Wessel: The Apology of Ben Bernanke

The Apology of Socrates was written by Plato and Xenophon; with In Fed We Trust: Ben Bernanke's War on the Great Panic – How the Federal Reserve Became the Fourth Branch of Government, David Wessel (published by Crown Business) makes his bid to do the same for Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke (and Treasury Secretary Tim Geithner, to a lesser extent). While the book doesn't paint the actions of the Federal Reserve as infallible—if anything, quite the opposite—Wessel shows Bernanke and his colleagues' earnestness such that you can't really blame them: they realized they made mistakes and they did their best. The underlying implication throughout the narrative of the financial panic of summer 2007 to winter 2009 is that without Bernanke, it would have been worse.

I must admit, I went into reading this book (my second for the CFA book club) thinking that I would probably only like it if the title was intended to be ironic. Very quickly, its sincerity is evident. Wessel's day job is as a journalist for the Wall Street Journal, and for the most part the book reads like an extended article with an inside view to the Fed's actions over a period of almost two years, plus background of Bernanke and other major players (as well as the Fed itself). And that's fine so far as it goes. But, because of his extensive interviews and insider access to Bernanke and others (as indicated in the Acknowledgments) he almost fully incorporates their view of the world, so that he portrays it not as their opinion, but as the truth.

Chapter 2 explains the early history and development of the Federal Reserve, and it begins with the famous story of J.P. Morgan dealing with the Panic of 1907. Morgan's solution was clean: it didn't prevent problems because nothing can, but it looks a lot closer to the optimal than nearly anything in the episodes of the Federal Reserve from its creation in 1913. That series of failures reached its nadir with the Great Depression, for which Bernanke, then a Fed Governor, apologized to Milton Friedman in 2002. Wessel repeats that quote to end the book. Unwittingly though, Wessel's chapter on the early Fed anticipates the ineffectiveness, and sometimes cluelessness, of the Fed during the recent recession.

I remember when I took economics classes that looked at monetary policy in high school and college, we always learned the Fed had three tools: the reserve requirement, discount lending, and open market operations (fed funds rate). When I started looking at the Fed's website for work (June 2007), those same three showed up as the tools that they themselves claimed. In August 2007, they began to lower the discount rate, in September the fed funds rate. In December, finding that the discount window wasn't as effective as it should be, the Fed began its TAF program, and with that the Fed's tools began to grow from three, to around ten by the end of the next year. What neither Wessel nor Bernanke seem to care about is that when the interest rates were lowered in the fall of 2007, the price of oil (and other commodities) broke out of the cycle they'd been in the past few years, going up in the summer and down in the winter. That fall, prices continued moving up. Oil is an input to the production of nearly everything, so an increase in its price leads to a decline in the aggregate supply in the economy. The Fed's moves didn't do anything to arrest the problems in the financial markets, but they certainly were hurting the rest of the economy at that point. By not even dealing with this question, I remain in the belief that the higher prices hurt consumers, including in their ability to pay their mortgages. I'm open to evidence that this isn't the case, but Wessel presents none.

By January 2008's cumulative 1.25% rate cut in the span of a week, Bernanke seemed like he was panicking, whether the Societe Generale debacle had any influence or not. The brokered deal in March to save Bear Stearns was often invoked later as the precedent by which the market expected Lehman Brothers to be rescued too, six months later. No thought is given to the possibility that this makes the Bear decision wrong, rather than the Lehman decision. Rather than chiding the politicians for not having the will to act strongly between those events (on the scale of TARP), the Fed and Treasury should have used that time to work out more surgical and less costly ways to work on the problems. The financial system is a public good, but no single financial firm is.

TARP is emblematic of perspective Wessel brings. Despite being marketed so deceptively, no real consideration is given to any of the alternatives that were being discussed in September and October of 2008. My feeling at the time was that instead of focusing on assets, focus on liabilities. Even a worthless asset, if backed by equity, doesn't pose much risk beyond its owner. Rather, moves to shore up liabilities, through some kind of insurance or guarantee scheme could have better targeted those entities that were really in trouble. Anyhow, for Wessel and Bernanke and Paulson and Geithner, TARP was (and is) indispensible. The significant drop in the stock market the day the House first rejected TARP is taken as proof that the market believed TARP was necessary too; for a day or week, the market can through a tantrum too—that doesn't make it right. He skips mention of the market making up a lot of that ground the next day, when the bill's passage was in doubt, but acknowledges it went further down as and after Congress did approve it. Frankly, Wessel does no better than anyone else about what the real worst case scenario would look like. To me, any argument that one institution's failure would lead to drastic consequences in every facet of our lives is a case for radical decentralization—political and economic—that should start immediately. TARP did the opposite.

In response to recent propaganda by the likes of Geithner for claiming the success of TARP two years later, I want to share this piece I read last week. I don't agree with all Dr. Pitchfork's politics, but I think his economic analysis is solid. Basically, TARP did nothing to wring the risks from the Too Big to Fail standard out of the system. Since the last "dashboard" in June 2009, financial markets and unemployment are both higher, while the price of oil is little changed. We face the near prospect of further quantitative easing. I'd say the government in all its branches has done too much already.

Theodosius the Great, Emperor: 379-395

The Valentinian dynasty had four emperors overlapping in power over nearly three decades—Theodosius married a Valentinian princess (like Gratian married a Constantian princess), but his sons were from an earlier marriage. Like Diocletian, Valentinian I divided power with his brother Valens at the beginning of his reign, rather than just leave it for his children to share, as Constantine (and later Theodosius) did. I was troubled by Zosimus' explanation for Valentinian choosing his brother: "whom he thought most likely to prove faithful to him" (Book 4, p. 66). After two and a half decades of fighting and squabbles among the sons and nephews of Constantine I, all of which Zosimus had just been writing about, I should have no expectation of imperial fraternal affection. Yet, even despite their religious differences, Valentinian proved corrected enough in his choice.

Valentinian I died of apoplexy (Ammianus Marcellinus XXX.6 is the best source), which I take to be a natural cause even if there might be environmental and emotional factors of significance.

When Valens died at the battle of Adrianople, Gratian appointed Theodosius to become emperor of the East, and he had some quick success in battle against the Goths, securing his borders, and most importantly Constantinople, against the Goths (Orosius VII.34, Zosimus p. 76-81, Jordanes 27). Theodosius followed this up with some well executed diplomacy with the Gothic king Athanaric (Orosius VII.34, Zosimus p. 81, Jordanes 28).

When Gratian was killed by the usurper Maximus (and Valentinian II exiled), Theodosius mustered his forces to—eventually—fight back to remove Maximus from power and restore Valentinian II.

When Valentinian II was killed by Arbogastes and Eugenius came to power, Theodosius again prepared for war and crossed the Alps to fight against illegitimate power. In the battle, Eugenius was taken and killed, while Arbogastes fled to the mountain wilderness in fear and committed suicide. Theodosius marched in triumph to Rome, and died soon after in his journey back to Constantinople according to Zosimus, or while in Milan according to Orosius.

From the death of Valentinian in a de jure sense, and from Eugenius' death in a de facto sense, Theodosius held dominion over the entire Roman Empire. He was the last. He died almost exactly 400 years after the mid-point of Augustus' principate, and it is surprising how well Theodosius's power compares to Augustus':

• The borders of the empire were nearly identical. The Rhine, Danube, and Mesopotamia were fluid. Theodosius' claim on southern Britain (now England and Wales) was much stronger. Certainly the fighting with the Germanic peoples was more defensive for Theodosius than Augustus, but he is hard to call less successful.
  
• Both gained power over the whole empire following multiple civil wars. Theodosius' wars were smaller, which I suppose could just mean that all the Roman armies were weaker in the fourth century than in Augustus' (then Octavian) time, but they were also less destructive.
  
• Augustus was very concerned with succession, and often disappointed as his favorites died (having no sons himself), until he was finally left with his step-son Tiberius. Theodosius had two sons to whom he left the empire.
  

Of course, the time of Augustus was similar to the previous generation or three, that I commented on from Orosius. Rome was much more dangerous to itself in those days; by Theodosius' time, its external enemies were much stronger (or maybe just more motivated by fear of a third entity like the Huns). On the other hand, provinces like Gaul, Syria, and Egypt were probably much better integrated after another 400 years-again like Orosius commented.

I will write more about the religious developments of the time period in my next post.

Valentinian the Second: 375-392

Valentinian II was one of the very few Roman emperors who were born the son of a Roman emperor; as far as I can tell Commodus and the sons of Constantine were his only predecessors. One might also compare him to Domitian or Geta, who also succeeded their fathers and succeeded or shared power with their older brother (Constantius might be looked at like this, too). Among four centuries and over fifty men legitimately called "Augustus," this shows how rare Valentinian's situation was. He was also someone who didn't give others a great reason to like him. While young—and he was very young when his father died—he was brought up in the Arianism of his mother, Justina, who attempted to use her influence to further that heresy in Italy. After his restoration, he deferred in religion to the orthodox Theodosius—the latter also greatly weakened the pagan cause at this time. Thus, he was a hero to no faith.

Valentinian was also, obviously, very weak as an emperor. He was always junior to his brother Gratian or his brother-in-law Theodosius. The usurper Maximus forced him into exile. Four years after his return to Italy, Arbogastes—the general of Theodosius who had led the forces against Maximus—made a coup and killed Valentinian in Gaul. Being a Frank, Arbogastes installed the sophist Eugenius in power; there having been non-Italians (to speak broadly of literal non-Romans) as emperor since the end of the first century and many if not most of the emperors since the end of the second century had been from the fringes of the empire, so I don't exactly understand why Arbogastes felt himself ethnically unqualified.

And yet, opinion of Valentinian II is rather positive. I have the sense that if he had attained the purple at age 34 or 44 instead of just 4, he actually could have been quite effective. Sozomen (7.22) says, "It is said that the boy was noble in person, and excellent in royal manners; and that, had he lived to the age of manhood, he would have shown himself worthy of holding the reins of empire, and would have surpassed his father in magnanimity and justice." Some, such as Philostorgius (11.1), suggest that he was prone to anger that despite being emperor his life was very controlled and he felt little freedom of action, and that this contributed to his death. Even were this accusation true, it would seem a consequence of youth.

There are always competing priorities in a monarchy concerning the monarch's qualifications. Going back to the expulsion of the Tarquins and the end of the original kings of Rome in the sixth century BCE, the Romans were much more suspicious of primogeniture for legitimacy than most other nations. Augustus didn't have a son, which created the new precedent. The Romans also had a complex system of adoption, allowing the emperors to choose a successor of the greatest merit. Augustus did this for Tiberius—already his step-son and son-in-law—after all his previous choices had died. Nerva did this for Trajan, and Hadrian planned two generations in Antoninus Pius and Marcus Aurelius. Diocletian's system was similar. Several times interregnums were filled with mature men of accomplishment: Galba, Nerva, Pertinax, Jovian. Yet, in two of those cases a younger man of lesser merit was able to rouse the army against the new emperor, bringing Otho and Didius Julianus to power. Unsurprisingly, these types couldn't last long either. Vespasian and Septimius Severus represent military leaders at the height of their power who were able to establish a lasting reign on the back of civil war. Against these qualities or experiences, Valentinian had a royal education. He wasn't evil like Domitian, unsuited to power like Commodus, fratricidal like Constantius and his brothers, or the victim of fratricide like Geta.

Valentinian II was just young. And even this might not have been a problem, except the Romans were not used to this. An emperor was not a figurehead. Consider that Louis XIV was also four years old when he became king, but this didn't faze the French because his father had been just nine. Indeed, Valentinian probably would have fared better as a king, even an absolute one, than emperor. Perhaps it was he and not his murderer who was the real foreshadowing of Teutonic power.

See my previous post for my general sources.

New Entrants: 388-395

Orosius biased me toward reading through to the death of Theodosius in early 395, because he moved quickly from the restoration of Valentinian II to that monarch's death in 392. In the interim was the usurpation of Eugenius, who ruled in the West from 392 to 394. This is what I read to learn about this period of history:

• Primary narrative histories: Orosius (Book 7, Chapter 35), C. D. Gordon's Age of Attila (to page 8, p. 16-18), and Zosimus (Book 4, p. 88-94)
  
• Chronicles and foreign histories: Chronicon Paschale (years 390-394), John of Nikiu (Chapter 83, Section 37-65), al-Tabari (p. 69-70), Jordanes (Chapter 28, Section 145), and Gregory of Tours (Book 1, Chapter 44-47) [Bede and the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle have nothing to report]
  
• Ecclesiastical histories: Socrates (Book 5, Chapter 15-26), Sozomen (Book 7, Chapter 15-29), Theodoret (Book 5, Chapter 16-25), and Philostorgius (Book 10, Chapter 9-Book 11, Chapter 2)
  
• Private views: Libanius' Autobiography (Section 275-285), Letters (154-193), and Orations (47-49); Jerome (Letters 52 & 54); Augustine (Book 10-11); and Claudian's Panegyric on the Consuls Probinus and Olybrius
  
• Modern histories: Montesquieu (Chapter 19) and Gibbon (Chapter 26-28)
  

I have added two new works for this segment. C. D. Gordon is a twentieth-century history. His book is of value, however, because he translates verbatim the literary fragments of the major historians of the fifth century: Olympiodorus, Candidus, Priscus, and Malchus. He also makes use of the later Byzantine historian Joannes Antiochenus. Like Philostorgius, these excerpts are preserved by Photius, in large part, and other compilers of medieval Constantinople. Because these works are not fully extent, Gordon provides his own narrative to connect the fragments. The book was originally published by University of Michigan Press, republished by Barnes & Noble.

The other new work is of a much different flavor. Claudius Claudianus was an Egyptian-born Latin poet. Much of his work is political, with subject matter not all that different from Libanius'. Similarly, he was a pagan, although he did more to try to blend in with Christians than Libanius did. His first long poem is very flowery and of little substance as the brothers Probinus and Olybrius became the consuls for whom the year would be named at the beginning of 395. Theodosius died only a couple weeks later, but I assume that the poem was written while he was still alive; line 113 in the translation names Theodosius, but he is absent from the Latin. Since Claudian's career only lasted about a decade, I don't think this will be much of an issue going forward, but because the poems are backward looking, I may have missed out on some other pieces of useful information from the poetry he wrote after Theodosius' death—Gibbon references two such later poems in Chapter 27. In the introduction, his quality of language is compared with Silver Age (late first century CE) poets like Statius, even as his content is criticized. The introduction begins by saying he "may be called the last poet of classical Rome" (vii); there are a lot of lasts in this time period (although I remember Tacitus was considered a "last" almost 300 years earlier), and it is kind of sad—it may be easier to relate to the end of a literary period, whose work still exists, than a civilization, which does not. I am reading Maurice Platnauer's translation for the Loeb Classical Library.

Platnauer's translation is available online at LacusCurtius.

Baptized into the Episcopacy: Ambrose and Nectarius

I have already written something about Ambrose's relationship with Augustine, Gratian, Valentinian II, and Justina, and I plan to write soon about his dealings with Theodosius. In this post, I would like to take a step back to show the striking parallel between Ambrose's rise to becoming bishop of Milan to that of Nectarius becoming bishop of Constantinople. I also have a few reflection on the rise of Christianity/decline of Rome idea.

The history is based on the three orthodox ecclesiastical historians of the mid-5^th century: Socrates, Sozomen, and Theodoret, all of whom wrote in Greek. Socrates, sometimes surnamed Scholasticus, is republished by NuVision (translator unknown). Sozomen is republished by Kessinger Publishing (translator unknown). These two books are digital reprints of out of copyright translations, with the consequence that sometimes the readability is quite poor. Theodoret was published for Bohn's Ecclesiastical Library (translator unknown).

A little before the emperor Valentinian I died in 375, the church in Milan had an opening in its leadership because the previous bishop, Auxentius, died. According to Sozomen (VI.23), Auxentius was unique as an Arian bishop in the West, for which reason the bishop of Rome (pope) and others excommunicated him; his death appears to be from natural causes. Theodoret (IV.6) says that Valentinian spoke to the bishops who were meeting to choose a successor; the emperor's concern seems to be more about the choice be a sterling example of personal ethics as having the right theology. The bishops were willing let Valentinian himself make the choice, but he declined (IV.7).

All three historians agree that the issue was causing great controversy in the city, as Christians had different favorites to be their new bishop. Socrates (IV.30) wrote, "the people…were disturbed…as some proposed one person, and others favored another, the city was full of contention and uproar." Sozomen (VI.24) expands, "a sedition arose among the people…and the city was in danger. Those who had aspired to the bishopric, and been defeated in their expectations, were loud in their menaces, as is usual in such commotions." This suggests that the "uproar" was not merely a popular phenomenon. Theodoret (IV.7) adds more context: "The citizens…assembled tumultuously, and contended about the election. Those who had received the…opinion of Auxentius demanded to have a bishop of the same sentiments. While those who had adhered to sound doctrines desired a pastor of the same faith as themselves."

The prospect of violence greatly concerned the governor of the province, Ambrose; Socrates adds that he had also previously held the title of consul. He went to the church, the source of the problem. Socrates and Sozoment say that he made a speech to all the parties to remain at peace, while Theodoret claims that his mere presence quieted everyone. In any event, the people spontaneously and unanimously declared that Ambrose should become the new bishop. Ambrose was reluctant, and had not yet been baptized—this does not necessarily mean he didn't believe in Christianity considering, for example, that Theodosius had been treated with disfavor as a soldier by Julian for his Christian beliefs, but did not become baptized until after he became emperor almost two decades later. Valentinian saw Providence behind the people's choice, and with his blessing (if not urging), Ambrose was baptized and ordained bishop. Thus, he turned from secular to spiritual office.

About five years later, when Theodosius became Emperor of the East, his first priority in religious affairs was to remove the Arians from power. For this purpose, he called a synod to meet, known as the First Council of Constantinople or Second Ecumenical Council, in 381. There were about 150 bishops present (Sozomen VII.7, Socrates V.8), maybe more after including the followers of the Macedonian heresy. All three list prominent attendees (Theodoret at V.8); none seem to be from as far west as Italy, though there are some ambiguous words in Socrates and Sozomen about correspondence with Rome. For a time, Gregory Nazianzus, a leading orthodox theologian, was made bishop of Constantinople with the support of Theodosius. However, some Egyptian bishops objected that he had already been ordained bishop in his hometown, thus violating a previously agreed to (though not one that seems to have been always scrupulously adhered to) rule; Gregory agreed to withdraw rather than cause trouble: "For it would be most absurd if, now that we have just escaped from the weapons of our enemies, we were to fall upon each other, and destroy our own strength, thus causing those who hate us to rejoice," he said according to Theodoret's report.

At this point, Sozomen has the fullest account. The bishops were divided over the new choice (VII.7). One of the bishops, Diodorus of Tarsus, was visited by a compatriot named Nectarius. Nectarius was a "senator…at this period residing at Constantinople" (VII.8); Socrates has him in "the office of proctor [sic, I assume this is praetor]" there (V.8). Now, Nectarius was about to go home, and inquired from Diodorus whether there were any letters he could bring back for him. Diodorus, however, decided that Nectarius would make a good bishop, and tried to get help from Melitius of Antioch. Melitius had other favorites, but when the emperor asked everyone to list their choices for him, Melitius did acquiesce and include Nectarius at the end of his list. Theodosius chose Nectarius, who was a relative unknown; by contrast Socrates emphasizes Nectarius as the choice of "the people," and Theodoret makes him the choice of the bishops. On his election, it came out that Nectarius was not baptized; Sozomen states that even Diodorus had assumed he was. This created some new controversy, but Theodosius maintained his support. Nectarius was baptized and ordained bishop of Constantinople at the same time. Later on during the Council, the bishops agreed that the bishop of Constantinople should be of the second rank in the Church, only below the bishop of Rome (Sozomen VII.9, Socrates V.8). Thus, Nectarius, too, moved from temporal to ecclesiastical leadership.

Let me now turn briefly to the issue of whether Christianity caused the downfall of the Roman Empire. I have already discussed this a bit from the Providential standpoint. From a cultural standpoint, the asceticism advocated by Jerome, Augustine, Gregory of Tours, and others may have caused a demographic downturn, at least on the margins. However, by the end of the fourth century, many of the Goths had converted to Christianity, too. Another problem with this is that economic factors may have led to asceticism, making a virtue of necessity, rather than the reverse; "if I didn't fast so much, I'd go hungry" as the joke goes. Lastly, Augustine may have been a more representative celibate than Jerome or Injuriosus, waiting until after he'd already had a child until turning over to chastity.

A more interesting case for Christianity helping to cause Rome's collapse can be found with Ambrose and Nectarius. They are evidence that the church was competing with the government for the services of effective leaders. Christian emperors, for whom the propagation of their beliefs was a significant concern, appear often to have encouraged the church to win that competition, to the detriment of their own political success. Valentinian's sons may have lived and led longer if Ambrose had been serving them in secular office, for example. Bishops were also paid better in glory than provincial governors: they are more important figures in ecclesiastical histories than governors are in secular histories, and many continue to be venerated as saints. This is a factor that is not immediately obvious, but the church depleting the ranks of good political and military leadership at the provincial level accounts well for timing, and why the church could gain strength as the empire lost it—even as Orosius equates the two.

Socrates Scholasticus is available online—I think in the same translation—at the Christian Classics Ethereal Library. Sozomen is available online—also appearing to be the same translation—at Freewebs. Theodoret is available online—in a different translation—also at the Christian Classics Ethereal Library.

A Perspective on Modern Parallels

Forgive me for disregarding my own maxim I wrote in the previous post, but I read an article by Bill Croke at The American Spectator online that I want to comment on briefly. The piece is called "Obama as Diocletian", and engages in the practice of finding historical parallels that stretches back at least as far as Plutarch in his biographies nineteen centuries ago. Trying to find common themes in the decline of the Roman Republic and/or Empire with the current American experience is also a well (if not over) used rhetorical trope.

As I've written, Diocletian does appear to represent the beginning of a new era in Roman history in a political sense; culturally, he is at the end of pagan dominance over Christianity. Croke compares Diocletian to Abraham Lincoln for rebinding the empire together; yet, it was Diocletian who conceived what would eventually be the permanent split between East and West that allowed the former to survive the latter by a millennium. I might even say that Diocletian may well be viewed as the first Byzantine emperor. While I certainly agree that his economic policies were onerous, to call them Marxist is inappropriate in two ways. First, there was as much or more redistribution to the wealthy and well-connected in the imperial hierarchy as to the poor (and without any attempt at hiding the fact). The second reason is because Marxism, though evil and wrong, has a foundation in the "science" of economics, and no such knowledge existed in those times.

A century after Diocletian, Theodosius still looks as stable as Augustus. If I didn't know that the Western Empire would fall, I wouldn't think it inevitable; indeed, Orosius
had already witnessed some of the first permanent losses and still didn't expect the Roman Empire would end. While the movement of the Huns into Europe clearly put new pressures on the Teutonic peoples against Rome, there was no reason before the fact to think this would be any different from the movement of those Germans into Europe against the Celts/Gauls one thousand years earlier. The Romans were fighting the Gallic peoples in Italy for much of the fourth and third centuries before the Common Era, and they were fighting the Germans defensively at the end of the second century BCE.

On the other hand, I view the fall of the Roman Republic as much earlier determined than Croke seems to. He refers to the Gracchi as "civically virtuous." I see them as symptoms of the Republic already in decline, about a century before the beginning of Augustus' principate. The spectacular treasure Rome won in 167 BCE from the Third Macedonian War allowed domestic taxes to lapse for generations. As political scientists say today about oil states, there's no representation without taxation. The Roman economy hollowed out for this and other reasons. They were able to stave off total state collapse because, unlike any of the empires that had preceded them, the Romans were very good at incorporating conquered and allied nations into their system. Julius and Augustus Caesar created a new system because the old one had already ceased to be effective; their changes were more revolutionary than Diocletian's because the state of things that preceded them was more problematic.

The war in the Roman mind that was most similar to World War II for the United States was the Second Punic War. There is a difference of extraordinary importance between these two great victories. The U.S. finished the war with half the productive capacity in the world, including likely too much manufacturing, so a relative economic decline was necessary for stability, even though it may look like a decline of much greater significance (I don't know how old Croke is, but I wouldn't be surprised if he grew up in the 1950's and thought that was the normal order of things). The Romans, however, were economically devastated by Hannibal's invasion. Because of the perks of victory, however, they never redeveloped the agricultural capacity that had previously been the base of their economy. Maybe if the Gracchi had been successful, though I doubt this was what they actually understood as their goal.

I think the reason comparisons are made so often between Rome and the United States is that Rome was at one time a republic, as America is. It is necessary to remember, however, that the Roman military was still strengthening while their political liberty was deteriorating. By the time of Diocletian, the parallels to U.S. are merely in being a large and hegemonic world power—in which case any other authoritarian empire in history is no worse a comparison. President Obama and Diocletian have both engaged in fighting wars in Mesopotamia and raised some taxes, but so have numerous other world leaders throughout history—Persian, Greek, Arab, Mongol, etc.—and many of their regimes fell a lot more quickly than Diocletian's. Among the four centuries of Roman emperors, Diocletian probably comes off as a bit better than average in performance; whatever one's opinion of Obama, he and every American president are far superior.

Gregory of Tours: Asceticism in Clermont-Ferrand

I don't want to make this blog political, beyond the books I'm reading and my reactions to them (and I tend to prefer reading blogs or magazines for current politics over books), but the furor over Christine O'Donnell's past public statements on personal sexual morality have provided a certain frame for my recent reading of ancient and medieval Christians on the same subject. I have already discussed some of Jerome and Augustine's comments, and I expect to be writing more. Today, I want to focus on one story as a way to introduce Gregory of Tours. Gregory lived in the second half of the sixth century, and was a bishop. Though this would place him as more of a personality of the Middle Ages rather than antiquity, he was ethnically Gallic; thus, despite the collapse of the Roman Empire in what was evolving into France, he was part of a culture that was preserving Roman tradition and the Latin language. While the bulk of his History of the Franks concerns events in his native country, the beginning is something of a chronicle on Biblical, Roman, and ecclesiastical history at large. I am reading the translation by Lewis Thorpe for Penguin Classics.

I mentioned below that Gregory wrote of the usurper Maximus and his meeting with Saint Martin (Book 1, Chapter 43). The following chapters concern the development of the church in Clermont-Ferrand—incidentally, I find this to be one of the best of city names. (It's also the place where Gregory was born [Introduction p. 7].) In Chapter 47, to cap off the discussion, he narrates a story, already known as "The Two Lovers," that reminds me of the style of the late Middle Ages, e.g. Boccaccio or Chaucer—although the latter two would be much more cynical of religion. A wealthy young man and woman marry; he's named Injuriosus, she has no name. Each is an only child, which is important for family inheritance. On the wedding night, before the marriage is consummated, the woman began crying. She explains that she had wanted to pledge herself to lifelong virginity and spiritual marriage to Jesus; she would rather be dead than have sex and has utter contempt for anything material. After a half-hearted counterargument on their parents' wishes from Injuriosus, she continued, "This earthly existence…[w]ealth…pomp and circumstance of this world…the very life which we enjoy is of no value. We should look instead to that other life which is not ended when death finally comes…by any illness…accident, but where man lives for ever in eternal bliss…radiance…with the angels…happiness which is eternal…in the presence of our L[-]rd Himself."

Injuriosus replied, "Your sweet words have brought eternal life to me…If you are determined to abstain from intercourse with me, then I will agree to what you want to do." In return, she agreed to maintain their outward appearance as husband and wife.

That night, and for the rest of their lives, they slept "hand in hand" yet "chaste." Eventually, she died, and Injuriousus prayed at her funeral, thanking G-d "for granting that I may hand back to Your loving care this treasure as unsullied as when I received her from Your hands." A miracle occurred, animating her dead body to smile and ask why he had said what he did. Soon, Injuriosus died as well. He was buried on an opposite side—I assume in the church, though it doesn't say—from his wife, yet the next morning their tombs were right next to each other, proving their spiritual love.

This tale is an inverted romance, and takes the Christian ideals of sexual asceticism to extremes. Gregory relates the story with all approval and praise, and is in company with Jerome, Augustine, and others. By contrast, what Christine O'Donnell advocated seems tame (or wild, I suppose).

A different translation is available online at the Medieval Sourcebook.

Jerome: What Exactly is Heathen Language?

After the surprising use of "heathen/gentili" I noted before, I have kept an eye out for further uses of the term. In each of the two letters by Jerome that are a part of my reading for the next segment of history, he noticed the word once. In Letter 52 to Nepotian, he transitions from quoting Virgil to quoting the Bible by calling the former "heathen literature" (Chapter 2). In this case the foreignness of the poetry is not being in Latin, as all of the letter Jerome writes is in Latin, but it being pagan. Clearly, this does not explain why he would call Aramaic/Syriac—a Biblical language—"gentili." The other reference I note is in Chapter 16 of Letter 54 to Furia. There, Jerome talks about how the prophet Elijah helped a "heathen widow." Again, the meaning is in pagan, but whereas, at least from Jerome's perspective, Virgil is "foreign" for not being Christian, the widow can only be not Jewish. (I realize Virgil died a few years before Jesus was born, but his the life of his poetry was mainly after the advent of Christianity, by numbers.)

In any case, these two examples both have Jerome using the word as synonymous with paganism, in which cases "heathen" is an appropriate translation, if still more derogatory than he seems to intend. "Mammon," however is a word that is part of a language spoken by Jewish people and early Christians, very much including Jesus. Thus, rather than finding other instances of the word elucidating the previous use, it has only added to my confusion.

A different translation of all Jerome's letters is at the Christian Classics Ethereal Library.