Cambridge Ancient Hi.. - Index of

holy men 803
A star [he told her] is held to signify the glory of an emperor by those who are
expert in interpreting visions; but with you it must not mean this.
Also consulted by Maria, the bishop of Anastasiopolis, ‘by God’s inspiration,
gave her the same interpretation’ (V. Theod. Syk. 4, ed. Festugière
(1970) 4, tr. Dawes and Baynes (1997) 88–9). When Theodore, sure enough,
grew up to be both a bishop and a holy man, he functioned in a similar
manner:
if any required medical treatment for certain illnesses or surgery or a purging
draught or hot springs, this God-inspired man would prescribe the best thing for
each, for even in technical matters he had become an experienced doctor . . . and
he would always state clearly which doctor they should employ.
(V. Theod. Syk. 145, ed. Festugière (1970) 114,
Dawes and Baynes (1977) 182; cf. Harvey (1984) 87–93)
Nor did the information flow only in one direction. Viewing the crowds
of sufferers around the shrine of St Epiphanius at Salamis in the early seventh
century, a ‘philosopher’ informed the bishop that the majority of those
present would be cured by a simple change in diet. Responsible for a crowded
healing establishment, the bishop agreed. The philosopher’s remedy worked
wonders (Anastasius Sinaita, Quaestiones 94, PG lxxxix.733a). We know of
this from the Quaestiones of Anastasius of Sinai, a monastic writer whose
highly nuanced discussion of divine providence, health and miracles contains,
also, the first disturbing hint of yet another rival explanatory system –
that of Islam. Anastasius knew how Arabs could tell from physiognomic
traits which of their warriors would die – presumably as a ‘martyr’ – in battle;
and he had heard of the great she-demon who rose from the earth to devour
the camel-sacrifices heaped up around the Ka�ba of Mecca (Anastasius
Sinaita, Quaestiones 20, PG lxxxix.521a; Flusin (1991) 404–5).
In normal conditions, the varying layers of explanation tended to group
themselves around the holy man, much as the manifold invisible powers
of the universe, even the demons, fell into ranks beneath the one God
whom he served. But the possibility of conflict was always present, in
which these many layers would fall apart into sharply polarized antithesis.
The most banal of these moments of conflict concerned the use of
sorcery. This is hardly surprising. Within the Christian community itself,
members of the clergy, like the holy man, were frequently deemed to be
bearers of comprehensive knowledge of the sacred. Many had knowledge
of sorcery. Clergy and lay persons alike were urged to use accustomed
Christian healing substances and, above all, to employ names and formulae
that were to be found only in the canonical Christian scriptures (Greg.
Tur. De Gloria Confessorum 1 and 39). But it was far from certain that such
a seemingly innocent substance as the ‘oil of prayer’ would be energized
by Christian prayers or by invocations considered to be tainted by sorcery
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