core there was little that was stable about Paulician identity, which would
evolve throughout the period covered by this chapter. The primary axis around
which these evolutions took place was the Paulicians’ relationship with Roman
authorities and, above all, periods of persecution during the reigns of Michael i,
Leo v, and, some thirty years later, during the regency of Theodora. Despite the
severity of these measures –​our sources suggest a considerable body count –​
the Paulicians’ prominence continued to rise, with the experience of persecu-
tion acting as a unifying factor that consolidated the Pauline core of their faith.
For all that, Roman-​Paulician interaction in the period is not simply one of
violence and opposition. Evidence from Paulician sources implies that in the
early years of the century relations between the two were relatively amicable
and, when violence broke out, some Roman clerics opposed their punishment.
Likewise, despite its misunderstanding of Paulician traditions, the Treatise
suggests that Byzantine conceptions of the heresy became more accurate and
nuanced over time, although the progress made was not startling.
Even though we now have a comparative wealth of sources at our disposal,
the interpretive difficulties do not disappear entirely. Piecing together a reli-
able account of the actions of Sergios-​Tychikos and his rivals is particularly
tricky.1 As noted in Chapter 3, the Didaskalie did not originally narrate Sergios’
career and, although genuine Paulician material does seem to underpin the
surviving account in the History of the Paulicians, there are indications that
many episodes were invented by Peter of Sicily himself.2 The most obvious
example is Sergios’ conversion by a Manichaean woman, which incorporates a
slew of heresiological tropes that cannot conceivably derive from a Paulician

1 On Sergios’ career, see also Teresa Wolińska, “Sergius, The Paulician Leader, in the Account by
Peter of Sicily,” Studia Ceranea 9 (2019), pp. 123–​140.
2 On this, see also Appendix 1 and 2.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2022 | DOI:10.1163/9789004517080_007

Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 233

exemplar.3 Elsewhere, however, it is clear that Peter utilised some Paulician

material. The origin of this is obviously conjectural, but it seems possible that
a short postscript on Sergios’ career followed the Didaskalie, or perhaps the
Letters of Sergios had marginal notes that Peter used to compile his account.
Whatever the truth of the matter, the inconsistences of the following narrative
should demonstrate the deficiencies of the History’s account of the period. The
chronology of events is doubtful throughout, but it seems that by the turn of
the 9th century both Baanes and Sergios-​Tychikos claimed spiritual author-
ity over the entire Paulician community. While there are better grounds for
upholding the historicity of Joseph-​Epaphroditos than that of his predeces-
sors, the date of his death is obscure. The History gives sufficient precisions
to date Sergios’ career from c.800/​01-​834/​35, but it is unclear how long Baanes
had claimed priority before him. Lemerle wisely showed circumspection and
refused to date the beginning of Baanes’ leadership precisely and, although
I take his lead here, I would suggest that Sergios’ rival went uncontested for a
handful of years at most.4 The History narrates the origins of the two in parallel:

While [Joseph] was still alive, a woman disciple of his in Armenia, having
had an adulterous relationship with a disciple of his, had a son, as they
say, ‘of the Hebrews’, Baanes the Foul, famous for vice.

This Baanes succeeded Aphronetus.5 He preserved the heresy safe which

he had received from his predecessors, full of impurity, and led many of
the insensate to complete destruction, becoming himself the instructor
in evil.

Not much later another opponent of truth appeared in the neighbour-

hood of the city of Tavium, where there is a village named Annia, where
lived a man name Druinos. He had a son named Sergios, the champion
of the devil …6

3 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 135–​147, ed. Denise Papachryssanthou, trans.
Jean Gouillard, Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), pp. 52–​57. English translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds. Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton
(Manchester, 1998), pp. 83–​85.
4 Paul Lemerle, “L’histoire des Pauliciens d’Asie Mineure d’après les sources grecques,” Travaux
et mémoires 5 (1973), pp. 69–​70; 84.
5 Peter of Sicily’s deprecatory nickname for Joseph-​Epaphroditos.
6 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 130–​132, pp. 50–​51. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 83.
234  Chapter 5

The passage is admittedly lacking in specifics, which undermines our abil-

ity to clarify the succession, particularly since the History never specifies the
appointed successor of Joseph. The chronology must remain up for debate.
Joseph died at Antioch in Pisidia, but we are not informed if either of the rivals
resided there with him. The History tells us that although Joseph managed to
escape when his community was surrounded at Episparis, his disciples were
captured, which would imply that Baanes would have been taken too, if he
had been born while Joseph-​Epaphroditos was still resident within Mananalis,
as his birthplace in Armenia suggests.7 Perhaps Baanes reunited with Joseph
later, since in the passage quoted below, where many of our chronological dif-
ficulties arise, he observes that he lived and studied alongside him:

When Sergios began to teach, since he wanted to attract many disciples

and detach them from the church of Christ, rather than have a few fol-
low him, two and three times he stood face to face confronting Baanes,
his corrupt fellow-​disciple and fellow-​initiate. Claiming piety, he began
to attack him in the hearing of all, on the grounds not of belief, but the
absurdity of his wicked acts.

Baanes said to him: “You have appeared recently, you have never seen one
of our teachers or stayed with him. I am a disciple of lord Epaphroditos
and teach what he originally entrusted to me.”

Sergios was disgusted by the evil-​smelling filth which Baanes taught, and
shaming him to his face, split the heresy in two; those who stayed with Baanes
he called Baniots, while [Baanes] called the disciples of Sergios Sergiots.

After the death of Sergios, his disciples were unable to bear the shame
and reproach which they received from all sides, and began to kill the
Baniots, to eliminate the shame of the Baniots from themselves.

Then one named Theodotus, a synekdemos of Sergios, said: “Let there

be nothing between you and these men. We all had one faith until the
appearance8 of our teacher.” So they ceased from slaughter.9

7 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 128, pp. 50–​51. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 82.
8 μέχρις ἀναδείξεως τοῦ διδασκάλου ἡμῶν. The Hamiltons translate ἀναδείξεως as ‘revelation’.
9 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 170–​174, pp. 62–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 89–​90.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 235

At first sight, there are few problems in this passage; the issues only arise when
it is read in conjunction with the material that follows. Immediately after the
passage, the History goes on to recount the persecutions of Michael i and Leo
v, followed by the Paulician reprisals, the misdated flight to Melitene, and
finally Sergios’ death.10 Although the parameters of the conflict between the
two rivals is never firmly established, the account implies that their hostility
predated the persecutions and persisted even after Sergios’ death. The prob-
lem is that when Sergios’ death is recounted, neither the Baaniotes nor the
massacres are mentioned. Tzanion, the murderer of Sergios, has no discernible
connection to the Baaniotes, thereby making it unclear why the Sergiotes tar-
geted them. Even more troublingly, since the History has Sergios’ followers flee
to Argaous following the persecutions, for the History’s account to make sense
Baanes and his followers must also have fled to this region, despite their rivalry
with Sergios’ faction, since it is otherwise difficult to explain why they were
slain in a fit of passionate grief. All of this defies easy explanation. The most
likely solution is that Peter of Sicily’s attempt to date the flight to Melitene
thirty years before Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v has distorted this portion of
his account. Consequently, the massacre of Baaniotes is difficult to substanti-
ate historically; if it did happen, its causes and chronology may have differed
from the above account.
Unfortunately, the geography of the passage is equally obscure. Since
Baanes and Sergios held debates, they were clearly in close proximity on
occasion, as the violence between their followers also suggests. Sergios’ mis-
sionary activity was evidently peripatetic, as the man himself notes: “From
east to west, north to south I ran, proclaiming the Gospel of Christ, having
been weighed down to my knees.”11 As a result, it is possible that the two had
different power bases and only came into contact on occasion. This fits with
the Letters of Sergios, which imply that Sergios faced opposition from several
sources. Peter of Sicily preserves several extracts of a letter to the Church of
Koloneia in which Sergios implies that it was not under his jurisdiction. In
a similar vein, his letter to the Leo the Montanist, who, despite his name, is
probably a Paulician dissident, pleads against schism.12 How either Leo or the

10 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 175–​180, pp. 64–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 90–​91.
11 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 153, pp. 56–​57. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 86.
12 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 158–​161; 166, pp. 58–​63. Translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies, pp. 87–​89.
236  Chapter 5

Church of Koloneia stood in relation to Baanes is unknown, but it is tempt-

ing to draw a geographical distinction that would place the traditionalist
Baanes in the east and the reformer Sergios in the west. The geography of the
passage is too obscure to substantiate this conclusion though; there is sim-
ply no indication that Baanes had greater success in areas with a longstand-
ing Paulician presence. We should remember that some of the dichotomies
inherent to Paulician identity, such as its pacific and militaristic tendencies,
created contradictions that are difficult to reconcile. According to the History,
for instance, the irenic Sergios had the most militaristic Paulicians, the Astatoi
and the Kynochoritae, under his aegis. In light of this, it is perhaps most con-
vincing to posit that factional lines were drawn for the reason that Baanes
invoked: he upheld the ancestral traditions and Sergios reformed them. These
innovations brought Sergios more in line with the established church; a pro-
cess which may have contributed to the Paulicians’ success in the early years
of the century.

1 Nikephoros i and the Paulicians

Few things vexed Theophanes the Confessor as much as heresy and, in his
eyes, its close cognate iconoclasm. One individual, however, stands out as a
comparably incessant source of ire: Emperor Nikephoros i, the former General
Logothete (a position roughly comparable with a finance minister) of Eirene,
who overthrew his patron in a coup d’état in 801. Theophanes’ favour for
Eirene, or perhaps a personal grudge, may underlie this animosity, but its sheer
vehemence is difficult to explain convincingly.13 The chronicler’s allegations
of moral and financial misconduct have been questioned by modern histori-
ans, who have instead explained the fiscal exactions of Nikephoros’ reign as
an attempt to balance the books after Eirene’s generous expenditure.14 Among
one of many accusations that Theophanes hurls at Nikephoros is that he sup-
ported the Athinganoi and Paulicians. Theophanes’ enmity means we cannot
take this claim at face value, but indications elsewhere suggest that Paulicians

13 See most recently Patricia Varona Codeso, Óscar Prieto Domínguez, “Three Clergymen
against Nikephoros I: Remarks on Theophanes’ Chronicle (AM 6295–​6303),” Byzantion 84
(2014), pp. 485–​510.
14 Leslie Brubaker, John F. Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era: A History (Cambridge,
2011), pp. 357, 720–​721; 744–​755.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 237

may have received some degree of favour at the time. Theophanes’ charge runs
as follows:

The emperor was an ardent friend of the Manichees (now called

Paulicians) and of his close neighbours, the Athinganoi of Phrygia and
Lykaonia, and delighted in their prophecies and rites. Indeed, he called
them in when the patrician Bardanios rebelled against him and subju-
gated him by means of their magic. For he tied an ox by the horns to an
iron stake in some sort of hollow and as the animal was bent to the ground,
bellowing and writhing, he had it slaughtered and then ground the cloth-
ing of Bardanios in a mill with a contrary motion and performed certain
incantations. As a result, he won a victory which God allowed because of
the multitude of our sins. Those heretics were given leave during his reign
to enjoy the rights of citizenship without fear so that many of the more
frivolous kind became corrupted by their illicit doctrines.15

Upon further inspection, it seems that Nikephoros should be more closely asso-
ciated with the Athinganoi than the Paulicians here, since the former are else-
where characterised as astrologers and magicians similar to those implied by
the passage, whereas this complaint is never levelled against the Paulicians.16
In the case of Michael ii, who was also allegedly a patron of the Athinganoi,
the charge seems to arise mainly from his home city of Amorion, which lay
in an area synonymous with them, but it is unclear whence the heretical alle-
gations stem in Nikephoros’ case, since his origins should be placed in either
Isauria or Kappadokia.17 Despite the polemical slant of the passage, it is worth
taking seriously because Nikephoros sought to place the empire’s fiscal-​mili-
tary apparatus on a more secure basis.18 The Athinganoi and Paulicians could

15 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, ed. Carl de Boor, 2 vols, vol. 1 (Leipzig, 1883),
p. 488. English translation: The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, eds. and trans. Cyril
Mango, Roger Scott (Oxford, 1997), p. 671.
16 Joshua Starr, “An Eastern Christian Sect: The Athinganoi,” Harvard Theological Review 29:2
(1936), pp. 101–​104; Paul Speck, “Die vermeintliche Häresie der Athinganoi,” Jahrbuch der
österreichischen Byzantinistik 47 (1997), pp. 43–​44.
17 In Byzantine sources his hometown is given as Seleukia in Isauria, whereas in Syriac
sources he is considered a Kappadokian of Ghassanid descent. The Patria: Accounts of
Medieval Constantinople, 3:153, ed. and trans. Albrecht Berger (Cambridge, MA, 2013),
pp. 204–​205; Michael the Syrian, The Syriac Chronicle of Michael Rabo (the Great): A
Universal History from the Creation, 12:5, ed. and trans. Matti Moosa (Teaneck, 2014), p. 525.
18 Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A History, pp. 720–​721;
744–​755.
238  Chapter 5

have been indirect beneficiaries of these reforms, whose aims Theophanes

twisted to suit his purposes.
Other Byzantine sources fail to corroborate this picture, since, aside from
Theophanes, we have no surviving references to Paulicians in Nikephoros’
reign. Nevertheless, our Paulician sources hint at a time when their relationship
with the Romans was not so fraught. The best indicator of this is the trajectory
of Sergios’ career. Baanes accused Sergios of innovating in matters of faith and
this allegation is corroborated by our sources. We have already seen that in his
letters Sergios used the Old and New Testaments in conjunction, in contraven-
tion of the precept attributed to Constantine-​Silvanos that Paulicians should
teach using only the Gospels and Pauline texts. Sergios’ approach therefore
seems to have diverged from Paulician norms to become more in line with
the religious practices of the Byzantine Church. In a similar vein, several of
his pastoral letters aspire towards a more unified and perhaps more doctrin-
ally homogeneous Paulician community. His letter to the Church of Koloneia
in particular seeks to expand the reach of his confession.19 Besides this, we
must note a passage we have already discussed frequently: Sergios’ complaints
about the aggression of his followers: “I am innocent of these evils, for many
times I told them to desist from taking Romans prisoner and they did not lis-
ten to me.”20 It cannot be securely contextualised, so it is unclear if the prac-
tice of seizing prisoners was conducted in reprisal for Roman persecutions,
or beforehand. The latter is perhaps more plausible, since assassinations and
executions seem a more probable response to a campaign of persecution and
this indeed is how the History presents matters.21 Yet irrespective of when we
place the hostage taking to which Sergios refers, his sentiments suggest that he
sought good relations with the empire if possible. His approach seems to have
been rather more ecclesiastical than we would expect, thereby implying that
he brought Paulician practices into line with Byzantine norms. This approach
seems to have put him at loggerheads with Baanes and his followers on the one
hand and more martial Paulicians on the other.
In other words, it seems that Paulician and Roman religious practices were
converging during Sergios’ ministry, which may well imply a more amicable
relationship than the later history of violence would lead us to believe. If so,

19 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 158–​161, pp. 58–​61. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 87–​88.
20 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 157, pp. 58–​59. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 87.
21 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 177, pp. 64–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 90.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 239

then Nikephoros may indeed have favoured the Paulicians and, more impor-
tantly, the approach may have been working, since their integration into
Byzantine society seems to have been deepening. In the previous chapter, we
saw that the similarity of their scriptural preferences to those of contemporary
Christians may have made them more disposed to adopt influences from else-
where and this tendency is certainly at work in the person of Sergios. Given our
meagre evidence it may be a step too far to attribute this proposed rapproche-
ment to Nikephoros specifically; Sergios’ innovations may have arisen through
purely endogenous factors and it is unclear whether Paulicians who did not
accept his authority were also growing more disposed to Roman institutions.
Still, it seems that the persecuting impulse which followed Nikephoros’ death
was not a necessary development; a conciliatory policy was both possible and
workable.
We must note, however, that Byzantine understandings of Paulician faith
and identity were in their infancy. While much of the above indicates a sympa-
thetic attitude, other evidence points to developments in the opposite direction.
It is in this period that the Paulicians are first encountered in Roman sources,
polemically branded as the “Manichaeans, now called Paulicians” in the hos-
tile account of Theophanes. As Ludwig has noted, the fact that Theophanes
uses both terms in conjunction implies that their equivalence had not yet been
accepted, which in turn implies that the polemical project was a relatively new
one.22 All in all, these contrasting portrayals suggest that the process of differ-
entiation whereby the categories of Paulician and Roman diverged was still a
work in progress. In many cases, it is the heretic who conforms closest to estab-
lished practices that provokes most apprehension within societies, for the sim-
ple reason that they are often indistinguishable from the prevailing orthodoxy
and thereby attract converts most readily. Paulician doctrine and praxis under
Sergios may have posed precisely this challenge.23 We must not forget that by
this time the scriptural canon that the Paulicians had adopted was increasingly
similar to orthodox usage, yet instead of upholding a vision of the world that
was Roman and imperial, its focus was spiritual, Pauline, and non-​hierarchical.
In other words, although they spoke a similar religious language to contempo-
rary Byzantines, their underlying message differed from this and potentially

22 Claudia Ludwig, “The Paulicians and Ninth-​Century Byzantine Thought,” in Byzantium in

the Ninth Century: Dead or Alive?, ed. Leslie Brubaker (Aldershot, 1998), pp. 31–​32.
23 The dynamic I envisage is similar to that described by William E. Arnal, “Doxa, Heresy,
and Self-​Construction: The Pauline Ekklēsiai and the Boundaries of Urban Identities,”
in Heresy and Identity in Late Antiquity, eds. Eduard Iricinschi, Holger M. Zellentin
(Tübingen, 2008), pp. 50–​101.
240  Chapter 5

had the capacity to subvert it. It is likely that this was only imperfectly under-
stood by Roman authorities, whether sympathetic to the Paulicians or not, at
this time, but as the success of the new movement grew contemporaries were
forced to take notice of its inroads into orthodoxy. A series of military defeats
and an atmosphere of heightened religious tension brought matters to a head
in the early 810s, by which time some Byzantine elites despised Paulicians
with a scarcely concealed ferocity. A regime change following the death of
Nikephoros at Pliska would be enough to see them persecuted.

2 The Persecutions of Michael i and Leo v

Aside from the later persecution during Theodora’s regency, there is perhaps
no more epochal event in Paulician history than the persecutions which were
conducted, then halted, by Michael i and subsequently reimposed by his suc-
cessor Leo v. Although sometimes considered an attack on the Paulicians spe-
cifically, the persecution also encompassed the Athinganoi and, somewhat
more doubtfully, the Jews.24 The sudden about-​faces in policy which char-
acterise these events suggests a highly charged religio-​political context, as is
natural given they took place against the backdrop of catastrophic defeats
against the Bulgars and the restoration of iconoclasm. Some indication of the
religious tumult is given by Theophanes’ contemporary account of these years,
which saw him fixate on both Paulicians and iconoclasm. As we saw in the
previous chapter, when an iconoclast mob opened Constantine v’s tomb to
beseech his aid, Theophanes slandered them by association with Paulicians,
whereas an attempt to bring Constantine’s sons to the throne was blamed
on the “Paulicians and Athinganoi, Iconoclasts and Tetradites.”25 In fact, we
can safely dismiss his paranoia of a malign alliance out of hand, since if the
Paulicians and Athinganoi were really so crucial to the return of iconoclasm
the new iconoclast emperor Leo v would hardly persecute them. Separating

24 The persecutions have received surprisingly little attention in existing literature. See Nina
G. Garsoïan, The Paulician Heresy (Paris/​The Hague, 1967), pp. 124–​125; Lemerle, “L’histoire,”
pp. 71–​72; Venance Grumel, Les regestes des actes du Patriarcat de Constantinople, vol. 1,
fasc. 2 (Paris, 1936), p. 27; Theodoros Korres, “Οἱ διώξεις τῶν Παυλικιάνων ἐπί Μιχαὴλ Α’,”
Byzantina 10 (1980), pp. 203–​215.
25 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 501, l. 3–​25. Translation: The Chronicle of
Theophanes Confessor, pp. 684–​685; Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 496,
l. 8–​16. Translation: The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, p. 679.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 241

rhetoric and reality is not, however, always so easy in the case of the persecu-
tions, so it is useful to set out the basics here.
If the Chronographia’s reconstruction is chronologically accurate, the per-
secution began soon after Michael’s accession, in late 811, or early 812.26 Since
Michael’s rule only lasted from October 811 until June 813, the measures lasted
a little over a year at the longest estimate. Theophanes claims that the per-
secution was curtailed by the opposition of “perverse counsellors,” the fore-
most among whom was Theodore the Stoudite, but several of Theodore’s
letters, together with the testimony of the History, show that Michael’s suc-
cessor Leo v reintroduced it.27 The surviving evidence is inadequate for dat-
ing Leo’s renewed persecution, although it seems to stem from relatively early
in his reign.28 The underlying motives for these actions are more conjectural,
but a number of overlapping factors stand out. On the one hand, the promi-
nence and activity of the Athinganoi and Paulicians led them to be considered
threats, but it also seems that the climate of fear brought about by ongoing
religious controversies, political disturbances, and military woes caused some
amount of scapegoating. Krum’s stunning victories over the empire have
been interpreted as an impetus to persecution, whereas the banishment and
imprisonment of Theodore the Stoudite and his brother Joseph, Archbishop
of Thessalonika, during the Moechian Controversy shows that Roman actors
were far from averse to using intimidation or threats to address religious mat-
ters in the early years of the century.29 The fraught atmosphere within Michael
i’s Constantinople, which Theophanes’ account captures vividly, must have
played a role, particularly given the ascendancy of iconoclast sentiments

26 In the timeline of the Chronographia, the persecutions are placed between the crowning
of Michael’s son Theophylaktos on December 25 811 and the deposed emperor Staurakios’
death on January 11 812. Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, pp. 494–​495.
Translation: The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, p. 678; Grumel, Les regestes, vol.
1, fasc. 2, p. 27. Korres, by contrast, argues that the persecutions date from the end of
Michael’s reign. Korres, “Οἱ διώξεις,” pp. 213–​214.
27 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 498, l. 19–​20. Translation: The Chronicle
of Theophanes Confessor, p. 678. Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 175, pp. 64–​65.
Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 90. Theodore the Stoudite, Theodori Studitae
epistulae, Ep. 94, ed. Georgios Fatouros, 2 vols, vol. 2 (Berlin, 1992), p. 214.
28 Theodore the Stoudite’s letter to Leo the spice dealer, which alludes to measures against
the Paulicians in Leo’s reign, is conventionally dated to 815–​818, but this does not give
sufficient grounds for a more precise dating. Theodore the Stoudite, Epistulae, Ep. 94, vol.
2, p. 214.
29 Paul J. Alexander, “Religious Persecution and Resistance in the Byzantine Empire of
the Eighth and Ninth Centuries: Methods and Justifications,” Speculum 52:2 (1977),
pp. 244–​245.
242  Chapter 5

within the capital. In the case of both Michael and Leo, it seems that persecu-
tion of the Athinganoi and Paulicians, the most prominent heterodoxies of the
day, was intended to deflect the tensions surrounding the image controversy
onto figures that iconodules and iconoclasts might consider a common enemy.
It appears, furthermore, that persecution aimed to restore the empire’s stand-
ing in the divine order. While exhorting Theophilos of Ephesos against advo-
cating violence against the Paulicians, Theodore the Stoudite notes that he told
Michael i: “God was not pleased on account of such a slaying,” thereby implying
that divine favour was a consideration for this emperor, whereas this motive is
also fitting for Leo, where it would represent a logical extension of his reintro-
duction of iconoclasm.30 Besides these motives, the civil war between al-​Amīn
and al-​Ma’mūn meant that the empire had a freer hand than usual to impose
political and religious authority in Asia Minor. The church’s reach within the
peninsula had been weak for some time owing to the lack of effective ecclesi-
astical infrastructure, but this deficiency was being redressed as the 8th and
9th centuries progressed.31 This success was built on the surprising resilience
of the empire at this time since, despite a crisis of confidence in religious and
military affairs, the economic and structural fundamentals remained sound,
thus presaging the recovery which would continue throughout the 9th cen-
tury.32 The picture is therefore one of perceived weakness in the ideological
sphere masking an underlying strength on the ground; a combination which
explains why a measure as drastic as persecution could be effectively imple-
mented despite the empire stumbling from one crisis to another.
Although the above concatenation of factors informed the backdrop
to persecution, the more immediate cause came from the Patriarch of
Constantinople Nikephoros i, whom we have already met as the author
of the Breviarum and Third Antirrhetikos. In theory at least, the prosecution of
heresy requires collaboration between the secular and ecclesiastical arms of
government, but persecution has traditionally been seen as a secular preserve,
which was sometimes aimed at ecclesiastics themselves.33 In the case of the
Paulicians, however, the primary impulse for their persecution seems to have
come from within the church hierarchy. The patriarch Nikephoros was firmly

30 Theodore the Stoudite, Epistulae, Ep. 455, vol. 2, p. 647, l. 86.

31 John F. Haldon, The Empire That Would Not Die: The Paradox of Eastern Roman Survival,
640–​740 (Cambridge, MA, 2016), pp. 105–​107; Michel Kaplan, Les hommes et la terre à
Byzance du VIe au XIe siècle: propriété et exploitation du sol (Paris, 1992), pp. 202–​203.
32 Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A History, pp. 365; 561.
33 The iconomachy holds noted examples, even if the extent is no doubt exaggerated. See
Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A History, pp. 234–​247.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 243

under the thumb of his namesake emperor, but after the demise of the latter
and the deposition of his paralyzed son Staurakios the churchman wielded
rather more influence over the indecisive Michael i.34 Our only two sources to
allude to the motives behind the persecution, Theophanes’ Chronographia and
Ignatios the Deacon’s Vita Nicephori, both agree in considering Nikephoros the
ultimate instigator.35 The account of the Chronographia is as follows:

Moved by an excess of divine zeal, the most pious emperor [Michael i],
at the instigation of the most holy patriarch Nikephoros and other pious
persons, decreed the death penalty against the Manichees (that is the
Paulicians of today) and the Athinganoi who live in Phrygia and Lykaonia,
but was turned back from this course by certain perverse counsellors who
used the pretext of repentance, although those who have fallen into that
error are incapable of repenting. The counsellors argued in their igno-
rance that priests ought not to condemn the impious to death, being in
this respect in complete contradiction to Holy Scripture. For if Peter, the
chief apostle, put Ananias and Sapphira to death for nothing more than
a lie; if the great Paul cries out saying “They which commit such things
are worthy of death”; and this with reference to bodily sin only; does it
not follow that those who deliver from the sword persons that are filled
with every manner of spiritual and bodily impurity and are worshippers
of demons stand in contradiction to the apostles? Even so, the pious
emperor Michael executed not a few of those heretics.36

The Vita Nicephori complements Theophanes’ account by focusing on

Nikephoros’ role in events:

Therefore, zeal motivated him [Nikephoros] to turn his steps in a differ-

ent direction, against the unbelieving and outlandish heresies which just
then were celebrating their abominable rituals without a blush of shame
for their own mad folly –​I am referring to Jews, and Phrygians, and those

34 Paul J. Alexander, The Patriarch Nicephorus of Constantinople: Ecclesiastical Policy and

Image Worship in the Byzantine Empire (Oxford, 1958), pp. 73–​75.
35 For the Vita Nicephori, see also Ihor Ševčenko, “The Hagiography of the Iconoclast Period,”
in Iconoclasm: Papers Given at the Ninth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, University
of Birmingham, March 1975, eds. Anthony Bryer, Judith Herrin (Birmingham, 1977),
pp. 123–​125.
36 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, pp. 494–​95. Translation: The Chronicle of
Theophanes Confessor, p. 678.
244  Chapter 5

who followed the oversubtle arguments of Mani and drank the potion of
his unbelief. For that reason Nikephoros presented a written document to
the emperor outlining the basic tenets of their unnatural religion in great
detail and explaining how these tenets would maim the whole society if
these sects were allowed to continue doing as they wished. He demon-
strated all this in the treatise, reproaching the Jews for slaying the Lord,
assailing the monstrous sophistry of the Phrygians, and striking a serious
blow against the hallucination of the Manichaeans, so that the pollution
of these groups would not proceed out of their mouths, but rather their
guileful nonsense would be only whispered in obscure secrecy. For if the
impious had been deprived of free speech by the authorities, they would
have been unable to do anything even in secret.37

Unsurprisingly given their contrasting emphases, there are several differences

between the two accounts, some inconsequential and some which merit fur-
ther attention. Although both present Nikephoros as the architect of the affair,
the Vita Nicephori states that he wrote a tome about the heresies in question
which is not mentioned in the Chronographia.38 Such a work is not now extant,
nor is it referenced in later polemical texts. Nonetheless, Nikephoros’ works
had a very limited circulation in his own day and disappeared entirely for a
time, only to reappear in the 14th century, so the fate of this text is not appre-
ciably different from his other works.39 A second discrepancy in our accounts is
rather more troubling: the identity of the heretics targeted. While Theophanes
alludes to only the Athinganoi and Paulicians, Ignatios the Deacon also
includes Jews. Ignatios, writing perhaps in the 840s, is, however, a later witness
and when Jews were targeted in our period they were usually subject to forced
conversions. It seems unlikely that they were included in the original measures

37 Ignatios the Deacon, Nicephori archiepiscopi Constantinopolitani opuscula historica,

ed. Carl de Boor (Leipzig, 1880), pp. 158–​159. English translation: “Life of the Patriarch
Nikephoros I of Constantinople,” in Byzantine Defenders of Images, trans. Elizabeth
A. Fisher, ed. Alice-​Mary Talbot (Washington, D.C., 1998), p. 65.
38 Note that in Nikephoros’ Third Antirrhetikos, the patriarch presents the law as the final
arbiter of the Paulicians’ fate, rather than emphasising his own agency. However, while
attempting to persuade Theophilos of Ephesos of the impropriety of persecution,
Theodore the Stoudite notes his complaints to Nikephoros, as well as Michael i and Leo v,
suggesting he thought the patriarch was as complicit as the latter figures. See Nikephoros,
Third Antirrhetikos, 68, Patrologia Graeca 100, col. 501; Theodore the Stoudite, Epistulae,
Ep. 455, vol. 2, p. 647, l. 83–​85.
39 Dmitri Afinogenov, “The Date of Georgios Monachos Reconsidered,” Byzantinische
Zeitschrift 92 (1999), p. 444.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 245

and, even if they were, they were surely subject to different procedures and
punishments.
Still, the fact that this persecution did not target Paulicians alone compli-
cates its interpretation considerably. Our accounts do not specify whether
Nikephoros ever suggested appropriate penalties for the groups involved, but
it seems possible that he advocated capital punishment in the Paulicians’
case at least. Their description in secondary sources suggests that their asso-
ciation with Manichaeans was only beginning to become established around
the time of the persecutions. Theophanes’ tendency to refer to them as “The
Manichaeans, now called Paulicians,” implies the equivalence of the two terms
was not yet firmly ingrained, as does Theodore the Stoudite’s use of both
descriptors during the 810s and 820s.40 Since persecution generally proceeded
from the legal precedent that Manichaeans were subject to the death penalty,
it is possible that Nikephoros first equated the two in his tome. If this were
the case, it would logically follow that the Athinganoi and, if they were truly
encompassed by the measures, the Jews would be subject to punishments of
a different kind. This hypothesis receives some corroboration in the sources.
After their implication in the attempt to restore Constantine v’s blinded sons
(around June-​August 812), Michael i had the future Leo v, then the general
of the Anatolikon thema, subject the Athinganoi to confiscation and banish-
ment, presumably to the empire’s European provinces.41 It is unclear whether
this occurred after the persecutions had been halted or not, but the reference
implies that the Athinganoi may have been subject to lesser punishments than
the Paulicians. In a similar vein, the two letters of Theodore the Stoudite which
allude to the persecutions lament the fate of the Paulicians without spec-
ifying other groups, which implies that they suffered the brunt of the mea-
sures.42 In both instances, Theodore is keen to stress that it is not proper for
the church to wield a sword. As the Athinganoi occupy a similar prominence
to the Paulicians in the Chronographia during these years, it seems that the

40 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 488, l. 22–​24. Translation: The Chronicle

of Theophanes Confessor, p. 671; Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 495,
l. 1–​2. Translation: The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, p. 678; Theodore the Stoudite,
Epistulae, Ep. 94, vol. 2, p. 215, l. 11; Ep. 455, vol. 2, p. 645, l. 10–​16; Ludwig, “The Paulicians,”
pp. 31–​32.
41 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 497, l. 4–​6. Translation: The Chronicle of
Theophanes Confessor, p. 680; Peter Charanis, “Ethnic Changes in the Byzantine Empire
in the Seventh Century,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 13 (1959), p. 27.
42 The emphasis on the Paulicians is maintained in secondary literature. See, for instance,
Ludwig, “The Paulicians,” pp. 23–​35; Korres, “Οἱ διώξεις,” pp. 203–​215; Alexander, “Religious
Persecution,” pp. 252–​253; 262–​263.
246  Chapter 5

latter provoked his sympathy because they suffered the most extreme penal-
ties. Whatever the truth of this, Theodore’s opposition to punishment eventu-
ally convinced both Nikephoros and Michael to curtail these measures and,
although he made a similar attempt to win over Leo v, it is doubtful if he was
successful in this case.43 Since the iconophile Nikephoros was deposed after
Leo’s restoration of iconoclasm, he evidently had nothing to do with this sec-
ond wave of afflictions. The persecution of Leo’s reign is poorly documented,
so it is impossible to determine its chronological parameters or the groups
at which it aimed. As noted above, he had himself been entrusted with the
banishment of the Athinganoi, so he at least had personal experience of the
issues involved. Theodore notes that the emperor demanded “a defence for
the slaying” from him, which implies that Leo was set on a reckoning, but we
should not forget that his suppression of iconophiles seems to have been a
last resort.44 Quite frankly, there is limited merit in stressing the agency of one
individual or another in a period when most saw the sword as the best solution
available.
Beyond the remarks made above, the extant evidence is not sufficient to
determine what the legal justifications were for these persecutions, whether the
correct procedure was followed, or whether rhetoric matched reality. Theodore
the Stoudite aside, our sources approve of these measures, perhaps indicating
general support in both ecclesiastical and secular circles. If the policy were
of dubious popularity it seems doubtful that Leo v would have reintroduced
it. Unfortunately, we also lack trustworthy information on how persecution
was enacted. The History of the Paulicians, our sole witness, seems unreliable
once more. It states that the two officials responsible were Thomas, Bishop
of Neocaesarea and the exarch Parakondakes, neither of whom are attested
elsewhere.45 The latter, whose name literally means ‘the harrier’, appears to
be a figment of Peter of Sicily’s polemical imagination.46 In the later persecu-
tion of Theodora, imperial officials orchestrated the affair and the same may

43 Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 498, l. 19–​20. Translation: The Chronicle

of Theophanes Confessor, p. 678; Theodore the Stoudite, Epistulae, Ep. 455, vol. 2, p. 647,
l. 82–​85. On Theodore’s efforts, see also Hieromonk Patapios, “St. Theodore the Studite
and the Problem of the Paulicians,” Greek Orthodox Theological Review 43:1–​4 (1998),
pp. 143–​154.
44 Vita Nicetae Medicii, 33–​35, in Acta Sanctorum, April i, pp. 261–​262; Brubaker, Haldon,
Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A History, pp. 368–​385.
45 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 176–​177, pp. 64–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 90.
46 For the associated verb παρακονδακίζω, see Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1,
p. 358, l. 30 –​p. 359, l. 2. Translation: The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, p. 499.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 247

have been true in this case. Some participation from the provincial armies is
probable, given that Leo was general of the Anatolikon army when he relo-
cated the Athinganoi. As for the form that the persecutions took, the sources
suggest little more than a series of executions or massacres, but the relocation
of the Athinganoi must complicate this picture. The primary emphasis of both
the Chronographia and the History of the Paulicians is on the slain rather than
the penitent or imprisoned. It is difficult to shake the image of a short-​lived,
but indiscriminate, affair, which targeted large swathes of Asia Minor. Much of
the difficulty in nuancing this picture arises because we simply do not know
how Paulicians were identified by the authorities. If the legal framework and
coercive apparatus of persecution were imposed on provincial Asia Minor by
Constantinopolitan institutions which had little understanding of conditions
on the ground, then we must expect the reality was stark and brutal, particu-
larly if identification took place on a communal basis. This, at any rate, seems
to have been the case during Theodora’s persecution in the 840s.

3 The Paulician Response: Early Resistance and the Revolt of Thomas

the Slav

The punishment and death of so many of their number must have affected the
Paulicians profoundly. The best indication of this is, of course, the Didaskalie
itself. Written in the aftermath of these persecutions, it reenvisaged Paulician
history as a continuous struggle against oppression from a hostile Roman
Empire. I have argued elsewhere that by reappropriating the rhetoric of suf-
fering in Acts, Sergios and his collaborators presented persecution in a manner
that was intuitive to a wider Paulician community while also reasserting the
essentially apostolic character of their faith. In fact, its underlying emphases
are so convincing that I believe narratives of this kind may have arisen among
ordinary Paulician adherents before being coopted by the Sergiote party.47
Insofar as these narratives were based on widely known scriptural texts, they
could appeal to those within the Paulician community and attract converts
from those outside it, particularly if the persecutions were indiscriminate
enough to alienate, or even target, others. To some degree, this underlies
the Paulicians’ successful response to persecution in the following decades,
since they continued to expand and prosper, whereas the prominence of

47 Carl Dixon, “Paulician Self-​Defence and Self-​Definition in the Didaskalie,” Nottingham

Medieval Studies 63 (2019), pp. 73–​74.
248  Chapter 5

the Athinganoi steadily recedes. This obviously cannot be attributed to the

Didaskalie alone. Other factors, including changes in the practice of their faith,
may have contributed to their success at this time. Many may have fled to areas
further removed from imperial power or practiced their beliefs underground.
In several places the Treatise bemoans their habit of concealing their beliefs
and evading orthodox lines of questioning and, although we cannot always
take these complaints at face value, in some cases they seem to be adaptations
to conceal themselves during this period of acute danger.
The form of response usually associated with the Paulicians is not, how-
ever, concealment, but to take up arms. In this period, the source which tells
us of this practice is the History of the Paulicians. In Chapter 1, I argued that the
History’s account of an early alliance with the Emirate of Melitene cannot be
sustained. It is now time to substantiate this more fully by examining Paulician
resistance against the empire during this period, beginning with the History’s
account:

The pious emperor Michael the abbot and Leo, his successor, seeing
that this sort of heresy had defiled a large part of the Christians, sent out
the order into all parts of the Roman Empire and killed those who were
involved in this foul heresy. And so the order of the emperor came to the
Armeniakon, to Thomas, the bishop of Neocaesarea, and Parakondakes,
who was the exarch. So in obedience to the emperor’s order, they killed
those whom they found, on the grounds that they deserved death and
were the guides to destruction. But later some of the students of Sergios,
the so-​called Astatoi, slaughtered the exarch by means of cunning and
trickery and the Kynochoritae likewise slew Thomas the Metropolitan.
Thus, the Astatoi fled to Melitene. The emir Monocherares then ruled the
Saracens living there. Taking Argaous from him, the Astatoi settled there,
and having assembled from all parts they began to plunder Romania.48

Given the manifest untrustworthiness of the History on several points, some

scepticism is required, but certain aspects of the above seem believable.
Notably, Sergios complained about his followers taking Byzantine prisoners
around this time, so it seems likely that some Paulicians retaliated in kind. As
noted in previous chapters, however, the geopolitical situation in Asia Minor
in the following decades shows conclusively that the Paulicians were not yet

48 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 175–​178, pp. 64–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 90.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 249

a significant presence around Melitene during these years, nor were they in a
position to raid the empire, thereby implying that any reprisals must have been
limited in scale. Still, the possibility of a limited Paulician presence in the no-​
man’s land merits our attention here because there are undeniable indications
that their activity in the area predated Karbeas’ flight.
Most pointedly, the early 9th century saw a power vacuum in eastern Asia
Minor caused by the preoccupation of the empire and caliphate elsewhere.
After the highpoint of Islamic raiding during the reign of Hārūn al-​Rashīd, the
civil war between his sons halted further incursions until al-​Ma’mūn’s campaign
of 830. For much of the intervening period Roman power in the region was
ephemeral, not only due to the campaigns of the Bulgars in the Balkans, but also
because of the revolt of Thomas the Slav, which preoccupied Michael ii for the
early years of his reign. As a result, the History’s claim that Paulicians established
themselves in the no-​man’s land along the Anti-​Taurus range at this time seems
credible. However, it is seriously undermined by Thomas’ invasion and cam-
paigning practices in the region during the reign of Michael ii’s son Theophilos.
Thomas the Slav is a shadowy, yet fascinating, personality, as well as a rare
analogue for the defection of Karbeas, since he too transferred his allegiance
from empire to caliphate. Although Thomas’ onslaught is commonly inter-
preted as a rebellion against the empire, it is more appropriately understood
as an Islamic invasion, given the extensive manpower and matériel support
that he received from al-​Ma’mūn.49 Medieval understandings of Thomas’
actions are confused, perhaps as a result of his conflation with Thomas the
Armenian, who was an associate of both Leo v and Michael ii.50 Genesios
and the Continuator each give two accounts of his rebellion and both consid-
ered the first more trustworthy. Modern historians have traditionally favoured
the second, but recent research by Signes Codoñer suggests that our primary
sources are correct in considering the following version more plausible,
although a synthesis of the two perhaps gives the best solution.51 According to

49 Signes Codoñer argues that al-​Ma’mūn did so. Juan Signes Codoñer, The Emperor
Theophilos and the East, 829–​842: Court and Frontier in Byzantium during the Last
Phase of Iconoclasm (Farnham, 2014), pp. 45–​52. For contrary perspectives, see Paul
Lemerle, “Thomas le Slave,” Travaux et mémoires 1 (1965), pp. 285–​287; Helga Köpstein,
“Zur Erhebung des Thomas,” in Studien zum 8. und 9. Jahrhundert in Byzanz, eds. Helga
Köpstein, Friedhelm Winkelmann (Berlin, 1983), p. 73.
50 Signes Codoñer, Emperor Theophilos, pp. 194–​196.
51 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 2:2–​9, eds. Anni Lesmüller-​Werner, Hans
P. Thurn, (Berlin/​New York, 1978), pp. 23–​32. English translation: Genesios. On the Reigns of
the Emperors, ed. Anthony Kaldellis (Canberra, 1998), pp. 28–​39; Theophanes Continuatus
i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati nomine fertur Libri I-​IV, 2:9–​20, eds.
250  Chapter 5

the first version, Thomas fled from Constantinople during the reign of Eirene
after being discovered committing adultery with his master’s wife. Having
journeyed to the caliphate, he apostatised and lived in obscurity for decades.
However, in 819, Thomas gained command of an army and rebelled against Leo
v, claiming to be either the same Constantine vi who had been blinded by his
mother Eirene in 797, or Constantine’s son.52 Although the reason why Thomas
received this support is not documented by either source, this is probably con-
nected with the end of the strife which had plagued the caliphate ever since
the death of Hārūn al-​Rashīd in 809, as al-​Ma’mūn finally gained possession
of Baghdād in 819. As Signes Codoñer argues, this lack of infighting allowed
al-​Ma’mūn to reopen hostilities with the empire and he did so by providing
Thomas with troops. The caliph had other difficulties to address and his use
of independent military leaders to combat his enemies is representative of his
strategy elsewhere.53 Soon after Thomas’ incursion began, Leo v was murdered
in a conspiracy involving the future Michael ii, who was at the time await-
ing death for plotting against Leo. Thomas, for his part, continued his struggle
against the newly crowned Michael, traversing Asia Minor and threatening
the capital for several years. Despite gaining the better of the opening engage-
ments, the tide of war slowly turned against him. He was eventually captured
and executed in 823, after a protracted siege of Constantinople that Michael
broke with the aid of the Bulgar Khan Omurtag, who was bound to the empire
by a treaty brokered by Leo in 815.54
A number of questions remain unanswered about Thomas’ rebellion, such
as his policy on icons, the truth of his alleged apostasy, and his relationship
with al-​Ma’mūn, but, for our purposes, the invasion is most interesting due
to the composition of Thomas’ army. Both Genesios and the Continuator list
the contingents that he led and both mention Manichaeans, that is to say,

J. Michael Featherstone, Juan Signes Codoñer (Boston/​Berlin, 2015), pp. 76–​107; Signes
Codoñer, Emperor Theophilos, pp. 183–​189; Lemerle, “Thomas le Slave,” pp. 258–​259; 283–​
284; Köpstein, “Zur Erhebung des Thomas,” pp. 67–​72. The convincing aspects of version
A are that it places Thomas’ rebellion in the reign of Leo v and posits significant Islamic
involvement. By contrast, in version B Thomas was leader of the Phoideratoi of the
Anatolikon thema and rebelled against Michael ii after Leo v’s death and hence may not
have had Islamic support. The most appealing part of this account is that Thomas’ rank
renders his leadership of an army more understandable.
52 For assigning Thomas’ rebellion to the end of Leo v’s reign, see Signes Codoñer, Emperor
Theophilos, pp. 40–​45; Afinogenov, “The Date of Georgios,” pp. 446–​447. Contrariwise, see
Lemerle, “Thomas le Slave,” p. 258; Köpstein, “Zur Erhebung,” p. 70.
53 Signes Codoñer, Emperor Theophilos, pp. 196–​200; 212–​214.
54 Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A History, pp. 384; 387.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 251

Paulicians, among them.55 However, unlike these 10th-​century works, contem-

porary accounts of Thomas’ rebellion make no such reference. The ultimate
source of both historians’ lists is the letter of Michael ii to Louis the Pious,
which states that Thomas’ army was composed of “Saracens, Persians, Iberians,
Armenians, Abasgians, and other foreign peoples,” as is appropriate for an
army garnered by the caliphate.56 Both 10th-​century historians list a greater
range of peoples. Here I have provided the Continuator’s account, which is
shorter than Genesios’ archaising list:

… Hagarenes, our neighbours on the borders, but also those dwelling

further, Egyptians, Indians, Persians, Assyrians, Armenians, Chaldeans,
Iberians, Zechians, Kabeirans and all those who followed the doctrines
and decrees of Manes …57

This list is fanciful and has been criticized elsewhere, with the Paulician pres-
ence doubted particularly by Lemerle and Barnard.58 Given the lack of refer-
ence to Paulicians in Michael ii’s contemporary letter, it seems safe to disavow
their involvement in this rebellion. Since allusions to them only arise during
historians of Constantine vii’s reign, it seems that once again the 10th-​century
reinvention of the Paulicians has projected their influence back onto earlier
periods. Even if we were to accept their presence among Thomas’ support-
ers, this still does not corroborate the History’s version of events, since rather
than raiding the empire themselves, they would be only one group among
many in the pretender’s army. In other words, irrespective of how we inter-
pret the reputed Paulician presence in Thomas’ army, it seems clear that they
did not operate independently at this time. This in turn implies that even in a
period when their agency was felt less keenly in Asia Minor, the great powers
of empire and caliphate were still strong enough to keep abreast of matters

55 See also Signes Codoñer, Emperor Theophilos, pp. 45–​52.

56 Michael ii, “Epistula ad Ludovicum Imperatorem,” ed. Alfred Werminghoff, in Monu­
menta Germaniae Historica, Leges III, Concilia II, Concilia Karolini Aevi 2 (Hannover/​
Leipzig, 1908), p. 476.
57 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 2:12, pp. 82–​
83. Genesios also lists Abasians, Alans, Huns, Lazoi, Slavs, Getae, and Vandals. Genesios,
Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 2:2, p. 24, l. 17–​21. Translation: On the Reigns of the
Emperors, pp. 29–​30.
58 Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 83. A similar view is expressed by Barnard. Leslie W. Barnard, “The
Paulicians and Iconoclasm,” in Iconoclasm: Papers Given at the Ninth Spring Symposium
of Byzantine Studies, University of Birmingham, March 1975, eds. Anthony Bryer, Judith
Herrin (Birmingham, 1977), p. 80.
252  Chapter 5

along the frontier. All indications suggest that the overt support of one party or
another was necessary for the Paulicians to become a significant presence in
the area, as in the case of Karbeas’ alliance with ‘Amr al-Aqṭa‘. As a result, the
reprisals mentioned by the History during this time were probably localised
and small in scale.
Besides Thomas’ rebellion, there are precious few references to Paulicians
in Michael ii’s reign, which makes it difficult to determine his policy regard-
ing them. He is often accused of being an Athinganos by our sources, but
this doubtful allegation only arises in later sources and should have no bear-
ing on our analysis here.59 Taking into account Thomas’ hold on the eastern
provinces during the early years of his rule, it may be that Michael lacked the
ability to enforce policy in the areas where Paulicians were primarily located.
Only one source sheds light, albeit indirectly, on persecution during the reign.
This is Theodore the Stoudite’s letter to Theophilos of Ephesos, which shows
that some iconodule bishops still favoured persecuting Paulicians during the
820s. The letter, which is conventionally dated between 821 and 826, is devoted
entirely to Theophilos’ cautious approval of capital punishment, which came
to Theodore’s attention via the intermediary of their mutual acquaintance
Athanasios.60 The most apposite passage reads as follows:

What is this thing in your writing, which causes me grief? It says: “We have
neither counselled that Manichaeans should be killed nor not be killed,
but if we did allow it, we would devote ourselves to doing the best of fine
things.” What are you saying, most honoured by God? The Lord forbade
this in the Gospels, saying “No, lest in collecting the weeds you uproot the
grain along with them. Let them grow together until the harvest.”61

Despite being in office under Michael ii, Theophilos was an iconodule bishop,
yet he still tentatively favoured the persecution of Paulicians. Since he origi-
nally expressed this view privately to Athanasios, it does not follow that this
was official policy. In fact, indications in the letter suggest it was not. At the end
of the letter, Theodore alludes to his opposition to persecution under previous
emperors:

59 Speck, “Die vermeintliche Häresie,” pp. 38–​ 44; Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v,
Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 2:3–​7, pp. 66–​73.
60 There are difficulties with identifying this Athanasios. See Ralph-​ Johannes Lilie
et al., Prosopographie der mittelbyzantinischen Zeit. Erste Abteilung (641–​867), 6 vols, vol. 1
(Berlin/​New York, 1999–​2002), #675; #676, pp. 217–​219.
61 Theodore the Stoudite, Epistulae, Ep. 455, vol. 2, p. 645, l. 10–​16.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 253

And thus, master, we, worthless as we are, consider the matter. Indeed,
lest I be accused of speaking in folly, we spoke freely to our most blessed
patriarch [Nikephoros] that “the church does not punish with a sword”
and he granted this. Also, we spoke to those emperors who accom-
plished the slaughter, to the first [Michael i] that “God was not pleased
on account of such a slaying” and to the second [Leo v], the one who
demanded a defence for the slaying, that “sooner would my head be taken
than I would agree to this.” These things, then, were done on account of
our sins. But you, most holy man, if you read another gospel, which we do
not know, hold to it well, but if not, regard what the apostle revealed.62

Since Theodore complained to Nikephoros, Michael, and Leo we would expect

this principled and outspoken abbot to have also implored Michael ii if he too
had instigated a crackdown. The most likely explanation is that Michael did
not do so, which is why the disagreement between Theodore and Theophilos
is presented as an inter-​iconodule affair throughout the letter; although
Theodore mentions the ascendant iconomachoi at the outset, he never accuses
Theophilos of siding with them on the matter of punishment. The evidence
here is far from conclusive, particularly because Theophilos’ language is so eva-
sive, but it seems that Michael ii made no attempt to enforce the punishments
laid down by his predecessors if they remained legally in force. Whether this is
because he lacked the capacity or the inclination must remain conjectural, but
he seems possessed of a greater religious tolerance than many. Even Genesios
acknowledges that he let people do as they please regarding icons.63 We must
be cautious given the paucity of sources, but it seems that Michael’s reign may
have been one of toleration.

4 Paulicians in the Reign of Theophilos

Both Theodore and the patriarch Nikephoros, two of our most valuable sources
for the early 9th century, would die in exile during Michael’s reign. The emperor
himself expired in 829 and was succeeded by his son Theophilos, an energetic
commander and convinced iconoclast whose reign attests a more ambivalent
relationship with the Paulicians. On the one hand, the death penalty rears its
head once more and, although this was probably not systematically enforced

62 Theodore the Stoudite, Epistulae, Ep. 455, vol. 2, p. 647, l. 82–​91.

63 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 2:14, p. 35. Translation: On the Reigns of the
Emperors, p. 42.
254  Chapter 5

by the regime, perhaps surprisingly given Theophilos’ penchant for uphold-

ing justice, several sources testify to Roman punishment of Paulicians. On
the other hand, Karbeas’s occupation of an important post in the army of
the Anatolikon by Theophilos’ death suggests that there were opportunities
for Paulicians to prosper during these years, while the emperor’s patronage
of Khurramite rebels from the caliphate shows that he could be favourable to
militaristic dualists. To some degree, these contradictions reflect the reality
that Theophilos was more active in areas synonymous with Paulicians than his
predecessors and that a greater number of sources survive regarding his rule.
Still, it also seems we have before us a transitional period where the Paulicians’
prominence grew steadily, despite uncoordinated attempts to forestall this.
Most intriguingly of all, while they had not yet established the raiding centres
which would later prove such a thorn in the empire’s side by Theophilos’ reign,
there are indications that their presence on the eastern frontier was becom-
ing more prominent, thereby setting the scene for Karbeas’ defection during
Theodora’s regency.
Only once source directly attests the persecution of Paulicians during
Theophilos’ reign: the Vita Macarii Peleketae, an account of the life of Makarios,
abbot of the Pelekete Monastery, composed by his disciple Sabas. Some have
taken issue with the text for its formulaic aspects and supposed chronological
difficulties, but, by the standards of our period, it is a credible contemporary
witness.64 The titular Makarios, whom Theodore the Stoudite exalted as one of
the most unwavering iconophiles of the time, was exiled by Leo v and subse-
quently recalled by Michael ii. In the latter’s reign, Makarios founded a mon-
astery on the Propontis because the Pelekete had appointed a new abbot in his
absence, but it was not long before he was imprisoned once more, this time
under the regime of Theophilos. It was in prison that Makarios encountered

64 Ševčenko had doubts regarding the style and authenticity of the text, but the latter is
beyond reproach in my view. Ševčenko, “The Hagiography,” p. 117. The chronological dif-
ficulty noted by Hamilton, who observed that Makarios should have died in Michael ii’s
reign because Theodore the Stoudite’s Ep. 501 refers to a certain Sergios as the new abbot
of the Pelekete c.823, is not admissible, since Makarios had been replaced as abbot upon
being exiled. Theodore’s letter makes quite clear that Makarios is still alive since the
choice of the new abbot depends upon his approval. Note also that Sabas, the author of
the vita, succeeded Makarios not as abbot of the Pelekete, but as the abbot of Makarios’
foundation on the Propontis. See Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton, eds., Christian
Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450 (Manchester, 1998), p. 62, n. 1; Theodore
the Stoudite, Epistulae, Ep. 501, vol. 2, pp. 741–​742; Cyril Mango, Ihor Ševčenko, “Some
Churches and Monasteries on the Southern Shore of the Sea of Marmara,” Dumbarton
Oaks Papers 27 (1973), pp. 245–​246.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 255

Paulicians awaiting execution and attempted to convert them, succeeding in

one case:

There were Paulicians, that is, Manichaeans, held in the prison under
sentence of death, who begged the saint to pray for them at their death,
but he said, ‘There is no fellowship as this between light and darkness.
That is why you are receiving the fitting end of your impiety. Not merely
are you undergoing punishment in this life, but you will receive unending
correction hereafter.’ So one of the condemned said that he would receive
the pledge of salvation in place of food, and Macarius himself baptised
him. So though all came to a fatal end, this man alone was saved and ful-
filled the works of promise, laying aside the filth of heresy and putting on
the shining doctrines of piety.65

Most obviously, this extract shows that the death penalty decreed under ear-
lier emperors was still upheld during Theophilos’ reign. The pertinent ques-
tion, albeit one which is not straightforward to answer, is how consistent and
widespread this punishment was. It at least seems that initiatives against the
Paulicians had broad support since, like his fellow iconophile Theophilos of
Ephesos, Makarios finds the death penalty fitting, although given the conven-
tions of hagiography, the sentiment may properly belong to the Vita’s author
Sabas.66 As we have seen throughout, irrespective of who held the ascendancy
in the iconomachy, iconodule and iconoclasts largely agreed on the perse-
cution of Paulicians. Although this is the only source attesting persecution
during Theophilos’ reign, evidence from the Treatise, which we shall shortly
examine, tends to suggest the practice was somewhat prevalent. Besides this,
several other aspects of the passage merit attention. By baptising the Paulician
he converted, Makarios acts according to contemporary practices of readmis-
sion into the church, so we cannot necessarily take this as a corroboration of
the Treatise’s claim that Paulicians did not undertake the ritual.67 The stead-
fastness of the remaining Paulicians on the brink of execution initially appears

65 Sabas, “S. Macarii monasterii Pelecetes hegumeni acta graeca,” 14, in Analecta Bollandiana
16, ed. Joseph van den Gheyn (1897), p. 159. See also Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton,
eds., Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450 (Manchester, 1998), p. 62.
66 Alexander, “Religious Persecution,” p. 256.
67 Manichaean Formula, in Texte zum Manichäismus, ed. Alfred Adam (Berlin, 1954), p. 94,
l. 10–​16; Treatise, 16, ed. and trans. Charles Astruc, Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), p. 89.
English translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds.
Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), p. 95.
256  Chapter 5

eye-​catching, but since conversion episodes like these are a common hagiog-
raphical trope, it is unlikely that this reveals anything about Paulician attitudes
in the face of death.
A number of the interpretive lacuna described above are thankfully filled
by the Treatise, which originally dates to Theophilos’ reign, although it may
have been revised afterward. As noted previously, it seems not to have been
an officially disseminated text, thereby suggesting that a more sophisticated
knowledge of the heresy did not arise from developments in the institutional
church. This is rather surprising given the traditional iconoclast predilection
for imposing authority and uniformity and tentatively suggests that, as in the
case of his father Michael before him, Theophilos did not move against the
Paulicians on his own initiative; punishment seems to have been the prerog-
ative of local authorities with little or no coordination from the centre. As
for its contents, the Treatise shows that earlier portrayals of Paulicians were
coming under attack, albeit a qualified one. It retains their identification as
Manichaeans, but places rather less significance on this, pinpointing Paul and
John, the sons of Kallinike, as their original inspiration. Even while maintain-
ing this, however, it notes that the Paulicians anathematise all of the above,
together with Mani. As a result, it follows that Paulicians were probably origi-
nally interrogated using Manichaean abjuration formulae, which were quickly
found insufficient for the task.68 The main reason that the Treatise is a more
nuanced witness than its predecessors is that it is the first Byzantine source to
betray knowledge of the Didaskalie and Letters of Sergios. Through its depen-
dence on these sources, the Treatise builds up a reasonable knowledge of
Paulician conceptions of their history, but this does not seem to have extended
to a similar knowledge of their belief. Its primary concern throughout is to
determine how they differed from the established orthodoxy and in doing so
it describes the circumlocutions that Paulicians used to feign conformity and
the measures that orthodox interlocutors used to unmask these.69 This gives
the undeniable impression that they had become skilled at concealing their
beliefs and that the ecclesiastical authorities had in turn formulated more
sophisticated interrogation tactics. This implies that some Paulicians had gone
underground since the persecutions of the 810s, thereby problematising the
means of identifying them, but it also suggests that they were sought through-
out the period, with the possible exception of Michael ii’s reign. Under his
son too, there is little indication of the initiative and institutional support that

68 For the standard abjuration formula in earlier centuries, see Manichaean Formula,
pp. 93–​97.
69 Treatise, 7–​17, pp. 84–​89. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 93–​95.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 257

characterised the actions of Michael i or Leo v. Whatever the truth, Roman

conceptions of Paulicians had evolved notably in the decades since the first
persecutions, yet the Manichaean label still proved more tenacious than its
accuracy warranted.
Thus far, then, it seems that Theophilos’ reign posed notable difficulties for
the Paulicians. This may be true, but there are also some contrasting indica-
tions which suggest a more subtle religio-​political landscape. The most obvi-
ous of these is Karbeas’ position as protomandator for Theodotos Melissenos,
general of the Anatolikon, at the beginning of the regency headed by Theodora,
Theophilos’ widow. This senior rank, which is rarely attested, involves fulfill-
ing special missions on the superior officer’s behalf.70 It is an important posi-
tion, albeit one of the lowest in the general’s immediate staff. For a Paulician
to have risen to such a position during Theophilos’ reign shows that Roman
institutions cannot have been closed to them, at least in the provinces. The
point cannot be pushed too far. Since we do not know how long Theodotos or
Karbeas were in office, it may be that their rise only occurred after the turbu-
lence that characterised the Anatolikon after the sack of its capital Amorion
in 838.71 Karbeas aside, we have little indication of Paulicians in Byzantine ser-
vice at that time, besides one witness we shall soon discuss. What we do have
is reliable reference to other supposedly dualist warriors among Theophilos’
army and in his retinue: namely, Khurramiyya from the mountains of modern
Iran and Azerbaijan. The origins of this people and their activity in Roman
lands warrant a digression here, not only because as a militant and heterodox
minority they enrich our understanding of the Paulicians, but also because the
military context of which they were a part allows us to debunk the theory of a
major Paulician presence in the east before Karbeas.
Perhaps even more so than the Paulicians, the Khurramiyya are a phenom-
enon of greater complexity than our extant sources portray. The interpretive

70 See Friedhelm Winkelmann, Byzantinische Rang und Ämterstruktur im 8. und

9. Jahrhundert (Berlin, 1985), pp. 120, n. 5; 128, n. 1. The office of Mandator is rather better
attested. See Alexander P. Kazhdan, “Mandator,” in The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium,
ed. Alexander P. Kazhdan, vol. 2 (New York/​Oxford, 1991), p. 1281. For a near contemporary
description of how a protomandator related to other ranks in the Anatolikon thema, see
Philotheos’ Kletorologion, a work of Leo vi’s reign which is now only preserved within
Constantine vii’s compilation De ceremoniis. Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, The
Book of Ceremonies. Constantine Porphyrogennetos, 2:52, ed. and trans. Anne Moffatt,
Maxeme Tall, 2 vols, vol. 2 (Canberra, 2012), p. 716.
71 Significantly, the capital of the thema was moved to Polybotus afterward. See Klaus
Belke, Norbert Mersich, Tabula imperii Byzantini. Bd. 7, Phrygien und Pisidien (Vienna,
1990), p. 92.
258  Chapter 5

difficulties have not always translated into modern scholarship, where the
movement is often attributed an undue degree of uniformity.72 In the sources,
the beliefs of the Khurramiyya are most commonly linked to Mazdakism, a
radical Zoroastrian reform movement which advocated social equality through
communal sharing of land, wealth, and possibly women. Whether this is an
accurate rendering of the teaching of Mazdak himself remains unclear, but
the ideas caused much upheaval in the Sasanian Empire during the reigns of
Kavād i (488–​496, 498–​531), who may have used the movement as a means
to check the power of the nobility, before it was ruthlessly suppressed under
another great reforming shāhanshāh, his son Khusro i Anūshirwān (531–​579).73
Many modern writers have adopted the connection between Mazdakites and
Khurramiyya, but this seems to be a simplification which takes Islamic her-
esiographers at their word.74 There are doubts as to both the doctrine of the
Khurramites and the homogeneity of the movement. They first appear on the
historical scene during the late 8th century and can most profitably be inter-
preted as a succession of localised rebellions against the ‘Abbāsid Caliphate,
largely in mountainous regions on the periphery of caliphal territory, often
founded upon an alliance between local Iranian elites and the weakly
Islamicised lower classes.75
In our era there were three Khurramite uprisings of note. The first of these
broke out in Ādharbāyjān, in the north-​west of modern Iran, and is best known
for the successful resistance of Bābak al-​Khurramī (c.816–​838) against a series
of ‘Abbāsid generals before his eventual defeat, capture, and execution.76 The
second took place in Jibāl province, which centred on the Zagros Mountains

72 The eclectic nature of the movement is best expressed by Wilferd Madelung, Religious
Trends in Early Islamic Iran (Albany, 1988), pp. 1–​12. Also useful is Biancamaria Scarcia
Amoretti, “Sects and Heresies,” in The Cambridge History of Iran IV: the Period from the
Arab Invasion to the Saljuqs, ed. Richard N. Frye (Cambridge, 1975), p. 496.
73 For Mazdak and Mazdakism, see Khodadad Rezakhani, “Mazdakism, Manichaeism and
Zoroastrianism: In Search of Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy in Late Antique Iran,” Iranian
Studies 48:1 (2015), pp. 55–​70; Patricia Crone, “Kavād’s Heresy and Mazdak’s Revolt,” Iran
29 (1991), pp. 21–​42.
74 Madelung, Religious Trends, pp. 1–​2.
75 Patricia Crone’s recent study sees the Khurramite and Mazdakite belief systems as man-
ifestations of a substratum of beliefs common to the Iranian world. This approach pays
insufficient attention to contemporary context, in my view. See Patricia Crone, The Nativist
Prophets of Early Islamic Iran: Rural Revolt and Local Zoroastrianism (Cambridge, 2012).
76 See al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul wa-​al-​mulūk. The history of al-​Ṭabarī, 40 vols, vols 32, 33,
trans. Clifford E. Bosworth (Albany, 1987–​1991), in passim; Gholam H. Sadighi, Les mouve-
ments religieux iraniens an IIe et au IIIe siècles de l’hégire (Paris, 1938), pp. 229–​276; Crone,
Nativist Prophets, pp. 46–​76.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 259

and regions east of this range. This revolt, which is not well documented,
was quickly suppressed in 833.77 The final revolt is associated with Māzīyār
(825/​26–​839), the ruler of Ṭabaristān, who aimed to break the power of his
Islamicised nobility.78 The character of these revolts was rather heteroge-
neous: Bābak’s rebellion seems an opportunistic affair which capitalised on
the civil war of Hārūn’s sons and, more specifically, the caliphate’s inability
to deploy an experienced and well-​equipped force to dislodge him from his
mountain fortress of al-​Badhdh. This situation only changed with the arrival
of the methodical and determined general Ḥaydar b. Kāwūs, otherwise known
as al-​Afshīn, the hereditary prince of Ošrūsana (a land on the upper Syr Darya
near the easternmost limit of caliphal territory), whom we shall soon meet
again. By contrast, in the case of Māzīyār, a bloodthirsty and brutal figure who
eventually alienated most of those who encountered him, his self-​interest and
rivalries seem the predominant motive for his actions. In all of the above cases,
the ideological concerns of the rank and file combatants are not known to us,
but they were most probably entwined with the wave of religious dissent that
had swept the caliphate since the career of Abū Muslim al-​Khurāsāni, the orig-
inal rallying figure of the ‘Abbāsid Revolution who inspired many in his wake
before and after the newly installed caliph al-​Manṣūr (754–​775) made a martyr
of him. A variety of prophetic and messianic figures raised the flag of rebellion
after Abū Muslim’s death, albeit not always necessarily in his name, notably in
Khurāsān, but also in other areas with strong Iranian influences.79 Although
Iranian and Zoroastrian characteristics are often stressed in the case of the
Khurramiyya and others, a syncretistic perspective might be more appropri-
ate. The Khurramiyya, for instance, are frequently conflated with other move-
ments in Islamic sources, such as al-​Muḥammirah, who derived their name
from their red clothing, as well as Shi‘ite groups.80

77 al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 33, pp. 2–​4; Mohamed Rekaya, “Mise au point sur Théophobe
et l’alliance de Bâbek avec Théophile (833/​34 –​839/​40),” Byzantion 44 (1974), pp. 43–​45.
78 al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 33, pp. 135–​172; 179–​180; Sadighi, Les mouvements religieux,
pp. 60–​63; Amoretti, “Sects and Heresies,” p. 503; Mohamed Rekaya, “Māzyār: résistance
ou integration d’une province iranienne au monde musulman au milieu du IXe siècle ap.
J.C.,” Studia Iranica 2 (1973), pp. 143–​192.
79 For Abū Muslim and contemporary revolts, see Crone, The Nativist Prophets, pp. 37–​39;
42–​43; 129–​130.
80 For al-​Muḥammirah, see al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 30, trans. Clifford E. Bosworth
(Albany, 1989), p. 163; Sadighi, Les mouvements, p. 108. For their equation with the
Khurramiyya, see al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 33, p. 95. For Shi’a influence, see Madelung,
Religious Trends, pp. 7–​8.
260  Chapter 5

To cut a long story short, neither the ideological position nor the unity of
the Khurramiyya can be taken for granted. The Mazdakite label which is con-
ventionally applied to them arises from the movement’s Iranian and social
revolutionary character, but their ascendancy is much better explained by the
specific socio-​religious context of this period than a debt to the long-​vanished
Mazdakites. The Khurramiyya could have derived the social aspects of their
belief, which are not well attested in any case, independently of Mazdakism.
As a result, it is unclear whether we should term them dualists, or whether con-
temporary Romans understood them in this way. Byzantine sources, in fact, tell
us precious little about their beliefs.81 Nonetheless, despite being distinct in
their ethnicity, religion, and culture, the Khurramiyya rose to occupy a role of
some esteem in Theophilos’ regime. Especially prominent was the Khurramite
leader Theophobos, who had a Byzantine education and may have been
appointed caesar and heir presumptive to the then childless emperor.82 The
origins of Theophobos and his followers are disputed, with Mohamed Rekaya
tracing them to the Khurramiyya of the Jibāl and Signes Codoñer identifying
them with the partisans of Bābak.83 Given Ādharbāyjān’s proximity to the
empire, the latter interpretation seems more probable, but the matter cannot
be settled definitively. What is clear is that Theophilos considered them a valu-
able military asset for much of his reign. Their support for the emperor proved
a valuable counterbalance amid aristocratic dissatisfaction with his rule,
although the favour in which they –​and Theophobos in particular –​were held
exacerbated the rivalries of Theophilos’ court.84 As for their military exploits,
it is worthwhile to trace these, together with the contours of Theophilos’ cam-
paigns, in some detail here, for these undermine the possibility of Paulician
raids against the empire prior to Karbeas’ defection.

81 One exception regards the occultation of Theophobos. See Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum
libri quattuor, 3:7, p. 42. Translation: On the Reigns of the Emperors, pp. 55–​56; Theophanes
Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 3:38, pp. 196–​197.
82 Signes Codoñer, Emperor Theophilos, pp. 153–​172. For Theophobos’ possible role as caesar,
see Signes Codoñer, Emperor Theophilos, pp. 167–​168.
83 See Rekaya, “Mise au point,” pp. 51–​55; Signes Codoñer, Emperor Theophilos, pp. 146–​147.
For the flight of Khurramiyya to the empire from Jibāl, which al-​Ṭabarī links to Theophilos’
regiment, see al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 33, pp. 2–​4; 95. Michael the Syrian does not link
the Jibāl rebellion with a flight to Byzantine territory. See Michael the Syrian, The Syriac
Chronicle, 12:18, p. 564; For the flight of Bābak’s followers, see Michael the Syrian, The
Syriac Chronicle, 12:19, p. 566. The Continuator posits that Bābak submitted to Theophilos,
but this is evidently garbled. See Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae
Theophanis Continuati, 3:21, pp. 162–​163.
84 Signes Codoñer, Emperor Theophilos, pp. 132–​136.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 261

The invasion of Thomas the Slav aside, Michael ii’s reign was an uneventful
one for the empire on the eastern frontier, for it was only after the accession of
his son that the caliphate was stable enough to resume campaigning, with the
raid of al-​Ma’mūn in 830 being the first of its kind for decades. Unlike many
of his predecessors, Theophilos was in a position to counterattack via raids
in Kilikia and in subsequent years would show himself to be the most active
Byzantine campaigner in the east since the days of Constantine v almost a
century beforehand. His support for Bābak al-​Khurramī’s rebels remains con-
jectural, but it seems that he had Khurramiyya in his service by, or shortly after,
the accession of the new caliph al-​Mu‘taṣim in 833.85 It is in this vein that in 834,
or perhaps 836, a Khurramite force undertook raids toward Basean, to the east
of Theodosiopolis, at times displaying a propensity for heavy-​handed violence
that would prove something of a hallmark, before suffering a serious defeat
at the hands of Isḥāq b. Ismā‘īl, Emir of Tiflis.86 As Signes Codoñer notes, this
campaign was probably independent of Theophilos’ attack on Theodosiopolis
in 835, thereby suggesting that they were not yet integrated into the emperor’s
army.87 They were, however, present during Theophilos’ ambitious attack on
Sozopetra, Arsamosata, and Melitene in 837 and had integrated themselves
into the heart of his armies when al-​Mu‘taṣim sought retribution in the follow-
ing year.88 While al-​Mu‘taṣim himself led the main force through the Kilikian
Gates, a second army entered Byzantine territory through the pass at Melitene
under the command of al-​Afshīn, the same general who had finally ended
Bābak’s rebellion in the previous year. Subordinate to him was ‘Amr al-​Aqṭa‘,
the Emir of Melitene whose steady rise to prominence would see him ally with
the Paulicians a decade later.
Threatened on two fronts, Theophilos resolved to meet al-​Afshīn first, but,
despite gaining the upper hand at the crucial battle of Anzes in 838, the deci-
sive intervention of mounted Turkish archers turned the tide in the Prince of
Ošrūsana’s favour. Theophilos became isolated from the main force, almost
losing his life in the process, and although the Khurramiyya distinguished
themselves during the battle, the aftermath would prove disastrous for their
prospects with the emperor.89 Despite his escape, rumours of Theophilos’
death spread and claimants for the throne soon materialised. One such

85 Signes Codoñer, Emperor Theophilos, pp. 250; 267–​268; al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 33,
pp. 93–​94.
86 Signes Codoñer, Emperor Theophilos, pp. 245–​259; 268.
87 Signes Codoñer, Emperor Theophilos, pp. 246–​262.
88 Signes Codoñer, Emperor Theophilos, pp. 263; 268.
89 Signes Codoñer, Emperor Theophilos, pp. 279–​312.
262  Chapter 5

claimant was Theophobos, who despite not being present at Anzes was report-
edly proclaimed emperor by the Khurramiyya, who had fled to Sinope after the
battle. The murky realities of court politics make it difficult to judge if this is
true or not. Signes Codoñer’s hypothesis that the Khurramiyya were the victim
of political conspiracy is an attractive one, since they owed their privileged
position to Theophilos and remained with him during the darkest hours at
Anzes.90 In any event, both Theophobos and the Khurramiyya fell from grace
after this episode. Theophobos was executed, either shortly afterward or on
Theophilos’ death in 842, whereas the Khurramiyya were disbanded and inte-
grated into the thematic armies.91 As for the aftermath of Anzes, al-​Afshīn’s
victory left Amorion, the largest city in Asia Minor at the time, easy prey to al-​
Mu‘taṣim’s main force, which included Armenian contingents headed by the
Prince of Princes Bagarat ii Bagratuni (830–​852) and the Arcruni family.92 The
city was sacked, although the difficulties of the withdrawal, such as the lack of
water and provisions, as well as the constant threat of Byzantine harassment,
left the caliph with little choice but to execute his prisoners, thereby depriving
his troops of their rewards and taking much of the shine off his victory. A cam-
paign of such ambition would not be launched through Asia Minor for the rest
of our period and, aside for some cursory raids, campaigning seems to have
ceased in the final years of al-​Mu‘taṣim and Theophilos, both of whom died
comparatively young in January 842.
There are two main points to take away from the above. Firstly, although it is
a moot point whether contemporary Byzantines understood the Khurramiyya
to be dualists or not, there are no indications that their ethnicity or heterodoxy
proved to be points of contention with Theophilos or his administration, even
if these factors may well have exacerbated the factional intrigues of his court.
The primary motivating factor throughout the emperor’s dealings with them is
the old politico-​military maxim: an enemy of an enemy is a friend. Heterodoxy
was not an insurmountable issue to mutual understanding in the period, as is
evident from the readiness of Byzantines to come to accommodation with the
Paulicians once they had ceased to be a threat to the empire. This implies that
many of the developments we have seen so far, in terms of both accommoda-
tion and conflict between Romans and Paulicians, were not necessary devel-
opments, but unpredictable outcomes occasioned by the vagaries of historical

90 Signes Codoñer, Emperor Theophilos, pp. 176–​180.

91 Signes Codoñer, Emperor Theophilos, p. 180.
92 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 3:13, pp. 46–​47. Translation: On the Reigns of
the Emperors, pp. 62–​63; Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis
Continuati, 3:31, pp. 82–​83.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 263

circumstance. The Khurramiyya provide a valuable point of comparison here,

since their integration into the social fabric of Romanía seems to have been
reasonably swift; as well as being conscripted within the army and his advisory
circle, Theophilos provided them with Roman brides, which implies that they
converted, perhaps perfunctorily, to Christianity.93 They were a force that he
could harness for his own ends and when they posed a threat of usurpation,
he swiftly had them disbanded and scattered among his other troops. Perhaps
because they were near to the epicentre of power, the imperial administration
kept a close watch on them and when it lost the initiative, as in the case of the
aborted rebellion, it quickly regained control of affairs. On the other hand, the
empire seems to have never got to grips with the Paulicians. They were not as
easy to distinguish as Khurramiyya and, as proselytising Christians, they had
the greatest capacity to threaten orthodox religion by attracting converts from
it. The enemy within provoked the most anxiety.
Secondly, throughout the above account we saw an ever-​changing military
dynamic across the region that linked theatres of operations from Asia Minor
in the west to Ṭabaristān and the Jibāl in the east. Localised conflicts, such
as that of the Khurramite Bābak, could become regional affairs when outside
actors sought to turn the situation to their advantage. Yet nowhere do our
Arabic, Greek, or Armenian sources mention Paulicians in connection with
the military events of the 830s. It is this which makes the thesis of an early alli-
ance with Melitene so unconvincing. We have already seen that Peter of Sicily’s
claim that a Paulician-​Muslim alliance raided Asia Minor as early as the 810s
does not stand up to scrutiny, since this decade actually marked a low point
of Islamic intervention in the peninsula. It is similarly evident that conditions
were not yet ripe in the 830s. Not only do we find no mention of Paulicians in
the sources, but the key figure of ‘Amr al-​Aqṭa‘, who served under al-​Afshīn in
the Amorion campaign, was not yet in a position to exert his authority. The
face-​off between empire and caliphate was certainly in one of its most acute
phases in the 830s, with Theophilos, al-​Ma’mūn, and al-​Mu‘taṣim all campaign-
ing across the frontier. It was only in the aftermath of al-​Mu‘taṣim’s ambitious
offensive, when military operations were less lofty in their aims and scale and
the caliphal administration ceded the initiative to local commanders, that the
area became conducive to the raiding strategies favoured by ‘Amr and his new
Paulician allies.

93 Anthony Kaldellis, Romanland: Ethnicity and Empire in Byzantium (Cambridge, MA/​

London, 2019), pp. 128–​ 130; Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae
Theophanis Continuati, 3:21, pp. 162–​163; Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor,
3:3, p. 38. Translation: On the Reigns of the Emperors, p. 52.
264  Chapter 5

A final source sheds light on Paulician military activity in the reign of

Theophilos and, although it is an intriguing one, it is neither contemporary
nor straightforward. Version Γ of the 42 Martyrs of Amorion is one of many
accounts associated with the titular martyrs, a group of prisoners who were
spared execution during the Amorion campaign and instead relocated to
Sāmarrā where, despite attempts at ransom by the Byzantine authorities, they
were put to death under al-​Mu‘taṣim’s successor al-​Wāthiq in 845.94 The sur-
viving accounts of this passion differ markedly in their form and, while some of
them have traditionally been considered contemporary with events, Alexander
Kazhdan has convincingly argued that the entire tradition originated at the
turn of the 10th century and, in my view, version Γ is probably one of the later
variants.95 Some authorities have dated the text considerably earlier, since it is
attributed to a certain Michael, monk and synkellos, whom some commenta-
tors have identified with the famous Michael the Synkellos (c.761–​846).96 This
attribution is unlikely because Michael died only a year after the martyrs.97
Version Γ centres upon the imperial official Kallistos, whose encounter with
Paulicians has no analogue in other variants of the text. While the other itera-
tions are more conventional passion narratives, our text has a hagiographical
bent, developing the family life and career of Kallistos, an iconodule who suf-
fered persecution under Theophilos, but was nevertheless appointed Duke of
Koloneia by the latter, who reluctantly recognized Kallistos’ merits. Whether
Kallistos is a genuine historical figure is up for debate, but, as the passion has
it, he is a rather reluctant man of the world who is forced to give up his monas-
tic habit and return to imperial service. In fact, the odd comparisons between
martial and spiritual combat which pervade the text suggest we almost cer-
tainly have before us a monastic product.98 It is after being put in command of

94 Michael, Monk and Synkellos, “De XLII martyribus Amoriensibus narrationes et carmina
sacra,” in Zapiski Imperatorskoĭ akademīi nauk po Istoriko-​filologicheskomu otdȋelenīȋu.
Mémoires de l’Académie impériale des sciences de St.-​ Pétersbourg. Classe historico-​
philologique. VIIIe série 7:2, eds. Vasily G. Vasil’evsky, Petr V. Nikitin (1905), pp. 22–​36. For
the other variants (A-​Θ), see pp. 1–​90. For the martyrs, see Athina Kolia-​Dermitzaki, “The
Execution of the Forty-​Two Martyrs of Amorion: Proposing an Interpretation,” Al-​Masāq
14:2 (2002), pp. 141–​162.
95 Alexander P. Kazhdan, “Hagiographical Notes 13–​16,” Byzantion 56 (1986), pp. 151–​153.
96 Sofia Kotzabassi, “Τὸ μαρτύριο τῶν μβ’ μαρτύρων τοῦ Ἀμορίου. Ἁγιολογικὰ καὶ ὑμνολογικὰ
κείμενα,” Επιστημονική επετηρίς φιλοσοφικής Σχολής του Αριστοτελειου Πανεπιστημίου
Θεσσαλονίκης 2 (1992), pp. 120–​124; Kolia-​Dermitzaki, “The Execution,” p. 144.
97 See Mary B. Cunningham, ed., The Life of Michael the Synkellos (Belfast, 1991), p. 37.
98 A connection could be hazarded with the Pelekete, the only monastery mentioned in
the work, but since the monastery is well attested elsewhere, notably in the influen-
tial Vita Stephani Iunioris, this may be too conjectural. For the latter, see Stephen the
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 265

an Ethiopian contingent in the army that Kallistos renounces worldly affairs,

only to be recalled and given the command at Koloneia. Here he discovers
“Manichaeans” among his soldiers and attempts to convert them:

After finding some men of rank who were sick with the heresy of the
Manichaeans, at first he admonished, encouraged, and advised them to
desist from their foul religion, revealing before their eyes the fearful con-
sequences of the impartial judgement of God, the perpetual and eternal
fire of retribution that he prepared for the devil and his demons and all
those who deny that [Christ] was truly born of the virgin through the
incarnation of the Holy Spirit for the salvation and restoration of the race
of men, but instead was born only in illusion. But as Kallistos saw that
they remained in their error, uncorrected and altogether sinful, he made
it known that they were cast aside from his devotion. Accordingly, those
most evil of evil men, the namesakes of madness, treated their benefac-
tor in this manner (the madness of it!): they plotted among themselves
to substitute that worthy and capable leader of men, the leader and com-
mander of their lands, appointed by God, with his exact opposite. After
twining their wretched souls together in conspiracy against the just man,
they gave birth to devious suffering, a betrayal of Judas’ kind. And so in
an assembly convened against their enemies, they gave him over to their
fellow Manichaeans, who had abandoned the customs and lands of the
Christians through their own impiety and made treaties with the blood-
thirsty peoples of Agar, remaining forsaken from divine providence,
as is worthy of their foul disposition. “And since they did not see fit to
acknowledge God,” as the apostle says, “God gave them up to a debased
mind and to things that should not be done.” The man of peace and
mouthpiece of piety Kallistos, in accordance with what God ordained for
him, was plotted against like his own Lord and betrayed to the apostates
under the command of the thrice-​wretched Karbeas. There he was at first
sentenced to the punishment of imprisonment in iron fetters with his
fellow companions and attendants, who were few in number. Bearing
himself with good courage among them he said to God: “For the sake of
your name, Lord, if I travel in the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no
evils, because you are with me.”

Deacon, La vie d’Étienne le Jeune par Étienne le diacre, ed. and trans. Marie-​France Auzépy
(Aldershot, 1997).
266  Chapter 5

The leader of the Agarenes, learning of this, sent for him straight away
and sent him captive to Syria, commanding him to be yoked together
with the noble martyrs of Christ, Constantine, Theophilos, and Basoes.
These holy men had been toiling in the misery of prison for six years, con-
tending with fetters, hunger, and the ground for a bed after the capture
of Amorion, those who had previously dined sumptuously in fine health,
with their troops on guard.99

Once grouped together, Kallistos and the other martyrs are marched off and
finally executed. Leaving aside the particulars of the above account for just a
moment, the passage gives clear reasons why this text should be dated among the
later variants about the 42 Martyrs. The martyrs themselves are peripheral to the
main narrative, appearing at its culmination without any prior reference or fore-
shadowing. Since our text is a hagiography rather than a passion, it differs from
the main tradition in both its genre and its focus, thereby suggesting an attempt to
exploit the popularity of the martyrs’ story in order to exalt the person of Kallistos.
Thus, it seems probable that it is one of the later texts of the tradition.
As for the account itself, several aspects deserve further consideration. First
a chronological difficulty: although our other sources state that Karbeas only
aligned himself with the caliphate after the persecutions of Theodora’s regency,
this text never refers to the death of her husband Theophilos. This should not
trouble us too greatly, however.100 Two of the text’s strongest emphases are its
iconophile perspective and its negative portrayal of Theophilos, so it seems
probable that for stylistic reasons the source avoids diluting its message by
focusing on Theophilos alone. This is likely because the source’s chronology
is otherwise reliable, despite its late date. Since the martyrs had already been
confined for six years when Kallistos joined them, it follows that he did so in
844/​45, which fits with the date of Karbeas’ defection in 843/​44. As a result,
the narrative places Kallistos’s confrontation with the Paulicians soon after
the latter had broken with the empire and become an independent power.
Taking this context into account, a literal reading suggests that Kallistos’ reli-
gious zeal rather outstripped his common sense, but this is probably a conse-
quence of the stylised nature of the narrative. The Paulicians are little more
than a plot device to place Kallistos among the other martyrs, which compli-
cates our interpretation somewhat. By contemporary norms, we would expect
Kallistos to impose a stiffer punishment than releasing them from his service,

99 Michael, Monk and Synkellos, “De XLII martyribus Amoriensibus,” p. 29.

100 See also Garsoīan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 126–​127.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 267

but, again, this penalty might be impelled by narrative necessity, since in this
scenario the Paulicians still had sufficient freedom to betray him. Nevertheless,
evidence elsewhere suggests that there was some disparity between the theory
and practice of punishment, so this penalty should not be discounted entirely.
A final aspect of the source is undeniably the most interesting: its characterisa-
tion of a Paulician fifth column among Kallistos’ troops at Koloneia. Besides refer-
ences to Karbeas, explicit acknowledgement that Paulician and Roman identities
were contingent and could overlap are absent from our sources. Here, however,
we have a source that claims that Paulicians remained in imperial forces even
after many of their confession had forsaken the empire and aligned themselves
against it, thereby also positing internal tensions within Paulician –​and indeed
Roman –​identity. Since the source notes that these Paulicians were “men of rank,”
it is evident that they had risen high in the military hierarchy and their power
was evidently great enough to successfully seize and betray their master. Critically,
since Kallistos discovered them among his troops, Paulician identity was not self-​
evident at this time, but could be concealed, as the Treatise also suggests. It is
uncomfortable that these emphases arise in a late and somewhat stylised source,
but the underlying trajectory here is eminently believable during Theophilos’
reign, where the Paulicians are invisible during the most notable regional con-
flicts, but were well placed to assert themselves in just a few years’ time. If so,
then they, like the Khurramiyya, may have profited from the military exploits of
the 830s, albeit more indirectly, suggesting that Karbeas was perhaps not such an
exceptional figure. Scattered indications elsewhere corroborate this portrayal and
suggest that, while the Paulicians were not yet a power on the eastern frontier,
their influence was surreptitiously increasing in the area.
The most prominent indicator of this is the Treatise, which shows no
knowledge of Karbeas or his rebellion, but still posits a Paulician presence on
the empire’s eastern periphery. Some caution is necessary here, since much
of this evidence stems from glosses on the Didaskalie or Letters of Sergios by
a Byzantine source, but these glosses are significant in positing continuity
between Karbeas’ era and that which came before. The best example lies in
the geography of the Paulician churches founded by Sergios:

… they call the Church of the Laodicaeans the Argaoutes and they call
the Church of the Ephesians those in Mopsuestia. They call the Church of
the Kolossians the Kynochorites. These three churches, they say, Sergios-​
Tychikos taught.101

101 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 163, pp. 60–​61. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 88.
268  Chapter 5

If we accept that the Treatise was written during Theophilos’ reign, it is

strange to find reference to the Argaoutes, who are surely the inhabitants
of the same Argaous that ‘Amr al-Aqṭa‘ ceded to Karbeas during Theodora’s
regency. The History claims a Paulician presence at Argaous as early as the 810s,
when bands of Sergios’ followers known as the Astatoi and Kynochoritae fled
here after assassinating the provincial officials in charge of persecution. As we
saw in Chapter 1, the History is at its most unreliable and garbled here because
it seeks to explain the transition from the religious face of the Paulicians to the
militaristic one; that is, the period straddling Sergios and Karbeas. As a result of
the evidence adduced there, a date as early as the 810s cannot be substantiated
for a significant Paulician presence near Melitene, yet it seems clear that some
Paulicians were in the area by Theophilos’ reign. The possibility of a Paulician
church at Mopsuestia is even more mystifying because it is wholly unattested
elsewhere and the city remained in Muslim hands throughout our period. As
one of the major settlements in the Emirate of Tarsus, it would seem at first
glance to be a southern counterpart to Argaous or Tephrikē, but since it is dis-
tant from the Kilikian Gates it lacks the strategic location of these sites. In view
of the collaboration between the emirates of Melitene and Tarsus during the
careers of ‘Amr al-Aqṭa‘ and ‘Alī b. Yaḥyā al-​Armanī, the Tarsite emir for much
of our period, the connection is an attractive one, but since the association is
never made by other sources, their presence must have been minor at best.102
Whatever the truth of these two examples, the conclusion still seems clear that
the Paulicians had gravitated to Islamic territories prior to Karbeas’ defection.
As we saw in the previous chapter, Constantine v’s relocations from Melitene
and Theodosiopolis cannot be safely associated with them, but the fact that
Theophanes invoked their name in connection with these places when he
wrote (c.813) shows that their presence in lands to the east of the empire was
already noted at that time. The difficulty lies in articulating the extent of con-
tinuity with Karbeas’ era. Perhaps the best way out of the impasse is to posit
a more indirect connection than the History. As a result of the source’s efforts
to demonise the Paulician didaskaloi, it is convenient for it to position Sergios

102 For much of our period, ‘Alī seems to have held the greater prominence, since he led most
of the summer expeditions during the 850s. When Ja‘far b. Dīnār led the summer expe-
dition in 863, ‘Amr had to request permission for his own raid. See al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​
rusul, vol. 35, trans. George Saliba (Albany, 1985), pp. 9–​10. Al-​Ṭabarī also notes that ‘Amr
asked ‘Alī for a winter expedition in 856/​57. See al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 34, trans.
Joel L. Kraemer (Albany, 1989), p. 147. On ‘Alī, see also Johannes Preiser-​Kapeller, “ʻAlī ibn
Yaḥyā al-​Armanī and the “Armenian Connection” between Bosporus, Tigris and Nile in
the Mid-​9th Century CE,” in Armenia & Byzantium Without Borders, eds. Emilio Bonfiglio,
Claudia Rapp (Vienna, forthcoming).
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 269

as the precursor of Karbeas, Chrysocheir, and their marauding contingents.

Yet Sergios’ own letters reveal that he disavowed violence against the Romans,
whereas the Didaskalie, which he commissioned, has a hostile and undevel-
oped portrayal of Muslims that suggests that an Islamic alliance was far from
his thoughts. The History resolves these tensions by having Sergios rejoin his
followers in Argaous after they set up station there, but I prefer an alternative
solution, which would see a low-​level Paulician presence in the area for much
of our period that only became significant after Karbeas’ flight.
In summary, the evidence for Paulicians in Theophilos’ reign is contra-
dictory and difficult to interpret. On the one hand, they were still subject to
punishment for their beliefs, but there are indications that this was not sys-
tematically enforced throughout the reign. While evidence for them as an
armed force is limited, whether operating independently or subordinated to
other powers, the military context of the period seems conducive to the mar-
tial talents for which they would subsequently be famed. Furthermore, even if
Karbeas’ defection from the empire marks a new era, some continuity may lay
behind both his presence in the Roman army and the Paulician presence along
the Anti-​Taurus. When all of the above is taken into account, the most con-
vincing way to reconcile the contradictions is to posit that in a period where
Byzantine-​Islamic warfare was at its fiercest, internal differentiations within
empire and caliphate receded in significance in comparison with external
threats. In short, Byzantines and perhaps also Muslims were less concerned
with identifying Paulicians, with the result that they could more easily position
themselves within other identity categories.
In part, this process may have been driven by developments among the
Paulicians themselves. Earlier Roman persecution had led them to practice
their beliefs underground, thereby making them less distinct from other pro-
vincial Roman identities. During the fraught context of the 830s this seems to
have worked to their advantage, aiding their infiltration of the army, which
allowed them to gain status and resources while shielding themselves from
harm. We saw in the previous chapter that subsistence patterns are often
adopted tactically and in this period it seems to have been most profitable for
more martial Paulicians to subsume themselves within the armies of the great
powers in an era where a heightened military presence made low-​level brig-
andage more risky. This process might have been tolerated or encouraged by
Byzantine officials as a matter of expediency. If the above is accepted, then
some tentative propositions can be made about persecution in Theophilos’
reign. It seems unlikely that it was ever routinely enforced as a matter of pol-
icy and may have been driven by the zeal of local authorities, especially in
places or periods where the Islamic threat was minimal. Significant measures
270  Chapter 5

were probably not taken in the eastern themata, such as the Anatolikon and
Armeniakon, both because these suffered most from Islamic raids and because
they had the greatest concentration of Paulicians. In times of warfare espe-
cially, the authorities presumably turned a blind eye to the presence of heretics
in the army, or may have even conscripted them with the tacit understanding
that their beliefs would not be subject to censure and, if so, their presence
in imperial networks may have contributed to the growth of the movement.
Much of this is admittedly conjectural, but dynamics of this kind best recon-
cile the comparative silence of our sources with the fact that the Paulicians
would soon be able to defy the empire altogether.
Before examining Theodora’s regency, a final event merits attention in
Theophilos’ reign: the death of the didaskalos Sergios-​Tychikos in 6343 Anno
Mundi (i.e. 834/​35).103 According to the always questionable witness of Peter
of Sicily, while chopping trees into planks in the vicinity of Argaous, Sergios
was set upon by one Tzanion, an inhabitant of the obscure locale Kastellon
of Nikopolis, who seized the axe from his hands and struck him down.104
Tzanion’s affiliation and motives are not given, which makes it difficult to
explain the supposed massacre of Baaniotes by Sergiotes after the deed. At
any rate, the History tells us that thereafter the Paulicians at Argaous ceased to
have a single didaskalos and were instead led by the synekdemoi of Sergios.105
What became of Baanes and his followers is never stated. There is much to be
suspicious of in all of this. Aside from the issues that are generic to the History,
there are indications that the rivalry between the Sergiotes and Baaniotes has
distorted the narrative. The difficulties are exacerbated by the total absence of
the didaskaloi, the synekdemoi, and their ilk from any of our later sources. As a
result, I would advocate some scepticism about most of these events, including
the circumstances of Sergios’ death. From this point onward, the testimony of
our Paulician sources gives out entirely, so any potential development in their
beliefs is impossible to trace. All we know of the later synekdemoi stems from
Peter of Sicily, who tells us little except that they were resident at Argaous and

103 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 179–​181, pp. 64–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 90–​91.
104 Kastellon of Nikopolis was presumably a fortified centre near Nikopolis, a town located
to the west of Koloneia. See Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 74–​75; Abjuration Formula 1, ed. and
trans. Jean Gouillard, Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), pp. 194–​195, l. 57. English transla-
tion: Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds. Bernard Hamilton,
Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), p. 105.
105 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 182–​183, pp. 66–​67. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 91.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 271

Tephrikē.106 Considering the eventful history of the Paulicians along the Anti-​
Taurus, it seems highly unlikely that their religious worldview did not change,
but we lack the ability to trace this. The age of the didaskaloi was at an end.

5 The Persecutions of Theodora

The death of Theophilos in January 842 did not occur at a propitious time for
dynastic stability: his son Michael iii was only two years old.107 The day-​to-​day
governance of the empire fell to Theophilos’ widow Theodora and, in particu-
lar, the eunuch and logothete Theoktistos, who soon became the dominant fig-
ure of the regency. This partnership is best known nowadays for the Triumph
of Orthodoxy in March 843, which instituted the devotion of icons once and
for all, notwithstanding the occasional rumbling of iconoclast discontent later
in the century. The iconoclast patriarch John the Grammarian was deposed,
but the recently expired Theophilos escaped condemnation through his wife’s
entreaties.108 Soon afterward, the new patriarch Methodios took action against
an obscure heresy in Constantinople led by the protoasekretes Lizix or Zelix
(the name is variously spelt).109 Our surviving accounts of this affair are brief
but similar, thereby suggesting mutual dependence.110 Both Genesios and
the Continuator tell us nothing about what the heresy entailed, but they do
note the swift conversion of its adherents and their admittance to the ortho-
dox communion.111 Lizix and the Lizikians, his followers, have traditionally
been equated with Paulicians, largely due to a fragment preserved in Niketas
Choniates’ Treasury of the Orthodox Faith, but Gouillard has instead suggested
that Lizix was actually a high-​ranking iconoclast, who may even have been

106 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 187–​188, pp. 66–​67. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 92.
107 Cyril Mango, “When Was Michael III Born?,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 21 (1967), pp. 235–​258.
108 Brubaker, Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–​850: A History, pp. 447–​452.
109 Lizix is the preferred name of Methodios and Gregory Asbestas. Zelix is given by Genesios
and the Continuator, who specify his rank as protoasekretes, whereas Asbestas only places
him among the asekretes with no further precisions given.
110 Jean Gouillard, “Deux figures mal connues du second iconoclasm,” Byzantion 31:2 (1961),
pp. 372–​374.
111 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:12, pp. 230–​
231; Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:6, p. 60. Translation: On the Reigns of
the Emperors, p. 77.
272  Chapter 5

touted as a future patriarch.112 The fragment of Choniates ultimately derives

from the now lost Vita Methodi by Gregory Asbestas, Archbishop of Syracuse,
which significantly deems Lizix a Manichaean:

One must know that, as Gregory, archbishop of Sicily (who com-

posed the life of our father among the saints, Methodios, Patriarch of
Constantinople), says, in the reign of Michael and Theodora his mother,
there was a certain asekretis, whose name was Lizix, who believed in the
doctrines of the Manichaeans. He considered veneration of the cross
foolish and, naming our Lord and God Jesus Christ a creature, he said
that his all-​holy mother was not the Mother of God. What is more, he
derided the awe-​inspiring and divine mystery of communion. Many
others followed him and hence the heresy of the so-​called Lizikians was
founded. The holy Methodios thereupon persuaded this man to convert
to the orthodox faith and through him also persuaded the others. Having
prepared a feast day to triumph over their heresy, he anointed them with
holy myrrh and adorned them in baptismal white and, as they held their
torches, he reconciled them with the orthodox.113

The doctrines which the source ascribes to these heretics line up well with the
nearly contemporary Treatise, so at first the Paulician identification appears
convincing, but a fourth source, which is not related to any of the above,
undermines this. Specifically, a series of anti-​iconoclast odes by the patriarch
Methodios himself characterise the heretic he converted as one of the most
notorious iconoclasts of the day, even being numbered among the patriarchs
of the second iconomachy. Parts of the fifth ode, which is devoted specifically
to Lizix, are worth noting here:

The Spirit halts the verbose blasphemy of Lizix, his incessant babbling
day after day against the divine form of Christ and the saints.

Why, thrice-​wretched man, do you hate the immaculate embodiment of

the incarnation of Christ and all the saints? Or do the faithful venerate
vacant idols?

112 Gouillard, “Deux figures,” pp. 371–​387. For Lizix as a Paulician, see Loos, “Le mouvement
paulicien,” p. 281, n. 111; Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 34; 179–​180. Lemerle does not dis-
cuss Lizix.
113 Niketas Choniates, Thesaurus orthodoxae fidei, Patrologia Graeca 140, col. 281–​284.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 273

Since the instruments of impiety were about, they gathered a coun-

cil of impious priests against the God on high, like the Jews Annas and
Caiaphas before.

On the day of judgement, wretch, there will be reproaches for your god-
less soul from the assembly of the fathers, whose flesh you stripped with
blows beyond measure.

All the churches call out, the churches which were robbed by you acclaim
the holy icons in the form of the Lord and his saints.114

Besides being an opponent of the icons, Lizix appears also to have been an
agitator of note who oppressed iconophiles and perhaps also contributed to
the development of iconoclast doctrine, depending on how we interpret the
obscurely phrased council. On this point at least, the ode fits well with the
fragment of Asbestas, which intimates that his followers were as much a con-
cern as he was. On the other hand, Lizix’s heresy is conceived very differently
by both sources. The traits described in Choniates’ paraphrase of Asbestas are
what we would expect of Paulicians at the time and cannot be easily recon-
ciled with the iconoclast emphasis of Methodios.
The neatest way of resolving this conundrum would be to posit that Lizix
was both an iconoclast and a Paulician, but this is not entirely convincing
since, as we have seen, there is little evidence that the two movements inter-
sected outside polemical strands of iconodule propaganda. It seems unlikely,
for instance, that any Paulician sympathies on Lizix’s part would effectively
be given a slap on the wrist so close to a draconian crackdown on the her-
esy. All things considered, I am inclined to follow Gouillard in downplaying
the Paulician link in favour of the iconoclast one, but, even so, unanswered
questions remain. Lizix’s penance for readmission is harsher than that of other
iconoclasts, although far less severe than the violence to which Paulicians were
subjected at the time. If iconoclasm was his only point of deviance, he must
have been one of its most extreme exponents, thereby suggesting that he may
have been among the most recalcitrant iconoclasts until his reconciliation, as
Gouillard suggests.115 Perhaps the point of significance was not his beliefs at all,
but rather the occasion. Both Genesios and the Continuator place Lizix’s rec-
onciliation immediately after the restoration of icon worship and the former

1 14 Methodios, Canones in adorationem crucis, Patrologia Graeca 99, col. 1771D-​1774C.

115 Gouillard, “Deux figures,” pp. 384–​387.
274  Chapter 5

specifies that the event occurred in Hagia Sophia on a feast day.116 The event
may well have been staged as the conversion of the most militant members
of the iconoclast faction. At any rate, it seems that Lizix’s heresy was either
difficult to characterise, or its substance became confused in the works of later
writers. Asbestas’ description is perhaps indebted to the subsequent notoriety
of the Paulicians, but, given the difficulties, the precise nature of Lizix’s devi-
ance must remain an open question.117
Although little else is certain, the connection between the Lizix affair and
the restoration of the icons seems beyond reproach. The latter event is also
without doubt connected to the persecution of the Paulicians under Theodora,
but the exact relationship is unclear because we lack the variety of testimony
that contextualises Michael i’s initiatives a generation before. Dating the per-
secution is not entirely straightforward. Our only detailed account, that of
the Continuator, has the persecution follow a description of Khan Boris of
Bulgaria’s (852–​889) dealings with the empire during the 850s and 860s, which
he then causally links to the persecution.118 This is obviously inadmissible. The
only temporal marker that allows us to situate these events is the betrayal of
Kallistos to Karbeas in variant Γ of the 42 Martyrs of Amorion, which places
Karbeas in Islamic territories prior to the martyrs’ execution in 845, thereby
suggesting that the persecution began in 843/​44, that is, very shortly after the
resumption of iconoclasm.119 As we shall see in the following chapter, this date
fits convincingly with contemporary events. It can also be reconciled with the
Continuator’s account since, if he integrated the material concerning Boris into
an already existing account, the persecutions would immediately follow the
iconophiles’ triumph and the conversion of Lizix. The Continuator’s account
segues into Karbeas’ flight and insurrection, which we shall leave aside here
and discuss in the following chapter:

116 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:12, pp. 230–​
231; Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:6, p. 60. Translation: On the Reigns of
the Emperors, p. 77.
117 Gouillard, “Deux figures,” pp. 377–​379.
118 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4.13–​15,
pp. 230–​235.
119 As the passage quoted earlier in the chapter shows, version Γ places the betrayal of
Kallistos six years after the sack of Amorion. Despite this, it erroneously considers these
events to have occurred during the reign of Theophilos. It seems to be for this reason that
Grégoire thought that the persecution of the Paulicians preceded the restoration of icon
veneration. See Henri Grégoire, “Communication sur les Pauliciens,” Atti del V Congreso
Internazionale di Studi Bizantini, vol. 1 (Rome, 1939), p. 177.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 275

Thus affairs in the west proceeded in a splendid way and were the com-
mon talk everywhere. The empress rejoiced in this, and as if desiring to
set up a greater trophy, she made an attempt also on the Paulicians in the
east, either to convert them to piety, as she wished, or else to do away with
and wipe them out from mankind; and this brought many evils upon our
land. For she sent certain men of rank with authority –​those dispatched
were called the son of Argyros, the son of Doux and Soudales –​and they
hung some Paulicians on the furca, others they gave over to the sword
and yet others to the depths of the sea. The host thus destroyed num-
bered some hundred thousand, and their property was given over and
paid into the imperial treasury.120

Several differences distinguish this persecution from that undertaken three

decades beforehand. Most obviously, in this case only the Paulicians are tar-
geted. Secondly, while Theophanes endorsed the earlier persecutions, the
Continuator interprets Theodora’s persecution as a disaster for the empire.
Later Roman authors, such as Skylitzes and Zonaras, mirrored this judgement,
but, unfortunately, we lack evidence for how contemporary Byzantines inter-
preted it.121 Whether the persecution was as indiscriminate as the passage sug-
gests is debatable. While the possibility of conversion is noted as Theodora’s
preferred outcome, the narrative never mentions any attempts to this end
and instead goes on to detail the variety of execution methods her officials
used, placing especial emphasis on the number of the slain. Skylitzes and
Zonaras, both of whom follow the Continuator slavishly, attribute most of the
blame to the misplaced zeal of Theodora’s officials rather than the empress
herself, but this generous view seems to arise from Theodora’s restoration of
the icons, which typically meant she received a favourable report from pos-
terity. It is interesting that our sources place so much emphasis on Theodora.
Her principal adviser Theoktistos is frequently slandered by later historians,
including the Continuator, who blame him, often with little justification, for
any of the empire’s setbacks during these years. It would be unsurprising to see
this sorry affair blotting his copybook, yet Theodora’s association has endured.

120 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:16,

pp. 236–​237.
121 John Skylitzes, Ioannis Scylitzae synopsis historiarum, 8, ed. Hans P. Thurn (Berlin/​
New York, 1973), p. 92, l. 9–​10. English translation: John Skylitzes: A Synopsis of Byzantine
History, 811–​1057, ed. and trans. John Wortley (Cambridge, 2010), p. 92; John Zonaras,
Ioannis Zonarae epitome historiarum, 16:2, ed. Ludwig A. Dindorf, 5 vols, vol. 4 (Leipzig,
1871), p. 6.
276  Chapter 5

Even if she were the primary instigator of the affair, it seems inconceivable
that the regency council did not sanction it, presumably with some measure of
violence intended from the outset. It may simply have been a case of systemat-
ically enforcing the death penalty which seems to have lapsed under her hus-
band and his father.
Our understanding of the persecution is enriched by the Vita Eustratii, a life
of Eustratios the Wonderworker, a monk who resided on the southern shore
of the Propontis from the reign of Michael i until Basil i. The Vita includes an
interesting episode in which Eustratios intercedes for a meizoteros who is falsely
accused of being a Manichaean during the rule of Theodora and Michael.122
This meizoteros inadvertently slighted a Manichaean who had begged for alms
at his house and when the Manichaean was subsequently apprehended, he got
revenge by naming the meizoteros as a fellow initiate.123 His wife and daughter
then entreated the saint, who miraculously appeared to the meizoteros in his
cell, telling him he would be released after the lenient punishment of twenty
lashes.124 As with many hagiographies of our period, although the events
recounted are doubtful, the depictions of day-​to-​day life are valuable in that
they allow us to see attitudes and social ties which rarely manifest themselves
in our historical sources. In this case, the Vita implies that some who were
identified as Manichaeans were unjustly accused and that punishments were
usually as severe as the Continuator implies, since it is implied that only super-
natural intervention saved the meizoteros from a graver fate. There is a danger
of reading too much into the source, but it seems that even the orthodox did
not consider themselves safe from punishment if they fell under suspicion.
The very fact that recourse to the intercession of a holy man is presented as the
logical option may speak volumes about provincial distrust for the authorities
in situations like these.
In a more general sense, this episode is valuable because it gives us further
hints about how the machinery of persecution operated. The Continuator’s
account is frustratingly vague in this regard, perhaps not surprisingly given
that he wrote a century afterward. From the little we can discern, it would

122 A meizoteros is a civil administrator. The office is attested largely on seals. See, for instance,
Nicolas Oikonomidès, Les listes de préséance byzantines des 9. et 10. siècles: introduction,
texte, traduction et commentaire (Paris, 1972), p. 317, n. 177; Friedhelm Winkelmann,
Byzantinische Rang und Ämterstruktur im 8. und 9. Jahrhundert (Berlin, 1985), pp. 50;
58; 123.
123 Note that this portrayal seems rather close to conventional Manichaeism. I am unaware
of references to Paulicians begging elsewhere.
124 Vita Eustratii, 22, ed. Athanasios Papadopoulos-​Kerameus, in Ἀνάλεκτα τῆς ἱεροσολυμιτικῆς
σταχυολογίας, 4 (Jerusalem, 1897), pp. 382–​383. See also Ludwig, “The Paulicians,” p. 30.
Paulicians in the Face of Persecution 277

seem that the theory and practice of punishment did not always align, since
a variety of punishments and methods of execution were used. The dispatch
of imperial officials to oversee the affair implies that some amount of cen-
tral coordination was involved, but this was probably limited. Skylitzes goes
beyond the Continuator by specifying the forenames of the officials involved,
but his precisions are not entirely accurate.125 In any case, those responsible
presumably coopted the machinery of local administration, including its coer-
cive apparatus, in order to fulfil their commission. Much like the persecutions
some thirty years earlier, great emphasis is placed on the intensity of the affair,
even if the figure of a hundred thousand victims is certainly inflated, either
from simple exaggeration or to emphasise how disastrous the fallout was for
the empire. Although the Continuator implies that the brunt of the measures
were aimed at the area here known as “the east” (presumably corresponding to
the Anatolikon, the Armeniakon, the Charsianon, and Kappadokia), the Vita
Eustratii’s account implies that a similar approach was used elsewhere, albeit
perhaps on a smaller scale. The identification strategies it posits suggest that
the approach of Byzantine authorities was far from foolproof, but we lack suffi-
cient evidence to corroborate this, largely because our sources hereafter focus
on the conflict between Byzantines and Paulicians to the detriment of all else.
Karbeas’ rebellion marked the beginning of a new era between the two, when
many Paulicians lay beyond the reach of the Roman executioner’s hand and
were often poised to strike back themselves.
125 Skylitzes inferred the forenames from Theophanes Continuatus vi, sometimes correctly,
sometimes not. See Demetrios I. Polemis, “Some Cases of Erroneous Identification in the
Chronicle of Skylitzes,” Byzantinoslavica 26 (1965), pp. 75–​76; Skylitzes, Ioannis Scylitzae
synopsis historiarum, 8, p. 92, l. 11–​12. Translation: John Skylitzes: A Synopsis of Byzantine
History, p. 92.
 ­c hapter 6

Paulicians at Arms: The Islamic Alliance and

Warfare against the Byzantines c.845–​880

Few movements in history have transformed from a persecuted minority into

a militarised force that would confront their former oppressors on the battle-
field. Even fewer have done so as swiftly as the Paulicians, although the speed
of this transition is understandable considering that martial reprisals had long
been part of their arsenal. Still, the rapid changes of fortune which mark this
chapter continually surprise. With the aid of ‘Amr al-​Aqṭa‘, Karbeas installed
himself at Amara and Argaous on the Anti-​Taurus Mountains in the aftermath
of Theodora’s persecutions, inaugurating an alliance that prospered sufficiently
for the foundation of a new base at Tephrikē within a decade or so. This site
proved an even greater threat to the Byzantines and would allow Chrysocheir’s
bravado to reach uncharted heights at the beginning of Basil i’s reign, only a
few years after the demise of Karbeas and ‘Amr. This newfound defiance would
not survive Chrysocheir’s fall in flight at the battle of Bathyryax; although
Tephrikē resisted for another few years, its threat was irreversibly diminished.
In total, the Paulicians’ apogee lasted only three and a half decades, a period
characterised by its reverses as well as its successes, most of which mirrored
the fortunes of their allies and enemies.
While all of this is well known, the extent of their imprint on the eastern
frontier remains clouded in misconceptions. Most pervasive of all is the hyper-
bolic formulation of a Paulician state; a phrasing which implies a degree of
political integration and ideological sophistication that is alien to the frag-
mented and heterogeneously populated frontier zone. The territorial extent
of Paulician control was meagre at its greatest; hugging the twin lines of the
Euphrates and Anti-​Taurus Mountains, it barely extended further than Tephrikē
in the north or Taranta in the south. Many of the settlements under its aegis,
such as Lokana and Katabatala, are so obscure that modern geographers have
despaired of locating them. Little is known of the social, cultural, or ethnic
character of the area, but the limited testimony we do possess conveys some-
thing politically nebulous; a zone of weak ties and shifting loyalties, peopled
by inhabitants who in various contexts might be termed Agarenes, Armenians,
Romans, or Manichaeans. Wherever possible, this chapter will undercut the
notion of a Paulician state, but it will increasingly focus on politico-​military
matters in preference to the socio-​religious approach favoured thus far, for the

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2022 | DOI:10.1163/9789004517080_008

Paulicians at Arms 279

simple reason that our sources are now entirely Byzantine or Islamic in charac-
ter, with no Paulician testimony to counterbalance them. The greatest casualty
of this is the religious dimension. Besides generic allegations of Manichaeism,
the faith of the Paulicians now disappears from our view, as do the contested
expressions of confessional identity that characterise the early years of the
9th century. In place of the didaskaloi a series of military leaders emerge, pos-
ing a new range of questions. Foremost among these are the extent of Islamic
involvement in the fledgling raiding centres, the ethnic and religious compo-
sition of the area, and the role of Karbeas and Chrysocheir in regional politi-
cal developments. Mapping the Paulicians’ martial exploits onto the military
history of the period will also be a persistent concern, largely due to disagree-
ments and lacunae in our sources regarding the dates, itineraries, and even
the outcomes of engagements. Our main sources (Genesios, the Continuator,
Symeon the Logothete, al-​Ṭabarī, and al-​Mas‘ūdī) all wrote in the 10th century,
and although their use of contemporary sources often illuminates, their dis-
agreements cannot always be easily reconciled. These difficulties are exempli-
fied at the outset in the case of Karbeas’ alliance with the Emirate of Melitene,
which was more closely entwined with the fortunes of Roman-​Islamic warfare
than might initially appear.

1 The Battle of Mauropotamos and the Paulician-​Islamic Alliance

The only noteworthy account of Karbeas’ flight that remains to us is that of the
Continuator. Genesios does not describe the origins of the Paulician threat to
the empire, whereas the History of the Paulicians obfuscates Karbeas’ origins,
noting only that he appeared at their head at an indeterminate point after the
death of Sergios.1 The Continuator’s account has its limitations, since it com-
presses a series of events which occurred over several decades into a single
narrative, but its ambiguities can be unpicked to some degree with the aid of
other sources:2

1 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 184–​185, ed. Denise Papachryssanthou, trans.
Jean Gouillard, Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), pp. 66–​67. English translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds. Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton
(Manchester, 1998), pp. 91–​92.
2 Paul Lemerle, “L’histoire des Pauliciens d’Asie Mineure d’après les sources grecques,” Travaux
et mémoires 5 (1973), pp. 88–​90.
280  Chapter 6

Now, amongst the servitors of the general of the Anatoliacs –​this was
Theodotos of the family of Melissenos –​there was a certain man by the
name of Karbeas who held the office of protomandator and who prided
himself and exulted in the faith of these aforesaid Paulicians. When he
heard that his own father had been hung on the furca, he considered this
the most terrible of things and, taking thought for his own life, he fled as
a refugee3 together with another five thousand adherents of this heresy
to Amer who then occupied Melitene, and from there they went to the
ameramnounes4 and were received with great honour. And having given
and likewise received guarantees, they soon set out against the land of
the Romans; and on account of their victories, when their numbers had
increased, they endeavoured to found cities for themselves, one called
Argaoun, < and also Amara>. And again, after many who held fast to
the same wickedness had streamed in there, they undertook to found
another, calling it Tephrike. Setting out from these cities and assembling
together, Amer of Melitene, whom the vulgar, somehow jumbling the let-
ters, called Ambros, and Ales of Tarsus and also the wretched Karbeas,
were unrelenting in their wilful devastation of the land of the Romans.
But Ales, who was dispatched as ruler of some country of the Armenians,
ended his life there sooner than he planned together with his ill-​suited
army, and Amer stood in civil war against his joint ruler –​who was called
the son of Skleros –​and overcome by rivalry he thought it necessary to
make war on him rather than others. The strife between them increased
and they made war on each other to such an extent that from some-
what more than fifty thousand scarcely ten thousand men remained
of their forces. When, therefore, Amer had overcome his enemies, he
decided again with arrogance to take command and wage war against
the Romans, joining forces with Karbeas. Against them Petronas took the
field, who then exercised the office of domestikos. Officially, Bardas had
been charged to perform this function, but because as imperial guardian
he could not, of necessity, spare the time, he asked his brother, who was
general of the Thrakesian theme, to direct and manage it in practice.5

3 Φυγάς. Deserter is another possible translation.

4 The name for the caliph in Greek sources. In this case, it is al-​Wāthiq (842–​847).
5 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati nomine fer-
tur Libri I-​IV, 4:16, eds. J. Michael Featherstone, Juan Signes Codoñer (Boston/​Berlin, 2015),
pp. 236–​239.
Paulicians at Arms 281

The basic outline of Paulician history given by this passage is relatively clear
and coherent: Karbeas fled the empire, allied himself with ‘Amr al-Aqṭa‘ and
received Argaous and Amara from him. When the numbers of his followers
had swelled, he founded Tephrikē. This is all straightforward. The issues arise
when the Continuator turns to Islamic affairs. His account implies that ‘Alī
b. Yaḥyā al-​Armanī died while ‘Amr was squabbling with the son of Skleros,
but in fact ‘Amr died shortly before ‘Alī, both at the hands of Petronas’ forces in
863. It is only after ‘Alī’s death that the Continuator implies ‘Amr and Karbeas
turned their attention to the empire, but they actually did so in the 850s at the
latest. As a result, the latter half of the passage is certainly confused. This is
rather unfortunate since it undermines our ability to make sense of the other-
wise unknown conflict between ‘Amr and the son of Skleros. J. Eric Cooper and
Michael Decker have identified the latter f­ igure –​and the Skleroi more gener-
ally –​as Paulicians, but this hypothesis seems unfounded, as the Continuator
does not relate Karbeas and his followers to this conflict, thereby implying that
their faith was in no way a factor.6 The clash perhaps took place during the late
840s or early 850s, when ‘Amr’s campaigning was limited, thereby suggesting
that he was occupied elsewhere. That the affair is so little understood is dis-
appointing, since it indicates that Karbeas was not ‘Amr’s only client, thereby
raising the possibility that the latter attempted to counterbalance his protégés
in some way.
Undoubtedly, however, the main point of interest is Karbeas’ defection,
since there are strong indications that his flight did not occur in the manner
that the Continuator describes. Specifically, since ‘Amr raided Asia Minor soon
after Theodora’s persecution, it appears that Karbeas did not flee to Melitene,
but that he deserted and joined with ‘Amr’s army while it was still campaigning
through Byzantine territory. The exact course of events remains conjectural,
but it is clear that Roman defectors flocked to ‘Amr during some stages of the
raid and, as a result of his greater prominence, it seems likely that Karbeas was
among the first of these. The campaign itself was something of a watershed
marking changes in regional norms of military strategy and, even more so, the
erosion of caliphal power. Despite being first attested in 838, ‘Amr’s star was
on the rise beforehand, largely due to his high standing with al-​Mu‘taṣim.7 As
we saw in the previous chapter, in the caliph’s ambitious Amorion campaign

6 J. Eric Cooper, Michael J. Decker, Life and Society in Byzantine Cappadocia (Basingstoke, 2012),
p. 233.
7 Bernd A. Vest, Geschichte der Stadt Melitene und der umliegenden Gebiete: vom Vorabend der
arabischen bis zum Abschluß der türkischen Eroberung (um 600–​1124), vol. 2 (Hamburg, 2007),
pp. 663–​664.
282  Chapter 6

‘Amr served under al-​Afshīn and participated in the crucial victory over
Theophilos at Anzes. At this time he was still a comparatively minor player,
but this changed with a reorientation of Islamic raiding patterns that placed
more emphasis on local commanders, as opposed to the increasingly seden-
tary caliphs. Al-​Mu‘taṣim himself was a military man, but the same was not
true of al-​Wāthiq or al-​Mutawakkil, both of whom nevertheless retained a
hold on affairs of state. The same was not true of their immediate successors,
who were most concerned with self-​preservation amid the court intrigues of
Sāmarrā, where the all-​powerful Turkish military elite often dispensed with
them at will.8 Hence, for most of their careers ‘Amr and ‘Alī b. Yaḥyā al-​Armanī
held a level of freedom and authority that would have been unthinkable in
earlier decades.9
‘Amr’s raid of 844 is his first attested campaign against the empire, which
was most probably an opportunistic venture designed to test Romanía’s
defences after the death of the militarily experienced Theophilos.10 The raid
culminated in a victory over Theodora’s principal adviser Theoktistos at the
battle of Mauropotamos, whose generic name (literally, black river) has com-
plicated locating the site. In light of the account offered here, the encounter
probably took place in Bithynia.11 Our most notable account of the battle, that
of Symeon the Logothete, does not mention ‘Amr’s route.12 It is possible that it
was similar to that he used in 863, when he marched north through Sebastaia
towards Amaseia and Amisos, in which case he would then have proceeded

8 Hugh N. Kennedy, The Prophet and the Age of the Caliphates: The Islamic Near East from the
Sixth to the Eleventh Century, 3rd ed. (Abingdon, 2016), pp. 142–​150; Matthew S. Gordon,
The Breaking of a Thousand Swords: A History of the Turkish Military of Samarra (A.H. 200-​
275/​815-​889 C.E.) (Albany, 2001), pp. 75–​140.
9 Peter von Sivers, “Taxes and Trade in the ‘Abbāsid Thughūr, 750-​962/​133-​351,” Journal of the
Economic and Social History of the Orient 25:1 (1982), pp. 86–​88.
10 Vasiliev equates ‘Amr’s campaign with one conducted by a certain Abu Sa’id, as described
in the poems of Abū Tammām and Buḥturī. See Alexander A. Vasiliev, Byzance et les
Arabes: T.1 La dynastie d’Amorium (820–​867), trans. Henri Grégoire, Marius Canard
(Brussels, 1935), p. 196 n. 1; pp. 400–​404.
11 Other locations have been proposed, notably in Kappadokia. Both Lemerle and Treadgold
prefer Bithynia. Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 90–​91; Warren T. Treadgold, A History of the
Byzantine State and Society (Stanford, 1997), p. 943, n. 3. There is also some debate as
to whether the battle site refers to a river or a town. See John Bagnell Bury, A History
of the Eastern Roman Empire: From the Fall of Irene to the Accession of Basil I (A.D. 802–​
867) (London, 1912), p. 274, n. 4; Vasiliev, Byzance et les Arabes: T.1 La dynastie d’Amorium,
pp. 196–​197, especially n. 2.
12 A substantially identical account is found in redaction A of the Continuator of George the
Monk. See George the Monk Continuatus, 5, Theophanes continuatus, Ioannes Caminiata,
Symeon Magister, Georgius monachus, ed. Immanuel Bekker (Bonn, 1838), pp. 814–​815.
Paulicians at Arms 283

westward until he encountered Theoktistos in Bithynia, but other routes are

eminently possible.13 It is unlikely that he came close to the Anatolikon, but it
nevertheless seems that Karbeas defected to him during the westward advance,
even though desertions also occurred at Mauropotamos itself. Symeon pref-
aces his account of the fighting with a description of Theoktistos’ campaign in
Crete, which I have included here for reasons that will become apparent:

[Theodora] sent Theoktistos the logothete against Crete, who, after depart-
ing with a great host and exceedingly large provisions, terrified the Agarenes,
who were still incapable of contending with his army. But he was even
more terrified than them and embraced flight when he understood that
[Theodora] was to choose another emperor. This matter astounded him,
so with the connivance of the Saracens and by bribing those with him, the
affair persuaded him to return to the city and leave the army to perform
martial deeds against those in Crete. In this way after making a bad impres-
sion in Crete he returned from there seeming worse and even more unlucky.

For at that time Amer had already marched out against Romanía and
was plundering and destroying all the land under his feet. Again, it was
the same Theoktistos, the most faithful and reliable, that Theodora and
Michael sent out with great power against Amer. And this man, after
marching forth and making war against Amer, was defeated and over-
thrown at the so-​called Mauropotamos, at which many were killed and
some deserted to Amer as a result of the harshness and onerousness of
the logothete. Among these was one Theophanes Pharganos, who was
distinguished from the many by his strength and bravery. At some later
time, he defected to the Christians, having taken a promise of safety.14

Leaving aside the matter of Karbeas’ defection momentarily, the key to

contextualising this passage is Theoktistos, who is calumniated by many
sources, including Symeon and the Continuator.15 Although Symeon explains
Theoktistos’ return to the capital by his paranoia that Theodora would
choose a new emperor and undercut his position, this hardly explains why

13 See Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:25,

pp. 254–​256; Vest, Melitene, vol. 2, p. 690.
14 Symeon the Logothete, Symeonis Magistri et Logothetae chronicon, 131:3–​4, ed. Staffan
Wahlgren (Berlin/​New York, 2006), pp. 232–​233.
15 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:39,
pp. 286–​289.
284  Chapter 6

he immediately left the city upon his return. The real reason why he made
such haste across the Aegean is obvious: to meet the impending threat of
‘Amr’s army, which had already begun plundering Romanía. Theoktistos’ recall
implies that there was no concerted resistance on the part of the armies of
the eastern themata, which is most comprehensible if Karbeas, whose loyalty
to the empire had evaporated after the execution of his father, had defected
in the course of ‘Amr’s march. While it is possible that Karbeas was among
the defectors at Mauropotamos itself, it makes most sense to propose that
he was among the first to turn his coat, since this would best explain why he
enjoyed consistently high favour with ‘Amr, despite his relatively low rank. The
Continuator notes that both travelled to Sāmarrā and were received with great
honour by al-​Wāthiq, which seems much more fitting in light of a victory over
the empress’s most powerful adviser rather than a simple defection.
Further evidence that Karbeas’ role was out of the ordinary is provided
by al-​Mas‘ūdī’s Kitāb al-​Tanbīh wa al-​ishrāf (The Book of Notification and
Verification), which notes that he became a mawlā of the family of Ṭāhir b. al-​
Ḥusayn.16 Mawlā status attached a non-​Arab client to an Arab patron, whose
reputation and prestige enhanced the client’s ability to participate in Islamic
society.17 In Karbeas’ case, his patron stemmed from one of the most promi-
nent contemporary Muslim families. At the beginning of the 9th century, Ṭāhir
b. al-​Ḥusayn had founded a dynasty which ruled Khurāsān more or less auton-
omously of the caliphate, while another branch of the family remained in the
west. At the time, this western offshoot was headed by Isḥāq b. Ibrāhīm, who
served four caliphs with distinction in his role as chief of security in Baghdād.
It seems most likely that a member of this second branch of the family acted
as Karbeas’ sponsor, since the former capital lay not far downstream from
Sāmarrā.18 As in the cases of Theophobos and Thomas the Slav, it is unclear
whether Karbeas was required to convert, but the fact that al-​Mas‘ūdī con-
siders Paulician identity distinct in the relevant passage suggests not, as does
the intriguing fact that he consistently describes Karbeas as a patriarch in

16 al-​Mas‘ūdī, Maçoudi: Le livre de l’avertissement et de la revision, ed. and trans. Bernard

Carra de Vaux (Paris, 1896), p. 248. See also Vest, Geschichte der Stadt Melitene, vol. 2,
p. 681. He is stated to be a mawla of Ṭāhir himself in both Ahmad Nazmi, “The Paulicians
(Al-​Bayāliqa) in Muslim Sources and Their Role in Wars between Arabs and Byzantines,”
Studia Arabistyczne i Islamistyczne 9 (2001), p. 53 and Alexander Asa Eger, The Islamic-​
Byzantine Frontier: Interaction and Exchange among Muslim and Christian Communities
(London, 2014), p. 290.
17 On mawālī, see the useful collection of studies in Monique Bernards, John A. Nawas, eds.,
Patronate and Patronage in Early and Classical Islam (Leiden, 2005).
18 Kennedy, The Prophet and the Age of the Caliphates, pp. 139–​140.
Paulicians at Arms 285

both the Murūj and Tanbīh.19 In fact, our Muslim sources invariably portray
Paulicians as Christians who differed from Romans in some matters of faith,
thereby implying that no systematic attempts at conversion were made.20
Nevertheless, considerable efforts were devoted to making Karbeas a loyal and
effective Muslim client. The most obvious indication of this is ‘Amr’s bestowal
of Argaous and Amara upon him. As we saw in the previous chapter, the pos-
sibility of a more longstanding Paulician presence in the vicinity of the for-
mer cannot be discounted, but the alliance opened a new phase for the site.
With all of the above taken into consideration, it seems evident that Karbeas
was held in much higher regard in Muslim society than others who defected
from the empire in this period. The most convincing explanation for this is that
given by the Continuator: the execution of his father and persecution of his
fellow believers had made him an implacable enemy of Romanía.
Whether the Roman defectors at Mauropotamos comprised part of Karbeas’
following is unclear. Symeon’s allusion to Theophanes Pharganos, who eventu-
ally returned to the empire, regained high rank, and even played a leading role
in the murder of Theoktistos, shows that flight was not an irreversible deci-
sion.21 However, it is difficult to see how a figure of Karbeas’ rank drew such a
significant following unless many Paulicians had left alongside him when he
defected from the army of the Anatolikon, so perhaps other Roman defectors
served under him. His installation on the Anti-​Taurus precipitated an influx of
new Paulician refugees according to both the Continuator and Peter of Sicily,
while the latter also notes that all manner of adventurers and unsavoury char-
acters flocked to the area.22 This dynamic seems very likely; later descriptions
of the area suggest a heterogeneous ethno-​cultural makeup and disclaim the
notion that the new polity was homogeneously Paulician in character. As we

19 Pseudo-​Photios claims that Karbeas feigned a belief in Islam. See Pseudo-​Photios, Brief
History, 144, ed. Wanda Conus-​Wolska, trans. Joseph Paramelle, Travaux et mémoires 4
(1970), pp. 170–​171. Chrysocheir too is termed a patriarch, although the usage is not
attested outside al-​Mas‘ūdī in either case. See Nazmi, “The Paulicians,” p. 54; al-​Mas‘ūdī,
Les prairies d’or, ed. and trans. Charles Barbier de Meynard, 9 vols, vol. 8 (Paris, 1874),
p. 75. English translation: Masudi: The Meadows of Gold, eds. Paul Lunde, Caroline Stone
(Abingdon, 2010), p. 319; al-​Mas‘ūdī, Le livre de l’avertissement, p. 248.
20 Al-​Mas‘ūdī states that the Paulicians follow the teaching of Paul of Samosata, whose
beliefs he positions midway between Christianity and Zoroastrianism. See al-​Mas‘ūdī, Le
livre de l’avertissement, p. 208.
21 Symeon the Logothete, Chronicon, 131:19–​21, pp. 240–​241.
22 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 185, pp. 66–​67. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 91–​92.
286  Chapter 6

shall see, Islamic involvement in the area was probably significant, particularly
in the early years.
Rather more obscure is the extent of continuity with earlier Paulician
modes of organisation. Nothing in the above can be straightforwardly aligned
with the communities of Baanes or Sergios. From this point onwards, the reli-
gious face of the Paulicians essentially disappears to us and the martial one,
which thus far has only appeared in isolated instances, becomes dominant. It
is difficult to determine the underlying reasons for this shift, largely because
it coincides with a transition in our sources from predominantly Paulician
witnesses to Byzantine ones, as well as fundamental changes in the move-
ment’s allegiances. It seems undeniable that these factors have occluded some
important developments from our view, since although religious matters are
rarely acknowledged by Roman sources, the alterity of the Paulicians’ faith
is frequently heeded by Islamic works. Both al-​Mas‘ūdī and Qudāma b. Ja‘far
consider them to be Romans who differ from the majority in matters of faith,
whereas, as noted above, the former also terms Karbeas and Chrysocheir patri-
archs, implying that the distinction between religious and military leaders may
be overstated.23 We are certainly dealing with a reconfiguration of the way that
Romans demarcated Paulician identity; the pivotal question is whether this
is extreme enough to argue that it created a link between the eras of Sergios
and Karbeas which never existed in the first place. On balance, it seems that
this might be pushing things too far. There are, for instance, indications of a
Paulician presence at Argaous before Karbeas and Sergios is linked with this
site by both the Treatise and the History. The religious and martial aspects of
Paulician identity always coexisted uneasily and from Karbeas onward they
seem to have realigned in a way that largely obscures the religious side from
our view. Still, even if this extreme degree of discontinuity cannot be sus-
tained, more modest reconfigurations of doctrine, praxis, and outlook may
have occurred, particularly after events as momentous as Theodora’s persecu-
tions and the settling of Argaous.

2 Paulician Settlement and Raiding under Karbeas

The year after Mauropotamos, the regimes of Theodora and al-​Wāthiq agreed
a prisoner exchange that did not include the most prominent of the Amorion
captives, whom the caliph had executed earlier in the year, perhaps as a show

23 For the remarks of Qudāma, see below.

Paulicians at Arms 287

of force amid discontent with his imposition of Mu‘tazilite doctrine.24 Soon

after negotiating the exchange, the newly appointed governor of the frontier,
Aḥmad b. Sa‘īd b. Salm b. Qutaybah al-​Bāhilī, launched a winter raid against
Roman territory, but lost many of his men to the elements and was promptly
relieved of his command by the furious caliph.25 Despite these blows to cross-​
confessional relations, warfare all but ceased along the frontier until the 850s.
Theoktistos, meanwhile, if the chroniclers are to be believed, contrived to
foist the blame for Mauropotamos onto Theodora’s brother Bardas, who was
thereupon exiled.26 In this climate of peace, ‘Amr and Karbeas were free to
travel to Sāmarrā, which must have occurred before al-​Wāthiq’s death in 847.
Karbeas presumably spent the early years of their alliance establishing himself
at Argaous and its environs. From ‘Amr’s perspective, it made sound strate-
gic sense to install a client in this region. The location of the site, which lies
close to the passes around Melitene, facilitated raiding into Roman territory,
as well as being ideally positioned to support Melitene in the event of an
attack such as that which Theophilos had launched in 837.27 Lying in a plain
enclosed by mountain ridges, Melitene provided ready access to the Anatolian
plateau and therefore posed a conspicuous threat to Byzantine lands, but this
location also made it more vulnerable to attack.28 The Islamic and Paulician
settlements were therefore mutually supportive, which is reflected in the fre-
quency with which ‘Amr and Karbeas campaigned together. Any Byzantine
offensives through the region were compelled to target Paulician lands before
advancing to Melitene, which gave the latter advanced warning and could
potentially cut the invader’s supply lines or ability to retreat. Whether these
early years saw concerted raids against Byzantine territory is unclear. Both the
Continuator and the History imply that raids began soon after Karbeas’ instal-
lation at Argaous, but al-​Ṭabarī, our best Islamic source for the period, does not

24 Athina Kolia-​Dermitzaki, “The Execution of the Forty-​Two Martyrs of Amorion: Proposing

an Interpretation,” Al-​Masāq 14:2 (2002), pp. 142–​151. On the Mu‘tazilite controversy,
debates about the createdness of the Qurʼān, and the inquisition associated with these
(the Miḥna), see John A. Nawas, Al-​Maʼmūn, the Inquisition, and the Quest for Caliphal
Authority (Atlanta, 2015).
25 al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul wa-​al-​mulūk. The history of al-​Ṭabarī, 40 vols, vol. 34, trans. Joel
L. Kraemer (Albany, 1989), pp. 43–​44.
26 According to Symeon, Bardas incited the desertion at Mauropotamos. Symeon the
Logothete, Chronicon, 131:5, p. 233.
27 For this campaign, see Juan Signes Codoñer, The Emperor Theophilos and the East, 829–​
842: Court and Frontier in Byzantium during the Last Phase of Iconoclasm (Farnham, 2014),
pp. 263–​278.
28 Mark Whittow, The Making of Orthodox Byzantium 600–​1025 (Basingstoke, 1996), p. 310.
288  Chapter 6

mention anything of the sort. The Continuator implies that Karbeas initially
campaigned alone, so the lack of direct Islamic involvement may explain al-​
Ṭabarī’s silence.29 ‘Amr does not seem to have resumed active campaigning
until the middle of the 850s. By the beginning of the decade, the peace was
breaking down and ‘Alī b. Yaḥyā al-​Armanī began to lead the annual summer
expedition regularly, so ‘Amr’s lack of activity during the first half of the decade
may reflect his preoccupation with the son of Skleros, the co-​ruler noted by the
Continuator, at this time.
In any case, within a decade or so of their establishment at Argaous, a new
Paulician stronghold was founded at Tephrikē. The exact date of the founda-
tion is unknown, but the site would later become synonymous with the move-
ment, especially in Basil i’s reign. As we shall see, it is often characterised as an
Islamic settlement in our sources. Tephrikē had probably already been estab-
lished on a steady footing by the time of its first reference in 856, when al-​Ṭabarī
refers to a Byzantine campaign which entered Islamic territory from its direc-
tion.30 He does not mention whether an attempt was made on the fortress at
this time, but subsequent events would show that it was a formidable target for
any would-​be assailer. Aside from being defensible, the site was comparatively
distant from Melitene and was ideally situated to encourage migration from
traditional Paulician areas, such as the Chaldia and Armeniakon themata.31 As
noted beforehand, militaristic opportunists of all persuasions also congregated
in an area which combined the dynamics of the no-​man’s land and the shat-
ter zone. The site also had economic potential, insofar as it facilitated control
of nearby silver and iron mines, although there is some doubt about whether
these were exploited during this period. Cooper and Decker have posited that
the increase in silver coinage during the reign of Basil i could be explained by
his capture of Tephrikē and its neighbouring mines, but evidence for mining
is scarce in this part of Asia Minor at the time.32 The period saw widespread
mining activity across the Islamic world, often at private initiative, so it is at
least plausible that assistance was secured from the neighbouring emirates to

29 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:16, pp. 236–​
239; Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 185, pp. 66–​67. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 91–​92.
30 al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 34, pp. 146–​147.
31 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 184, pp. 66–​67. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 91; Milan Loos, “Le mouvement paulicien à Byzance,” Byzantinoslavica 24
(1963), p. 282.
32 Cooper, Decker, Byzantine Cappadocia, p. 71. See also Adon A. Gordus, David M. Metcalf,
“The Alloy Content of the Byzantine Miliaresion and the Question of the Reminting of
Islamic Silver,” Hamburger Beiträge zur Numismatik 24 (1970), p. 16.
Paulicians at Arms 289

this end, but the isolated location of the site, the logistical difficulties, and the
lack of preexisting infrastructure argue against a substantial mining operation
under the Paulicians.33 There seems to have been little settlement at Tephrikē
for centuries and, when viewed in a broader context, the Paulician presence
in the area was short-​lived and relatively precarious. Notably, since the site
was captured late during Basil’s reign (878/​79) it seems a poor contender for
explaining the observed silver influx. If the mineral resources of the area were
not exploited during our period, Tephrikē was probably dependent on income
from raiding and prisoner-​taking, as well as any assistance that came from
Melitene, to be financially sustainable.
Concrete evidence for an Islamic presence at Tephrikē is lacking, but must
at least be conjectural given that it is frequently identified as an Islamic city in
Byzantine sources. A tantalising glimpse of what might have been is offered by
a much later source. At some point during the late 12th or early 13th century,
the famous traveller ‘Alī b. Abī Bakr al-​Harawī al-​Mawṣilī visited a mountain
sanctuary known as al-​Abrūḳ; a site which presumably corresponds to our
Tephrikē, or Abrīḳ as it is known in Islamic sources.34 In his account, now pre-
served in Yāqūt al-​Ḥamawī’s Mu‘jam al-buldān (Geographical Dictionary), the
site attracts Christian and Muslim visitors alike; the pilgrim is directed either
to mosque or church according to their spiritual needs and can behold the
bodies of martyrs whose memory was claimed by both confessions.35 The
account is far too late to have a decisive impact on our interpretation here,
but if Tephrikē did span confessional boundaries long after imperial control
over the area had been lost, the possibility of an early Muslim presence must
at least be considered. Taking a broad perspective, the impression gained thus
far is that the Paulician territories were little more than an annex to the nearby
emirate; an impression corroborated by the portrayal of Karbeas in version Γ of
the 42 Martyrs. In this narrative, he is considered little more than a cipher for
the Islamic powers, handing Kallistos to them once he receives his prisoner.36

33 Michael G. Morony, “The Early Islamic Mining Boom,” Journal of the Economic and Social
History of the Orient 62 (2019), pp. 166–​221.
34 Ibrik is the transliteration given in al-​ Mas‘ūdī, Les prairies d’or, vol. 8, p. 75.
Translation: Masudi: The Meadows of Gold, p. 319; al-​Mas‘ūdī, Le livre de l’avertissement,
p. 248.
35 For a translation, see Guy Le Strange, “On the Mediæval Castle and Sanctuary of Abrīḳ,
the Modern Arabkir; with Some Further Notes on Mesopotamia as Described by Ibn
Serapion,” The Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland (1895),
pp. 740–​742. See also Vest, Geschichte der Stadt Melitene, vol. 2, pp. 679–​680.
36 Michael, Monk and Synkellos, “De XLII martyribus Amoriensibus narrationes et carmina
sacra,” in Zapiski Imperatorskoĭ akademīi nauk po Istoriko-​filologicheskomu otdȋelenīȋu.
290  Chapter 6

The account is evidently stylised, but we have still seen nothing which cor-
roborates the idea of an independent Paulician state. It is now time to turn
our attention to this overblown term, which has had a life of its own in recent
decades.37
To my knowledge, it was first invoked by Garsoïan, who consistently refers
to a Paulician state in the mountainous region west of Melitene. Although
no explanation is given for the usage, her temporal confines imply that the
Paulicians’ installation at Argaous and overt opposition to the empire were
necessary prerequisites for this statehood.38 Lemerle, on the other hand,
associates the term more closely with the establishment of Tephrikē, whose
independence from Melitene in his view allowed the Paulicians to practice
their religion without outside interference, thereby attracting their coreligion-
ists to the area.39 The formulation has now become a fixture in scholarship,
often with scant justification for the usage.40 I have no fondness for disputing
terminology for its own sake, but a reading which inflates the political inde-
pendence and religious homogeneity of the lands in question risks eliciting
considerable misunderstanding, particularly when this may be weaponized by
modern agendas.41 The Paulician presence on the Anti-​Taurus lasted around

Mémoires de l’Académie impériale des sciences de St.-​ Pétersbourg. Classe historico-​

philologique. VIIIe série 7:2, eds. Vasily G. Vasil’evsky, Petr V. Nikitin (1905), p. 29.
37 For a similar critique, which also posits significant Islamic involvement, see Anne
E. Redgate, “Catholicos John III’s Against the Paulicians and the Paulicians of Tephrike,”
in Armenian Sebastia/​Sivas and Lesser Armenia, ed. Richard G. Hovannisian (Los Angeles,
2004), pp. 108–​109. Dadoyan also posits significant links between Muslims and Paulicians,
although this forms part of a wider thesis linking heterodox minorities with Muslim pow-
ers over several centuries (her paradigm also includes the Khurramiyya and T‘ondrakec‘i,
for instance). See Seta B. Dadoyan, The Armenians in the Medieval Islamic World. Volume
One: The Arab Period in Armīniyah –​Seventh to Eleventh Centuries (New Brunswick, 2011),
pp. 91–​102, especially p. 97.
38 Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 53; 124–​129.
39 Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 95–​96.
40 This should be read as a consequence of the pervasive influence of Garsoïan and Lemerle
on subsequent scholarship, rather than reflecting any deficiencies in these later works,
which are often otherwise laudable. See among many others Yuri Stoyanov, The Other
God: Dualist Religions from Antiquity to the Cathar Heresy (New Haven/​London, 2000),
p. 154; Abed el-​Rahman Tayyara, “Muslim-​Paulician Encounters and Early Islamic Anti-​
Christian Writings,” Islam and Christian-​Muslim Relations 27:4 (2016), p. 475; Christine
Caldwell Ames, Medieval Heresies: Christianity, Judaism and Islam (Cambridge, 2015),
p. 122.
41 Such readings are rare in the case of the Paulicians. However, the idea of a Paulician state
has been appropriated by some Banat Bulgarians in Romania in order to further their
claims to minority status. See Rossitza Guentcheva, “Debating Language: The Bulgarian
Communities in Romania after 1989,” in Language, Ethnicity and the State. Volume
Paulicians at Arms 291

thirty-​five years at the longest estimate and there are clear indications that
even at its most autonomous Islamic influence was significant. The only
detailed description of the area, which derives from the Vita Basilii’s account
of Basil i’s 873 campaign, paints a diverse ethno-​cultural picture, as we would
expect of a region where power structures were not traditionally hegemonic.
This passage will receive full discussion in its proper place, but even elsewhere
the scattered indications we possess imply that the lands in question were not
quintessentially Paulician. Nothing encapsulates this better than the recurring
portrayal of Tephrikē as an Islamic city.
The tendency is true in both Greek and Arabic works. As noted several times,
Symeon the Logothete seems to have no conception of the Paulicians during
these years and while referring to Basil i’s unsuccessful attack on Tephrikē
in 871, he refers to its forces as Agarenes.42 The same tendency is found in
Theophanes Continuatus vi, which also describes Tephrikē as populated by
Agarenes while relating Leo Argyros’ campaigns in the area during the reign of
Michael iii.43 Even though the Vita Basilii has a well-​rounded understanding
of the Paulicians, it too conforms to the trend, describing both Taranta and
Tephrikē as populated by “Ishmaelites.”44 Many of these allusions are found in
10th-​century sources and are therefore connected with the contemporary rein-
vention of the Paulicians in Byzantine historiography, but the Islamic connec-
tion cannot solely result from retroactive Byzantine readings, since the same
impulse is found in Muslim sources. Al-​Mas‘ūdī, also writing in the mid-​10th
century, characterises Tephrikē as a former Islamic city in his Tanbīh when he
notes the frontier towns lost by Muslims in recent times.45 While doing so, he
remains aware that the site was inhabited by the Paulicians, thereby suggest-
ing that, in some contexts at least, the settlement could be assigned to both
confessions.
A paradox underlies all of this, since although Tephrikē is the Paulician
centre most often associated with Islam, its foundation is often explained
by an attempt to break free of Muslim oversight. This rationale is stated in
the History of the Paulicians and plays a crucial role in Lemerle’s reading of

2: Minority Languages in Eastern Europe Post-​1989, ed. Camille C. O’Reilly (Basingstoke,

2001), pp. 58–​59.
42 Symeon the Logothete, Chronicon, 132:7, p. 262, l. 42–​43.
43 Theophanes Continuatus vi, 27, in Theophanes continuatus, Ioannes Caminiata, Symeon
Magister, Georgius monachus, ed. Immanuel Bekker (Bonn, 1838), p. 374, l. 11–​19.
44 Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati nomine
fertur liber quo Vita Basilii Imperatoris amplectitur, 38, ed. and trans. Ihor Ševčenko
(Berlin/​Boston, 2011), pp. 140–​141.
45 al-​Mas‘ūdī, Le livre de l’avertissement, p. 248.
292  Chapter 6

events.46 By contrast, Argaous, which was more closely associated with the
advent of the Islamic alliance, is never considered an Islamic site, although
admittedly it is infrequently attested in our sources, particularly Arabic ones.
This contradiction implies that the inconsistent labelling of Paulician sites is
largely rhetorical in function. It is difficult to dismiss the suspicion that both
Byzantine and Islamic actors tended to subsume the Paulicians’ activity on
the eastern frontier within the dominant paradigm of Roman-​Islamic warfare,
especially by the 10th century, when their memory had receded somewhat.
It seems that the underlying reasons were different in each case: associating
Paulicians with Islam allowed Byzantines to discredit them by questioning
their Christian roots, whereas Muslims could press their territorial claims by
considering Paulician territories Islamic. This makes it difficult to ascertain
whether a sizable Islamic presence ever existed at Argaous or Tephrikē, but it is
at least evident that Muslim support was crucial for the Paulicians’ installation
in the area, particularly during Karbeas’ leadership.
This is corroborated by the close cooperation between himself and ‘Amr in
military affairs.47 Raiding by the two was limited in the immediate aftermath of
Mauropotamos due to the cessation of hostilities across the frontier, but grew
increasingly common from the mid-​850s onward. In 855 Theodora’s regency
ended and Michael iii began to rule on his own initiative, albeit with his
recalled uncle Bardas, who had conspired to murder the logothete Theoktistos
earlier in the year. The chronology of warfare between empire and caliphate
is unusually difficult to reconstruct after Michael reaches maturity. Two issues
in particular stand out: firstly, the hostility of historians of the Macedonian

46 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 184, pp. 66–​67. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 91; Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 95–​96.
47 Besides vignettes of Basil i praying for the downfall of Chrysocheir and Tephrikē, there
is little religious symbolism in contemporary Byzantine accounts of warfare against
Muslims or Paulicians, let alone anything that could be considered akin to holy war,
which remains a topic of dispute in our period and beyond. While warfare was certainly
invested with religious significance, this does not seem to have translated into an overly
pejorative view of the empire’s enemies in the East, at least in the sources covered here.
In addition to the studies cited on holy war in the introduction, see Angeliki E. Laiou,
“On Just War in Byzantium,” in Το Ελληνικον. Studies in Honor of Speros Vryonis Jr., eds.
John S. Langdon, Stephen W. Reinert, Jelisaveta S. Allen (New Rochelle, 1993), pp. 153–​177;
George T. Dennis, “Defenders of the Christian People: Holy War in Byzantium,” in The
Crusades from the Perspective of Byzantium and the Muslim World, eds. Angeliki E. Laiou,
Roy P. Mottahedeh (Washington, D.C., 2001), pp. 31–​39; Yuri Stoyanov, “Apocalypticizing
Warfare: from Political Theology to Imperial Eschatology in Seventh to Early Eighth-​
Century Byzantium,” in The Armenian Apocalyptic Tradition: A Comparative Perspective,
eds. Kevork B. Bardakjian, Sergio La Porta (Leiden, 2014), pp. 380–​433.
Paulicians at Arms 293

dynasty to Michael, which led them to pass over the victories of his reign in
silence; and secondly, a recurring confusion in the sources between Samosata
and Arsamosata (although the confusion often results from the Arabic des-
ignations Sumaysāṭ and Shimshāṭ), both of which were frequent targets of
Byzantine raids at the time.48 While ‘Alī b. Yaḥyā al-​Armanī’s series of summer
expeditions in the early 850s effectively reopened hostilities, the caliphate’s
focus could not yet be brought to bear on the west, since its control of the
Caucasus had become increasingly shaky after renewed attempts at imposing
taxation led to the Armenian revolt of 850–​855. This uprising, which caused
the Arcruni and Bagratuni princes to take up arms, was ruthlessly suppressed
by Bughā al-​Kabir, who also took the opportunity to dispense with Isḥāq
b. Ismā‘īl, the renegade Emir of Tiflis who had refused to aid him.49 At sea,
meanwhile, the Muslim presence on Crete proved a point of contention, which
led the imperial navy to launch an ambitious naval attack on Damietta in Egypt
in 853; an undertaking that was perhaps repeated in the following year.50
On land, the first Byzantine counterattack occurred in 856, but the cam-
paign in question exemplifies many of the interpretive difficulties noted
above. The traditional interpretation of the incursion, which is founded on
the account of al-​Ṭabarī, is unconvincing on several counts and accordingly
requires attention here. Specifically, earlier readings attribute the Byzantine
campaign to Petronas and consider that it targeted Arsamosata rather than
Samosata.51 Neither of these points are evident from al-​Ṭabarī’s account, which
reads as follows:

In this year, the Byzantines advanced from the area of Samosata, follow-
ing the summer expedition of ‘Alī b. Yaḥyā al-​Armanī, as far as Āmid.
They then advanced from the frontier towns of the Jazīrah and plundered
a number of villages, taking captive about 10,000 men. They entered
from the direction of Tephrikē, a village [in the control] of Karbeas. They

48 For Michael’s successes, see Michael McCormick, Eternal Victory: Triumphal Rulership in
Late Antiquity, Byzantium and the Early Medieval West (Cambridge, 1986), pp. 150–​152.
49 al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 34, pp. 113–​124; Tim W. Greenwood, “Armenian Neighbours
(600–​1045),” in The Cambridge History of the Byzantine Empire: c.500–​1492, ed. Jonathan
Shepard (Cambridge, 2008), p. 349; Whittow, The Making of Orthodox Byzantium,
pp. 215–​216.
50 Wladyslaw B. Kubiak, “The Byzantine Attack on Damietta in 853 and the Egyptian Navy
in the 9th Century,” Byzantion 40:1 (1970), pp. 53–​59; al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 34,
pp. 124–​127.
51 Vasiliev, Byzance et les Arabes: T.1 La dynastie d’Amorium, pp. 233–​234; Treadgold, A History
of Byzantine State, p. 451.
294  Chapter 6

then departed, returning to their territory. Karbeas, ‘Umar b. ‘Abdallāh

al-​Aqṭa‘, and a contingent of volunteers pursued them but did not catch
one of them. ‘Umar wrote to ‘Alī b. Yaḥyā to make a winter expedition into
their territory.52

The laconic retelling of this episode raises several issues, such as the failure
of ‘Amr and Karbeas to effectively mobilise despite what must have been a
lengthy Byzantine campaign, and the fact that the Byzantine army seems to
have entered Islamic territory from two distinct directions (firstly, by shad-
owing ‘Alī’s retreating forces in Kilikia and secondly, via Tephrikē). The tra-
ditional interpretation resolves this by positing a single campaign against
Tephrikē, Arsamosata, and Amida, but the conundrum can best be explained
by positing a two-​pronged attack. According to this view, the main Byzantine
force took a southern route, targeting Samosata (as al-​Ṭabarī himself states,
rather than Arsamosata) and Amida, while a secondary detachment attacked
Tephrikē and Melitene, thereby preventing ‘Amr and Karbeas from cutting off
the main Byzantine raid in the south. This best explains the uncertain geogra-
phy of the campaign and the inability of ‘Alī, ‘Amr, and Karbeas to unite their
forces. The final outstanding issue is the leader of the Byzantine attack. The
campaign has traditionally been attributed to Petronas, but the rationale is
rather flimsy and rests only on the Continuator’s reference to him assuming
the command against ‘Amr and Karbeas in lieu of his brother Bardas.53 But the
Continuator does not give further detail or a clear timeframe and, as we have
already seen, his account of warfare in the east during these years is confused
at best. Without clearer evidence, Petronas’ involvement should remain con-
jectural, especially as its seems two Roman armies were involved. However we
reconstruct the offensive, the establishment of Tephrikē caused the empire a
strategic headache on the eastern frontier.54 It did not suffer lasting damage
during this attack and, while Byzantine forces seem to have retained the ini-
tiative throughout, the installation of a Paulician bulwark strengthened the
defence on the Islamic side appreciably.

52 al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 34, pp. 146–​147 and especially n. 490 on the confusion
between Arsamosata and Samosata.
53 Vasiliev, Byzance et les Arabes: T.1 La dynastie d’Amorium, p. 233; Theophanes Continuatus
i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:16, pp. 238–​239.
54 Treadgold links the danger posed by Melitene and Tephrikē to the creation of the new
Thema of Koloneia. See Treadgold, A History of Byzantine State, p. 451.
Paulicians at Arms 295

Campaigning during the rest of Michael’s reign occasions somewhat fewer

issues.55 The initiatives of Leo Argyros against the Agarenes of Tephrikē (pre-
sumably meaning the Paulicians), which are unmentioned outside Theophanes
Continuatus vi, cannot be placed reliably, but the general chronology of events
otherwise seems secure, barring the possibility that some raids may have gone
unremarked.56 The next development of importance was a renewed attempt at
capturing Samosata in 859 by Michael iii and Bardas, which our sources note
went awry when Muslim forces sallied during the eucharistic rites, thereby
scattering the Romans and breaking the siege.57 The Continuator and Genesios
both consider this campaign to be directed towards ‘Amr to some degree or
other, despite the distance of Samosata from his lands, but the presence of
Karbeas at the battle implies that Muslim-​aligned forces had congregated on
the city to break the siege. In the Continuator’s account, Karbeas’ valour is
given special emphasis, particularly for his capture of the generals Abesalom
Tzaggotoubos and Seon Palatinos. The resulting vignette is the only depiction
of Karbeas’ character we are given in our sources. Unfortunately, it is hardly an
accurate one. After receiving the ransom payments for the generals, Karbeas
asks the two about the virulence of their sexual urges and, while Seon denies
that these afflict him, Abesalom, discerning the extent of Karbeas’ deprav-
ity, pleads his guilt. Thereupon, he is set free while Seon’s bonds remain.58 It
goes without saying that this account owes more to slander than reality, but
it is interesting in revealing a paradox about Karbeas. Here he appears deep
in Islamic lands, where we would not necessarily expect to find him, yet our

55 An exception is the reference in Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v to Michael’s panicked reac-

tion at hearing that ‘Amr had reached as far as Malagina while Michael was busying him-
self at the hippodrome, having earlier ordered that the signals which warned of Muslim
invasion should not be lit. This episode does not correspond with any known raid of ‘Amr,
since in both 861 and 863 Michael himself fought ‘Amr well within the interior of Asia
Minor. The itinerary best fits ‘Amr’s campaign of 844, but since Michael was only a child
at the time, he cannot have played as active a role as the Continuator claims. Almost
certainly, the affair has been fabricated to undercut Michael’s reputation. Theophanes
Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:35–​36, pp. 280–​283.
56 The campaigns of Bughā al-​Kabir against Byzantine lands sometime between 858 and 861
have, for instance, almost vanished from the historical record. See Gordon, The Breaking
of a Thousand Swords, p. 93; al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 34, pp. 151; 178.
57 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:13, eds. Anni Lesmüller-​Werner, Hans
P. Thurn, (Berlin/​New York, 1978), p. 65. English translation: Genesios. On the Reigns of
the Emperors, ed. Anthony Kaldellis (Canberra, 1998), pp. 81–​82; Theophanes Continuatus
i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:23, pp. 250–​253.
58 Genesios does not mention this exchange. Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae
quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:23, pp. 251–​252.
296  Chapter 6

Byzantine sources do not refer to him while recounting Islamic raids into the
empire. His presence at Samosata implies that his ties to the nearby emirates
were strong and, while the reasons for this were no doubt many, the predomi-
nant factors were probably his dependence on ‘Amr in both military and eco-
nomic terms.
Karbeas’ meagre prominence in Byzantine sources is difficult to explain,
but it seems to arise because the most important witnesses, Genesios and the
Continuator, focus squarely on the person of ‘Amr, who is portrayed as the
empire’s most notable enemy at the time, somewhat surprisingly since ‘Alī
b. Yaḥyā al-​Armanī is given a higher prominence in Islamic sources and assailed
Asia Minor more frequently. One of ‘Amr’s most successful raids occurred in
861, when he targeted the Black Sea ports of Amisos and Sinope, in the pro-
cess inflicting a serious defeat on Michael iii at Anzes; the same site that he
and al-​Afshīn had defeated Michael’s father Theophilos almost a quarter of a
century before.59 Karbeas is not mentioned in the course of this campaign by
our Byzantine sources, but al-​Ṭabarī notes that ‘Amr led the summer expedi-
tion during the relevant year (860/​61) and whereas he carried off either 7000
or 15,000 livestock (the manuscripts disagree on the number), Karbeas seized
5000.60 It therefore seems that the two campaigned in close cooperation, if not
necessarily together. It is less clear whether the same was true two years later,
when ‘Amr finally met his match in the person of Petronas. In 863 the sum-
mer expedition was led by Ja‘far b. Dīnār, whose permission ‘Amr successfully
requested for his own raid. The early stages of his incursion are obscure since
they are documented only in the concise account of al-​Ṭabarī, but it seems
that, as George Huxley argued, ‘Amr fought Michael iii to a bloody stalemate
at Marj al-​Usquf (Bishop’s Meadow) in Kappadokia, before advancing towards
Amisos once more.61 Both Genesios and the Continuator embellish the cam-
paign and the culminating battle of Lalakaon/​Poson with classical allusions,
symbolic imagery and, in the Continuator’s case, prophetic overtones that
foreshadow Petronas’ death a few years later. All of this testifies to the impor-
tance with which contemporaries invested the battle, since it seems certain
that our two accounts originally derived from a common source. According to

59 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:14, pp. 65–​66. Translation: On the Reigns of
the Emperors, pp. 82–​83; Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis
Continuati, 4:24, pp. 252–​255.
60 al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 34, p. 167.
61 al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 35, trans. George Saliba (Albany, 1985), p. 9; George L. Huxley,
“The Emperor Michael III and the Battle of Bishop’s Meadow (A.D. 863),” Greek, Roman
and Byzantine Studies 16:4 (1975), pp. 443–​450.
Paulicians at Arms 297

this narrative, ‘Amr was surrounded by an ambitious encircling manoeuvre on

the part of the thematic armies and perished in a futile attempt to break free,
whereas his son, who escaped for a time, was captured.62 Few of the emir’s
forces survived the battle. Whether Karbeas was among the slain is unclear
since he never features in the Byzantine accounts. His death in the same year
of the battle is only documented by al-​Mas‘ūdī, who does not give any further
specifics.63 It is entirely possible that his death had no connection with mili-
tary affairs and, even if he did die in battle, it is equally likely that he died at
Marj al-​Usquf as at Lalakaon.64 863 did, however, mark the nadir of Islamic
fortunes in Asia Minor, since ‘Alī b. Yaḥyā al-​Armanī, who had been raised to
be Ostikan of Armīniya in the meantime, too fell to Petronas’ forces. Once the
latter had defeated ‘Amr he marched into Islamic territory while ‘Alī, who was
at Martyropolis (Mayyāfāriqīn) at the time, rushed to intercept him. The two
met at Halōras, where ‘Alī was defeated and slain. According to al-​Ṭabarī, the
deaths of ‘Amr and ‘Alī, as well as the prevailing tyranny of the Turkish troops
at Sāmarrā, led to outbreaks of rioting in Baghdād, where the populace raged
at the central institutions they believed had failed the much-​lauded defenders
of the frontier and the recently murdered caliph al-​Mutawakkil.65 Al-​Mas‘ūdī,
meanwhile, offers an insight on how ‘Amr, ‘Alī, and Karbeas were feared in
Byzantine lands, listing all three prominently in a list of figures whom the
Romans so respected that they supposedly hung their portraits in a church.66
Listed alongside them is one Chrysocheir, who would become a notorious foe
of the empire in the years to come.

62 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:15, pp. 67–​69. Translation: On the Reigns of
the Emperors, pp. 83–​86; Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis
Continuati, 4:25, pp. 254–​263. The De ceremoniis contains a description of a victory chant
over an emir which derives from this occasion, although unsurprisingly no mention is
made of the reigning emperor Michael iii. See Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, The
Book of Ceremonies. Constantine Porphyrogennetos, 69, ed. and trans. Anne Moffatt,
Maxeme Tall, 2 vols, vol. 1 (Canberra, 2012), pp. 332–​333; Albert Vogt, Le livre des céré-
monies: commentaire, 2 vols, vol. 2 (Paris, 1940), pp. 145–​146.
63 al-​Mas‘ūdī, Les prairies d’or, vol. 8, p. 75. Translation: Masudi: The Meadows of Gold, p. 319.
64 Lemerle favours the interpretation that Karbeas died peacefully, but this is just as conjec-
tural as the contrary view. Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 95–​96. For what it is worth, Pseudo-​
Photios claims he died of disease. Pseudo-​Photios, Brief History, 150, pp. 172–​173.
65 al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 35, pp. 9–​11.
66 al-​Mas‘ūdī, Les prairies d’or, vol. 8, p. 75. Translation: Masudi: The Meadows of Gold, p. 319.
Our extant version of the text erroneously describes Chrysocheir as the sister of Karbeas.
298  Chapter 6

3 An Emperor in the East?: Basil, Chrysocheir, and the Road to War

The early years of the 860s, then, marked a highpoint of Byzantine influence
along the eastern frontier. It was in this climate that the patriarch Photios
renewed attempts to unite the Byzantine and Armenian churches, which even-
tually led to compromises on practical matters at the Council of Širakawan
in 862, although little headway seems to have been made regarding union
itself.67 In one letter from this correspondence, Photios perhaps refers to joint
initiatives of the Armenian and Byzantine churches against the Paulicians, but
the heretics in question are not named, so the prospect remains uncertain.68
A somewhat more certain reference to Paulicians lies in Photios’ encyclical
letter of 867, which alludes to the conversion of heretics in Constantinople
who, it is implied, did not previously consider the heavenly Father to be the
demiurge.69 Returning to events in the east, it seems that the Paulicians and
their Islamic allies took time to regroup after the events of 863. We do not find
any reference to Chrysocheir in our histories during the rest of Michael iii’s
reign. A sole window perhaps remains on their activity during this time, but
it is not a straightforward one. Several of Photios’ letters are addressed to a
spatharios John and a spatharios John Chrysocheir who seem to be one and
the same.70 That this John Chrysocheir is identical to the figure who succeeded
Karbeas seems reasonably secure, but not established beyond all doubt, since
the Paulician leader’s forename is not given in any other source. As a result,
Lemerle has argued that this John Chrysocheir is actually the father of our
Chrysocheir, largely because Genesios writes that the latter’s (unnamed) father
also raided the empire.71 I am not inclined to place too much trust by this refer-
ence because Genesios seems to confuse Kallistos, who is an opponent of the
Paulicians in version Γ of the 42 Martyrs, with a Paulician leader in the same
passage.72 In fact, the historian’s knowledge of the Paulicians seems suspect in

67 Igor Dorfmann-​Lazarev, Arméniens et Byzantins à l’époque de Photius: deux dèbats

théologiques après le triomphe de l’orthodoxie (Leuven, 2004); Tim W. Greenwood, “Failure
of a Mission? Photius and the Armenian Church,” Le Muséon 119 (2006), pp. 123–​167.
68 Photios, Epistulae, in Photii patriarchae Constantinopolitani Epistulae et Amphilochia, Ep.
285, eds. Basil Laourdas, Leendert G. Westerink, 6. vols, vol. 3 (Leipzig, 1985), pp. 100–​
101, l. 72–​82; Carl Dixon, “Heresy, Hostility and a Paradise in Full Bloom: Contextualising
Photios’ Letter to the Armenians,” Byzantion 89 (2019), pp. 226–​227.
69 Photios, Epistulae, Ep. 2, vol. 1, p. 41, ll. 27–​30. Note the concerns about the letter’s authen-
ticity. See Chapter 2 note 27 above.
70 The letters in question are Ep. 33–​40, 57, 80, and 134.
71 Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 41–​42; Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:35, p. 86.
Translation: On the Reigns of the Emperors, p. 107.
72 Lemerle, “L’histoire,” p. 87, n. 8.
Paulicians at Arms 299

several places.73 It therefore seems likely that this John Chrysocheir is the same
figure who later vexed Basil i so sorely. The correspondent’s portrayal certainly
seems fitting to a Paulician leader, since, although Photios had serious mis-
givings as to both his orthodoxy and loyalty, he was evidently a figure of some
stature, who received further imperial titles despite his obstinance.
For all of this though, Photios’s letters do not enrich our understanding
markedly. Most of them are extremely brief and doctrinal in nature; a fact
which later led them to be incorporated within the patriarch’s didactic compi-
lation, the Amphilochia.74 Photios’ admonishing tone does not suggest a rela-
tionship of any depth between the two men and by the standards of Byzantine
epistolography the correspondence is an impersonal one. This makes the dat-
ing and sequencing of the letters somewhat difficult, besides the presumptive
limits of Chrysocheir’s assumption of power and death (863–​872). I would be
inclined to place most of the letters within Photios’ first patriarchate, but it
seems that the correspondence may have continued in exile afterwards, since
in Ep. 80 our author refers to his suffering, which may be an allusion to captiv-
ity.75 On balance, it is best to employ circumspection here. The fullest of the
letters hails Photios’ correspondent as John, protospatharios and protonotarios
of the dromos, which evidently marks a promotion from the rank he is assigned
elsewhere and is thereby most intuitively placed as one of the later letters,
but its neutral tone sits uneasily with this.76 While these ambiguities preclude
a definitive reconstruction, a general trend of events seems clear enough.
Attempts were made to draw Chrysocheir and the Paulicians more generally
into the imperial orbit after the events of 863 and, while some progress was
made to this end officially, distrust and hostility remained under the surface.
By far the most interesting characteristic of the correspondence is the way
in which Photios characterises Chrysocheir’s heterodoxy. Four of his short mis-
sives are Christological in nature, representing error through figures such as
Sabellius, Paul of Samosata, Eutyches, and Nestorios among others, although
the patriarch’s formulation is generic and never seeks to determine where
Chrysocheir falls on this spectrum, even though he discusses error in relation

73 See his reference to Montanos as an inspiration for Paulician belief and his dating of the
fall of Tephrikē prior to Chrysocheir’s death. Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quat-
tuor, 4:34–​35, pp. 85–​86. Translation: On the Reigns of the Emperors, pp. 106–​107.
74 On the Amphilochia, see Photios, Photii patriarchae Constantinopolitani Epistulae et
Amphilochia, eds. Basil Laourdas, Leendert G. Westerink, 6. vols, vol. 4–​5 (Leipzig, 1986).
For the relationship with the letters, see Laourdas, Westerink, eds., Photios, Epistulae, vol.
1, pp. ix–​xi.
75 Photios, Epistulae, Ep. 80, vol. 1, p. 121.
76 Photios, Epistulae, Ep. 134, vol. 1, p. 176.
300  Chapter 6

to natures, persons, energies, and wills.77 Another three similarly brief notes
deal with the heresy of iconoclasm, whereas the sole letter of any great length
is also devoted to this topic.78 While the relevance of the Christological mate-
rial is unclear, in this case there is a clear implication that Chrysocheir is an
iconoclast himself; a very significant point, since this is the first direct link
between the Paulicians and iconoclasm in our sources. Curiously, dualism is
entirely absent from the correspondence. The traditional Paulician inspirators
Mani and Paul of Samosata barely merit a mention and, when they do, they
are invoked for their supposed influence on later Christological errors.79 In the
longest of the letters, Photios discusses the Mosaic prohibition of idols, whose
origin in the Old Testament would render it unsuitable to a conventionally
dualist audience.80 As a result, Photios’ correspondence stands apart from ear-
lier understandings of Paulician doctrine.
The reasons for this departure are difficult to fathom, since the genuinely
Photian sermons which follow the Brief History attest the patriarch’s contem-
porary interest in dualism, as does his reference to Paulicians in the encyclical
of 867. A number of theories present themselves: perhaps the correspondent
is not our Paulician leader after all; perhaps Photios was not familiar with his
correspondent’s beliefs; perhaps Paulician belief on the Anti-​Taurus under-
went significant changes; or, alternatively, the correspondence may reflect
developments in Byzantine conceptions of Paulician religiosity. I have empha-
sised throughout the possible disconnect between the eras of the didaskaloi
and the later military leaders and it may be that the latter drew significant
support from iconoclasts, whether as defectors from the Byzantine army or
elsewhere. Alternatively, it is possible that iconodule propaganda sought
to conflate Paulicians and iconoclasts more closely after the former turned
against the empire. Similar tendencies are apparent to a lesser degree in the
early years of the century, when Theophanes frequently associates iconoclasts
with Paulicians, Athinganoi, and other heretics, but his link does not seem to
have gained wider currency, since if Paulicians and iconoclasts were really so
interlinked in the popular imagination, it seems unthinkable that Leo v would
persecute the former upon the restoration of iconoclasm. The association of
iconoclasts and Paulicians did, however, develop further during the second
half of the 9th century, as attested by the representation of Constantine v as a

77 Photios, Epistulae, Ep. 33–​36, vol. 1, pp. 86–​87.

78 Photios, Epistulae, Ep. 37–​39, vol. 1, pp. 87–​88; Photios, Epistulae, Ep. 134, vol. 1, pp. 176–​178.
79 Surprisingly, in Ep. 34 they are considered to reflect opposite Christological tendencies.
Photios, Epistulae, Ep. 34, vol. 1, p. 86.
80 Photios, Epistulae, Ep. 134, vol. 1, pp. 176–​177, l. 20–​29.
Paulicians at Arms 301

Paulician within the second recension of George the Monk’s Chronicon and the
uncertain nature of Lizix’s heresy, which was portrayed as iconoclastic in some
contexts and as Manichaean in others. In the previous chapter, I remarked the
possibility that associating Paulicians with iconoclasts or other ill-​regarded
strata of Byzantine society might give authorities the opportunity to impose
more severe punishments on these actors or otherwise clamp down on their
activity. Such a reading is doubtful in the case of the 810s, but is rather more
difficult to rule out from the 840s onward, not only because of the increasing
convergence in rhetoric about iconoclasts and Paulicians, but also due to the
fact that some facets of Paulician activity stem from agents who had before-
hand been considered Romans, as in the case of Karbeas’ defection from the
Anatolikon army and, somewhat more conjecturally, those who abandoned
Theoktistos’ army at Mauropotamos. It must, however, be acknowledged
that this possibility does not seem to underlie Photios’ correspondence with
Chrysocheir, which is rather less polemical than much of the material we have
seen thus far. Consequently, it is an open question whether Photios’ letters
indicate a convergence of iconoclast and Paulician ideas, a convergence of
rhetoric about them, or merely reflect his own theological anxieties. Given the
ambiguities of the correspondence and the lack of familiarity between the two
men, it is unwise to commit to any conclusion, but it is nonetheless notewor-
thy that the question of images was belatedly becoming entwined with ideas
of Paulician heterodoxy.
Thankfully, the diplomatic context of the letters is a little clearer than their
religious particulars, since Chrysocheir is portrayed as a duplicitous figure,
whose loyalty to Photios or, more probably, the empire in general is decidedly
suspect. This is implicit in many of the letters we have already encountered,
but it is also specifically addressed in three other epistles, the first of which (Ep.
40) criticizes him for not heeding Photios’ attempts at correction.81 The other
two (Ep. 57 and 80), by contrast, are the only letters which are addressed to
John the spatharios, with the cognomen Chrysocheir absent. Yet it seems that
these refer to the same individual noted above, since they maintain the damn-
ing portrayal expressed therein and even go beyond it. Here, Photios’ ambiva-
lence and exasperation arise not from Chrysocheir’s presumed heterodoxy, but
his conduct; in one notable instance, the patriarch goes as far as characteris-
ing him as a snake in human form.82 Both letters position Chrysocheir outside
accepted Roman norms, with the implication that he is an enemy in all but

81 Photios, Epistulae, Ep. 40, vol. 1, pp. 88–​89; Ep. 57, vol. 1, p. 104; Ep. 80, vol. 1, p. 121.
82 Photios, Epistulae, Ep. 80, vol. 1, p. 121, l. 2–​3.
302  Chapter 6

name. Extrapolating from data which is ambiguous as this has it risks, but it
seems that after a period of nominal reconciliation with the empire following
the demise of Karbeas and ‘Amr, Chrysocheir began to advance an assertive pol-
icy once more. Since the bulk of Photios’ letters probably date to Michael iii’s
reign, his flirtation with the empire was brief and conflict was overt once more
by the accession of Basil. The crucial question here is whether Chrysocheir
broke definitively with the empire during the latter years of Michael’s rule. Our
chroniclers are silent about Paulician raiding while Michael still lived, but this
is because after their account of ‘Amr’s campaigns they display no interest in
events in the east and instead focus on blackening Michael’s name. As a result,
our sources never convincingly explain why Chrysocheir became such an
inveterate enemy of the empire. They instead preoccupy themselves with the
power struggles which engulfed Michael, his uncle Bardas, who had been ele-
vated to caesar in 862, and the future Basil i, who was successively promoted
to caesar and co-​emperor in the aftermath of Bardas’ demise. Genesios and the
Continuator identify Michael as the mastermind of his uncle’s assassination
and the Continuator implicates Basil in the deed itself, but both are keen to
obfuscate Basil’s part in Michael’s murder and instead lay the lion’s share of the
blame upon the imperial chamberlains.83
This sanguine jostling in the palace may at first seem of peripheral concern
to events in the empire’s eastern borderlands, but it may be more closely inter-
twined with Chrysocheir’s later actions than conventional wisdom acknowl-
edges. There is a definite suspicion in our sources that Chrysocheir posed an
ideological threat to Basil: he is portrayed as the empire’s greatest contempo-
rary enemy and provoked the emperor’s rancour unlike any other figure. This
enmity receives its clearest expression in the Vita Basilii, where Basil pleads
before God that he might not meet his end before firing three arrows into
Chrysocheir’s head; an oath which is later fulfilled on its severed hulk:

For all that, he would enter the holy church of God every day without fail,
and beseech the Lord –​in this he put forward as his mediators before God

83 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:17–​28, pp. 69–​80. Translation: On the
Reigns of the Emperors, pp. 86–​99; Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae
Theophanis Continuati, 4:30–​44, pp. 274–​299. In the Vita Basilii, Basil emboldens Bardas’
killers to commit the deed after Michael pleads with him to strengthen their shak-
ing resolve. See Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 17, pp. 62–​71. Symeon
describes Basil’s conspiracy more fully, whereas al-​Ṭabarī blames Basil for Michael’s mur-
der in passing. See Symeon the Logothete, Chronicon, 132:46–​54, pp. 255–​259; al-​Ṭabarī,
Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 36, trans. David Waines (Albany, 1992), p. 165.
Paulicians at Arms 303

both the Archangel Michael and the Prophet Elijah –​that he should not
depart this life before witnessing the downfall of Chrysocheir and fixing
three arrows into that man’s foul head. Which thing later came to pass …84

When the head was brought to him, he recalled his prayers; in tears he
turned his mind’s eye to Him that fulfils the desires of those who call
upon Him, and ordered that a bow and arrows be brought; quickly draw-
ing the bowstring and facing backward, he discharged three arrows at
the murderous head; nor did he miss a single shot. He thought that he
had made this offering, so amply deserved by that miscreant, to God as a
kind of sacrifice to the dead, on behalf of the countless multitudes whom
Chrysocheir had destroyed in the many years of his rule.85

These passages, which bookend the account of Chrysocheir’s death, mythol-

ogise his end to a degree that is rare even for the empire’s greatest enemies
in our period. Although Genesios does not employ the same motif, he too
invests Basil’s war against the Paulicians with religious importance, focus-
ing on Tephrikē in particular. In his version of events, after returning from a
failed attempt on Chrysocheir’s citadel, a tearful Basil enters the Church of
the Archangels in Constantinople and begs them that he might not die before
destroying the fortress, which is shortly thereafter reduced to ruins during
a storm in an act of divine retribution.86 It goes without saying that most
aspects of this account are deeply suspect from a historical perspective, but it
is notable that Chrysocheir’s demise marks the climax of the Basileion, which
ceases after Genesios describes Basil’s personality traits, skills, and the circum-
stances of his death.87 Once again, this observation suggests that the conflict
with Chrysocheir was crucial to conceptions of Basil’s reign. At the height
of the conflict between the two, Genesios has Chrysocheir contemptuously
ask Basil to cede the eastern provinces of the empire to him after the emper-
or’s peace proposal in the wake of Paulician attacks on Nikaea, Nikomedia,

84 Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 41, pp. 148–​149.

85 Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 43, pp. 156–​159.
86 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:34, p. 85. Translation: On the Reigns of the
Emperors, pp. 106–​107.
87 It is not only the account of Tephrikē’s fall that is unconvincing. Kaldellis notes that the
Church of the Archangels was not built until 880, after the Paulicians’ downfall, so even
the religious motif is historically inaccurate. See Kaldellis, ed., Genesios. On the Reigns of
the Emperors, p. 106, n. 481. For the final passages of the Basileion, see Genesios, Iosephi
Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:38–​42, pp. 88–​91. Translation: On the Reigns of the Emperors,
pp. 110–​113.
304  Chapter 6

and Ephesos.88 The proposed settlement, which would effectively make

Chrysocheir an emperor himself, has received surprisingly little attention, but
it is worth taking seriously due to his prominence at the time and the ire he
provoked in Basil. Photios’ letters indicate that his loyalty to the empire had
been shaky for some time, but there is scant evidence that he broke definitively
while Michael still ruled.89 His raiding campaign only seems to have begun
in earnest during the reign of Basil. A tantalising explanation for this imme-
diately presents itself: might Chrysocheir have turned against this murderous
usurper on the occasion of the senior emperor’s assassination?90
Naturally, given the centrality of Basil to later historiography which extolled
the dynasty he inaugurated, an emphasis of this kind is lacking in our sources,
but it would explain both the virulence of Basil’s loathing and the territorial
demands noted by Genesios. The terms in which these are framed admittedly
do not imply a zeal to avenge Michael:

If you wish to make peace with me, O Emperor, renounce your eastern
possessions and content yourselves with the western ones. Then I will
make peace with you. Otherwise we will exert all our energy to destroy
you and your Empire.91

If, then, Chrysocheir did break with the empire around the time of Michael’s
death, it was almost certainly a pretext to further his own designs and probably
owed much to popular opposition to Basil. Most probably, he simply sought to
exploit the prevailing confusion and Basil’s perceived weakness as a military
commander; a reputation which the new emperor never really shook off.92

88 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:35, p. 86. Translation: On the Reigns of the
Emperors, pp. 107–​108.
89 The reference to Leo Argyros’ campaigns against Tephrikē in Michael’s reign imply con-
flict of some kind, but because these cannot be dated securely it is unclear whether
they refer to the period of Chrysocheir’s rule. See Theophanes Continuatus vi, 27, p. 374,
l. 11–​19.
90 Tobias posits something akin to this, noting that Chrysocheir’s early raids against Nikaea,
Nikomedia, and the Thrakesion might be motivated by an attempt to rally dissidents to
his banner, whether these were partisans of the Paganes noted below, and/​or those loyal
to the memory of Michael iii. See Norman Tobias, Basil I: Founder of the Macedonian
Dynasty (Lewiston, 2007), p. 102.
91 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:35, p. 86, l. 80–​83. Translation: On the
Reigns of the Emperors, p. 107.
92 This is implicitly acknowledged by the Vita Basilii on a number of occasions, since the
text glosses over his idleness during the Melitene campaign of 873 and notes his annoy-
ance when victories were achieved by his subordinates and not himself. See Constantine
vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 39; 46, pp. 142–​143; 162–​165.
Paulicians at Arms 305

Opposition to Basil rarely manifests itself in our sources, but there are outliers.
His promotion to co-​emperor so alienated the logothete Symbatios, who had
conspired alongside Basil and Michael in the murder of Bardas, that he rebelled
in league with Paganes, the general of the Opsikion thema. Significantly, both
rebelled in Michael iii’s name to make clear that their opposition was to Basil
alone.93 In a similar vein, shortly before Michael’s death attempts were made
on Basil’s life when his position as favourite was usurped by Basilikinos.94 His
popularity was therefore not universal before Michael’s death and the mur-
der of the senior emperor would hardly have helped matters. Quite how all
of this conditions the confrontation between Basil and Chrysocheir remains
unclear because events in the east are so little understood in the latter years of
Michael iii’s reign, but it at least seems clear that the Paulician leader posed
a greater challenge to Basil’s fledgling regime than has previously been rec-
ognized. At first this was probably a consequence of Basil’s struggle for legit-
imation rather than any grand ambitions on Chrysocheir’s part, but matters
may have changed as the latter’s raids became more ambitious and successful.
His motivations are never adequately expressed by our sources, but they may
partially reflect a westward shift in the Paulicians’ centre of gravity caused by
their compromised position on the eastern frontier. In the years since 863, the
Islamic-​Paulician alliance had effectively fallen into abeyance, undermining
the economic conditions and strategic balance that Karbeas had exploited
so well.
Aside from a single text, to which we shall soon turn, there is no direct ref-
erence to a break between Paulicians and Muslims, but the diplomatic context
of our sources implies a weakening of relations around this time. Chrysocheir’s
career, for instance, sees much less evidence of Islamic cooperation compared
to Karbeas, despite the confusing fact that Tephrikē is often identified as an
Islamic settlement under his rule. While Karbeas frequently fought alongside
his Muslim allies, our sources never place his successor in the same position.
Both Genesios and the Vita Basilii relate Chrysocheir campaigning alone and
their Arabic equivalents do not mention any relationship with the frontier
emirates. Al-​Mas‘ūdī and al-​Ṭabarī mention him only in passing: the former
while describing the old Paulician heartlands and the latter on the occasion
of his death.95 He certainly seems to have enjoyed greater independence than

93 Note, however, that Basil recalled them to court after Michael’s death. Constantine vii
Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 18–​19, pp. 70–​79. For Basil’s struggle for legitimacy, see also
McCormick, Eternal Victory, pp. 152–​154.
94 Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 24–​27, pp. 90–​109.
95 al-​Mas‘ūdī, Le livre de l’avertissement, p. 248; al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 36, p. 142.
306  Chapter 6

his predecessor and the best explanation for this is that the frontier emirates
fell into a malaise after the twin routs of Lalakaon and Halōras.96 As noted
above, central support for the emirates was impotent in the final years of ‘Amr
al-Aqṭa‘ and ‘Alī al-​Armanī and matters deteriorated further as the caliphate
slipped into the period of turbulence commonly known as the anarchy at
Sāmarrā. In fact, their weakness is such that we do not know for certain the
successor of ‘Amr as emir of Melitene, since although one of his surviving sons,
Abū ‘Abdallāh b. ‘Amr, came to prominence, he did so as Emir of Anazarbus.97
The decline of Islamic power in the area therefore seems to have been the
predominant cause which determined the Paulicians’ newfound autonomy,
but our sources are not unanimous on the point. Peter of Sicily, an admittedly
unreliable witness, implies that the most important factor was the Paulicians’
reorientation from Argaous to Tephrikē, noting that they settled at the latter
to “escape the tyranny of the Agarenes of Melitene.”98 This seems unlikely if
Islamic support was as crucial as I have argued, but he is at least correct that
this support diminished over time.
We therefore possess many indications which suggest that the Paulician-​
Islamic alliance foundered around this time, but only one source explic-
itly alludes to the break. While writing of the value of the Paulicians
(Arabic: Baylaḳāni) as Muslim allies in his Kitāb al-​kharāj wa-​ṣinā‘ at al-​kitāba
(Book of the Land-​Tax and the Craft of Writing), Qudāma b. Ja‘far notes that they
migrated away from their power base after ill-​treatment at the hands of the
frontier emirates, although unfortunately he gives no chronological specifics:99

… the land which was settled by a people called the Baylaḳāni, who are
of the Romans, except for certain differences that exist between the two
in matters of faith. These people used to give aid to the Muslims during
their raids, and their aid was greatly valued by the Muslims. All at once,
however, they migrated away from this land, in consequence of the evil
conduct of the governors of the frontier who had dealings with them, and

96 Whittow notes that Melitene never really recovered from the death of ‘Amr. See Whittow,
The Making of Orthodox Byzantium, p. 311.
97 Note, however, that the Vita Basilii places him around Melitene during Basil’s campaign
of 878/​79 against Germanikeia and Adata. Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii,
46, pp. 164–​167.
98 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 184, pp. 66–​67. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 91.
99 Al-​Mas‘ūdī also notes their return to Roman territories by his day, thereby implying he too
considers them Roman. al-​Mas‘ūdī, Les prairies d’or, vol. 8, p. 75. Translation: Masudi: The
Meadows of Gold, p. 319.
Paulicians at Arms 307

of the little honour that they received at the hands of those appointed
to look after their affairs. Hence the Baylaḳāni have come to be dis-
persed abroad through various countries, while in their place, now, the
Armenians have settled.100

Qudāma’s account does not entirely convince, since he has conflated the
waning of the Islamic alliance and the dispersal of the Paulicians from the
Anti-​Taurus into a single event, whereas the latter was by all accounts a later
development impelled by the aggression of Basil and his subordinates. For this
reason, we should not necessarily endorse his claims about a change of policy
by the frontier emirates, particularly given the lack of corroborating evidence.
Qudāma certainly places a high value on the Paulicians as Muslim allies and
this may have made him unduly harsh on the neighbouring emirs. It seems
most likely that the waning of the alliance was not cause by hostility on the
governors’ part, but rather a reluctance or inability to render sufficient aid to
an ally, particularly given the enfeebled state of the emirates at the time. In this
scenario, it is readily comprehensible that Chrysocheir acquiesced to Roman
overtures, accepting the support and titles which Photios’ letters attest.
At first, it seems that Chrysocheir was a relatively quiescent client, but,
whether as a result of Michael iii’s death or other factors, he soon took the
offensive in a series of raids that were every bit as ferocious as those of ‘Amr
a decade beforehand. These exploits initially seem to stem from a position
of strength, but they may in fact reflect weakness if his hands were tied by
the lack of economic and military assistance from 863 onwards. In earlier
years, the Paulicians were dependent on raiding to sustain their income and
this tendency undoubtedly increased as external support evaporated. The
economic fundamentals of the Paulician lands are admittedly poorly under-
stood, but Karbeas’ subservient relationship with ‘Amr implies that their reve-
nue had been shaky even when Islamic support was forthcoming. Even if the
no-​man’s land was not as desolate as scholarship has traditionally supposed,

100 Qudāma b. Ja‘far, Kitāb al-​kharāj wa-​ṣinā‘ at al-​kitāba, partial translation in Bibliotheca
geographorum Arabicorum, vol. 6, ed. and trans. Michael Jan de Goeje (Leiden, 1870),
p. 194. The translation used here is based on Le Strange, with emendations from de Goeje’s
edition. De Goeje initially believed that Baylaḳāni should be amended to Naylaḳāni/​
Nayḳalāni (i.e. Nicolaitans), but later accepted the Baylaḳāni reading, as Le Strange notes.
See Guy Le Strange, “Al-​Abrīk, Tephrikē, the Capital of the Paulicians,” The Journal of the
Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland (1896), p. 736. The Nicolaitan reading is
retained by Heck, whose work provides valuable context on Qudāma and the Kitāb al-​
kharāj. See Paul L. Heck, The Construction of Knowledge in Islamic Civilization: Qudāma
b. Jaʻfar and his Kitāb al-​Kharāj wa-​ṣināʻat al-​kitāba (Leiden/​Boston, 2002), p. 131.
308  Chapter 6

the area had still supported little developed infrastructure for centuries. It is
likely that the natural environment was exploited wherever possible, but the
martial core who followed Karbeas and Chrysocheir were best suited to other
talents. Although separated from the frontier emirates by the mountains and
their faith, the fledgling Paulician centres had developed under Islamic aus-
pices and adopted many of the same military tactics. In such a setting, it is
natural that raiding was their most lucrative source of income, as is apparent
from the number of outlets that it took. Al-​Ṭabarī’s account of ‘Amr’s 861 cam-
paign shows that both he and Karbeas seized wealth in the form of livestock,
while in Chrysocheir’s time the Paulicians would enrich themselves by plun-
dering the cities of Asia Minor. In addition to these methods, the practice of
taking prisoners could also be fruitful. The example of Poullades, whom we
shall soon encounter as the slayer of Chrysocheir, suggests that prisoners were
well treated in order to secure a hefty ransom. As a result, it seems that the
martial activities of the Paulicians evolved in specialised ways for the purposes
of maximising their income. This policy met with few problems when Islamic
forces were on the offensive during Karbeas’ leadership, but when the strategic
balance shifted to favour the empire, Chrysocheir was faced with a more trou-
bling predicament.

4 The Last Raids of Chrysocheir and the Eclipse of Tephrikē

His eventual solution was to take the fight to the empire itself, but, as has
become standard thus far, establishing a workable chronology of his campaigns
is not entirely straightforward.101 Genesios, who gives the fullest account of the
breadth of Chrysocheir’s incursions, notes that he targeted Nikomedia, Nikaea,
and the Thrakesion thema, with Ephesos suffering particularly within the lat-
ter.102 However, he does not give sufficient detail to determine whether this
corresponds to a single campaign, or to several. The chronology is also impre-
cise, although a date between 867–​870 at least seems secure.103 For Genesios,

101 Most useful here is Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 96–​108. See also Tobias, Basil I, pp. 95–​123;
134–​137, whose appraisal of Basil’s strategic vision owes much to hindsight.
102 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:35, p. 86. Translation: On the Reigns of the
Emperors, pp. 107–​108.
103 The mission of Peter of Sicily to Tephrikē has often been used to narrow these dates, but,
given our conclusions on the authenticity of this source, it is of no use to us here. The Vita
Basilii does not describe any of these attacks, whereas Genesios’ summary of the wars
against the Paulicians, which precedes his account of Chrysocheir’s raids, is singularly
unreliable. It at least seems apparent that these events predate Basil’s 871 campaign. See
Paulicians at Arms 309

one outrage could not be passed over in silence: while sacking Ephesos,
Chrysocheir’s troops profaned the Church of John by bringing their horses and
baggage inside.104 This episode, which has a more truthful ring than many alle-
gations against the Paulicians, seems a rare window into the religious differ-
ences which separated them and the Romans, although unfortunately Genesios
does not elaborate on the incident. It was in the aftermath of this assault that
Chrysocheir disdainfully rejected Basil’s peace terms and demanded the ces-
sion of the eastern provinces, which presumably amounts to Asia Minor in
its entirety. This is a rather unusual demand which deserves some consider-
ation. It implies that Chrysocheir did not straightforwardly conceive of the
area in either Byzantine or Islamic terms, since possession of Constantinople
remained imperative to the former and the latter had shied away from even the
most limited territorial designs beyond the thughūr from al-​Mu‘taṣim’s reign
onward. His demands ring true to a different perspective, which presumably
drew from some combination of his Paulician background, his life on the fron-
tier, and a pragmatic assessment of how far his power might reasonably extend.
Of course, it is also possible that he trumped up his demands excessively if he
had no intention of negotiating with Basil, but even in this case the choice of
terms is still revealing. Chrysocheir sought to creatively explore the opportu-
nities that the late 860s afforded, even to the extent of redrawing the political
map outside the centuries-​old framework of Byzantine-​Islamic warfare. How
closely his designs were entangled with the impotence of the frontier emirates,
the fallout from Michael iii’s death, and any resistance Basil i faced as a result
remains unclear, but his ambitions proved ephemeral in any case.
Once Chrysocheir made his demands known, Basil saw little choice but to
counterattack. In 871 he took the fight to Tephrikē itself, although, once more,
our sources fail to agree on the general course of events. According to Symeon
the Logothete, Basil’s attack on the citadel was a resounding failure and he
was only saved from death by the actions of Theophylaktos Abastaktos, whose
son would rise to the purple half a century later as Romanos i Lekapenos.105
Following the defeat, Basil returned to the capital and ventured nothing fur-
ther. In contrast to Symeon’s brief account, the Vita Basilii gives a wealth
of detail, describing Basil ravaging the countryside around Tephrikē, but

Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 37, pp. 136–​139; Genesios, Iosephi Genesii
regum libri quattuor, 4:34, p. 85, l. 47–​66. Translation: On the Reigns of the Emperors,
pp. 106–​107.
104 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:35, p. 86, l. 70–​72 Translation: On the
Reigns of the Emperors, pp. 107–​108.
105 Symeon the Logothete, Chronicon, 132:7, p. 262, l. 44–​49.
310  Chapter 6

ultimately deeming the fortress itself unassailable. Thereupon he crossed into

Islamic territory and sent a secondary force against Sozopetra and Samosata,
only advancing upon Melitene when this detachment had returned. He
defeated a Muslim army outside the city, but again lacked the strength for a
sustained siege, so he returned to sack “the country of the Manichees” before
returning to Constantinople and celebrating a triumph.106 The geography of
the two accounts is not necessarily unreconcilable, but their assessment of
the campaign’s success is widely divergent. As a result, Lemerle has dated the
offensive related by the Vita Basilii to 873 in order to coincide with al-​Ṭabarī’s
reference to a campaign of Basil against Samosata and Melitene in that year.107
According to this account: “The Byzantine emperor conquered Sumaysāṭ in
this year and also attacked Malaṭyah and besieged its inhabitants, who fought
back and succeeded in driving him off.”108
Even though the Vita’s account, whose detail inspires confidence, clearly
places the campaign a year before Chrysocheir’s death, it seems that Lemerle
has hit the nail on the head by arguing that it actually refers to the events of
873. Most convincingly, both the Vita and al-​Ṭabarī specify that Samosata was
targeted before Melitene, which is not the intuitive campaign itinerary. It also
seems inconceivable that Basil could have celebrated a triumph in 871 while
his nemesis Chrysocheir still threatened the empire. Leaving the matter of dat-
ing aside, the campaign recounted in the Vita demonstrates that the presence
of Tephrikē still complicated the empire’s ability to wage war in the east, since
Basil’s inactivity before advancing on Melitene is best explained by his reluc-
tance to penetrate deep into Muslim lands while both Tephrikē and Melitene
remained in a position to resist. In fact, the military endeavours of Basil’s reign
would consistently target this area rather than the Kilikian front to the south-​
west, thereby suggesting that Tephrikē and Melitene were still considered the
greater strategic threat despite their diminished influence.
In addition to its value for understanding military events, the Vita’s account
is by far our best source for understanding the ethno-​cultural composition of
the lands under Chrysocheir’s dominion. We have already seen that Byzantine
historians often characterised Tephrikē as an Islamic settlement and the Vita’s

106 Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 37–​40, pp. 136–​149; McCormick, Eternal
Victory, pp. 152–​157.
107 Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 100–​102; 104–​105. See also Whittow, The Making of Orthodox
Byzantium, p. 417, n. 6. The 873 campaign is also narrated, albeit in very brief terms, by
Genesios. Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:31, pp. 81–​82. Translation: On
the Reigns of the Emperors, pp. 101–​102.
108 al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 36, p. 156.
Paulicians at Arms 311

description further nuances this by sketching an area that was far from homo-
geneously Paulician in character. This is most notable in the reaction of the
surrounding lands to Basil’s attempt on Tephrikē, which is punctuated by sev-
eral lacunae:

When the other city of the Ishmaelites which they call Taranta, saw the
*** and the great slaughter of those in Tephrike, it sent ambassadors to
sue for peace and to request that it be enlisted among the cities allied
with the emperor. The most excellent emperor showed as much magna-
nimity *** as he *** toward anyone who resisted him; he yielded to the
embassy, granted peace to those who requested it, and from that time
on had allies instead of enemies. As a result, not a few others sought
refuge with him, particularly a certain Kourtikios, an Armenian who at
the time held Lokana and was relentlessly ravaging Roman borderlands.
Kourtikios put his city, troops, and people under the sway of the emperor,
admiring his magnanimity blended with courage and his justice com-
bined with strength.109

In considering both Taranta and Tephrikē as “cities of Ishmaelites,” the Vita

continues the tendency we have traced thus far of conflating Paulician and
Muslim identities. The Muslim identification does not fit in Taranta’s case,
since it had been abandoned in the reign of Umar ii (717–​720) and there is no
record of a subsequent resettlement.110 Like most other sites west of Melitene,
it seems to have been under nominal Paulician control. Perhaps the most nota-
ble aspect of Taranta’s submission is the site’s location, since while Tephrikē
was at the extreme northern limit of Paulician power, Taranta lay close to its
southern extremity. The same seems to be true of Lokana, where the Armenian
bandit Kourtikios, or K’urdik, also submitted his city to the emperor.111 At first
glance, it seems that neither settlement was in immediate danger after the
attack on Tephrikē, which had not been successful in any case, but subsequent

1 09 Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 38, pp. 140–​141.

110 al-​Balādhurī, The Origins of the Islamic State, ed. and trans. Philip K. Hitti, Francis
C. Murgotten, 2 vols, vol. 1 (New York/​London, 1916), p. 290; Paul Wheatley, The Places
Where Men Pray Together: Cities in Islamic Lands: Seventh through the Tenth Centuries
(Chicago, 2001), p. 407, n. 48.
111 John G.C. Anderson, “The Road-​System of Eastern Asia Minor,” Journal of Hellenic Studies
17 (1897), p. 24. On Kourtikios, see also Whittow, The Making of Orthodox Byzantium,
p. 315.
312  Chapter 6

events show that Basil marched through the area on his route to Melitene, so
the defections are in fact eminently understandable.
Even if Chrysocheir were dead by this time, Paulician control over the area
was evidently weak if its inhabitants could capitulate without a fight. Whether
Kourtikios could be considered Paulician in the same way as the inhabitants
of Taranta or Tephrikē is unclear, but his circumstances may reflect something
of the political gravity of the area. As noted in Chapter 2, it is something of an
oddity that Paulician or Manichaean identities are so rarely invoked in this
period, with Genesios and the Vita Basilii conceptualising opposition largely
through the twin poles of Chrysocheir and Tephrikē. This combination of
leader and powerbase nevertheless coheres with the passage quoted above,
where authority is demarcated on a settlement by settlement basis. Fortified
sites comprised the bedrock of the region: at the culmination of Basil’s cam-
paign the Vita describes his attack on the Paulician lands, including his razing
of Argaous, the otherwise unknown Rachat, and the forts of Koutakios and
Stephen.112 The naming of the latter two in particular implies that the power
of individual warlords was focused on particular sites; a fact which is also evi-
dent in references which pair Chrysocheir and Tephrikē, as well as some of the
Muslim forts taken by Basil, notably the forts of Kourtikios and Amer.113
In short, the patchwork of political authority which arises from the Vita’s
portrayal implies a much more fragmented polity than anything that could
be considered a Paulician state. Political integration seems to have been rudi-
mentary in the extreme and the mere presence of the emperor and his army
was enough to reconfigure the diplomatic landscape. Our sources consistently
employ a range of identity-​language, be it Ishmaelite, Manichaean, Armenian,
or otherwise, across the area, to the extent that terming it Paulician may be
in itself a simplification. Of course, a background of realigning loyalties is
eminently understandable if Lemerle is correct that the campaign occurred
after Chrysocheir’s death, but, whatever the circumstances, the dynamics of
the area are most easily reconcilable with what we have seen of the shatter
zone, that is, an essentially non-​state space where political ties were fleet-
ing and unpredictable.114 When regional conditions were propitious, leaders
such as Karbeas and Chrysocheir might have enjoyed ascendancy for a time,
but authority fragmented swiftly in the case of outside intervention, leaving

1 12 Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 49, pp. 176–​177.

113 Whether these sites are named for ‘Amr al-​Aqṭa‘ or the Kourtikios mentioned above is
unknown. Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 40, pp. 144–​147.
114 James C. Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of Upland South East
Asia (New Haven/​London, 2009), pp. 7–​9.
Paulicians at Arms 313

strongmen and settlements scrambling to fend for themselves. The main point
of commonality seems to be in subsistence strategies since Kourtikios’ raiding
is very much in the same vein as Paulician norms. The overriding impression is
that the geopolitical niche and its associated forms of social organisation and
subsistence patterns did more to mould the area than Paulician heterodoxy,
although caution must be sounded here, since the latter is almost invisible in
our sources for this period.
The transience of political authority is best demonstrated by the sharp
decline of Paulician power following Chrysocheir’s death. In marked contrast
to the silence which covers Karbeas’ demise, both Genesios and the Vita Basilii
give a lengthy, parallel account of his successor’s fate that assuredly derives
from a common source.115 Basil’s failed attack on Tephrikē in 871 had obvi-
ously not stymied Chrysocheir’s ambitions and in the following year he pen-
etrated the heart of Anatolia, striking as far as Ankyra and the Kommata, a
region of southern Galatia, before returning homeward. He was shadowed by
Christopher, the domestikos of the scholae (possibly Basil’s son in law), whose
movements seem to have been unknown to the ill-​prepared Chrysocheir. As
our sources have it, the Paulicians reached Bathyryax around nightfall and
set up camp, whereupon a dispute broke out in the Byzantine ranks between
the Charsianon and Armeniakon forces, both of which sought to demonstrate
their greater valour in the coming encounter. With much of the army clamour-
ing for a fight, the generals relented and dispatched a hand-​picked force to take
the Paulicians unawares before dawn, while the bulk of the army remained to
guard the camp. Even the unexpected appearance of the vanguard was enough
to precipitate a general rout among their startled foe and Chrysocheir him-
self fled, but was soon overtaken by his pursuers. This portion of the account
merits recounting because it reveals some of the interpersonal ties that devel-
oped between Romans and Paulicians through the practice of taking prisoners.
Genesios’ version, which I quote here, seems truer to its source than the Vita:

As for Chreisocheir, he sought refuge in flight taking with him a few of

his soldiers. But Poullades caught up with him. He had this celebrated
name because he always wore a felt cap. He had once been a prisoner

115 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:36–​37, pp. 86–​87. Translation: On the
Reigns of the Emperors, pp. 108–​110. His end is also described in much briefer terms by
al-​Ṭabarī, who notes the death of one Khuraskhāris in Byzantine territory in 871/​72. The
translator Waines does not identify this figure with Chrysocheir, but the link had already
been made by Lemerle. al-​Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-​rusul, vol. 36, p. 142; Lemerle, “L’histoire,”
p. 102.
314  Chapter 6

in Tephrike and had become quite friendly with Chreisocheir. When he

saw the latter, he recognized him and called out loudly, “O Strategoi! O
Domestikos of the Scholai! Come here!” Chreisocheir left and said, “O
wretched Poullades! What harm have I done you? To the contrary, I have
done many things to help you. Go away, and do not try to stop me.” The
other man replied, “I know, Chreisocheir, that you have done many good
things for me and I pray to my Savior God that on this day I may repay
you.” Chreisocheir was on horseback and came up against a ditch across
which his horse refused to jump. He thus paid less attention to Poullades
and looked ahead, trying not to fall into the ditch. And Poullades struck
him from behind with his spear, under his armpit. The force of the blow
alarmed Chreisocheir’s horse, which threw him to the ground. Then,
his most trusted attendant, whose name was Diakonitzes, dismounted
(whom Leo, the revered Emperor, appointed mensourator, as it is called
in the language of the Romans, after he had abandoned for the better
the loathsome religion of the Paulicians).116 This man took Chreisocheir’s
head and placed it in his lap trying to offer him some relief. The Strategoi
found him thus and, cutting off Chreisocheir’s head, immediately sent it
to the Lord Basil, crowned by God, as a gift.117

For a figure who had plagued the cities of Asia Minor in the preceding years,
Chrysocheir has a quasi-​tragic end that surprisingly evokes some sympathy. He
might, it is implied, have escaped amid the general pandemonium had he not
been recognized by a former prisoner who, despite being treated well in his
confinement, unsaddled his former captor in his distraction, mortally wound-
ing him in the process. In the Vita Basilii, Basil goes on to exact his revenge
upon the mutilated remains, which the source considers a fitting epilogue to
the affair of Chrysocheir and Tephrikē; a combination which once again pre-
dominates over any semblance of a broader Paulician identity.118
Beyond the narrative presentation of Chrysocheir’s final moments, there
is still much of interest in this account. Even though the taking of prisoners
was a common Paulician tactic for much of the century, there are precious
few allusions to it. Prisoners of repute were generally well treated so that a
sizable ransom could be exacted and this certainly seems to have been true

116 Paulicians is the translation given by Kaldellis. The text actually reads Paulianists, who
correspond to the followers of Paul of Samosata.
117 Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:37, p. 88. Translation: On the Reigns of the
Emperors, pp. 109–​110.
118 Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 41; 43, pp. 148–​149; 155–​159.
Paulicians at Arms 315

in Poullades’ case. The passage does not state how Poullades was ransomed,
but in the case of Karbeas’ captives at Samosata the prisoners wrote home to
arrange payment.119 The exchange between Poullades and Chrysocheir is an
interesting one, since it demonstrates the very different experiences of captor
and captive: Chrysocheir may believe that he has treated Poullades well, yet
the latter is still bent on retribution. Byzantines were free to take their own
captives in this engagement, since the Vita Basilii states Poullades took prison-
ers, including Diakonitzes, but it seems that they were not subsequently ran-
somed.120 Judging by Diakonitzes’ later fate, they were offered the possibility of
reconciliation or conversion, and, although the least repentant may have been
imprisoned, the draconian sentence of punishing Manichaeans with the sword
seems to have been quietly forgotten. Mercy never seems to have been a con-
sideration in Chrysocheir’s case given the destruction he had wrought in previ-
ous years. As for Diakonitzes, his appointment as mensourator in Leo vi’s reign
shows that Paulicians could swiftly integrate themselves into Roman society.
Genesios states that he converted before doing so but it is unclear whether
this conversion was genuine or only skin deep. We find Diakonitzes leading
“a troop of men who traced their religion back to Mani” under Nikephoros
Phokas in the Langobardia thema in 885/​86.121 That their heterodoxy was
still recognized implies that little effort had been made regarding conversion,
particularly because there was no attempt to break up the company, but it is
equally possible that their Manichaean past was invoked purely as a regimen-
tal identity. It is noteworthy that Diakonitzes’ troop was allowed to retain its
unity, despite a longstanding period of opposition to the empire. It suggests
that their reconciliation was relatively swift and untroubled, as in the case of
the Khurramiyya, whom Theophilos attempted to acculturate and only dis-
banded after their loyalty had been undermined by their alleged proclamation
of Theophobos as emperor. Romans could evidently coexist with Paulicians
(and other heterodox minorities) when circumstances allowed.
The outcome of the battle of Bathyryax is in many respects indicative of
the dangers which raiding entailed when the empire was able to concentrate
its manpower and bring it to bear on the invading army, particularly when the
latter was laden with plunder. Chrysocheir’s fate mirrored that of ‘Amr al-Aqṭa‘

119 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v, Chronographiae quae Theophanis Continuati, 4:23,

pp. 252–​253.
120 Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 43, pp. 156–​157.
121 This is the conventional date, but note the objections given by Tougher, who favours a
date between 886 and 888. Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 71, pp. 244–​
245; Shaun Tougher, The Reign of Leo VI (886–​912): Politics and People (Leiden, 1997), p. 204.
316  Chapter 6

a decade before; shadowed on enemy soil, he was swiftly outnumbered, out-

manoeuvred, and forced to fight in unfavourable circumstances. The pri-
mary difference was that ‘Amr’s forces put up a desperate last stand whereas
the Paulicians, who were perhaps less suited to conventional warfare, broke
almost immediately. Bathyryax is the only Paulician defeat known to us, but
it was a decisive one. We know of no other leader following Chrysocheir and
it is probable that many senior figures fell or were captured alongside him.
The manpower available to the Paulicians is unknown, but it seems that they
lacked the necessary reserves to recover from a defeat on this scale. As noted
above, Chrysocheir’s belligerence may have stemmed from a position of weak-
ness and subsequent events imply that the Paulician presence in the east was
fatally undermined by his demise.
Such is the importance of Chrysocheir in contemporary accounts that it has
often been assumed that Tephrikē fell soon after his death, but the capture of
the Paulicians’ most famous stronghold is not described in any source, whether
Greek or Arabic.122 The most likely eventuality is that it held out until 878/​
79. As observed above, Lemerle is almost certainly correct in associating the
campaigns described by al-​Ṭabarī and the Vita Basilii, in which case Basil fol-
lowed up the victory at Bathyryax in the following year by campaigning against
Tephrikē, Sozopetra, Samosata, and Melitene. The death of Chrysocheir did
not, however, trigger a resurgence in Byzantine campaigning in the east and,
so far as we know, it is only in 876 that imperial forces advanced once more.
The objective on this occasion was Melitene, but our only source, Symeon the
Logothete, merely notes that Basil killed a considerable number of the enemy
and took many captives.123
Several years later, Basil and his subordinates marched forth in a campaign-
ing season that would be crowned by a triumph for the emperor and his son
Constantine. This triumph, which is described in an appendix to the De cere-
moniis, was celebrated for victories at Germanikeia and Tephrikē.124 Although
the specifics of these victories are not noted, it seems that we have here our
only allusion to the fall of Tephrikē. Since Constantine died on 3 September
879 and our surviving accounts of the campaign are placed immediately before
this event, these victories should be placed in either 878, the date favoured by

122 The conflation of Chrysocheir’s death and the fall of Tephrikē was relatively frequent
before Lemerle’s study, despite the fact that Vasiliev had already argued that the latter
should be placed in 879. See, for instance, Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, p. 129.
123 Symeon the Logothete, Chronicon, 132:15, p. 265.
124 Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, The Book of Ceremonies, vol. 1, pp. 498–​502. See also
McCormick, Eternal Victory, pp. 152–​157; 212–​230.
Paulicians at Arms 317

Lemerle, or 879, as argued by Alexander Vasiliev, Nicolas Oikonomidès, and

Warren Treadgold among others.125 Once more, the sources do not agree on a
precise date and our reconstruction is further complicated by the contempo-
rary siege of Syracuse (877–​878) by the Aghlabids, who had for some decades
aimed at the annexation of Sicily from their powerbase across the straits in
Ifrīqiya.126 Syracuse finally fell after a nine-​month siege on 21 May 878 amid
much looting and bloodshed and it is generally considered unlikely that Basil
set out on campaign while the siege remained in progress. As a result, 879 is
the date usually preferred, although Lemerle has argued that placing the cam-
paign in the previous year may explain why it achieved relatively little if Basil’s
departure was delayed by events in the west. These difficulties complicate
our understanding of the expedition, which targeted an ambitious number of
sites across the mountainous stretch of the frontier from the Kilikian Gates
to Melitene, but achieved little lasting gains, aside from the conjectural fall of
Tephrikē.127
We possess two notable accounts of this campaign, those of Symeon the
Logothete and the Vita Basilii. Both are true to form: Symeon’s version is brief
in the extreme, whereas the Vita once more provides a full and convincing
account which must have drawn on contemporary sources.128 Although the
latter does not mention the fall of Tephrikē, immediately after its description
of the campaign it notes that the fortress’ power waned and then disappeared
altogether around this time, probably, as we shall see, through the actions of
Basil’s subordinates. The first target of the main thrust, which was led by Basil
(and Constantine, who seems to have been alongside him throughout), was
Loulon, a fortress which had been one of the main Islamic staging posts for
invasion in earlier times and had been contested between the powers more
recently.129 When this was taken the neighbouring fortress of Melou surren-
dered. Both sites lay in the parts of Kappadokia most exposed to Islamic raid-
ing, where Basil concentrated his activity, but it is also clear that the emperor’s

125 Lemerle, “L’histoire,” pp. 104–​108; Alexander A. Vasiliev, Byzance et les Arabes: T.2 La
dynastie Macédonienne (867–​959), trans. Henri Grégoire, Marius Canard (Brussels, 1950),
pp. 86–​94; Nicolas Oikonomidès, Les listes de préséance byzantines des 9. et 10. siècles: intro-
duction, texte, traduction et commentaire (Paris, 1972), p. 350, n. 355; Treadgold, A History of
Byzantine State, pp. 458; 944, n. 25.
126 Alex Metcalfe, The Muslims of Medieval Italy (Edinburgh, 2009), pp. 27–​28.
127 Anderson, “The Road-​System,” pp. 34–​36.
128 Symeon the Logothete, Chronicon, 132:17, p. 266. A parallel version is found in Pseudo-​
Symeon. See Pseudo-​Symeon, 15, in Theophanes continuatus, Ioannes Caminiata, Symeon
Magister, Georgius monachus, ed. Immanuel Bekker (Bonn, 1838), p. 692.
129 For the campaign, see Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 46–​49, pp. 162–​177.
318  Chapter 6

generals were active in the Paulician lands to the north-​east, where the Vita
describes the capture of “the Manichaean city, Katabatala,” which has not
been precisely located.130 As for Basil himself, he marched through Kallipolis,
Padasia, and then the mountain passes to Germanikeia, whose inhabitants
retreated behind their walls. After devastating the surrounding countryside,
he advanced to Adata and subjected it to much the same treatment, although
in this case the Vita states that a concerted attempt was made on the fortifica-
tions.131 When this venture proved futile, he returned to his own territory. Upon
reaching Caesarea, he received news of his subordinates’ successes, which
included a wealth of booty and captives from the Tarsites and Manichaeans.
The fight had evidently been taken to the Paulicians in his absence and, since
Basil’s triumph was celebrated for victories at Germanikeia and Tephrikē, it
seems that the latter had been taken, or at least reduced to insignificance,
by his subordinates. That this is so is suggested by the fact, noted above, that
the Vita then states that the threat of Tephrikē waned around this time, with
the Emirate of Tarsus taking its place as the empire’s predominant enemy
in the east.132 That the fate of the most celebrated Paulician stronghold goes
unremarked is somewhat surprising, but may owe much to the vagaries of
source survival, since the Vita notes the fate of many less significant locales if
Basil was in the vicinity, but is less well informed on the doings of his under-
lings. Regardless of all of this, it seems apparent that Tephrikē’s importance
had diminished markedly since Chrysocheir’s day. It is the fall of the leader and
not the city which marks the most fitting end to the Paulicians’ ascendancy.
Their apogee was at times a spectacular one, but it was also fleeting and
owed more to favourable circumstances and the fortunes of its leaders than
any great degree of institutional or ideological sophistication. Its success
could not outlive any decline in its raiding activity, particularly once Islamic
support had ground to a halt. This was not a state in any sense of the term,

130 As noted by Ramsay, who believed that it should be located in the region of the other
main Paulician sites. William M. Ramsay, The Historical Geography of Asia Minor (London,
1890), pp. 342–​343. Bryer’s conjecture that the site lay further east in the environs of
Mananalis should be disregarded. Anthony Bryer, “Excursus on Mananalis, Samosata
of Armenia and Paulician Geography,” in Iconoclasm: Papers Given at the Ninth Spring
Symposium of Byzantine Studies, University of Birmingham, March 1975, eds. Anthony
Bryer, Judith Herrin (Birmingham, 1977), p. 84.
131 The Vita gives Basil’s siege of Adata a prophetic tint, since it claims that the city’s inhab-
itants had been told the city would not fall to Basil, but to another emperor named
Constantine, who turned out to be Constantine vii, the purported author of the Vita.
Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 48, pp. 170–​175.
132 Constantine vii Porphyrogennetos, Vita Basilii, 50, pp. 178–​179.
Paulicians at Arms 319

but an ephemeral politico-​military formation that was only tenable as long

as Islamic forces held the ascendancy on the eastern frontier and had the will
and capacity to prop up their allies. The territories in question were not pop-
ulated homogeneously by Paulicians, but by a disparate mix that reflected the
area’s stateless character and its location at the crossroads of different ethno-​
cultural zones. Only a single Paulician defeat is mentioned in our sources, but
it was sufficient to prompt a decline from which they would never recover. This
inherent weakness should not, however, lead us to lose sight of the remark-
able upturn in their fortunes. The spectre of retribution must have seemed an
unlikely prospect when Karbeas’ father stood on the scaffold, but retaliation
lasted decades, at times in concert with the standards of Islam, at times strik-
ing at the heart of the empire alone.
The single greatest disappointment in Paulician studies is that we lack the tes-
timony to assess how the faith of the didaskaloi mapped onto these tumultuous
events. For the second half of the 9th century we have only a single notable –​and
unreliable –​witness, Peter of Sicily, who paints their legacy at Tephrikē in rather
ossified terms: only two of Sergios’ synekdemoi, Basil and Zosimos, remained
from the era of their master.133 No new developments are noted. But Peter, of
course, never travelled to Tephrikē, so a rather more nuanced picture is likely
than that he conveys here. Sergios’ career was a highpoint of Paulician ingenu-
ity in terms of missionary activity and scriptural sophistication and it seems
unthinkable that this abated so swiftly after him, particularly against a backdrop
as eventful as Theodora’s persecutions and Karbeas’ flight. In their very different
ways, both Sergios and Chrysocheir traversed much of Asia Minor: the former
with his Gospels; the latter with his sword. The difference appears stark, but it is
perhaps overplayed; Sergios’ followers were liable to take up arms, whereas, in
al-​Mas‘ūdī’s terms at least, Chrysocheir could qualify as a patriarch. Still, there
are a wealth of unanswered questions. One of the most notable, upon which
our sources never shed any light, is whether a Paulician faith that spread across
the empire at the beginning of the century continued to win adherents in this
new era of conflict and, if it did, the mechanisms that Byzantine authorities
used to combat it. Another is whether the internal disagreements and schisms
which characterised earlier Paulician communities continued during the era
of Karbeas and Chrysocheir, or whether Argaous and Tephrikē acted as a phys-
ical core around which a more united movement coalesced. A cloud of obscu-
rity also remains over what befell those who remained in these centres as the

133 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 188, pp. 66–​67. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 92.
320  Chapter 6

Byzantine grip tightened around them. Did they flee eastward into Armenia as
many scholars have assumed, to inspire the burgeoning T‘ondrakec‘i, or was
their flight multidirectional as Qudāma and Genesios suggest?134
The Romans exulted in their victory over the Paulicians for some time. Most
indicative is a manuscript comprising a collection of Manichaean works, pref-
aced by a laudatory poem to Basil i, that was perhaps presented to the emperor
by Photios soon after his return to the patriarchal throne in 877.135 The poem
wishes Basil success against the “friends and initiates of Mani,” thereby suggest-
ing that Tephrikē had not yet fallen, but the writing was surely on the wall by
this point. The collection, which includes works of Didymos of Alexandria and
Alexander of Lykopolis, suggests that Byzantines primarily met the ideological
challenge that the Paulicians posed by copying older works, or composing new
variants of texts within the anti-​Manichaean genre.136 Photios’ own sermons
against Manichaeism, which follow the Brief History in the manuscript tradi-
tion, fall into the latter category. These norms of textual production, together
with the lack of surviving historical works from this period, explain why we
have little contemporary allusions to Paulicians during the latter half of the 9th
century. Photios certainly continued to consider their defeat important, refer-
ring to God’s banishment of the Manichaeans in his preface to the Eisagoge, a
work conventionally dated between 879 and 886.137 Aside from the presence
of Diakonitzes and his retinue within Byzantine ranks around the same time,
the Paulicians disappear from our sources until the following century. In the
Byzantine imagination, their threat, whether understood in military or reli-
gious terms, had passed by the end of the 9th century, but that threat, real or
imagined, would resurface once more when the legacy of Basil i became an
ideological crux of the rule of his grandson.

134 For links with the T‘ondrakec‘i, see Garsoïan, Paulician Heresy, pp. 138–​141; 146–​147; Vrej
Nersessian, The Tondrakian Movement: Religious Movements in the Armenian Church from
the Fourth to the Tenth Centuries (London, 1987), pp. 53–​54. Genesios states that after the
fall of Tephrikē many of its inhabitants were reconciled with the empire, whereas others
fled to Syria. Genesios, Iosephi Genesii regum libri quattuor, 4:34, p. 85. Translation: On the
Reigns of the Emperors, p. 107.
135 The manuscript is Laurentianus IX, 23. On the poem, see Athanasios Markopoulos, “An
Anonymous Laudatory Poem in Honor of Basil I,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 46 (1992),
pp. 225–​232; Gyula Moravcsik, “Sagen und Legenden über Kaiser Basileios I,” Dumbarton
Oaks Papers 15 (1961), pp. 63–​64.
136 For the latter and some initial thoughts on the Laurentianus manuscript, see Alexander
of Lykopolis, Alexandri Lycopolitani contra Manichaei opiniones disputatio, ed. Augustus
Brinkmann (Leipzig, 1895).
137 Willem J. Aerts et al, “The Prooimion of the Eisagoge: Translation and Commentary,”
Subseciva Groningana 7 (2001), pp. 96–​97; 104, n. 3; 135–​138.
Epilogue

By the time the forger now known as Peter of Sicily compiled or repurposed
the History of the Paulicians in the middle of the 10th century, the subject of his
opus had not been a geopolitical concern within Romanía for decades. Even in
the more modest setting of proselytising, few traces of Paulician activity had
come to light. One notable instance stands out: sometime in the first half of the
century the ascetic Paul the Younger combatted their presence in Kibyrrhaeotis
and Miletus by successfully imploring an unnamed emperor to relocate them
elsewhere. Whether this reflects a genuine concern with Paulicians at the time,
or whether the anxiety properly belongs to the 11th century, when the life was
written, is unclear.1 Whatever the truth, the Paulicians slunk into obscurity
after the fall of Tephrikē and little is heard of them during a period when the
empire continued to gain ground in the east. Perhaps this silence is illusory: few
historical works survive from the period and when these begin to surface once
more in Constantine vii’s reign, the Paulicians return in full force, albeit not
always under that name. As the mythology of the Macedonian dynasty became
progressively more refined in the Basileion, the Vita Basilii, and Theophanes
Continuatus i-​i v, understandings of the Paulicians developed alongside them,
becoming increasingly central to narratives of Basil i’s reign. The extent of
Constantine vii’s involvement in this intellectual project is unclear, but, as
Demetrios of Kyzikos tells us, the emperor was sufficiently engaged with her-
esy to debate with both the Paulicians and the Athinganoi.
How many iterations the History had gone through by Constantine’s sole
reign is also unclear, but it seems most likely that a compilation this idiosyn-
cratic had a long gestation period, during which its form and purpose were
adapted several times. It would soon be tailored to the appearance of a hereti-
cal menace that troubled the Tsar of Bulgaria, although it ultimately almost
disappeared amid the unpredictable caprices of textual preservation, in con-
trast with its derivate texts, which fared more favourably. Yet the importance
of the History lies not in the machinations of 10th-​century palaces or the
complexities of Bulgaro-​Byzantine relations, but in the preservation of gen-
uine Paulician material from the movement’s missionary heyday in the early
decades of the 9th century. As a means of furthering his goals, Peter of Sicily
edited, abbreviated, and polemicised this, in the process stripping it of much
of its context and religious resonance. Still, due to the faithfulness of Byzantine

1 Vita Pauli Iunioris, 45, ed. Iacobo Sirmondi, Analecta Bollandiana 11 (1892), p. 156.

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322  Epilogue

norms of textual editing and the heresiologist’s predilection for convicting

a heretic from their own words, the remaining material retains much of its
narrative logic, its phraseology, and its scriptural echoes. Most importantly of
all, it holds a religious core which contradicts the Byzantine smear campaign.
Almost uniquely in the annals of medieval history, Peter of Sicily allowed the
Paulicians to speak on something like their own terms. This voice is now finally
being heard.
The implications are considerable: the Paulicians of 9th-​century Asia
Minor were not adoptionists or dualists, but largely conventional Christians
devoted to the apostle Paul, the memory of whose churches, disciples, and let-
ters infused meaning into a new era of missionary zeal. By the time of their
encounter with Byzantine state and church, they had a hierarchy of their own,
whose legitimacy suffered as hostility turned to persecution and a mythos
developed that dichotomised their downtrodden Christian community with
the malign persecutors of the Roman Empire, who had likewise hounded
Paul and his followers centuries before. Underlying all of this, although only
sporadically appearing in our sources, is the Paulician belief in participation
and immersion within, or even ordination by, the Holy Spirit, whose agency
retained the characteristically enthusiastic and communal emphases articu-
lated by Paul. This was not the religion of the old Paylikeank‘ of Armenia, what-
ever that may construed to be, not some unseen vestige of Marcionism, nor
the faith of the Manichaean elect and hearers who had been chased from the
empire in Justinian’s day. It was not rooted in the formative disputes of the 3rd
and 4th centuries, but a contemporary Christianity that thrived through being
of its own time and place. It was also not a static faith: the Paulicians retained
a memory of an era when only the Gospels, Acts, and the Pauline letters were
admissible, but by the time of their most famous didaskalos Sergios-​Tychikos
the Old Testament was read by many adherents and new works, themselves
redolent of the apostolic age, were added to their canon.
This was a period of religious vitality and dissension whose motive forces
we can only glimpse imperfectly in our sources, even if the course of events
suggests an exceptional commitment to a burgeoning faith. The mythical
beginnings are not propitious: a Pauline-​inspired community undergoes a
series of peripatetic misadventures in the borderlands between Armenia and
Romanía, vainly battling the twin dangers of oppression from without and
schism from within. The latter seems a source of both weakness and strength;
a propensity that sowed division and attracted unwanted attention, but also
one that promoted evolution and expansion by making the community recep-
tive to ideas and talent from outside. The most notable example of this, the
didaskalos Sergios-​Tychikos, embodied the vigour and the contradictions
Epilogue 323

which were inherent to the movement. Born among the orthodox at Tabia, he
would become the spearhead for the greatest expansion of the Paulician faith,
supplanting the heir of his predecessor and proselytising indefatigably, but his
irresolute response to Byzantine persecution alienated the martial instincts of
many. His successors were of a different ilk, and there are doubts about whether
their communities were Paulician in the same sense that Sergios’ were, but they
still typified the same tireless verve. At the climax of the iconomachy, Karbeas
was among the foremost subordinates of the general of the Anatolikon thema,
but the persecution of his fellow adherents turned his loyalties, such that the
following years would take him to the court of the caliph at Sāmarrā, pit him
against his former comrades while relieving Samosata, and potentially even
lead him to his grave. His nephew Chrysocheir looked west rather than east,
but was equally driven in his enmity; at one time or another, he could exas-
perate his nominal ally Photios, the greatest intellectual force of the day, raid
across the breadth of Asia Minor, and haughtily demand the cession of the
empire’s heartlands from Basil i, even if his final defeat and flight were inglori-
ous in comparison. We are, unfortunately, often ill-​informed about the motives
and beliefs underpinning the above, but it is clear that this was an era when
the Gospels and Pauline letters permeated, inspired, and impelled the lived
experience of many, imbuing it with a purpose and vitality that has rarely been
matched since.
Without doubt, the most eye-​catching assertion advanced in the preced-
ing pages, the full credit for which properly belongs to Claudia Ludwig, is that
the Paulicians of our era did not give the heavenly Father a demiurgic rival.2
The fallout from this finding opens new lines of inquiry in the case of the
Paulicians themselves, but the ramifications become more pronounced when
we look beyond them. Their role as the harbingers of medieval Christian dual-
ism has now been seriously undermined as, arguably, has the relevance of the
paradigm itself. The aftershocks might be felt more keenly in the case of the
Bogomils, whose proximity to the Paulicians in both space and time have often
been considered the roots of their dualism, although, as noted beforehand,
the links have traditionally been downplayed somewhat owing to the absence
of asceticism among the Paulicians.3 The two coexisted in the Balkans, where
the Paulician presence certainly predated John i Tzimiskes’ relocation of them

2 Claudia Ludwig, “Wer hat was in welcher Absicht wie beschreiben? Bemerkungen zur
Historia des Petros Sikeliotes über die Paulikianer,” Varia 2 Πoikila byzantina 6 (1987),
pp. 149–​227.
3 Bernard Hamilton, ed., “Introduction,” in Hugh Eteriano: Contra Patarenos, eds. Bernard
Hamilton, Janet Hamilton, Sarah Hamilton, (Leiden, 2004), pp. 33–​37.
324  Epilogue

to Philippopolis c.970–​972, even if a date as early as Constantine v’s reign is

untenable. Which, if either, of the two movements underlies the correspon-
dence between Theophylaktos Lekapenos and Peter i remains unclear, but
from this time onward heresy became a pressing concern in Bulgaria. In this
era it is difficult to distinguish between the two, but as time goes on the impli-
cation becomes clear that the Bogomils comprised the greater menace, partic-
ularly in terms of proselytization, which is surprisingly poorly attested among
the Paulicians beyond Sergios’ ministry. By the middle of the 11th century, the
well-​travelled monk Euthymios of the Peribleptos could confidently note that
the Paulicians’ heresy was obvious, hereditary, and no-​one could be harmed
by it.4 Their perfidy was another question: Alexios i Komnenos, who had to
contend with their disappearing act following the Dyrrhachium campaign of
1081 and Traulos’ intrigues among the Pechenegs, may not have agreed with
Euthymios’ assessment.5 Their status as the empire’s greatest heterodox threat
may have been supplanted by the Bogomils, but they remained as resourceful
and unruly as ever.
Once the dualism of the Paulicians is unmasked as a fabrication, the pri-
mary commonality linking them and the Bogomils are the identification
strategies of Byzantine heresiologists. The production of our forged texts in
middle of the 10th century suggests that these strategies were evolving at the
same period that concerns with heresy became pronounced in Bulgaria. It may
be, as I speculated in the introduction, that the Paulician-​Bogomil link is not
impelled by doctrinal continuity between the two, but is rather a construct
imposed by the Byzantine Church, as in the case of the Manichaean-​Paulician
connection we have now seen to be erroneous. If so, Byzantine intellectuals
were properly speaking the founders of medieval Christian dualism. There are,
however, other eventualities, including the possibility that Paulician belief
adopted dualist characteristics in some settings, particularly in cases when
it was in more intensive contact with the discourses of religious power and
identity politics than seems possible in Sergios’ era, or in the far flung bastions
of Argaous and Tephrikē, which were ideologically even more isolated from

4 Euthymios of the Peribleptos, Epistula, in Die Phundagiagiten: ein Beitrag zur Ketzergeschichte
des byzantinischen Mittelalters, ed. Gerhard Ficker (Leipzig, 1908), p. 63. Partial English trans-
lation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds. Bernard Hamilton,
Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), p. 158.
5 For Dyrrhachium, see Anna Komnene, Annae Comnenae Alexias, 5:3, eds. Diether R. Reinsch,
Athanasios Kambylis (Berlin/​New York, 2001), pp. 146–​149. English translation: The Alexiad
of the Princess Anna Comnena, ed. and trans. Elizabeth A.S. Dawes (London, 1928), p. 120.
For Traulos, see Anna Komnene, Alexias, 6:2–​4; 6:14, pp. 173–​174; 199–​202. Translation: The
Alexiad of the Princess Anna Comnena, pp. 139–​143; 164–​167.
Epilogue 325

Constantinople than geographically. In my view, this possibility is a remote

one, but if anything should have become apparent in the preceding pages it
is that heterodoxies evolved and repositioned themselves due to intercourse
with outside forces. This engagement was rarely direct: Paulicians remained
unaware of or uninterested in the allegations of their enemies and instead con-
structed their image of them as a means of furthering their own ideological
needs. The Romans, of course, used analogous othering techniques. All of this
makes it difficult to determine whether a dualist creed ever emerged, directly
or otherwise, from Paulician-​Byzantine interaction. Yet this and other matters
might be greatly elucidated by a more searching examination of the formative
period of Bogomil history, the prospective Paulician influence upon it, and the
impact of the respective Byzantine and Bulgar gazes.
If nothing else, there is little prospect that the Bogomils shared the faith
of the Paulicians in the era of heresy, persecution, and warfare; the era when
scattered refuges on the upper Euphrates embraced teachers who cloaked
themselves in the stylings of Acts and the Pauline Letters. As our sources
have it, at Mananalis, Kibossa, and shadowy Episparis, the disciples Silvanos,
Titos, Timothy, and Epaphroditos preached again in different incarnations; at
Mananalis, to Achaeans who had never seen the Corinthian gulf; at Kibossa
to Macedonians who had never felt the Aegean breeze. This was an age when
those who called themselves Christians feared duress in the guise of Roman
arms, when the immanence of the Spirit joined communities of believers
from the Armenian borderlands to the Anatolian plateau. Under the upstart
Sergios-​Tychikos the faith blossomed further, infiltrating a tumultuous
Constantinople then quaking before the advance of the Bulgar hordes. For the
likes of Theophanes the Confessor and Michael i, this neo-​Manichaean men-
ace merited nothing less than subjugation by the sword, but Roman opinion
was not unanimous: Theodore the Stoudite unfailingly opposed a course of
action which he insisted tainted the church. Though somewhat more pessi-
mistic, Photios too dangled the prospect of reconciliation, whereas Basil i,
whose reign suffered their depredations worse than most, was also quick to
offer pardon. It was during the latter’s rule that the Paulicians lived their defi-
ant last hurrah in the mountain fastness of Tephrikē, when Chrysocheir railed
and raided as the emirates of the thughūr slunk into obscurity around him. The
Byzantine counterattack was swift: he fell at Bathyryax and his fortresses would
linger but a little longer. So ended the apostleship at arms, an era when echoes
of the Pauline Spirit found new resonance at a distance of eight centuries.
 Appendix 1

The Dating Frameworks of the History of the

Paulicians

Previous studies of the Paulicians have largely remained faithful to the chronology
established by the History of the Paulicians, perhaps unsurprisingly considering that
this coheres well with the known parameters of our period.1 There are, however, good
reasons to question the reliability of the History’s account, primarily because of the
implausible longevity it attributes to Paulician leaders. As noted in the introduction, the
source posits that seven Paulician leaders headed the movement over the period c.655–​
835 when a score or more would be appropriate. Lifespans of this duration, which have
only recently been attained among British monarchs and Japanese emperors who have
benefitted from the advances of modern medicine, hardly deserve credence in the case
of an ill-​regarded schismatic movement of the medieval period. Indications therefore
suggest that the surviving account is mytho-​historical at best, but a closer examination
of the chronology hints that it was invented by Peter of Sicily himself, who probably
imposed temporal confines upon a source which originally lacked them. The best indi-
cator of this is the formulaic dates found in the History, where numbers are generally
given in multiples of three, with the number thirty commonly attested, thereby suggest-
ing a generational framework of some kind. This was already noted in the 19th century
by Ter Mkrttschian, but was disregarded by later students of the topic.2
In fact, it transpires that these figures fit within a numerical framework that encom-
passes the entirety of the History, thereby strongly intimating that Peter of Sicily man-
ufactured its chronology. Number symbolism permeates many passages of the History
and it seems most likely that Peter took the motif from either the Paulicians them-
selves, or the Treatise, both of which invoke the significance of the numbers six and
seven, as in the case of the six Paulician didaskaloi and seven Paulician churches.3

1 Paul Lemerle, “L’histoire des Pauliciens d’Asie Mineure d’après les sources grecques,” Travaux
et mémoires 5 (1973), p. 84.
2 Karapet Ter Mkrttschian, Die Paulikianer im byzantinischen Kaiserreiche und verwandte ketze-
rische Erscheinungen in Armenien (Leipzig, 1893), p. 17.
3 Treatise, 5–​7, ed. and trans. Charles Astruc, Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), pp. 82–​84. English
translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds. Bernard
Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), pp. 93–​94; Peter of Sicily, History of the
Paulicians, 163, ed. Denise Papachryssanthou, trans. Jean Gouillard, Travaux et mémoires 4
(1970), pp. 60–​61. English translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​
1450, eds. Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), p. 88.

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328  Appendix 1

Since the number seven is conventionally regarded as a holy number, Peter of Sicily
symbolically rejects the claims of the Paulicians to sanctity by denying them the right
to this number in the History, in the process substituting it with the number six.4 This
is seen most clearly in the dating framework, whose import becomes much clearer
when read in conjunction with Pseudo-​Photios’ Brief History. The dates given by the
History are as follows:

Constantine-​Silvanos (600 years 27 years

after Paul)
Interregnum 3 years
Symeon-​Titos 3 years
Gegnesios-​Timothy 30 years
Joseph-​Epaphroditos 30 years
Total to date 93 years
Sergios-​Tychikos (800 years after 34 years
Paul)

The formulaic nature of the History’s dates, with the emphasis on multiples of three,
can be clearly seen in the above, but the true significance lies in the overall frame-
work.5 The dates show that Sergios-​Tychikos assumed leadership of the Paulicians
almost a century (93 years) after Constantine-​Silvanos, who himself lived six hun-
dred years after Paul. However, the History places the last didaskalos two hundred
years after the first. This discrepancy clearly arises from Peter of Sicily’s refusal to
apply the holy number seven to the Paulicians: not only does he omit the reference
to seven hundred years which his chronology warrants, but he also introduces a
seven-​year discrepancy into the equation. Thus, in the only instance Peter applies
the number seven to the Paulicians in the History, he does so in its absence, thereby

4 Peter identifies six key errors of the Paulicians, which he addressed in the six sermons
that originally followed his work. See Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 36–​45,
pp. 18–​23. Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 72–​74. For the reference to six ser-
mons (which is omitted in the Christian Dualist Heresies translation), see Peter of Sicily,
History of the Paulicians, 93, pp. 40–​41. The patriarch of Constantinople refers six simi-
lar questions to Gegnesios. See Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 115–​120, pp. 46–​49.
Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 80–​81. Peter also notes the names of six of Sergios’
disciples. Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 182, pp. 66–​67. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 91.
5 The exception, of course, is Sergios-​Tychikos’ thirty-​four years, but this is because he is a
securely attested historical figure, unlike the others.
The Dating Frameworks of the History of the Paulicians 329

symbolically denying their claims to sanctity once more. The truth of this is cru-
cially confirmed by Pseudo-​Photios, who recognized Peter’s numerical scheme and
amended it, instead placing Sergios-​Tychikos at the logical time of seven hundred
years after Paul.6
As a result, it seems certain that the dates found in the History of the Paulicians were
invented by Peter of Sicily, rather than deriving from the Didaskalie. Moreover, it appears
that the Didaskalie had no historical framework whatsoever and that Peter also added
the references to Roman emperors in the text. The way several of these are named
(notably “Constantine, the descendant of Herakleios” and “Justinian, the one who
ruled after Herakleios”) resemble contemporary Byzantine lists, whereas Theophanes
too uses a method of dating emperors in respect to Herakleios.7 Consequently, it would
appear that the Didaskalie originally had very little in the way of a chronological frame-
work, as is appropriate for a mytho-​historical text composed for specific ideological
reasons grounded in the early decades of the 9th century. There are other reasons
that this makes perfect sense. Whether they believed it literally or figuratively, the
Paulicians considered themselves followers of Paul, but never tried to establish a direct
historical relationship with him. Their conception of time does not seem to have been
contiguous, but rather figurative: it was most probably entwined with their affinity for
the apostolic age and their wider symbolic universe. It can hardly have been imperially
centred, particularly in this period when well-​connected Byzantines with texts at their
disposal often struggled to piece together a reliable chronology. The repercussions of
all of this are quite marked: the timeline of Paulician history prior to the 9th century is
seriously undermined, while the fact that Pseudo-​Photios recognized Peter of Sicily’s
symbolic framework implies either that readings of this kind were not uncommon in
Byzantine texts, or that the relationship between these heresiologies is even closer
than commonly supposed.

6 Pseudo-​Photios, Brief History, 114, ed. Wanda Conus-​Wolska, trans. Joseph Paramelle, Travaux
et mémoires 4 (1970), pp. 160–​161.
7 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 94; 111, pp. 40–​41; 46–​47. Translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies, pp. 76; 79–​ 80; Chronographikon syntomon, in Nicephori archiepiscopi
Constantinopolitani opuscula historica, ed. Carl de Boor (Leipzig, 1880), p. 99; Theophanes,
Theophanis chronographia, ed. Carl de Boor, 2 vols, vol. 1 (Leipzig, 1883), p. 341. English
translation: The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, eds. and trans. Cyril Mango, Roger Scott
(Oxford, 1997), p. 475; Theophanes, Theophanis chronographia, vol. 1, p. 361. Translation: The
Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor, p. 504.
 Appendix 2

The Career of Sergios in the History of the Paulicians

One of the few instances in which I depart from Ludwig’s magisterial study of the
Didaskalie lies in her belief that the source originally incorporated an account of the
career of Sergios-​Tychikos. In her view, this account contained extracts of the Letters
of Sergios, which had already been subsumed within the Didaskalie before it came to
be used by the polemical tradition.1 However, despite Sergios commissioning the text,
he does not seem to have appeared in it, whereas it also seems that the Didaskalie and
Letters of Sergios were discrete sources when Peter of Sicily consulted them. This is sug-
gested by a number of points. Firstly, although Peter of Sicily explicitly alludes to his
consultation of the Letters of Sergios, he never mentions a Paulician historical account
that corresponds to the Didaskalie, thereby making it unlikely that the former had been
incorporated within the latter.2 Moreover, as noted in Chapter 3, the Didaskalie sym-
bolically links the first four didaskaloi with one another as part of a cohesive scheme,
which is opened and closed by the respective stoning episodes involving Constantine-​
Silvanos and Joseph-​Epaphroditos. The narrative arc of the text is therefore resolved
before Sergios’ career, which suggests that it never referred to him.
The best reason to suppose that the Didaskalie made no mention of Sergios lies in
the account itself, which Peter of Sicily seems to have pieced together from the Letters
and several other sources. It is difficult to appraise exactly what these might have been,
but it is possible that the copy of the Paulician texts Peter had before him contained
an account of Sergios’ career that was added after the fact. In the case of Sergios’ early
career, however, it seems that Peter has fabricated the account himself. Whereas the
Didaskalie develops a wealth of symbolic meaning throughout, none of this is applied
to Sergios. More importantly, the History’s account of his early years reflects unfavour-
ably on him, which is hardly what we would expect from a text he commissioned. After
a short account of his origins, the History proceeds to an account of his conversion by a
female “Manichaean,” who corrupts him and draws him into the heresy by undermin-
ing his ties with the institutional church and proffering a duplicitous and allegorical
reading of the Gospels.3 As a result, Sergios appears as an unlearned and unwitting

1 Claudia Ludwig, “Wer hat was in welcher Absicht wie beschreiben? Bemerkungen zur Historia
des Petros Sikeliotes über die Paulikianer,” Varia 2 Πoikila byzantina 6 (1987), pp. 194–​209; 214.
2 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 43, ed. Denise Papachryssanthou, trans. Jean Gouillard,
Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970), pp. 20–​23. English translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the
Byzantine World: c.650–​1450, eds. Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), p. 73.
3 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 138–​146, pp. 52–​55. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 84–​85.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2022 | DOI:10.1163/​9 789004517080_​0 11

The Career of Sergios in the History of the Paulicians 331

convert who is beguiled into heresy. This is clearly not how he would wish to portray
himself. A representative passage illustrates the passive and ineffectual portrayal of
Sergios that arises from the text:

The devil’s disciple, in her cunning and corruption, said to him. ‘I hear of you,
kyr Sergius, that you are practiced in the knowledge of letters and education,
and that in all ways you are a good man. Tell me then, why do you not read the
holy gospels?’ He was struck by her words, totally failing to recognize the hidden
poison of evil in her, and said, ‘It is not right for laymen like me to read them, but
only for priests.’

She said to him, ‘It is not as you suppose, “for God shows no partiality.”4 “The
Lord desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth.”5
But since your priests are “peddlers of the word of God”6 and conceal the mys-
teries of the gospel, that is why they do not read to you all that is written in them
for you to hear, but read some parts and not others, so that you may not arrive
at knowledge of the truth.

For it is written that on that day some will say, “Lord, Lord, did we not cast out
demons in your name and do many mighty works?”7 And the king will answer,
“Truly I say to you, I do not know you.”8 Search therefore and see, is this not how
it is written? And there are some to whom the Lord will say, “I do not know you.”9’
Foolishly, in his ignorance Sergios was embarrassed and silent.10

Characteristically, Peter of Sicily then proceeds to give the orthodox interpretation of

the relevant gospel passage, which he implies Sergios is incapable of understanding.11
Returning to the extract, the Manichaean woman’s scriptural quotations and lines of
argument do not touch upon doctrinal matters, but instead focus on undermining the
authority of the Byzantine Church. This is representative of the section as a whole,
which spends most time delineating the conceptual boundaries of the church –​its

4 Rom. 2:11.
5 1 Tim. 2:4.
6 2 Cor. 2:17.
7
Matt. 7:22.
8
Matt. 25:12.
9
Matt. 7:23.
10
Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 138–​140, pp. 52–​53. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 84.
11 See especially Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 141–​ 144, pp. 52–​ 55.
Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, pp. 84–​85.
332  Appendix 2

likely source –​rather than the Paulician community. The account as a whole reads as
a warning to the orthodox, since it serves to denigrate Sergios rather than legitimate
him. In other words, it most probably stems from Peter of Sicily, rather than the didas-
kalos himself. As for Sergios’ one-​time mentor, she subsequently disappears from the
narrative, never to return.
In the following portion of the History, which focuses on the Letters of Sergios and
Peter’s interpretation thereof, there are no issues when it comes to determining the
Paulician material, since Peter’s quotations appear entirely faithful. His explicitly stated
modus operandi is to convict Sergios by his own words.12 He sticks to this approach rigidly,
even to the extent of retaining emphases from the original source which contradict his
own accusations. Sergios’ protestation that he sought to stop his followers taking Roman
prisoners, for instance, contradicts Peter’s portrayal of him as an obdurate enemy of the
empire.13 The quotations similarly give no indication of the dualist influence Peter consis-
tently alleges. His approach hinges upon pedantically twisting the sense of Sergios’ words.
Thus, when the latter notes that Paul founded the Church of Corinth while describing the
Paulician churches, Peter criticizes him for downplaying the achievements of the apos-
tle, since Paul founded many more.14 Throughout this section, Peter devotes much atten-
tion to articulating the correct orthodox position and, as a result, there is continuity of
approach from the preceding material, since the primary audience is the orthodox reader
of Peter’s era.
We then come to the most troublesome section: the narrative account of Sergios’
career, which, although probably deriving from Paulician sources of some kind origi-
nally, contain a number of inconsistencies and unresolved matters. This is apparent
from a quick sketch of the narrative, which centres on three main events: the conflict
between Baanes and Sergios, the persecutions of Michael i and Leo v, and the death
of Sergios. There are two interpretive difficulties throughout. Firstly, the followers of
the respective Paulician leaders are characterised differently before and after the per-
secutions. Sergios’ partisans, for instance, are characterised as Sergiotes beforehand
and afterwards as Astatoi and Kynochoritae.15 By contrast, Baanes’ followers are char-
acterised as Baaniotes before the persecutions, but Baanes and his followers are never

12 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 137, pp. 52–​53. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 84.
13 Compare Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 132–​133, pp. 50–​53. Translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies, p. 83 with Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 157, pp. 58–​59.
Translation: Christian Dualist Heresies, p. 87.
14 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 163–​165, pp. 60–​63. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 88.
15 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 172–​178, pp. 64–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 89–​90.
The Career of Sergios in the History of the Paulicians 333

mentioned afterward.16 Secondly, before the persecutions it is implied that Baanes’

followers will be implicated in the death of Sergios, but Sergios is murdered by a lone
individual with no connection to Baanes.17 Since these difficulties centre upon the per-
secutions, it is possible that material of a different kind described the period before-
hand and afterward. This is further suggested by the fact that Peter of Sicily derived
his account of the persecutions by distorting Theophanes Continuatus iv or something
very like it, thereby implying that he lacked a Paulician account in his source texts.
None of the events described above could logically be attributed to the Didaskalie,
which reaches its conclusion before this period, or the Letters of Sergios, the surviving
extracts of which focus largely on pastoral matters.
It therefore seems most likely that this section of the account derives from unknown
Paulician sources of some kind. While it cannot be discounted that Peter of Sicily
invented this material, particularly since this is the period in which he seeks to place
the transition from the religious to the militaristic phases of Paulician history, it seems
unlikely that he has done so to a significant degree. This is because he continually
seeks to defame Sergios, yet the surviving account clearly derived from the perspective
of the Sergiote faction and is, for the most part, favourable to its leader. As noted above,
Baanes and his followers are absent from the narrative besides instances that they are
in conflict with Sergios’ party. Baanes is also consistently called “the filthy” and it does
not appear that Peter coined the moniker, since it is already attested by the Treatise.18
Finally, if Peter of Sicily had fabricated this material, it is unlikely he would have done
so in such an internally inconsistent fashion. As a result, it seems that he probably
compiled some existing Paulician material into his own account. Quite what this addi-
tional material may have been is necessarily speculative, but a few possibilities deserve
credence. The most likely eventuality is that a short biography of Sergios was appended
to the Didaskalie and the Letters of Sergios by one of his followers in order to keep the
record of the didaskaloi up to date. Otherwise, it is entirely possible that marginalia
or excerpta appended to the main Paulician sources explain this material, which was
probably brief and internally confused. The material itself is undeniably interesting as
further evidence for the continued evolution of Paulician traditions about their past,
albeit in a less sophisticated way than the works of Sergios’ career.

16 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 170–​172, pp. 62–​65. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, pp. 89–​90.
17 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 173; 179–​180, pp. 64–​65. Translation: Christian
Dualist Heresies, pp. 90–​91.
18 Peter of Sicily, History of the Paulicians, 130, pp. 50–​51. Translation: Christian Dualist
Heresies, p. 83; Treatise, 5–​6, ed. and trans. Charles Astruc, Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970),
pp. 82–​83. English translation: Christian Dualist Heresies in the Byzantine World: c.650–​
1450, eds. Bernard Hamilton, Janet Hamilton (Manchester, 1998), p. 93.
newgenrtpdf

Map of Eastern Asia Minor c.870

Eastern Asia Minor c.870

map 1 
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Index

Abastaktos, Theophylaktos 309 Armeniakon 4–​5n.10, 38, 203–​205, 208, 210,

al-​‘Abbās b. Ma’mūn 74 248, 270, 277, 288, 313
‘Abbāsid Caliphate 11, 34, 67, 210–​211, 258–​259 Arsamosata 64, 74, 212, 261, 293–​294
Abjuration Formulae 87, 91n.148, 96, Arsenios of Hiera 130
125n.71, 191 Asbestas, Gregory 271–​274
Abū ‘Abdallāh b. ‘Amr 306 Astatoi 68, 72, 82, 236, 248, 268, 332
Abū Muslim al-​Khurāsāni 179, 259 Athinganoi 36–​37n.118, 70, 103, 113–​114, 151,
Adata 83n.116, 318 184, 197, 236–​237, 240–​248, 300
Adrianople 51 Avars 95
al-​Afshīn (Ḥaydar b. Kāwūs) 259, 261–​263
Albigensian Crusade 8, 48 Baanes 37, 149, 183–​184, 207, 228, 233–​236,
Alexander of Lykopolis 129, 320 238, 270
Alexios I Komnenos 41, 43–​46, 69 al-​Badhdh 259
Ałovania (Caucasian Albania) 21–​22, 24, 31 Bagarat ii Bagratuni 262
Amara 40, 72, 118, 278, 280–​281, 285 Baghdād 215n.96, 250, 284, 297
Amaseia 203n.52, 282 al-​Bāhilī, Aḥmad b. Sa‘īd b. Salm b.
Amatunik’, Shapuh 204 Qutaybah 287
Āmid 293 al-​Balādhurī, Aḥmad b. Yaḥyā 76, 211
al-​Amīn 38, 73, 224, 242 Banat Bulgarians 52–​53, 290–​291n.41
Amisos 203, 282, 296 Bardas, caesar 280, 287, 294–​295, 302
Amorion 74, 105, 211–​212, 237, 257, 262, 264–​ Basean 261
266, 286–​287 Basil, disciple of Sergios-​Tychikos 319
Anatolikon 205, 210, 212, 215, 245, 249–​ Basil i 40–​41, 60, 62n.21, 66–​67, 69, 79–​81, 106–​
250n.51, 254, 257, 270, 277, 283, 285 107, 110, 112, 114–​119, 137, 225n.125, 288–​
Anazarbus 306 289, 291, 302–​305, 309–​314, 316–​318, 320
Anec‘i, Samuel 22 Basil the Bogomil 8, 46
Ankyra 313 Basilikinos 305
Antioch 41, 64, 89, 136 Bathyryax 41, 313–​316
Antioch in Pisidia 35, 149, 218, 234 Beliatoba 44–​45
Antonios of Kyzikos 130 Bithynia 282–​283
al-​Aqṭa‘ al-​Sulamī, ‘Amr b. ‘Ubaydallāh b. Bogomils 8–​9, 14, 41–​48, 69, 87, 159, 162–​
Marwān 40, 73–​76, 111–​112, 118, 214–​ 163n.73, 323–​325
215, 220, 261, 263, 268, 280–​284, 287–​ Boris-​Michael of Bulgaria 42, 274
288, 292–​297, 308, 315–​316 Branas, Nikolaos 45
al-​Aqṭa‘, ‘Ubaydallāh b. 76 Brief History of the Manichaeans 54, 56–​57,
Arewordik‘ 19n.47 61, 69–​71, 77–​86, 89, 100, 125–​135
Argaous 37, 39–​40, 71–​72, 96–​97, 118, Bulgaria 14, 38, 41–​42, 52–​53, 61–​63, 77, 86–​
153n.48, 235, 248, 267–​270, 280–​281, 89, 119, 136–​137, 158, 211, 224–​225, 274
285–​288, 290, 292, 306, 312, 319
Argyros, Eustathios 110 Caesarea 318
Argyros, Leo 110, 291, 295, 304n.89 Cathars 8–​9, 12–​14, 47–​48, 158–​159
Arians 19 Cedolini, Pietro 51
Ark‘weli 25–​27 Chalcedonians 19, 22
al-​Armanī, ‘Alī b. Yaḥyā 268, 280–​282, 288, Chaldia 204, 288
293–​294, 296–​297 Charlemagne 37
362 Index

Charsianon 204, 277, 313 Ekloga 54, 225

China 30 Ephesos 68, 304, 308–​309
Choniates, Niketas 271–​273 Episparis 33, 35, 147–​150, 171, 202–​203,
Christopher, Domestikos of the 217, 234
Scholae 313–​314 Etheriano, Hugo 122
Chrysocheir 40–​41, 60–​61, 66–​68, 108, 111, Eucharist 34, 95, 167, 174
114–​117, 214, 285n.19, 286, 297–​316, 319 Eustratios the Wonderworker 276
Čiprovci Uprising 52 Euthymios of the Peribleptos 42–​43, 324
Constans ii 32, 90, 145 Euthymios of Trnovo, Bulgarian
Constantine iv 32, 90, 145 Patriarch 48–​49
Constantine v 34–​35, 37, 104, 191–​198, 210, Eutyches 299
240, 261, 268, 300–​301
Constantine vi 37, 224–​225, 250 Gegnesios-​Timothy 33–​35, 147–​150, 156–​157,
Constantine vii 54–​57, 60, 69–​70, 109–​110, 168–​171, 177–​178, 207
112–​114, 120–​121, 133–​134, 136–​137, Genesios 56–​57n.7, 69–​71, 105–​106, 114–​
203n.53, 318n.131 116, 137
Constantine-​Silvanos 31–​32, 90n.145, 145–​ George the Monk 58n.9, 90–​91, 104–​105,
147, 149–​50, 156–​157, 162–​163, 176–​178, 190, 193–​195
183, 221–​222 Germanikeia 128, 316, 318
Constantine, son of Basil i 66, 316–​317 Germanos i 226–​227
Constantinople, First Council of 168 Gibbon, Edward 147
Constantinople, Third Council of 138 Gök Turks 30–​31
Contra Manichaeos 77–​78, 107, 130–​133 Grace of the Spirit 147, 149, 156–​157, 167–​170,
Corinth 32, 171, 178 177, 181
Cosmas the Priest 42–​43 Guiscard, Robert 44
Crete 283
Cross 22n.56, 23, 25, 34, 49–​52, 63, 95, Hagia Sophia 274
113n.43, 167, 173–​174, 272 Halōras 297, 306
Ctesiphon 30 al-​Ḥamawī, Yāqūt 289
Cumans 45 Hamshen 204
Cyril of Jerusalem 65 Herakleianos of Chalcedon 129
Herakleios 22n.56, 30, 210
Damietta 293 History of the Paulicians 28–​29, 56–​57, 60–​
Demetrios of Kyzikos 70, 112–​114, 118 77, 79–​83, 85–​86, 87–​89, 90–​91, 100–​101,
Diakonitzes 41, 126, 314–​315, 320 120–​126, 127–​129, 134–​136, 248–​249
Didaskalie 16–​17, 28–​30, 141–​161, 169, 176–​ Hussites 14
186, 207–​209, 228–​230, 247–​248
Didymos of Alexandria 320 Iconoclasm 21–​24, 27n.81, 93–​96, 102, 108,
Digenis Akritis 111–​112, 214 128–​129, 240, 271–​274, 300–​301
Diocletian 3n.4 Iconomachy 5, 6, 13, 33–​34, 37, 100, 176, 189–​
Druinos 233 201, 224–​225, 241–​242, 246, 255, 271, 274
Dualism 8–​9, 12–​15, 42–​43, 46–​48, 50, Ignatios, Patriarch of Constantinople 79,
94–​95, 107, 129, 146, 151, 158–​166, 257, 106, 133–​134n.87
260, 300 Ignatios the Deacon 102–​103, 224n.121,
Dvin 20, 22 243–​244
Dyrrhachium 44–​45 Isauria 128, 237
Isḥāq b. Ibrāhīm 284
Eirene 37–​38, 198, 224–​225, 236, 250 Isḥāq b. Ismā‘īl 261, 293
Eisagoge 107, 320 Italikos, Michael 48
Index 363

Ja‘far b. Dīnār 268n.102, 296 Kommata 313

Jews 107n.24, 112–​114, 154, 175–​176, 180–​181, Komnene, Anna 44, 205n.63
230, 240, 243–​245 Kouleon 44–​45
Jibāl 258, 260 Kourtikios 311–​313
John i Tzimiskes 41, 62, 89, 119–​120, 122, 136 Kousinos 45
John, son of Kallinike 63–​65, 89, 92 Krikoraches 148–​149, 150, 178, 208
John the Cartophylax 86–​89, 97, 122, 127, 136 Krum 38, 196, 224–​225, 241
John the Grammarian 271 Kynochoritae 68, 72, 82, 171–​172, 236, 248,
Joseph, Archbishop of Thessalonika 224, 241 267–​268
Joseph-​Epaphroditos 35, 148–​150, 177–​178,
183–​184, 216–​218, 228, 233–​234 Lalakaon 40, 76, 296–​297, 306
Joseph of Kathara 224 Langobardia 41, 315
Julianists 19, 197n.38 Languedoc 8, 12, 47–​48, 158
Justinianic Code 54 Lekapenos, Theophylaktos 14, 41–​42, 57, 62,
Justinian ii 33, 146, 177, 213–​214n.90 78, 86–​89, 127, 136, 189
Justos 32–​33, 35, 146–​147, 150, 160–​161, Lekas 45
176–​178 Leo iii 33–​34, 54, 96, 128–​129, 148, 154, 177, 225
Leo v 38–​39, 103n.10, 105, 176, 191–​192, 200–​
al-​Kabir, Bughā 293, 295n.56 201, 225, 240–​241, 245–​250, 253, 300
Kallinike 63–​65 Leo vi 56n.6, 66, 77, 106, 314–​315
Kallipolis 318 Leo the Montanist 154–​155, 235–​236
Kallistos, Duke of Koloneia 104, 115, 264–​ Leo the Spice Dealer 103, 241n.28
267, 274, 289, 298 Letters of Sergios 16–​17, 141–​144, 153–​156,
Kalojan of Bulgaria 49 162–​167, 171–​172, 178–​179, 235–​236,
Kamkh 76 238, 332
Kappadokia 52, 175, 202, 210, 212, 215, 218, Łewond 24, 194, 206–​207, 227
237, 277, 282n.11, 296, 317 Lizix 271–​274, 301
Karbeas 10, 40, 68, 71–​73, 96–​97, 104–​105, Lokana 278, 311
111, 118, 214, 220, 257, 265–​269, 274, 279–​ Lombardy 8, 158
288, 292–​297, 305–​308 Louis the Pious 251
Kastellon of Nikopolis 270 Loulon 317
Katabatala 278, 318 Lykaonia 36, 237, 243
Kavād i 258
K‘ert‘oł, Vrt’anēs 21–​22 Magistros, Gregory 24
Key of Truth 16, 25–​27, 202 Makarios of the Pelekete 104, 254–​255
Khazar Khaganate 31 Malagina 295n.55
Khnus 26 al-​Ma’mūn 38–​39, 73–​74, 215n.96, 224, 242,
Khurāsān 179, 259, 284 249, 250, 261
al-​Khurramī, Bābak 258–​261 Mananalis 30, 32, 33, 145, 148–​150, 171, 202–​
Khurramiyya 213, 257–​263, 267, 290n.37, 315 203, 217, 234
Khusro I Anūshirwān 258 Mandakuni, Yovhannēs i 20
Khūzistān 20 Mani 3n.4, 4, 63–​65, 92, 103, 107, 114, 163n.74,
Kibossa 31–​33, 145–​146, 150, 155n.54, 171, 176, 229, 256, 300, 315, 320
202–​203, 217 Manichaeans 3, 9n.22, 15, 19, 43–​44n.151,
Kibyrrhaiotis 43, 120 48n.166, 54, 63–​64, 93, 159–​160, 245
Kilikia 67, 294 al-​Manṣūr 259
Kilikian Gates 74, 205, 261, 268, 317 Manuel i 46, 48, 122
Koloneia 31, 33, 145, 155, 169–​170, 172, 202–​ Marcionites 9, 159–​160, 163
205, 223, 235–​236, 238, 265, 267, 294n.54 Mardaïtes 180n.129, 213
364 Index

Maria, wife of Constantine vi 37, 224 Nestorians 19–​20, 113n.43

Marj al-​Usquf 296 Nestorios 20, 299
Martyropolis 297 Nicholas i Mystikos 113n.42
al-​Mas‘ūdī, ‘Alī b. al-​Ḥusayn 40, 284–​285, Nicholas i, Pope 42n.146, 77
297, 305–​306 Nikaea 68, 303–​304, 308
Mauropotamos 110, 279–​284, 285, 287, Nikaea, Second Council of 36, 102, 198–​199
292, 301 Nikephoros i, Emperor 36–​37, 38, 184–​185,
al-​Mawṣilī, ‘Alī b. Abī Bakr al-​Harawī 289 224, 226, 236–​239, 242–​243
Mayragomec̣i 22 Nikephoros i, Patriarch of
Mayragomec̣i, Yovhannēs 21 Constantinople 36, 102–​103, 191, 193–​
Mazdakism 258, 260 194, 198–​199, 242–​246, 253
Māzīyār 259 Nikephoros iii Botaneiates 45
Mcłnē 22–​23 Niketas, Bogomil Missionary 47
Melissenos, Theodotos 257, 280 Niketas David the Paphlagonian 138
Melitene 34–​35, 38–​40, 68, 71–​72, 73–​74, 76, Nikomedia 68, 303–​304, 308
81–​83, 97, 118, 184, 192–​195, 212, 248–​ Nilus of Calabria 45
249, 261, 268, 280, 281, 287–​288, 290, Normans 44
294, 306, 310, 316
Melou 317 Ōjnec‘i, Yovhannēs 22–​24, 226
Messalians 22–​23, 43–​44n.151, 227n.130 Omurtag 250
Methodios 93, 133–​134n.87, 271–​273 Opsikion 43, 305
Metrophanes of Smyrna 78–​79, 84, 129, Ošrūsana 259
130n.82, 133, 133–​134n.87
Miaphysites 35, 108, 112–​114, 191n.10, 193–​ Padasia 318
194, 202 Paganes 304n.90, 305
Michael i 37–​38, 71–​72, 102, 191–​192, 196–​ Pakourianos, Gregory 45
197, 224–​225, 240–​243, 245–​246, 253 Palatinos, Seon 295
Michael ii 39, 237, 250–​253, 254, 261 Paphlagonia 33, 64, 203, 205, 218
Michael iii 39–​40, 66n.44, 271, 283, 291, 292–​ Parakondakes 71–​72, 82, 246, 248
293, 295–​296, 297n.62, 302, 304–​305 Patarenes 122
Michael, Bishop of Serdica 45 Paul, apostle 17, 32, 49, 50–​51, 93, 145, 147,
Michael the Synkellos 264 149, 151–​152, 159, 164, 167–​168, 171, 174,
Michael the Syrian 74n.73, 194, 205n.63, 178, 188, 227–​228, 243
260n.83 Paul of Samosata 3, 20–​21, 26, 51–​52, 64–​65,
Miletus 120 93, 114, 285n.20, 299–​300, 314n.116
Monoenergism 108, 191n.10 Paul, son of Kallinike 63, 64–​65, 89, 92–​93,
Monothelitism 13, 108, 176, 191n.10 103, 129, 188, 203n.56, 229, 256
Montanism 114, 154 Paul the Armenian 33, 129, 147, 188, 207
Mopsuestia 37, 171, 267–​268 Paul the Younger 120, 122
Moravia 42, 77 Paulianists 21n.53, 41, 87, 101, 113, 136, 314n.116
Moush 26 Pechenegs 43–​44n.151, 45
al-​Muḥammirah 259 Peter, apostle 167, 243
al-​Muqanna‘ 179 Peter i of Bulgaria 41–​42, 86–​89, 136
al-​Mu‘taṣim 40, 73–​74, 105, 212, 261–​262, Peter of Nicaea 103n.10, 200–​201
263, 281–​282, 309 Peter of Sicily 29, 63–​69, 72–​73, 76–​77, 123–​
al-​Mutawakkil 282, 297 126, 141–​142, 232–​233
Peter the Fuller 197n.38
Nar Gölü 219 Petronas 40, 280–​281, 293–​294, 296–​297
Nersēs ii of Aštarak 20, 24 Phanaroia 33, 64, 203
Index 365

Pharganos, Theophanes 283, 285 al-​Sulamī, Yazīd b. Usayd 205n.62

Philippopolis 41, 44–​45, 48–​49, 51, 62, 89, Suleiman, general 206
119–​120, 136 Svyatoslav of Kiev 41
Phokas, Nikephoros 41, 315 Symbatios 305
Pholos 45 Symeon the Logothete 109–​110, 194, 282–​
Phrygia 36, 114, 237, 243 283, 291, 317
Phundagiagitae 42–​43 Symeon-​Titos 32–​33, 145–​150, 152, 156–​157,
Pizzicanella, Girolamo 50–​51n.177 160–​161, 176–​177
Plato of Sakkoudion 224 Syracuse 317
Pliska 38, 225, 240
Pomaks 50 al-​Ṭabarī, Muḥammad b. Jarīr 211, 220,
Poullades 67, 308, 313–​315 279, 287–​288, 293–​294, 296, 297, 305,
Prodromos, Theodore 48 308, 310
Ṭabaristān 259, 263
Qudāma b. Ja‘far 208, 286, 306–​307, 320 Tabia 323
Ṭāhir b. al-​Ḥusayn 284
Rachat 312 Taranta 278, 291, 311
al-​Rashīd, Hārūn 38, 211, 224, 249–​250 Tarasios 224
Romanos i Lekapenos 56, 109–​110, 124, 309 Tarsus 209, 268, 280, 318
Romanos ii 110 Tayk‘ 206, 215
Rus’ 41, 77 Tephrikē 40–​41, 63, 110, 112n.41, 114–​117, 278,
280–​281, 288–​292, 293–​295, 303, 305,
Sabas 254–​255 306, 309–​314, 316–​320
Sabellius 299 Tetradites 37, 197, 240
Šahapivan, Council of 23n.59 Theodora 39–​40, 68, 71–​73, 93, 118–​119,
Saint-​Félix-​de-​Caraman 47–​48 125, 271–​272, 274–​276, 282–​284, 287–​
Sāmarrā 264, 282, 284, 287, 297, 306 288, 292
Samosata 64–​65, 112n.41, 293–​294, 295–​296, Theodore ii, Bishop of Antioch 119–​120, 122
310, 315, 316 Theodore, son of Paul the Armenian 33, 147,
Sasanian Empire 30, 43–​44n.151, 95, 175, 258 156–​157, 168–​169, 177
Sebastaia 282 Theodore the Stoudite 55, 59, 103, 224, 241–​
Serapion of Thmuis 129 242, 244n.38, 245–​246, 252–​253, 254
Sergios-​Tychikos 35–​39, 68, 72–​73, 96–​97, Theodosiopolis 34, 74, 192–​194, 202,
141–​145, 149, 152–​158, 162–​167, 169, 261, 268
171–​172, 178–​181, 183–​186, 220, 222, Theodote 37, 224
232–​236, 238–​239, 268–​270, 286, 319, Theodotos, synekdemos of
330–​333 Sergios-​Tychikos 234
Shapur i 3n.4 Theoktistos 271, 275, 282–​285, 287, 292
Sinope 203, 262, 296 Theophanes Continuatus i-​i v 69–​70, 73, 75–​
Širakac‘i, Anania 22 76, 85, 117–​119, 124–​125, 137
Širakawan, Council of 298 Theophanes Continuatus vi 109–​110,
Skepe 80 291, 295
Skylitzes, John 275, 277 Theophanes the Confessor 34, 36–​37, 102–​
Smbat of Zarehawan 25–​26 103, 184–​185, 191–​194, 196–​198, 236–​238,
Son of Skleros 214, 280–​281, 288 239, 240–​241
Sozopetra 212, 261, 310, 316 Theophilos 39–​40, 74, 104–​105, 212, 253–​257,
Stanislavov, Philippus 53n.186 260–​271, 282
Staurakios 37–​38, 243 Theophilos of Ephesos 103, 242, 252–​253
Stephen the Protomartyr 147, 149, 157 Theophobos 180n.127, 260–​262, 315
366 Index

Thomas, Bishop of Neokaisareia 71–​72, 82, Vartabedian, Yovhannēs Choushdak 25

246, 248 Vaspurakan 206
Thomas the Armenian 249 Versinikia 38, 196, 225
Thomas the Slav 39, 73, 115, 249–​252 Villehardouin, Geoffroy de 49
Thrace 34, 36, 189, 192–​193, 222–​223 Virgin Mary 95, 167, 195
Thrakesion 280, 304n.90, 308 Vita Basilii 69, 116–​117, 136–​137
Titos of Bostra 129
T‘ondrakec‘i 25–​27, 290n.37, 320 Wahram i 3n.4
Traulos 44–​45 Waldensians 14–​15
Treatise against the Paulicians 58n.9, 61, 64–​ al-​Wāthiq 104, 264, 280, 282, 284, 286–​287
65, 89–​97, 103–​104, 172–​174, 256–​257, Wycliffites 14
267–​269
Trit, Renier of 49 Xantas 44
Triumph of Orthodoxy 6, 200, 271
Tůma, Brother of the Unity of Yazdegerd iii 30
Brethren 49, 51
Turkos, Bardanes 237 Zacharias 35, 148, 150, 156–​157, 177–​178, 217
Tyana 74 Zak‘aria, Armenian Kat‘ołikos 226–​227
Tzaggotoubos, Abesalom 295 Zigabenos, Euthymios 85
Tzanion 235, 270 Zonaras, John 275
Zoroastrianism 19, 23, 149, 258–​259,
Umar ii 311 285n.20
Umayyad Caliphate 34 Zosimos, disciple of Sergios-​Tychikos 319