Download PDF | Ioannis Polemis - Theodore Metochites_ Patterns of Self-Representation in Fourteenth-Century Byzantium (New Directions in Byzantine Studies)-I.B. Tauris (2023).
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INTRODUCTION : L IFE AND W ORK AT THE END OF E MPIRE
Theodore Metochites admits in some of his works that the period in which he lives is one of utter decline. 1 As a powerful minister under Emperor Andronikos II Palaiologos (r. 1282–1328), he could not ignore that the aff airs of the Byzantine Empire had gone from bad to worse and that he had inherited and was obliged to govern a state that had been left powerless, failing and almost totally ruined by his predecessors. Metochites tries to justify taking the position by repeatedly invoking the Athenian orator Demades, who had felt obliged to act in administering a totally bankrupt state (e.g. Poem 1, 808). Such self-justifi cation is valid in part. Although not evident when Metochites came to Andronikos’ attention, the Byzantine realm was indeed in a state of ruin.
Byzantine Empire’ denotes the place where Metochites grew up and began his career, but the term ‘empire’ is not wholly appropriate. Metochites’ state hardly resembled the one the Crusaders destroyed in 1204 and, despite its weaknesses, controlled a considerable part of the Balkans and Asia Minor and almost all the Aegean, including the great islands of Cyprus and Crete. Th e Byzantine state as restored in 1261 – aft er Emperor Michael VIII Palaiologos (r. 1259–82) reoccupied Constantinople – was tiny and fragile, no longer reminiscent of the empire of the past. It more closely resembled the small Frankish states that had been created as a result of the Fourth Crusade, like the principate of Achaea.
Thanks to the eff orts of the emperors of Nicaea, who tried to salvage what could still be saved from the former empire, the state of Michael VIII controlled part of the Balkan Peninsula centred on Th essalonike and the region west of the Sangarios River and north of the Meander River in Asia Minor. Metochites, amid the decline visible to him, sought nonetheless to leave his mark on the political and intellectual life of the era. A prolifi c writer, he authored works on various subjects, and being ambitious as well, did not miss the opportunity to speak about himself, craft ing various images of himself. In these works, he employed various patterns of self-representation that he adapted depending on the circumstances. Inevitably Metochites’ self-portraits are closely intertwined with the history of the late Byzantine period.
Metochites’ life begins in Constantinople a few years aft er the city’s liberation from Latin rule by Michael VIII, founder of the last dynasty of the Byzantine Empire and father of Andronikos II. Michael had managed to retake several regions of the Balkans from the Latins while emperor of the Kingdom of Nicaea, the Greek rump state established in Asia Minor aft er Constantinople fell to the Crusaders in 1204. Th ough appearing to be resurrecting the former Byzantine Empire, that was not the case. Th e Latins still held strong positions in the Peloponnese and the Aegean Islands, and a new danger had appeared on the empire’s eastern frontier: the small Ottoman beylik in eastern Bithynia had amassed considerable strength, and by the time of Michael’s death in 1282, it was menacing the Byzantine frontier in Asia Minor. Michael, aware of the dangers threatening his reconstituted empire, sought to avert the danger of a new crusade against Byzantium by off ering the submission of the Orthodox Church to the Roman Catholic Church, a move formally promulgated by the Second Council of Lyons (1274) with dramatic repercussions in Byzantium.
The Byzantine clergy responded violently against Michael, rendering the union with Rome a dead letter. When Michael died, Andronikos II ascended the throne, immediately rescinded his father’s policy, and persecuted members of the clergy who had supported the union with the Latins. Among those who fell into imperial disfavour was Metochites’ father. Th e fi rst decade of Andronikos’ rule passed rather peacefully. Th e young emperor took care to heal the schism his father’s pro-unionist policy had caused within the Byzantine church. Th e Council of Blachernai (1285) put an offi cial end to related discussions concerning the procession of the Holy Spirit, and the canonical prelates were restored to their ecclesiastical thrones. In secular matters, Andronikos, having visited Asia Minor around 1290 to inspect its fortifi cations, was aware of the danger the Ottomans posed to his small and powerless domain. By 1300, major parts of the former kingdom of Nicaea had fallen to the Ottomans. Th e Turks defeated Michael IX Palaiologos (r. 1294–1320), Andronikos’ son who had become co-emperor in 1294, and ultimately, Andronikos, seeing no other option, called on the mercenary Catalan Company and its leader, Roger de Flor, for assistance.
The Catalans initially met with successes against the Ottomans, liberating the city of Philadelphia in Asia Minor in 1303, but they soon revolted against Andronikos, crossed over to the European part of the empire in 1304, and created their own state in Athens aft er plundering through the southern Balkans. In the late 1290s, Andronikos had also attempted to curb the power of the independent Greek states in central Greece, the so-called Despotate of Epiros and the rump state of John Sebastokrator in Th essaly. Aft er some initial successes, Andronikos was forced to divert his forces to the Serbian front. Th e Serbs had occupied several positions near their frontier with Byzantium and threatened Th essalonike, the empire’s second most important city. Andronikos was forced to conclude a treaty in 1299, ceding all the territories his forces had occupied to the Serbian king, Stefan Uro š Milutin, ostensibly as a dowry for his young daughter Simonis, who was given to Milutin as a bride that year. Metochites was involved in the sordid aff air and negotiations. In the end, the only part of Andronikos’ already small state left intact was the semi-autonomous area of Morea, which hung on despite attempts by the Franks of Achaea to destroy it.
The Ottomans progressed steadily. When Prousa fell to the Turks in 1326, toward the end of Andronikos II’s reign, the north-western part of Asia Minor, which until then had been under Byzantine control, became an Ottoman province. Th e situation deteriorated further aft er civil war broke out: Andronikos III Palaiologos – encouraged by the death of his father, Michael IX, in 1320, and spurred on by his ambitious and vengeful mother, Maria (formerly Rita of Armenia) – revolted against his grandfather Andronikos II in 1321. Th e younger Andronikos had the support of some of the most important state actors, among them John Kantakouzenos, who would succeed him. Th e Serbs and the Bulgarians joined in the confl ict, trying to seize as much as they could for themselves. Th e civil war dragged on intermittently for seven years, until 1328, ultimately destroying what had been left of the might of the once glorious Byzantine Empire.
That year, Andronikos III (r. 1328–41) entered Constantinople, seemingly in triumph, and forced his grandfather to concede the throne of a state that had almost ceased to exist. Some coastal areas in the southern Balkans and a tiny area around the city of Nicaea remained under its control, but they soon fell to the Ottomans as well, in 1331. Georg Ostrogorsky argued that Andronikos II should not be blamed for the decline of the small state he inherited from his father, Michael VIII. On the contrary, Ostrogorsky praised Andronikos II for his eff orts to raise the intellectual level of the learned class, surrounding himself with such high-calibre fi gures as Metochites and Nikephoros Gregoras. He created the college of the twelve judges, the highest judicial organ of the state. He also tried to tame widespread corruption among Byzantine offi cials. Th e reasons for the decline of the state ran much deeper, however, making the eff orts of a single man insuffi cient to trigger a radical shift in a rather desperate situation. Th e Byzantine political and economic magnates grew stronger under the rule of the Palaiologoi. Largely enjoying fi nancial immunity, they increased their holdings to the detriment of the poor and middle classes, who became steadily poorer over time, and with the diminution of the number of free peasants. Most ploughmen became paroikoi on large estates. Th e landed aristocracy received tracts from the emperor as reward for their services ( pronoia ) but were no longer obliged to provide the state military assistance in return. In addition, rather than such land reverting to the state upon the benefi ciary’s death, it was passed on to his children. Th e decline of the pronoia system weakened the army to the extent that, under Andronikos II, the state was obliged to employ the services of mercenaries, who were untrustworthy and a great fi nancial burden on the public treasury. Andronikos made a crucial misstep in his total neglect of the empire’s fl eet and in its stead relying on his stronger Genoese allies to provide maritime assistance when needed. Th us, it became inevitable that the Byzantine state would at some point fail to muster serious resistance to the Ottoman threat.
Andronikos II made eff orts to heal the fi nancial aff airs of the state, but the decline he inherited was too steep to overcome. Th e price of the Byzantine gold coin decreased rapidly during his reign, refl ecting the severity of the fi nancial crisis. In this case, Ostrogorsky was right: Andronikos was not to be blamed for the sorry state of the empire, as the state was bankrupt even before he rose to power.
Metochites’ life among the ruins
Th e main primary source on the career and early life of Th eodore Metochites (1270–1332) is his Poem 1. In it, he off ers an account of his advancement in the Byzantine court, underscoring how much he owed his rise to Emperor Andronikos II Palaiologos, his protector, and to God, who always provided for him (Poem 1, 302–756). 2 Metochites had been born in Constantinople the son of George Metochites, an archdeacon of Hagia Sophia. Th e senior Metochites was a close collaborator of the pro-unionist patriarch John Bekkos, who at the instigation of Emperor Michael VIII Palaiologos had initiated a unifi cation process to ostensibly heal the schism between the Orthodox and the Roman Catholic Churches, a move culminating in the Second Council of Lyons. Th e pro-unionist agenda ultimately failed, however, as the Byzantine clergy violently rebelled at the prospect of submitting their independent church to the Pope in Rome. Michael’s death in 1282 delivered the fi nal blow to the pro-Western policy. His son and successor, Andronikos II, reversed it immediately and deposed Bekkos, restoring the anti-unionist Joseph II to the patriarchal throne. He banished George Metochites and his family to Asia Minor. Until that time, Th eodore had enjoyed a quiet and rather privileged life in Constantinople. Educated like all the other children of the Byzantine literati, he had studied Greek grammar based on the Psalter and the relevant texts of George Choiroboskos, before proceeding to study Homer, the tragedians and the Greek orators. Th ere is no doubt that Th eodore continued his studies in Nicaea. Aft er completing the so-called enkyklios paideusis , which emphasized learning grammar, Metochites pursued further knowledge. As he informs the reader in Poem 1, his fi rst autobiographic verse, and in the preface to his introduction to astronomy, he studied the Greek orators attentively and composed several pieces of literature himself (Poem 1, 365–72). He likely did so through some sort of progymnasmata , Byzantine school exercises on various subjects or morality-themed examples drawn from Greek history and mythology. He also wrote praises of saints, but none of these early texts survive. In 1290, Andronikos II had the opportunity to meet the young Th eodore, at the time around 20 years old, when he travelled to the part of the former Kingdom of Nicaea that remained under Byzantine control, including the ancient city of Nicaea, the capital of the region. In all probability, Metochites delivered his fi rst surviving oration, Nicaeus , during Andronikos’ visit; the oration directly addresses the emperor. Andronikos was apparently not off ended by Th eodore being the son of a prominent opponent of his ecclesiastical policy who, in defence of his beloved patriarch, John Bekkos, had composed an extensive treatise on the causes of the schism between the Roman and Orthodox Churches. In fact, as Metochites proudly asserts in Poem 1, Andronikos, greatly impressed by his new acquaintance, decided to keep Th eodore by his side (Poem 1, 399–423). As a cruel twist of fate would later have it, George Metochites, still persona non grata, probably died in prison in 1327, while his son served as megas logothetes. Metochites notes that he was soon elevated to the Senate and was exceptionally acknowledged by the emperor, who appreciated his gift s and his total devotion to him (Poem 1, 424–9). He became logothete of the herds ( ton agelon ) sometime before 1295, and logothete of the emperor’s private estates ( ton oikeiakon ) at some point aft er 1296. Andronikos also entrusted him with certain rather delicate tasks. In 1295, he participated in the emperor’s embassy to the Latin kingdoms of Cyprus and Cilician Armenia (Poem 1, 446–93). While there, the ambassadors settled on Rita of Armenia as a suitable bride for Michael IX, Andronikos’ co-emperor and son; the couple married in 1296. Metochites also notes in Poem 1 how the emperor entrusted him to arrange the marriage of his daughter Simonis to King Milutin of Serbia (Poem 1, 522–59). Making numerous trips to Serbia, Metochites eventually arrived at a mutually acceptable arrangement. Not without some pride, Metochites describes the warm reception he was accorded by Milutin, who treated him lavishly. Metochites had become a man with whom foreign kings and other rulers had to reckon. Metochites also describes how Andronikos decided to keep him at the palace aft er the successful conclusion of the Serbian aff air, unwilling to let the talents of his faithful servant go to waste (Poem 1, 704–49). Andronikos tasked him with monitoring the aff airs of his rebellious wife, Eirene, who had settled in Th essalonike and governed the city as a personal fi efdom (Poem 1, 684–703). In this regard, Metochites served as the main intermediary between the emperor and his estranged wife, his ambition being to satisfy both parties, or so he implies in the poem. He travelled to Th essalonike but stayed only briefl y, as Andronikos soon recalled him to Constantinople. Metochites describes this as a turning point in his career, and indeed, things took a turn for the better (Poem 1, 719–56). Metochites was appointed logothete of the treasury ( tou genikou ) and became the most prominent collaborator of Andronikos. At this time, encouraged by the emperor, he developed a great interest in astronomy, which he notes in Poem 1. Metochites took private lessons with the contemporary astronomer Manuel Bryennios, and during 1316–17 he wrote an extensive, detailed introduction to the science, which had been until then treated with indiff erence (Poem 1, 565–649). Metochites also established royal familial ties when his daughter married John Palaiologos, nephew of Andronikos II (Poem 1, 750–3). Metochites also took on the restoration of the Chora monastery, then in a rather sorry state. Th e work was completed in 1321 (or even earlier), aft er Metochites had become megas logothetes. It represented the culmination of a notably successful and unimpeded career. At around this time, Metochites became involved in a bitter controversy with Nikephoros Choumnos, an old friend and rival who in his oratory disputed both Metochites’ literary talents and his achievements in astronomy. Metochites responded bitterly and uncompromisingly in two orations, accusing his adversary of ignorance of the most elementary laws of rhetoric and astronomy. Unfortunately for Metochites, 1321 marked the end of relative peace and quiet, as that was the year that Andronikos III Palaiologos revolted against his grandfather, Metochites’ protector, and started the seven-year civil war that would force Andronikos II to abdicate in favour of him. Th e toppling of Andronikos II meant the downfall of Metochites; the leading backers of Andronikos III and the people detested the megas logothetes. Th us, his splendid career came to a horrid end, with his house sacked and he himself stripped of his offi ces and banished to Didymoteichon, in Th race. In 1330, he was permitted to return to Constantinople to reside at the Chora monastery. Metochites died a broken man in 1332, a few days aft er Andronikos II had taken his last breath.
Metochites’ works and audiences: A chronology
Despite being constantly occupied with aff airs of state, Metochites still found time to become a prolifi c author. He frequently bemoaned the inability of a scholar to devote himself to the contemplative life if involved in public aff airs, but he never lost his appetite for writing. His works may be divided into orations, poems, the Stoikheiosis Astronomike , paraphrases of works of Aristotle and the Miscellanea . His letters, once preserved in a manuscript at the library of the monastery of Escorial, were lost in the fi re of 1671. For a list of his works, see the appendices. Ihor Š ev č enko long ago established the chronology of Metochites’ prose orations, noting that they had been copied in chronological order in the main manuscript preserving them, Vindobonensis phil. gr. 95. 3 Even if some doubts concerning the date of individual orations have been raised, 4 the order of most of them in the manuscript corresponds, more or less, to their relative date. Th is is not the case with the poems, preserved in Parisinus gr. 1776. Th e earliest poem, a monody for Empress Eirene, wife of Andronikos II, was written in 1317, the year of her death, while the fi rst two poems, referring to the restoration of Chora, which was completed in 1321, were obviously later compositions. 5 Kostis Smyrlis has put forward a new date for Metochites’ promotion to megas logothetes, citing a recently published document from the monastery of Prodromos, near Serres, in which Metochites is clearly referred to as megas logothetes as early as 1317 – provided the chronology from part of the document that has almost vanished has been read correctly. 6 If this new chronology is correct, Poems 1 and 2 of the compilation might have been written fi rst, around 1315. One might even suggest that Poems 1 through 6 were written before 1317, the year of Irene’s death; Poem 7 refers to her. Th e Miscellanea , a compilation of essays on various subjects, was written over a long period of time, although there are certain indications that the work assumed its fi nal form near the end of Metochites’ career. 7 Whatever issues there may be regarding the chronology of Metochites’ works, it has been established beyond a reasonable doubt that his works form a coherent whole; no development of his thought can be discerned. By contrast, certain themes, among them the instability of fortune and the value of the contemplative life, versus a life of action, appear repeatedly in his works throughout his life. Metochites is proud of this consistency, although one might be tempted to believe that it resulted from his reworking his original texts at the time of their collection to project his literary identity. 8 In any case, in his later poems he reminds the reader that his consistency may be proved by his earlier poems, which present the same attitude towards life and his manifest mistrust of the favours of fortune. 9 Th is does not mean that Metochites’ works are free of inconsistencies. On the contrary, there are several instances where he undermines assertions that he had made in earlier works. For example, he, the most vehement critic of those placing their faith in fortune, nevertheless praised the constancy of human fortune in the case of Empress Th eodora, mother of Andronikos II, 10 and the gift s of fortune that had been generously bestowed on Constantinople since its founding. 11 Th ese are deliberate contradictions, which Metochites expected his observant readers to detect. Th is was a common practice employed by both ancient and medieval authors, who sought to conceal their actual views and challenge the competent reader to explore the true meaning and discover their intentions. 12 Psellos was the most prominent Byzantine author to employ this approach. 13 Th is dichotomy observable in most of Metochites’ production also has to do with the audience addressed by the work. Some of the orations are clearly addressed to a broad audience, such as Orations 5 and 7 (the two basilikoi logoi , for Andronikos II Palaiologos) and Oration 9 (the monody for the emperor’s mother). It was not proper to reference the empire’s changes of fortune in front of the emperor, as it risked undermining his and his subjects’ faith in the future of the empire and the emperor’s own fate. It is not so easy to distinguish between the works of Metochites that he addressed to the general public and those aimed at a more limited audience (e.g. the theatre of his time) because all his orations and poems were most likely revised for public consumption in preparation for publication, under his own supervision, aft er their original recitation. One can, however, make a distinction between the audience to which a work was initially addressed ( Gebrauchskontext , ‘context of use’) and the general public, to which all his works were addressed aft er being collected by him for publication ( Sekund ä rkontext , ‘secondary context’). 14 Many Byzantine authors tried to control the publication and circulation of their works by producing editions, which they usually supervised themselves. 15 Metochites constantly intervened in the production of the manuscripts containing his literary output, inserting corrections here and there. Certain indicators lend credence to the distinction between the limited audience of Metochites’ friends and the general audience he addressed at the time of the collection and publication of his entire literary output. Metochites himself admits that Oration 10 ( Ethikos ) contains certain messages to be understood only by those who would carefully study the text. 16 Th is is not, however, equivalent to saying that Ethikos is an esoteric oration, at least initially. Poems 14 through 20, titled ‘To Himself’, are evidently addressed to friends and relatives who had been interested in Metochites’ views aft er his fall from power, an apparently not insignifi cant number. One might then make a distinction between orations and speeches that were probably meant to be read publicly at special feasts – for example, the two basilikoi logoi , (Orations 5 and 7), the monody for the Empress Th eodora (Oration 9), the speeches for St Marina (Oration 2), St Michael the Archangel (Oration 3), St Demetrius (Oration 4), St Michael the New Martyr of Egypt (Oration 12) and St John of Didymoteichon – and certain other orations addressed to the more limited circle of his intellectual friends and dealing with subjects of no interest to the general public – like his two speeches against Choumnos (Orations 13 and 14) and the one comparing Demosthenes and Aelius Aristeides (Oration 18). In these last orations, Metochites could give free rein to his thoughts. Th e same applies to his poems. Poems 1, 2, 5, 6, 7 and 8 – referring to the author’s public activity, praising certain saints or mourning members of the imperial family – were certainly addressed to larger audiences, while the others – Poems 3, 4, 9 and 11 through 20 – dealt with his private aff airs or addressed his close friends. Th is does not mean that in the orations and the poems of the fi rst category Metochites refrained from expressing his views on the perennial issues that occupied his thoughts. Rather, he did so in a more restrained manner, adopting certain masks, that enabled him to speak through other persons without being identifi ed with them. One cannot exclude the possibility that Metochites reworked his writings like his opponent Choumnos, although no considerable traces of such activity have been found, except for some minor corrections by Metochites himself in the margins of his manuscripts. 17 In any case, when assembling his works, Metochites, like Choumnos, must have taken care to present them as coherent wholes, if necessary repositioning them in a new context appropriate for presenting his literary image to a larger audience.
Methodology and purpose
The purpose of the present study is to examine the ways in which Metochites selfrepresents in his poems and orations and to a lesser extent in Semeioseis Gnomikai. Th e study is focused on Metochites’ texts, 19 which are read critically, so that we may see the way the author tries to justify himself, employing his various rhetorical skills and uphold his reputation. 20 In other words, we shall try to investigate the discursive frame employed by Metochites in order both to understand himself and make himself understood by others. 21 Th e paraphrases of Aristotle are omitted here because most of them remain unpublished, and in any case, as mere paraphrases of Aristotle’ works, are not usually indicative of Metochites’ own views. It is certainly true as Paul Magdalino states that ‘Metochites makes his own self-identifi cation with the monastery [of Chora] very clear’, and one should not neglect the great achievement of Metochites’ restoration of it. 22 I am rather reluctant, however, to seek insights into the moral, aesthetic and philosophical values of Metochites by studying Chora’s art and employ those insights to re-create the image of himself that Metochites wanted to project. 23 In a sense, I share the assessment by Robert Ousterhout, who appears to fi nd in the architectural patterns and the iconographic programmes of Chora the same complexity and conscious contradictions so characteristic of Metochites’ written works, 24 but my limited knowledge of Byzantine art does not permit me to follow his path. I have therefore limited myself to the study of Metochites’ writings. Th is is more easily said than done. Anyone wishing to explore the views of a Byzantine author on any given subject should be aware that Byzantium was a world of fi ctions. Although one may be tempted to read Metochites’ poems or orations as true and accurate refl ections of his turbulent inner self, as a true expression of his thoughts and anxieties, the temptation should be resisted. Like most Byzantine authors, Metochites, referring to himself, employs self-fashioning strategies, which are rather fi ctional. 25 Th ese fi ctions were formed over centuries and maintained through the endeavours of Byzantine scholars eager to propagate offi cial views and through time-honoured literary conventions. 26 Rhetoric promoted a series of devices that helped Byzantine authors form literary ‘personae’. 27 As Ingela Nilsson asserts, the historical person who authors a work is not to be identifi ed with the ‘persona’, in reality an authorial mask, the work might project. 28 Th e original audience for the work did not expect to learn the truth by reading it or hearing it recited. 29 In some cases, Byzantine authors re-created fi ctitious, yet credible situations, thus reproducing the views of a fi ctitious self hardly refl ective of their own opinions. 30 Th erefore, no oration or poem by Metochites should be regarded as an altogether true expression of his views or as a true refl ection of his personality. Instead, his works should be viewed as a representation of his rhetorical character, as an expression of his rhetorical ethos. 31 One type of progymnasmata were the so-called ethopoiiai . Th ese were fi ctional speeches written by Byzantine students but supposedly delivered by historical or imaginary persons under circumstances defi ned by the teacher, who expected the students through the speeches to re-create the traits that constituted the ‘ethos’ (character) of that particular personality. For instance, a student might write a speech supposedly delivered by the Virgin Mary around the time of her son’s crucifi xion. Th e student should, through a vivid re-creation of the dramatic situation, convey to readers of his speech an accurate picture of the Virgin’s sentiments and her way of handling them. In this way, from a tender age students were exposed to an educational practice of creating specifi c personae. Th e term ‘personae’ derives from the Latin verb persono (to sound through), referencing the masks worn in the ancient theatre that helped project an actor’s voice so the audience could hear it. Metaphorically, the term may be applied to the masks authors employ to fashion an image of themselves, limiting the audience’s access to their inner world. Modern authors make ample use of such masks, simultaneously revealing and hiding certain traits of their own personality, and the approach was not unknown to ancient and medieval writers either. It was likely inevitable that Byzantine authors would continue to practise what they had learned in their youth. In their writing as adults, they created images both of other people and of themselves resembling those that they had learned to fashion in their compositions for progymnasmata . Th ey did this mainly in their rhetorical writing, which conveyed impressions of others and themselves by social necessity, based on medieval society’s demand for conformity in terms of stereotypes, dogmas and beliefs. Th is rhetorical ‘ethos’ was in some ways a restrictive function, compelling authors to eff ace themselves, maintaining a certain distance from their true self, but at the same time it provided them with the opportunity to play with the expectations of their audience, creating diff erent or even contradictory images of themselves, or rather masks, behind which they remained hidden. It is an axiom of modern analytic psychology that masks are a human necessity. Carl Jung adopted the word persona to identify the outer personality, outer attitude or outward face of man. 32 Th e persona can lead to the deduction of the character of a man’s anima: ‘Everything that should normally be in the outer attitude, but is conspicuously absent, will be invariably found in the inner attitude.’ 33 Without psychologizing too much, that axiom is useful to the investigations here, not so much in discovering what hides beneath the mask of the contemplative intellectual oft en worn by Metochites, but in understanding the way masks function in his writings. Th e concept of the mask in literary studies has been around since the 1950s. It was introduced in response to the biographical-historical approach of the previous generation of scholars by those postulating the existence of an intermediary between authors and the audience in works of literature, helping authors formulate their views, adapting them to the needs and expectations of the audience. In any case, the use of masks in addition to establishing a certain distance between the one wearing the mask and the audience also serves to create an elusiveness: the person wearing the mask is unapproachable and enigmatic. Elusiveness has been an important characteristic of serious literature since Homer. Supramundane fi gures in ancient epics and dramas possess many traits that distance them from the public, which is oft en puzzled by their contradictory actions and behaviours. In some cases, elusiveness in literature is a device for drawing the reader into the plot and its characters. Th ere is also elusiveness on the part of the author. For example, the true beliefs of anonymous or pseudonymous authors of ancient or medieval works who, intentionally or unintentionally discarded objectivity, are undiscernible. At the same time, there are some authors whose self is problematic despite their identity being easily recognizable. Th is certainly applies to the religious or mystical authors of Byzantium whose self, or being, is radically transformed and sometimes totally eff aced at the time of their union with God. In other words, elusiveness, like masks, is part of the essence of the self; every person, including writers, is elusive to an extent. Metochites was no exception. What is striking, however, is his tendency to bolster his natural elusiveness as an author by adopting diff erent personae more oft en than most other Byzantine authors. He did this in a way reminiscent of Michael Psellos, the Byzantine polymath of the eleventh century who did not hesitate to express his contradictory views on important issues publicly. Metochites does not go that far, but in a more subtle way he undermines images of himself that he had previously projected by later presenting portraits in sharp contrast to the earlier ones. Is that Metochites simply challenging his imagination? Is he trying to hide his personal views under an elusiveness, slyly communicating them to a close circle of his friends capable of discerning his true purpose hidden under constantly changing masks? Alternatively, is he at a loss to fi nd the right voice, even a fi ctional one, for giving expression to his inner thoughts? Th ere may be a degree of truth in each hypothesis. Th e purpose of Patterns of Self-Representation in Fourteenth-Century Byzantium is not to provide a defi nitive answer to those questions – itself an impossibility – but to share my view of that aspect of Metochites’ literary activity. It is my view, however, that despite the masks Metochites employed throughout his literary carrier, he held certain philosophical convictions about the state, society and life that can be discerned despite those masks. Th e Byzantine rhetorical practice of creating a fi ctitious image was facilitated through a particular ‘sociolect’ – that is, a set of certain communicative practices common among intellectuals that helped them create individual identities to distinguish themselves from the others. Th e sociolect of the Byzantine intellectuals was shaped through the centuries. It was in part determined and shaped through the practice of mimesis of ancient authors, who off ered their Byzantine counterparts various rhetorically imagined worlds and personalities ( Identifi kationfi guren ), 34 through which they might address their audience. In the case of Metochites, such rhetorical fi gures functioned like masks and were drawn mainly from the works of Roman-period authors – among them, Philo Judaeus, Gregory of Nazianzus and Synesius. 35 Metochites and other Byzantines adapted them to their needs, speaking through their voices, concealing their own true identity, their own beliefs, behind their masks. 36 Metochites shared with his audience the predilection for this rhetorical practice, which presupposed a common rhetorical ‘ethos’. 37 One fi nds him speaking under the mantle of Philo Judaeus, Gregory of Nazianzus and Synesius. Using authoritative fi gures and models through which to speak to the audience is a prominent characteristic of Metochites’ works. 38 Th is tendency of Metochites and his fellow intellectuals during the early Palaiologan period has been reinterpreted as a way for them to promote their own interests, acting as ‘lobbyists’, to gain accession to the higher levels of power. Th e approach is certainly sound, but it should not be exaggerated to the extreme. All of Metochites’ works were not lobbyist in nature, devoid of any real philosophical interest; he was not an author who changed masks solely for the purpose of selfpromotion. 39 Alongside his aptitude in the sociolect of his time and manipulating images of himself in various writings, Metochites was a serious intellectual not averse to discussing the perennial problems of humanity and proposing solutions to them, at certain times also not bothering to conceal his real views behind a mask of someone else. His real views, or the mask of himself corresponding to his inner necessities and anxieties, must be somehow extracted from his writings. One has to draw closer to the individual behind his discourses, not taking at face value the data of literary self-presentations, as Pizzone puts it. 40 Despite the best eff orts of theorists to deconstruct texts in the 1960s, denying any value or presence to the author, the author remains at centre stage; even Byzantinists must be aware of this. 41 In a sense, researchers must rediscover the author behind the masks. No author can write without a part of his or her personality showing through any mask and therefore being visible to his literary public. I am not unaware of the possibilities off ered by Metochites’ texts, full of inconsistences and contradictions, both in their vocabulary and their meaning, for a deconstructionist analysis of the type suggested by Derrida and his followers, but I will refrain from making such an attempt here. Instead, I prefer to off er an overall explanation of those contradictions as deliberate attempts by the author to manipulate his image in the way he wished and to conceal his real self and his own views. All medieval authors repeatedly employed certain patterns in their writing that helped mould a self-image that helped them reach their audience. Decipherment and examination of them aid in discovering and revealing an author’s purposes. One such pattern is the opposing nature of novelty and tradition – here illustrated in discussion of Orations 4 (for St Demetrius) and 13 and 14 (against Nikephoros Choumnos) – but the main pattern Metochites employs to represent both himself and others is the opposition between the contemplative life and the active life. Men are judged and diff erentiated according to which way of life they adopt. Metochites insists on the value of the contemplative life and praises those who devote themselves to it. Expressing such sentiment was not unusual in the autobiographical writings of Byzantine scholars, who were eager to stress their reverence for education in general ( logoi ), 42 and at the same time, to justify themselves and their own intellectual pursuits. 43 Metochites is no exception to the rule, a fact well known to any scholar who has dealt with his works. It is a pattern Metochites superbly manipulates. Despite his insistence on the superiority of the contemplative life, in some instances, he distances himself from those who condemn a life of action as worthless. Such is the case with Oration 10 ( Ethikos ), where Metochites condemns Plato for his total rejection of a life of action, 44 and with Oration 11 ( Byzantios ), which is in praise of life in Constantinople – that is, of a public life. Th e shift ing choice between the two ways of life is a hallmark of Metochites’ elusiveness. Examining the various ways Metochites represents himself and others performing roles in the theatre of life, as he oft en calls it, and looking more closely at his views on the problems of the contemplative life and its relationship to the active life can shed light on answers to some fundamental questions about the man: what was the true image of himself, if any, that Metochites sought to project and share with his audience? Which of the images of himself over the course of his career as an author came closest to his own heart? Was it a coherent image? Th e matter of a mask’s internal coherence and inclusiveness is a criterion that may help us to hear the real voice of an author under his mask, without exposing ourselves to the danger of relapsing into the old biographical-historical approach. 45 Th is is a complex and multifaceted issue that deserves close examination.
Previous research on Metochites
No special treatment of Metochites’ self-representation is to be found in any of the earlier or more recent studies of his works, but some of them off er important insights into Metochites’ thought. A few examples are indicative of the diff erent approaches to interpreting Metochites’ writings.
Th e most important examination of Metochites’ world view is the one undertaken by Hans-Georg Beck in his Habilitationsschrift , which takes a close look at Gnomikai Semeioseis . Th ough neglected by most recent scholars, it is a magisterial achievement. Beck explains Metochites’ views in connection to the decline of the Byzantine state, highlighting the author’s innovative approach, which challenged several time-honoured Byzantine perceptions about the eternity and ecumenical signifi cance of the Byzantine state as well as some religious preconceptions of his contemporaries, which he viewed as no longer valid due to the particular circumstances of the turbulent times. Despite Beck’s attempt to explain Metochites’ peculiar theories as a result and an expression of the historical circumstances of the early fourteenth century, he does not close his eyes to the unique aspects of Metochites himself, who reacted to the changing and troubled times of late Byzantium in his own, unique way. Some of the most beautiful pages of Beck’s book on Metochites are those describing the way the author tries to clarify his views on the divine providence, asserting that his thinking is free from any theological or dogmatic considerations, 46 being instead the expression of his personal anguished self. Beck does not ask whether the agonizing self of Metochites is but one mask hiding his true views behind it, but in any case, his approach is indicative of his way of seeing things, which is far removed from the mechanical, historicistic consideration of things that characterize the works of younger scholars. For Beck, Metochites is a true intellectual directly coping with the problems of his time, off ering important and innovative insights into the social and spiritual climate. Beck’s book has many merits but is not devoid of a certain defi ciency: apparently taking Metochites’ statements about himself at face value and thus succumbing to the fallacy of the biographical approach common among the researchers of the past generation. For example, Beck, taking seriously the frequently stated negative position towards the active life, not suspecting them to be a mask, believes that Metochites really suff ered from ‘einer allgemeiner Ü berdru ß gegen ü ber dem Dasein (a general weariness towards existence)’, which handicapped Metochites in his attempt to fi nd a proper balance between the two ways of life. Th is interpretation needs revision. 47 Other scholars also adopted the biographical approach. Herbert Hunger considers Ethikos ‘autobiographisch nich uninteressant (not uninteresting autobiographically)’, 48 believing that Metochites’ attempt to combine contemplative and active life is clearly a humanistic trait. 49 Ihor Š ev č enko speaks about a dichotomy in his own existence and takes at face value Metochites’ assertion that he had tried to combine both lives but failed at it. 50 On the other hand, Eva de Vries-Van der Velden, attempting to refute those scholars who in her eyes glorifi ed Metochites, believes that he drew an autoportrait of a malicious man who prefers the active life to promote his personal materialistic interests. 51 Hers is an extreme case of trying to extract biographic or psychological information about an author on the basis of supposedly autobiographic passages of his works. A recent book on Metochites by Markos Kermanidis is characteristic of another tendency that some might view as a novel contribution to the interpretation of Byzantine texts. Despite the author’s laudable attempt to off er new insights into the world of Metochites by employing new theories like indexicality in a rather ambitious manner, one must be cautious about his achievement. Kermanidis attempts to deny the value of both Ethikos and Byzantios as sources for reconstructing Metochites’ philosophy – that is, as treatises that refl ected his views on the contemplative life. He prefers to interpret the texts, especially those referring to the problem of pleasure, through the perspective of narratology, 52 insisting on their aesthetic aspects. Th is is not a bad idea in and of itself, but it seems that such an approach does not do full justice to the contemplative side of Metochites’ personality; it is a denial of Metochites’ value as a philosopher. Insisting on the validity of this approach, Kermanidis goes so far as to interpret the architectural structure of the monastery of Chora on the basis of the supposed aesthetic principles governing Ethikos and Byzantios in addition to the Miscellanea . 53 He even denies the existence of theological considerations both in Metochites’ works and in the theological programme for the reconstruction of Chora. 54 Kermanidis’ theory is an example, albeit a somewhat extreme one, of a recent, quite widespread paradigm among Byzantinists: the desire of certain scholars to secularize Byzantine culture and sideline its theological aspects. Kermanidis tries to discern narrative models on the basis of the modern theories of digrammatology and indexicality, using obscure terminology understandable only to the initiated, but the reader is unable to ascertain the veracity of these interpretations; the models the author proposes may simply not exist. He even uses these theories to interpret the order of the Orations of Metochites in Vindobonensis phil. gr. 95 as being divided into three parts – that is, texts with theological content (Orations 2, 3, 4 and 6), texts with political content (Orations 5, 7, 8 and 9) and texts with epistemological content (Orations 10, 13– 18). 55 Alongside grievously failing to mention three crucial hagiographic texts (Orations 2, 12 and 19), his insistence on the existence of an organizing principle governing the disposition of the texts in the manuscript is hardly convincing: the texts are scattered throughout the manuscript, and their relative chronology is the only recognizable organizing principle. Th e monody for Loukas, abbot of Chora (Oration 16), is certainly not an epistemological text, even if we accept that Metochites knew what epistemology was. Th is is a small but telling example of Kermanidis’ method of identifying organizing principles and structures. His handling of modern terms, using them without off ering the slightest explanation or defi nition, is a great impediment to anyone wishing to comprehend his work, which in any case is obscure and diffi cult to understand. Kermanidis off ers a broad picture of Metochites and his works but fails to do justice to the real content and purpose of the works. A historicist perspective is prominent in Kermanidis’ approach. He goes so far as to inform the reader that any attempt at interpreting Metochites through the prism of Heidegger, as I had undertaken in the past, is wrong. 56 In all probability, Kermanidis considers such an approach ahistorical. He may be right, that there is an ahistorical core in all historical phenomena. Th e denial of it is tantamount to neglecting the value of individuality, especially in the case of literature, and explaining everything in a deterministic and mechanical, supposedly historical way. Any work of literature poses questions of transhistorical signifi cance, of which both past and present thinkers were acutely aware. Relativizing the views of a medieval author like Metochites as a mere product of the historical circumstances of his time is not a proper way of analysing his multifaceted work. Metochites had a peculiar spirituality of his own, which should not be trivialized and reduced to a mere ‘aesthetic’ approach to things, as Kermanidis seems to maintain. Metochites certainly took into account the situation around him in order to make his teachings understandable to his contemporaries, but he also held strong views on virtue, contemplation and politics, subjects that are not mere products of historical circumstances and have to be taken into consideration in their own right. In other words, when Metochites employs masks of himself, speaking through them to his audience, he does so to make his views more feasible or intelligible based on the opinions of his audience, which varied. 57 He did not employ masks for their own sake. Of course, some contemporary studies on Metochites are valuable and illuminating. An exceptional example is a study by Sophia Xenophontos devoted to Metochites’ treatment of emotions in his writings. Xenophontos correctly points out that Metochites gives prominent place to his emotions, allowing them to surface and giving them freer rein than other contemporary or earlier Byzantine intellectuals did. Th e literary genre of some of Metochites’ writings no doubt facilitates this to some extent. It holds true for most of his poems, which were not addressed to the public, at least originally, but were intended to be read privately by Metochites’ close friends or students. Th is permitted the author to give expression to his inner thoughts or sentiments in a way not appropriate in some of his more solemn works (like the basilikoi logoi ), allowing him to create his own self-portrait. 58 Th e same applied to another study by Xenophontos, who demonstrated how Metochites, appropriating for himself the term hellanodikes , drew a careful self-portrait that was to infl uence his student Nikephoros Gregoras. 59 Xenophontos’ articles pave the way for a proper treatment of Metochites’ selfrepresentation through his writings, clarifying some of the conditions that enabled Metochites to create a picture of himself. As a true Byzantine intellectual, Metochites employs several masks in his works, hiding his true self behind them. Th is is not, however, a sign of his being a superfi cial writer, caring only about the aesthetic aspects of his works, or a mere lobbyist trying to promote his interests through the manipulations of certain views and themes to which he did not feel an inner affi nity. Th ese masks were a way of adapting to the conditions imposed by his social environment, which was not particularly receptive to his message. Th at message had to be communicated to a close circle of his fellow intellectuals, who could appreciate his use of those masks and discern behind them his true self and convictions. Metochites, like others, formulated his views on the limited capacities of human speech to express the truth and on the theatre of the world, which forces everyone to adopt certain modes of behaviour, concealing their true self. Th ese views are the theoretical foundation upon which Metochites creates his own multifaced and elusive image. Anyone examining Metochites’ self-image must take them into account.
On the capacities of speech: A case of medieval esotericism?
Metochites was rather pessimistic about the capacity of human speech to provide an exact accounting of the truth: All men have this in common, both the most uneducated and those most accomplished in the art of rhetoric, that they cannot easily express what they think in the way they think and wish to express it. And to begin with all the other, external things that hinder the [free] fl ow of speech, what can one say? Th ere may be fear and suspicion on the part of those who wish to speak that it will not be to their advantage if they actually utter their thoughts and choose to express them on a given occasion, because of the brutality, wilfulness and cruelty of depraved rulers, who would like everybody to join them in depravity or licentiousness in their judgements, thoughts and speech, and hold the same opinions as they do, and think and want the same perverse things. If not, those will come to grief who seem to understand better and do not follow them quite imprudently or unhesitatingly or heedlessly of all things and unwaveringly, in the way that shadows [follow] bodies. 60 Metochites goes on to cite other reasons people are unable to express their true views: consideration for their friends, who might be hurt by a speaker’s frankness, or fondness for certain relatives, whom the speaker does not wish to off end. Th e desire of anyone who speaks to obtain a benevolent audience may persuade someone to desist from clearly and sincerely stating his true views on a subject. Th e human mind is unable to report the cogitations within, however accurate and wise they might be. Metochites deplores this situation, citing his own example: ‘When I do not know what to do when I attempt to speak, or how to behave [to achieve] what I want, I immediately fall silent and refrain from speaking.’ 61 It is one of the rare cases in ancient and medieval Greek literature where an author expressly states that his works may contain views that do not correspond to his true opinions because of his fear or consideration of his audience, who always want to hear what pleases them. Metochites also goes a step further. Presenting the case of Aristotle, he asserts that the philosopher’s contradictions and diffi cult style were deliberate: [H]e tries to be as ambiguous as possible and tries to conceal what he thinks about these things. When he has decided to speak and gives the impression of saying something, whatever it is he is not at all easy to understand, nor is he clear as to what he is saying, escaping through the obscurity of his words the criticism which he suspects will be levelled against him. 62 Metochites stresses Aristotle’s willingness to evade the comprehension of his audience ‘in order to secretly evade those who are examining him’. 63 Th is was a widespread view in antiquity. Plutarch and most Neoplatonic commentators believed that Aristotle employed a multilevel form of esotericism, hiding his true views under a veil of artful obscurity. 64 Metochites appears to agree with this traditional interpretation of Aristotle’s obscurity. Metochites does not, however, limit his remarks to Aristotle. Rather, he points out that ancient authors who contradict themselves constituted a widespread phenomenon, since most philosophers, not being able to obtain stable criteria for defi ning the essence of beings, expounded views that contradicted their previous ones: Th is is quite obvious with regard to those who engage in philosophy and spend a lot of energy on doing research on and contemplating the nature of reality: about most things they do not only maintain views totally opposite to those of their opponents (and abundant argument is used on both sides), but also in some cases views in opposition to their own, and they stumble on what they have said before and on another occasion. 65 Having concluded that contradictions were quite common in the writings of all philosophers, Metochites did not consider himself an exception. One must, however, heed a distinction. In the passage just quoted, Metochites clearly did not have in mind those writers who in some of their works conceal their true views because they feared a ruler’s response – and reserved the right to express their true views in other, esoteric treatises – but seems to imply that contradictions are due to the natural inability of philosophers to reach a consensus on the criterion of the truth. Th is is a clear case of Metochites’ scepticism, but it is also a clear admission by him that authors who deal with serious subjects are quite prone to contradictions. Th e works of Metochites are full of contradictions in the way he presents himself, in the way he depicts other people, and in the way he deals with the most important problem of life – the choice between contemplation and action. Having been trained as a young man to compose progymnasmata , short essays examining a subject from diff erent, even contradictory, angles, Metochites, like many other Byzantine authors, is a master at craft ing a thesis in diff erent ways, providing opposing, or contradictory, answers to the same question. Th is is evident, for example, in Sententious Notes 73–6 and 79–81, which present diff erent answers to the fundamental question of whether men should engage in public aff airs. 66 Dimitar Angelov has pointed out that in the Sententious Notes concerning the emperor’s will, which could not be decreed as law, Metochites expounds a position that diff ers from the one he takes in his imperial orations, where he expressly calls the emperor law incarnate. 67 Th ese contradictions, far from being accidental or due to a lack of care, are intentional and appear to adhere to a certain rationale. Like Psellos in the eleventh century, 68 Metochites tries to strike a balance between diff erent conventions and sets of standards that depend upon various factors, such as the audience, the occasion, the genre and so on. His self-image is far from uniform. His ‘persona’ is multisided. In other words, it is a mask behind which the author’s true self hides. Metochites thought that the diffi culty of human speech to adequately express the truth forced men to say things that did not comport with what they really believed. His theory of the world as a stage and all men as performers of a role assigned to them by the circumstances of their lives may be a consequence of this belief. Metochites depicts himself and others in portraits that are oft en contradictory and multifaced. Th us, verifi cation of the function of masks for Metochites can be found in the actual words of Metochites himself.
On the theatre of the world: Life as performance
Comparing Basil of Caesarea and Gregory of Nazianzus in his oration for the latter, Metochites states how the two church fathers led totally diff erent lives: ‘[C]ircumstances brought a diff erent drama of life to each one of them, or rather each one adopted a diff erent mask and performed a diff erent role, as if human life was one and the same stage.’ 69 In antiquity, the Greek word πρόσωπον , employed by Metochites in this passage, meant a mask. Th e author does not appear to be implying that fundamental diff erences existed between the two friends. Rather, they adapted themselves according to the diff ering circumstances they faced. Being archbishop of the illustrious city of Caesarea required that Basil be an energetic church leader, while Gregory led a quiet life devoted to his studies. Th e former led an active life, while the latter adopted a life of contemplation. Of signifi cance here is that Metochites describes these two ways of life as diff erent masks adopted by the two great fathers in accordance with the requirements of their path of life. ‘All the world is a stage.’ Th is expression of Shakespeare, which is a modern theoretical proposition as well, 70 could have been uttered by Metochites, for whom the theatrical aspect of life was a deeply felt experience. 71 Commenting on the bitter experiences of his own life, Metochites reaches the following conclusion: ‘Th e truly wise man also knows that the person who only yesterday or the day before or even today is soaring exceedingly high is very soon destined to put aside the performance and this stage, although this will be extremely painful to him and result in great ridicule by his enemies and those who envy him.’ 72 Metochites, throughout his life, engaged in role-playing, in constructing and staging his multiple identities. Even in the extensive Poem 1, his offi cial autobiography so to speak, where he tries to defi ne his role in society as a public fi gure, he presents his life as a stage performance: ‘Our true Lord who is goodness itself, from whom all good things, all gift s which are perfect come to mankind, has made me most prominent in the theatre of this life.’ 73 Speaking as a prominent member of the governing elite, Metochites is more or less forced to put on the mask of an offi cial who is satisfi ed with his life, being most grateful to his benefactor, Emperor Andronikos II, who bestowed ever more gift s upon him. Metochites presents himself as a poor, destitute young man devoted to his studies until the age of twenty, when his life took a turn for the better, when Andronikos decided to bring the talented young man to his court. It is noteworthy that Metochites describes this change in positive terms:
However, aft er reaching the age of twenty (or slightly more), my life took a radical turn. I abandoned the path I considered the most pleasant until then: Fate changed the austere, unpleasant Dorian tune of my life, transforming it into the Lydian one which is much more pleasant; it opened the door leading to a new way of life, full of hopes, for until then my future had looked gloomy. In the past I did not expect at all such a change for the better coming from the emperor. 74 Metochites is rather careful here, employing the somewhat ambiguous adjective ‘more pleasant’ ( ἥδιον ), rather than, say, ‘good’. On the surface, Metochites does not express any disappointment with this turn of his life. On the contrary, his gratitude towards his benefactor, the emperor, knows no limits. When he states that his disappointment with the aff airs of the state is great, it is simply an expression of the disappointment shared by all thoughtful citizens who had eyes and had witnessed the decline of their state. It is not a surprise that even Metochites’ ‘biographies of himself’, written at various stages of his career, are presented as performances on a stage. Th is is not unusual for a Byzantine intellectual. Several examples may be seen in the case of hagiography. References to ‘theatres’ – that is, ‘audiences of faithful people ardently wishing to listen to the stories of the saints’ – are commonplace in many Byzantine hagiographic texts, 75 and Metochites’ hagiographic works off er clear examples of this style. St Marina, who is led to her persecutor, Agrikolaos, is presented as a young girl who enters a theatre. 76 Metochites is amazed at the spectacle of a tender girl who dares to resist the pressure put on her by the idolaters. He even calls on his audience to imagine her as she takes the stage full of confi dence in God, disdaining her savage persecutors. 77 In other words, he urges his readers to themselves become part of the public viewing Marina’s interrogation. St Demetrius is also presented as an actor on stage – that is, the great offi ce entrusted to him by Emperor Maximianus. 78 Of note is the explicit statement that St Demetrius needed both a space ( τόπος ) as well as a theatre. In other words, there was a need for a physical space properly organized so that Demetrius could perform in front of a large audience. 79 Th ere is also another stage, however: the one imagined by every man in Demetrius’ times, the stage onto which everyone expected Demetrius to enter and prove his value. 80 Th e stage, therefore, functions on two levels, one real and one metaphorical. Th e same dichotomy appears in Metochites’ oration for St Michael the New Martyr of Egypt. Th e saint, deciding to suff er martyrdom for the sake of his faith, enters the stage prepared for him by Christ, 81 but Metochites unfailingly admonishes his audience to also share that experience, preparing and opening the stage of their mind. 82 Joseph Rhakendytes (Joseph the Philosopher) acts upon the stage of the entire world, 83 but his whole life is also considered a stage, 84 which gloriously concludes with the end of his life. John of Didymoteichon enters a new stage in his career by deciding to embrace the monastic life. 85 Th us, Metochites concedes that life consists of a constant changing of the mask adopted by men according to ever-changing circumstances. Th e life of John, who hides from his fellow men, is a ‘most blessed stage’. 86 Metochites does not present the death of John as entering into a new stage, but this is what he means when he says that John had an ardent desire to change and transform his life. 87 He seems to imply that this transformation is the entrance into a new (and eternal) stage. Particularly noteworthy is the image of the world as a stage in Oration 11, the so-called Byzantios . Th e picture is twofold. Constantinople is personifi ed, presented as an actor in the theatre of the world, but the city is itself also a stage, a theatre, in which her citizens are acting. Metochites wonders how it is possible for so many plays to be performed on such a small stage. 88 He also compares the city to a theatre of science and knowledge, 89 and he refers to the theatre of the whole world, in which Constantinople is destined to play a prominent role, competing with other prominent cities. 90 Constantinople is an actor on the stage of an international theatre, but it is also an international theatre itself. 91 Uncovering the sources of this conception of the theatre in Metochites’ works requires going back to ancient philosophy. Plato discussed the theatre and comedy of life, and Democritus argued that ‘all the world’s a stage’, totus mundus agit histrionem . 92 Th e referencing of theatre was widespread among the Stoics, and Panaetius of Rhodes and Epictetus later developed the theory of a man’s ‘persona’, his mask, the role he had to play in human society, adapting himself to the various circumstances. As Anthony Arthur Long puts it, ‘[T]he term prosopon , “role”, had become a way of designating a person’s character and the performance expected of one.’ 93 Metochites, obliging himself of this theory, like the ancient Stoics, saw his life as a self-conscious choice of a determinate role, a symptom of his turbulent times. Like the ancient Stoics, Metochites faced a reality that was hostile to him and his true beliefs. Th erefore, like Seneca in the past, Metochites insists on the theatrical or illusory character of the reality around him; instead, he lives in the world of his mind, fashioning it in his own way. In this respect, existence for Metochites was a realm fashioned according to his own rules, in defi ance of the laws of reality. 94 In presenting both himself and his main heroes as men consciously choosing a particular role, Metochites wanted to stress that they performed the role, which in some cases implied doing so consistently, under all circumstances, however threatening they might have been; such was the case of the martyrs and the saints. He also implied, however, that the role adopted by people did not always correspond to their inner needs, to their true convictions. Th is gave him the opportunity to undermine that role or to try to change it. 95 For example, as Metochites himself clearly states at the beginning of Poem 1, aft er he entered the stage of this life, he experienced a drastic change in his lifestyle, which initially appeared quite felicitous. In Ethikos , which may have been written before Poem 1, he castigates himself for having made such a choice. He also employs another technique. Like Psellos, Metochites becomes a stage director, allowing his heroes to perform on the stage of this world; it is he himself who hides behind the masks of the heroes. Th is is confi rmed by most of Psellos’ heroes exhibiting certain of his own distinct characteristics. His works are thus imbued with a high degree of allusiveness. Metochites also displays an elusiveness. One can easily suspect that Metochites himself is hidden behind a person referred to in his works. Th is gives an autobiographic tone to some of Metochites’ orations and poems. To see how Metochites’ masks of himself function in his writings, one must make a basic distinction between those works in which he speaks clearly about himself and those in which he speaks about other people whose personalities and career present a certain (in most cases close) affi nity with his own. In many cases, Metochites does not hesitate to amalgamate his own personality with the personalities of the people (friends and others) he speaks about, inserting his own autobiographical traits into the lives of others. Th erefore, the investigation here begins with an examination of the way Metochites presents himself and the way he treats other people.
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