Kemezis 2016 On Reconsideration Fall Elagabalus

Historia 65, 2016/3, 348–390
Adam Kemezis
The Fall of Elagabalus as Literary Narrative

and Political Reality
A Reconsideration*1
Abstract: Standard narratives of the overthrow of the emperor Elagabalus in 222 tend to see
the event as an anomaly, caused especially by his aggressive and unpopular promotion of the Syr-
ian god Elagabal. This view is not properly supported by the literary sources, and we should in-
stead see the events of 222 in the context of a repeated pattern in the early third century whereby
unstable coalitions drawn from various political constituencies ruled through young figurehead
emperors. The article consists of an in-depth analysis of each of the main literary traditions (Dio,
HA, Herodian) followed by an alternative reconstruction of the last part of Elagabalus’ reign.
Keywords: Severan Dynasty – Cassius Dio – Roman Historiography – Roman Emperors – His-
toria Augusta – Roman Political Culture
When the self-effacing yet shameless historical fantasist who wrote the Historia Au-
gusta comes in his sequence of emperor-biographies to Elagabalus (218–22), he be-
gins by employing all the mock reluctance and sanctimonious rationalizing that so
often accompanies really good gossip. His pseudonymous alter ego Aelius Lampridius
apologizes for even putting it in writing that such a person was ever emperor. Better,
perhaps, to have simply passed the whole thing over in silence. Lampridius finds an
excuse, however, since a careful reader (lector diligens) can profit by comparing Elaga-
balus and other bad emperors with their more praiseworthy counterparts:
Then he will appreciate the good sense of the Romans (intelleget Romanorum iudicia), since
[Augustus, Trajan, Vespasian, Hadrian, Antoninus Pius, Titus and Marcus Aurelius] all reigned
for long periods and died natural deaths, while [Caligula, Nero, Vitellius and Elagabalus] were
killed, their corpses were abused (tractati), they were called tyrants whose very names one
dislikes to speak. (HA Hel. 1.3)
* This article began as a presentation at the work-in-progress seminar of the York – Toronto Collaborative
Program in Ancient History, and the author would like to thank all the participants in that workshop,
and especially Jeremy Trevett for his kind invitation to participate. Thanks are also due to Kai Juntunen,
Josiah Osgood, David Potter, Andrew Scott, Daniel Unruh and Joel Ward for their comments, discussion
and other assistance throughout the project, to Kai Brodersen for his patience as editor of Historia, and to
the anonymous readers for their valuable comments. All translations in what follows are my own, unless
otherwise noted. References to the often fragmentary text of Cassius Dio are followed where appropriate
by an indication in parentheses of the source from which the text is taken, as follows: (Xiph.) for Xiphili-
nus, (EV) for the Excerpta Valesiana, (Zon.) for Zonaras and (PP) for Peter the Patrician. Where no such
indication follows, the passage in question occurs in a manuscript of Dio's full text.
This material is under copyright. Any use outside of the narrow boundaries
of copyright law is illegal and may be prosecuted.
This applies in particular to copies, translations, microfilming
as well as storage and processing in electronic systems.
© Franz Steiner Verlag, Stuttgart 2016
The Fall of Elagabalus as Literary Narrative and Political Reality 349
This reasoning, ironically fatuous and inaccurate as it is, makes two significant implicit
assertions about the Roman monarchy and Elagabalus’ reign. First, that there are nor-
mative criteria for what an emperor should be, and that the polity has efficient mecha-
nisms for removing emperors who fail to meet that definition. Second, that Elagabalus
can be assimilated to this general truth, so that even in his deviance he becomes an
example of the rules working properly. He was a tyrant like other tyrants, and there
are ways of dealing with tyrants. It is an optimistic view in which the political system
is self-correcting and historical narratives reach a satisfying moral closure.
One can come up with all sorts of counter-examples and flaws in the reasoning,
and it seems unlikely that the ironically self-aware author of the Historia Augusta
(hereafter HA) meant the statement to be taken at face value.1 But in an article that
aims to re-examine the causes and significance of Elagabalus’ fall, the implications
noted above make a good starting point. Most modern accounts of Elagabalus, both
in survey histories and in several recent specialist studies, tell the story of Elagabalus
as the story of his transgressions of Roman norms, especially in the realm of religion,
and these transgressions are given causal or at least explanatory significance.2 Thus the
modern scholarly consensus, while not sharing the HA’s optimistic conclusion, does
endorse the assumption that the Roman political system was reliably able, by one
means or another, to dispose of emperors who failed to meet its norms, and thus that
one explains the overthrow of a “bad emperor” by describing what made him bad.3
My contention is that, in the case of Elagabalus, such an explanation is inadequa-
te and not supported by a critical reading of the literary sources. While recent work
on Elagabalus’ short reign (218–22) has greatly improved our understanding of his
selfpresentation through inscriptional, artistic and numismatic media, our politi-
cal narrative of his fall still rests on the three main parallel literary accounts, those
of Cassius Dio, Herodian and the HA. Standard modern reconstructions present a
composite narrative that stresses the adolescent emperor’s personal devotion to his
1 In particular, Zinsli (2005) connects these sentiments to what he sees as the HA’s ongoing parody of
Eusebius’ Life of Constantine. On the passage more generally, see Den Hengst (1981) 58–61.
2 Significant recent works on Elagabalus include the two monographs, Arrizabalaga y Prado (2010) and
Icks (2012), along with a chapter in Rowan (2012). These supplement the older works of Frey (1989); Tur-
can (1985) and Optendrenk (1969). Important discussions of the literary traditions in particular include
Scheithauer (1990); Timonen (2000) 182–90; Sommer (2004) and Mader (2005) and the introduction
to Zinsli (2014). For survey treatments, see Christol (1997) 50–2; Strobel (2001) 255–6; Campbell (2005)
21–2; Ando (2012) 64–8; Potter (2014) 151–7.
3 The same problem of course presents itself in the modern historiography on such “bad emperors” as
Caligula, Nero, Domitian and Commodus, as usefully surveyed by Witschel (2006). Specialist studies
tend to follow the literary sources in assuming that the emperors’ normative violations contribute to
the motivations of individual assassins (who are usually personal victims of the emperors’ cruelty) and
facilitate general support for their conspiracies. See e. g. Barrett (1989) 241 on Caligula; Southern (1997)
117–8 on Domitian and Hekster (2002) 77–83 on Commodus. Another approach is to leave normative
violations largely out of the narrative altogether and to concentrate on factional politics as reconstructed
from prosopography. See e. g. Grainger (2003) 4–27 and to some extent Gering (2012) 324–48 on Domi-
tian and Birley (1969) on Commodus. More sophisticated attempts to integrate normative violations into
causal explanations include Winterling (2011) 162–86 on Caligula; Griffin (1984) 185–234 on Nero and
Flaig (1992) on several emperors of the Julio-Claudian dynasty and the wars of 69–70.
350 adam kemezis
namesake god (conventionally referred to as Elagabal), and his supposedly delusional

attempt to integrate that god into the Roman state religion and his own role as priest
into the imperial office. Although this narrative takes its facts from all three of the lite-
rary sources, none of those sources actually tells the story that way. While their overall
characterizations of the reign differ markedly, they all agree on the explicit level that
the emperor’s fatal quarrel with the Praetorian Guard related to transgressions of se-
xual and gender norms not directly related to his cult activities.
I am certainly not suggesting that we must take the literary sources at face value
and believe that the salacious gossip they recount is either true or causally significant.
Rather, we need to consider the existence of these different stories as a historical fact
in itself, and try to reconstruct a reality that they might have been designed to explain.
In particular, Elagabalus’ reign needs to be seen in the context of a political culture
where very young figurehead emperors were coming to be a de facto norm that needed
to be reconciled with the discourses by which the Roman monarchy was traditionally
understood. Thus we can see Elagabalus’ reign as less of an anomaly and more of a
case study in the relationship between political discourse and reality. Before doing so,
however, it is worthwhile to give an outline of the factual events of Elagabalus’ reign
and the ways in which they have been reconstructed.
The Events of 218–22
The emperor Caracalla, son of Septimius Severus, was assassinated in Mesopotamia

in April of 217, on the initiative of his praetorian prefect Macrinus, who proclaimed
himself emperor and was recognized, albeit grudgingly, by the army and Senate.4 Ma-
crinus remained in the east for more than a year until May 218, when one of the legions
in Syria went into revolt. Their preferred candidate was a fourteen-year-old cousin
of Caracalla’s named Varius Avitus, although the rebels claimed that he was actually
Caracalla’s biological son, and gave him the name “Antoninus,” which his supposed
father had also used.5 The new Antoninus’ mother, Julia Soaemias, was the daughter of
Julia Maesa, who in turn was the sister of Julia Domna, the recently deceased mother
4 Our narrative of Caracalla’s death, Macrinus’ reign and Elagabalus’ coup depends largely on Book 79 of
Cassius Dio, for which we have an almost complete manuscript. Herodian’s account (4.12–5.4) is con-
siderably less circumstantial and depends largely on Dio for its factual material. The HA Macr. and Diad.
are extremely unreliable and appear to draw on Herodian for what facts they do convey. For specifics
regarding the interrelations, see Kolb (1972) 118–38; Barnes (1978) 55–6, 79–89; Kettenhofen (1979) 23–9;
Scheithauer (1990); Birley (1997) 2748–50 and more recently Scott (2012) and (2013). This source picture
is entirely different from that for the period from 218 on, as will be argued below.
5 On the name and supposed parentage, see Dio 79.[78].32.2, who evidently gives the fiction no credence
and frequently uses the name “False Antoninus” (Ψευδαντωνῖνος). Herodian (5.3.10) is uncertain about
the paternity, as at times is HA (e. g. Macr. 6.7.; Hel. 1.4–5; 3.1). At other times, however, the HA reports
as fact that Caracalla is his father (Carc. 9.2; Hel. 2.1), and the question of the name gets caught up in the
HA’s running joke regarding the nomen Antoninorum, on which see Syme (1971) 78–88 and now Burgers-
dijk (2010) 118–213. For other traditions on the question of paternity, see Barnes (1978) 106–7.
of Caracalla. The boy’s father (before the dynastic fiction about Caracalla) was Varius
Marcellus, an equestrian from Syria who was promoted into the Senate by Caracalla,
probably as a reward for playing a key role during the coup against Geta in 211, but who
died at some point in the 210s before the events now being described.6
The son, mother and maternal grandmother had all lived for some years at Cara-
calla’s court, but by 218 they were in their ancestral home of Emesa in Syria, a heavily
Aramaic-speaking community to which Macrinus had more or less banished them
after taking power.7 The future emperor found employment there as the priest of the
main temple, which was devoted to an indigenous god named Elagabal, who was wor-
shipped in the form of a colossal meteorite. The family had a longstanding connection
to the cult, and it is from this god that the new Antoninus would posthumously take
the nickname by which moderns know him.8 As noted, in May of 218 a legion sta-
tioned near Emesa proclaimed Elagabalus emperor. Literary accounts differ sharply as
to whose idea the coup was, but in any case within a month Macrinus was defeated in
battle and overthrown.9 Elagabalus was emperor and relocated to Rome the following
year to reign for three more years.
All our sources agree that the religious aspects of his rule were anomalous. Inscrip-
tions and coins, especially from the later part of his reign, identify the ruler as priest of
Elagabal and symbolically combine that role with the office of emperor in a way that
is unprecedented.10 It appears that Elagabal the meteorite was integrated prominently
into the symbolic and physical religious landscape of Rome, and that Elagabalus the
emperor, along with members of the political elite, engaged in extravagant public cult
ceremonies in its honor. This included the emperor’s marriage to one Aquilia Seve-
6 On Marcellus’ career, see ILS 478 with Halfmann (1982) (whose reconstruction has been followed by
Birley [1988] 224–5, modifying his own earlier interpretation).
7 It appears that it was initially Julia Domna who was banished from court (Dio 79.[78].23.4–5) but that
she had not actually left Antioch before her suicide. The sentence apparently encompassed her relatives,
who would then have relocated to Emesa immediately after her death (Dio 79.[78].30.3; Hdn. 5.3.2; HA
Hel. 2.3; Vict. 23.1). For the length of young Elagabalus’ stay in Emesa, see n.97 below. On Emesa and
the cult more generally see Millar (1993) 300–9, also Kaizer (2005) for the larger context of royal priests
in the Near East. On the family’s careers, see Halfmann (1982); Birley (1988) 221–5; Icks (2012) 54–60.
Chausson (1997) makes several more speculative suggestions regarding Elagabalus’ and Alexander’s pos-
sible siblings and their descendants.
8 The family connection appears to go back at least to Maesa and Domna’s father Julius Bassianus (Epit.
23.1–2) as well as Maesa’s husband Julius Avitus Alexianus (AE 1962.229). Arrizabalaga y Prado (2010)
211–7 is correct, however, to emphasize that our evidence does not suggest any formal rule of succession
that would have led to the young Elagabalus’ automatically assuming the priesthood as his birthright. It is
rather a question of a conscious career choice on the part of him and his family.
9 In particular Herodian (5.3.10–12), seemingly followed by HA Macr. 9, claims that Maesa herself took
the initiative in first introducing her son to the soldiers in Emesa and taking him into their camp. Dio
79.[78].31, though lacunose, clearly gives the initiative to a certain “Eutychianus” (i. e. Gannys, see below)
and denies that Maesa was initially either present or complicit. Herodian tends throughout his work to
simplify storylines and minimize the number of characters, and Dio’s seems the more plausible version.
10 On the religious aspects of Elagabalus’ reign generally, see most fully Frey (1989) and now Rowan (2012)
164–218, also Dirven (2007) on his visual persona. For Elagabalus’ performances in the context of chang-
ing Roman ideas of religious landscapes in the Severan period, see Petsalis-Diomidis (2007).
352 adam kemezis
ra, whom literary sources identify as a Vestal Virgin.11 The other thing all our literary
sources claim is that Elagabalus’ personal sexual behavior and gender self-presenta-
tion were, to say the least, highly transgressive. Data on political events from his reign
are sparse, though there is evidence of conflict with the senate, mostly early on.12 The
final phase of his reign seems to have begun in June 221, when his younger cousin
Bassianus Alexianus, aged perhaps twelve, was proclaimed Caesar with the name “Al-
exander” and adopted by Elagabalus. In March of the following year, Elagabalus was
assassinated by the Praetorian Guard, and Alexander was proclaimed Augustus, a po-
sition he would hold until his own assassination by soldiers in 235.
In most modern accounts, this sequence of events is fleshed out as follows.13 Elaga-
balus is a youthful religious fanatic who largely on his own initiative, perhaps seconded
by his mother, pursues an agenda that defies all political and cultural common sense.14
The cult of Elagabal, at least in the form practised by the emperor, is alien and offensive
to Roman religious sensibilities and renders him unacceptable to the Roman public
in general. The adults around him are unable to do anything about this and indeed
participate out of forced deference but try to restrain him. Restraint proves impossible,
especially as the emperor becomes older, and by late 220 he is becoming ever more
fanatical and increasing the prominence of Elagabal in his self-presentation, so that his
unpopularity is reaching critical levels. Therefore key elements of his following, nota-
bly his grandmother Maesa, decide they need an exit strategy, and in 221 they compel
or persuade him to make Alexander Caesar. Almost immediately Elagabalus regrets the
decision and plots against his rival, but this backfires and instead causes the Praetorian
Guard first to make him dismiss key courtiers and then to assassinate him a few months
later. The reign of Alexander is often made to seem like a sort of conservative reaction
in which that young emperor conspicuously displayed political and religious ortho-
doxy in order to exorcise the ghost of his predecessor.15 His reign can be treated as seri-
ous history, but Elagabalus’ reign is an aberration that can neither be explained by the
normal rules of Roman politics nor contribute to our understanding of those rules: in
Crook’s phrase, “in the serious business of governing the Empire [the period 217–22] is
a mere lacuna … with men like Ulpian and Dio we return to serious administration.”16
11 See Dio 80.[79].9.3–4 (Xiph.); Hdn. 5.6.2; HA Hel. 6.5. Several coin-types were issued for her, see RIC Elg.
Nos. 388–98. Discussions of the marriage include Vogt (1924) 176–7 (for dating); Frey (1989) 87–93; Rea
(1993) and Icks (2012) 31–2.
12 Detailed at Dio 80.[79].3–7. Many of the victims listed appear to have been supporters of Macrinus, for
which see Davenport (2012b).
13 In particular the detailed treatments of Frey (1989) 73–106 and Icks (2012) 59–91. Accounts that rely less
heavily on religion as the cause of Elagabalus’ fall include Optendrenk (1969) 97–8; Kettenhofen (1979)
33 and Arrizabalaga y Prado (2010) 253–9.
14 E. g. Icks (2012) 60: “the religious zeal which the emperor showed in honouring the deity cannot be inter-
preted as anything other than genuine. It is inconceivable that any ruler would impose such an ‘Oriental,’
‘Un-Roman’ god as the Emesene Elagabal on the Romans for purely political reasons.”
15 See e. g. De Blois (2006).
16 Crook (1955) 86. More recent accounts tend to give much the same sense, although Ando (2012) 66 does
see the continued production of judicial rescripts under Elagabalus as evidence of “the ongoing compe-
tence of Rome’s administrative apparatus.”
This account is by no means without foundation. All aspects of it can be supported

from our literary sources, and none of the inferences involved is inherently unreason
able. Nonetheless, the composite picture as a whole works differently from any of the
narratives on which it is based. This does not in itself make it wrong, and indeed the
second half of this article will propose a reconstruction that differs rather more fun-
damentally from any of the literary sources. It is a standard and necessary procedure
for modern historians of antiquity to use narrative accounts as sources of facts that we
then integrate into our own versions of the story, versions that ideally rest on a broa-
der perspective and evidentiary basis.17 But while the pieces of data that we extract
from our sources are potential facts about historical reality, they are also functional
units of the author’s narrative. The author is including them not simply because he
believes or wishes us to believe that they are true, but for some reason intrinsic to his
task as storyteller. The narrative function of a given piece of data in its original literary
context affects both its factual reliability in absolute terms (has the author imagined
or inferred these events because they were necessary for the story as he tells it to make
sense?) and the functions it can be made to serve in a modern historical narrative.
The modern story of Elagabalus laid out above relies at several key points on pieces of
ancient literary evidence that, considered in their narrative context, do not work the
way modern scholars want them to. The key contention that I will particularly focus
on is that Elagabalus, out of personal fanaticism, made religious innovations that were
categorically unacceptable to key political constituencies, causing unpopularity that
was the key factor in precipitating his fall. This thesis is unsatisfying as a historical
explanation, because it requires one to attribute extraordinary significance to the per-
sonal character of the teenage emperor, and extraordinary deference and passivity to
those around him. The second half of this article will argue that on the contrary Elaga-
balus, and the several youthful emperors that preceded and followed him, had at most
a limited influence over their regimes’ agendas and political decisions. Nonetheless,
Roman political culture required that they be represented and spoken of as having a
primary role, and it is that need, and the inconsistencies it generated, that informs our
literary accounts.
Cassius Dio
The most important thing to realize about Cassius Dio’s account of Elagabalus’ fall is
how bad it is.18 Bad, in the sense that so much of it is considered useless as historical
data, even though its entertainment value is undeniable. This is in some part due to
the fragmentary state of the text for most of the reign, since the manuscript that gives
17 For a survey of the methodological issues involved, see Potter (1999).

18 For overviews of Dio’s narrative, see Millar (1964) 168–70; Bering-Staschewski (1981) 105–10; Icks (2012)
94–103. I have also benefited greatly from drafts that Andrew Scott kindly made available of a commen-
tary he is preparing on Books 78–80 of Dio.
354 adam kemezis
us a complete text of Dio for Macrinus’ reign gives out early in Elagabalus’. But most
of Dio’s accounts of emperors are just as fragmentary, and Elagabalus still stands out
among them. The text as we have it largely ignores chronology, causality or politi-
cal analysis in favor of lurid anecdotes about the emperor’s various eccentricities. It
is from him that we hear how Elagabalus prostituted himself in drag (80.[79].13.2–4
[EV]) and solicited a sex-change operation from a surgeon (80.[79].16.7 [Zon.]), and
how he sought out, brought to Rome and promoted to high office a man reputed to
have the largest penis in the empire (80.[79].16.1–6 [EV]). These stories are all told
with voyeuristic fascination, and with little pretense that they have either a deeper his-
torical meaning or any real grounding in evidence. This is all the more frustrating and
remarkable in that Dio is a contemporary source, a prominent senator with astute po-
litical instincts. As already noted, for most of the Severan period up through the coup
that brings Elagabalus to power he is our best literary source, followed by Herodian
with the HA very much in third place. After that point, however, the hierarchy oddly
reverses itself, so that historians rely chiefly on Herodian and a few select portions
of the HA, with Dio being useful chiefly because he names more individuals than
the other two.19 To be sure, the kind of anecdotal material Dio supplies here can be
found elsewhere in his narrative, but nowhere else does it become so dominant, and
the change in narrative register is all the more abrupt given the lack of such material
during the immediately preceding narrative of Macrinus’ reign.
Dio certainly portrays Elagabalus as a highly anomalous character, as can be seen
at the start of the reign-narrative, where Dio claims that after making a few promising
token gestures during the war with Macrinus, Elagabalus:
drifted into (ἐξοκείλας) the most obscene, unlawful and murderous practices (αἰσχρουργότατα
καὶ παρανομώτατα καὶ μιαιφονώτατα), so that some of them, which had never been done in
Rome at all, flourished as if by ancestral right (ὡς καὶ πάτρια ἀκμάσαι), and some that had been
attempted by others individually on odd occasions (τολμηθέντα ἄλλοτε ἄλλοις ὡς ἑκάστοις)
were rampant (ἀνθῆσαι) throughout the three years, nine months and four days of his reign.
(80.[79].3.3)
The reign-narrative expands fully on this theme, and is as it were bookended by sto-
ries that emphasize the strangeness of what lies between them. On several occasions
at the start, Dio stresses the bizarre improbability of how this Syrian adolescent and
his various marginal hangers-on somehow took the throne, while everyone in Rome
could only look on aghast at their audacity.20 He illustrates the point vividly by claim-
ing that the success of Elagabalus’ coup encouraged all sorts of insignificant persons
19 See Barnes (1972) and Bowersock (1975) on HA and Herodian respectively.

20 See e. g. 79.[78].40.3, part of a larger and rather stereotyped meditation on Macrinus’ career as an example
of the unpredictability of fate, also at 79.[78].31.2–3, where he notes that the early stages were master-
minded by Eutychianus (i. e. Gannys), who was barely an adult, assisted only by freedmen, soldiers and a
few local notables of Emesa.
to start rebellions without any apparent motivation or prospect of success.21 This note
comes immediately after a long list (80.[79].3–7) of senators and others executed by
Elagabalus at the start of his reign. Dio underscores these men’s status as victims, and
the absurdity of the charges laid against them, but it is clear even from Dio’s own evi-
dence that the story could be told quite differently. This first set of men could not be
mere victims, but senators in key positions who saw Macrinus’ fall as the signal for a
traditional power struggle based on senior army commands, but who were suppressed
by a surprisingly able set of new rulers.22 In place of this unspectacular scenario, Dio
invokes the second set as a series of comically hopeless attempts that create the im-
pression that normal political realities were temporarily suspended or inverted. This
episode later ties into Dio’s final comment on the whole reign, in which he stresses
that all of Elagabalus’ cronies were removed from power after his death and that “none
of those who had plotted his rise with him and enjoyed great power under him (τῶν
συγκατασκευασάντων αὐτῷ τὴν ἐπανάστασιν καὶ μέγα ἐπ’ αὐτῷ δυνηθέντων) escaped
alive.”23 In Dio’s version, Elagabalus is put on the throne by a gang of lowlifes who
deservedly perish with him, thus becoming a reprise of the farcical putsches from the
start of the reign, perhaps longer and more elaborate, but equally lacking in overall
historical substance. The emperor is to some extent a puppet, certainly in the earlier
phase, but his manipulators exist only as a function of his bizarre and sordid milieu,
and thus they have to vanish along with him.
We should not suppose that this account is what Dio genuinely knew or believed.
He is self-consciously recording it as the prevailing version of the story, a version we
can well imagine was promoted, and perhaps largely invented, by the new regime of
Alexander Severus. Dio presents himself, with justification, as a shrewd observer of
politics and of how people in power manipulate the public account of events, and
his implied reader shares that shrewdness and is able to read between the lines of an
officially authorized narrative. Anomalous as the Elagabalus narrative is within Dio’s
corpus, it is perhaps the one place where he most clearly follows the methodological
principle he lays out for himself right at the start of his narrative of the Principate.
Back in Book 53, after describing Octavian’s “Settlement of 27” and assumption of the
title of Augustus, Dio notes (53.19.1–2) that in the new monarchical state information
about political events is much harder to come by than in the more open and pluralistic
environment of the republic, and adds that:
For these reasons I also will narrate events from this point, or as many of them as is necessary,
just as they became known to the public (ὥς που καὶ δεδήμωται), whether they really happened
21 80.[79].7.3. Dio names none of the non-senatorial characters, but lists them as a centurion’s son, a weaver,
and a private citizen in Cyzicus.
22 A convenient list can be found at Leunissen (1989) 403, though Aelius Triccianus’ name is missing, also
Sünskes Thompson (1990) 73–9. Two legion commanders, Gellius Maximus and Verus, made serious
enough attempts that their legions (III Gallica and IV Scythica respectively) were temporarily disbanded
(see Handy [2009] 149, with refs.), even though the former had been the first legion to go over to Elaga-
balus’ cause.
23 Dio 80.[79].21.3 (Xiph.). Dio notes one exception (πλὴν ἑνός που), which will be addressed below.
356 adam kemezis
that way or some other way (εἴτ’ ὄντως οὕτως εἴτε καὶ ἑτέρως πως ἔχει). To these, however, will
be added where possible something of my own opinion (τῆς ἐμῆς δοξασίας), wherever the great
amount that I have read, heard and seen (ἀνέγνων ἢ καὶ ἤκουσα ἢ καὶ εἶδον) allows me to bring
up some further evidence over and above the general rumor (μᾶλλον ἢ τὸ θρυλούμενον).
For the reign of Elagabalus, Dio will be passing on the public narrative with very little
contribution of his own.24 There are several reasons for this. One is that, on his own
testimony he was not in Rome at any point during Elagabalus’ reign and was thus
in no position to give eyewitness testimony.25 But this only reinforces a larger point,
that the regime of Elagabalus, even more so than earlier reigns, was a secretive busi-
ness in which the significant moments did not have non-participant eyewitnesses, at
least not from within the politically active class for which Dio claims to speak. Even
Commodus had governed through politically visible favorites, and his various arena
performances and appearances in festivals are told as sequential units of a political
narrative, each with its own causal role and consequences.26 Elagabalus’ escapades, by
contrast, are isolated anecdotes whose relative chronology is unimportant, although
collectively they illustrate his character. Another reason Dio passes this version on
is doubtless that he is sympathetic, albeit in a disenchanted way, with the Alexander
Severus regime that is propagating it. So much is clear from his subsequent account of
his own career (80.[80].1–5 [Xiph.]). That account, however, is one of several points
at which Dio self-consciously reminds the reader that the quasi-official version he is
passing on is not the whole truth. It comes at the start of his very brief narrative of
Alexander, and describes how from 217 on Dio served in a series of administrative
posts, some quite significant, leading up to a second consulship in 229. That series runs
from the reign of Macrinus through Elagabalus to Alexander, taking no notice of the
supposedly sharp breaks represented by the two reign changes. It is in fact only under
Alexander that Dio meets with disappointment and bitterness, when his unpopularity
24 Scott (2013) makes similar connections between this methodological passage and Dio’s account of the
death of Caracalla and Macrinus’ coup.
25 From the last weeks of Macrinus’ reign onwards he was either serving in provincial administration or
suffering from illness (80.[79].7.4 and 80.[80].1.2–3 [Xiph.] with Millar [1964] 22–3). This explains why
he does not give the kind of detailed anecdotes he does for Commodus and Caracalla, but not why he
chose to employ the particular kind of material he did, rather than the less scandalous material he fre-
quently uses for episodes he did not personally witness. Alternatively, he could easily have given the reign
the kind of summary treatment he gives Alexander. It is important to note that Dio only mentions the
absences after he has completed his narrative of Elagabalus (80.[80].1.2–3). He cites them as reasons that
his treatment of Alexander will not be as complete as that of previous reigns, which is clearly meant to
include Elagabalus. Syme (1971) 144 notes the logical non sequitur, and sees it as Dio wanting to create the
impression of having served only under Alexander rather than Elagabalus as well. It is not clear, however,
why Dio could not simply have omitted to mention the earlier assignments if he found them awkward.
26 Thus there is a declining progression in the favorites from Perennis to Cleander (explicit at 73.[72].10.1–2
[Xiph.-EV]) and at 73.[72].22 (Xiph.), after Commodus’ arena performances of 192 are described, there
is a detailed explanation of how his ever closer identification with his arena role caused his inner circle to
turn on him and plot his death.
with the army leads to his being publicly humiliated during his consulate and virtually
exiled from Rome to his ancestral home of Nicaea in Bithynia.27
Dio would seem to be undercutting his own point about the anomalous nature of
the Elagabalus regime. Indeed he had already done so even as the point was made:
when he says that all of Elagabalus’ henchmen fell with him, he adds a knowing dis-
claimer, “well, all except one” (πλὴν ἑνός που). This surely refers to Valerius Com-
azon, a talented survivor who first prospered under Macrinus, deserted him at the
crucial moment for Elagabalus, and was rewarded with the post of City Prefect. He
then ceases, voluntarily or otherwise, to be an active figure in the Elagabalus regime,
only to survive the coup of 222 and emerge once again as prefect under Alexander.28
As Benet Salway has observed, his career is in this respect analogous to Dio’s own,
for all that the aristocratic historian despises the successful climber who is closer to
the actual center of political decision-making.29 In 222 the fall of Elagabalus actually
brought down relatively few, as will be seen below. Dio himself was surely aware of
this. Though he does complain about Elagabalus’ appointments, he has disappoint-
ingly few specifics, in contrast to the extensive naming of names when he was making
the same complaints about Macrinus.30 He drops hints of this awareness, but on an ex-
plicit level he is dealing with and conniving at an official narrative that wants to stress
disruption and crisis followed by resolution.
The last important point about Dio’s narrative is how it classifies Elagabalus’ var-
ious crimes and gives them causal significance. The state of Dio’s text leaves some
confusion as the exact sequence of topics in his account of Elagabalus, but it is clear
that he deals with his sexual deviance in a discrete section (§ 13–16), separately from
his religious offenses (§ 8–12). The latter are also defined in rather narrow and specific
terms, in a passage that needs to be quoted in full:
His transgressions (παρανομημάτων) also include his behavior regarding Elagabal. This is not
because he brought a foreign (ξενικὸν) god into Rome, or because he exalted him in the most
unheard-of ways (καινοπρεπέστατα αὐτὸν ἐμεγάλυνεν), but because he placed him before Ju-
piter himself (πρὸ τοῦ Διὸς αὐτοῦ ἤγαγεν αὐτόν), and had himself created his priest by formal
decree (ψηφισθῆναι ἐποίησεν), and because he circumcised his penis and abstained from pork,
so as to worship in greater purity. He did plan to cut it off altogether, but that desire (ἐκεῖνο)
stemmed from his effeminacy (τῆς μαλακίας ἕνεκα), whereas this other (τοῦτο) he did as part
of his role as priest of Elagabal (ὡς καὶ τῇ τοῦ Ἐλεγαβάλου ἱερατείᾳ προσῆκον). For this reason
he also committed the same outrage (ὁμοίως ἐλυμήνατο) on many others who were with him.
27 The episode is described at 80.[80].5.1–2 (Xiph.), for characterization see Kemezis (2014) 289n.
28 For Comazon’s career at the end of Elagabalus’ reign see Dio 80.[79].21.2 (Xiph.) where it appears that
over the course of 219–22, Comazon was made city prefect (having previously been praetorian prefect),
then replaced by a certain Leo, then reinstated briefly only to be replaced by a Fulvius, and reinstated once
again after Fulvius died along with Elagabalus. See Pflaum (1960) 290; Kettenhofen (1979) 29–32; Salway
(1997) 143–4; Wojciech (2010) 324–6.
29 Salway (1997) 144.
30 For Macrinus’ irregular appointments and general violations of precedent, see 79.[78].13–15, 22. In several
cases Dio goes into details of the previous careers of the unworthy appointees.
358 adam kemezis
And then again, because he was often seen on public occasions got up in the barbarian costume
(ἐσθῆτα τὴν βαρβαρικήν) that Syrian priests wear. It was from this in particular that he got the
nickname “the Assyrian.”31
His statement, that the problem was not so much with Elagabal-worship per se as with
how the new god was presented in relation to the existing state cults of Rome, is cited
frequently as evidence for how offensive Elagabalus’ religious practices were, but it
is important to notice what Dio does not do. First of all, he does not mix up the reli-
gious and the sexual aspects of Elagabalus’ transgressive persona.32 On the contrary,
he makes an explicit distinction between the two, regarding circumcision. One could
easily imagine how Dio might have portrayed Elagabalus’ rites as lewd, and indeed
one modern explanation for Elagabalus’ fall is that his religious activities included
sacred prostitution or some other explicit sexual component that Romans found of-
fensive.33 Dio, like any other reader of Herodotus, is surely aware of the temple-pros-
titution stereotype but he, along with all our other ancient sources, declines to use it
here.34 In general, he does not, at least in our surviving text, dwell much on the exotic
bizarreness of the cult ceremonies themselves. Dio is more interested in the Roman
institutions, religious and otherwise, against which Elagabalus offended, so that his
religious practices are a symptom of his monstrous character, not the disease itself.
Neither does Dio claim that the worship of Elagabal was in any direct sense respon-
sible for the emperor’s overthrow. On the contrary, he agrees with all the major nar-
ratives that the key constituency that Elagabalus offended was the Praetorian Guard,
and that the immediate cause of his fall was his own attack on Alexander, whom the
Praetorians defended by killing Elagabalus.35 Dio’s narrative of the last days of the
reign begins by asserting that “as long as Sardanapalus [i. e. Elagabalus] remained on
good terms with his cousin, he was safe.” (80.[79].19.11 [Xiph.]) The account of events
as preserved by Xiphilinus stresses the chilling disconnect between what Elagabalus
31 Dio 80.[79].11.1–2 (Xiph.-EV). Gualerzi (2005) 59–60 argues that the passage should be construed differ-
ently, such that the castration is associated with priesthood and the circumcision with μαλακία. While this
does accord better with the usual functioning of τοῦτο and ἐκεῖνο, it creates great problems with the sense
(where does the abstention from pork fit in?) that Gualerzi does not address. τοῦτο can be construed with
the circumcision because the circumcision is conceptually nearer to the speaker, being part of Dio’s on-
going description (see LSJ οὗτος C.I.1), whereas the castration is being referred to almost parenthetically
(signalled by μὲν γάρ), as a fact that is related and interesting but not strictly relevant.
32 Thus Rowan (2012) 170 detects a sharp break in Dio’s narrative at 80.[79].13.1 between the account of cult
practices and the portrayal of Sardanapalus-like sexual excess.
33 Notably Rousselle (1988) 124–5 and Frey (1989) 15–27, the latter with a considerable number of Near East-
ern parallels. Gualerzi (2005) 74–85 makes a related argument, that Elagabalus’ personal transgression of
gender norms stemmed from a religious idealization of androgyny.
34 It is only in much later sources that we get conflated references such as HA Hel. 7.2 omnia fecit quae Galli
facere solent, also Epit. 23.3 abscisisque genitalibus Matri se Magnae sacravit. These are very much the stan-
dard topoi that one would expect to see accumulating in the later Latin tradition, and testify to no “kernel
of truth” beyond the indisputable facts that Elagabalus came from the east and presented himself as a
priest.
35 See 80.[79].19.1–2 (Xiph.) for the first conflict between Elagabalus and the Praetorians, and 80.[79].20.1
(Xiph.) for the final showdown in the camp, both precipitated by Elagabalus’ moves against Alexander.
imagines to be his position and what it actually is, when the soldiers stop obeying his
orders and he realizes that his bodyguards have become his jailers (80.[79].20.1). Dio’s
original final scene was evidently quite dramatic, consisting of a confrontation in the
Praetorian camp between the two mothers, and Soaemias in the end clinging to her
son as they are beheaded together. Dio makes us feel genuine pity for Elagabalus at the
same time as underlining how utterly unsuitable he was as a ruler. In the succeeding
scene (80.[79].21 [Xiph.]), Dio describes the fate of Elagabalus’ henchmen, although
even there the mention of Comazon’s survival suggests the changes are somewhat
cosmetic. Overall, there is a sense of an anomaly being smoothed out, but not of the
world being put right. Dio has not given us a morality tale.
But if we look for a causal link between Elagabalus’ more general bad behavior and
his fall, the closest we have to an explicit statement comes apparently at the end of the
catalog of sexual offenses:
But Sardanapalus himself [i. e. Elagabalus] was about to receive, shortly afterwards, a most de-
served reward for his foul ways (ἀξιώτατον τῆς μιαρίας τῆς ἑαυτοῦ μισθὸν). For given what he was
doing, and was having done to himself (ταῦτα ποιῶν καὶ ταῦτα πάσχων), he was hated (ἐμισήθη)
by the people and by the soldiers, to whom he was so devoted (οἷς μάλιστα προσέκειτο), and by
whom at last in their very camp he was slaughtered (ἐσφάγη).36
The μιαρία, and the “what he what he was doing and having done to himself,” all sound
more like sex than religion, and it is the sexual offenses that are narrated immediately
before the fall. In addition, Dio makes a very important association between Elaga-
balus’ sexual practices and his maladministration. The wicked men that Elagabalus
promotes, and whom the Praetorians demand that he get rid of, are characterized as
his partners in debauchery, not as fellow-devotees of the new god.37
The point here is not that Elagabalus really was overthrown because of his trans-
gressive sexual activity, although, as will be seen below, his public self-presentation
did perhaps have an unusual erotic component. The more important thing for now
is that when Elagabalus was overthrown and an explanation was needed, both the
people who had done the overthrowing and the political public at large seem to have
preferred stories about sex to stories about religion. This emerges not just from Dio,
but in different ways from the other two main traditions, and from a certain amount
of independent contemporary evidence. Perhaps our most suggestive anecdote comes
36 Dio 80.[79].17.1 (Xiph.). The passage appears to have come immediately or shortly after the stories of
Zoticus’ sexual failure and Elagabalus’ desire to acquire female genitalia by surgery, see Boissevain’s ed.
for ordering of the fragments. Boissevain also includes here a fragment of Peter the Patrician (EV 152) that
generalizes about the outrageous behavior that soldiers will engage in whenever they become accustomed
to despise (ἐθισθῶσι … καταφρονεῖν) those in command.
37 There is a general statement at 80.[79].15.3 (EV) that “other men as well [i. e. other than Hierocles]
were frequently given great honors and power, either because they assisted [Elagabalus] in his revolt
(συναπανέστησαν) or had sex with him (ἐμοιχέυον).” For his “companions in lewdness” (συνασελγαινόντων)
as the focus of military discontent, see 80.[79].19.3 (Xiph.).
360 adam kemezis
from Philostratus’ Lives of the Sophists, likely written under Alexander.38 He tells (VS
625) of how the Italian sophist Aelian bragged of writing an invective against a recently
dead emperor whom he calls Γύννις, a rare word meaning something like “the Effemi-
nate.” Aelian claims that this character “disgraced the Roman Empire with every kind
of obscenity“ (ἀσελγείᾳ πάσῃ τὰ Ῥωμαίων ᾔσχυνε). It is perhaps not coincidental that
the word γύννις, though it is used by Aeschylus in reference to Dionysus, is all but
unknown in high-status prose until it appears several times in Severan texts including
Cassius Dio and the surviving writings of Aelian.39 Similarly, two posthumous refer-
ences to Elagabalus in papyri refer to him as κορύφος, another rare word referring to
male sexual passivity.40 Dio’s descent into the gutter does not reflect a unique degree
of personal hatred for Elagabalus. Distasteful as Dio no doubt found him, his more
genuine expressions of personal animus are directed at Commodus and above all Ca-
racalla, of whom he had intimate experience.41 What we are reading is rather an exam-
ple of the kind of stories the new regime found it useful to circulate, and Dio for his
own reasons saw fit to repeat.
The Historia Augusta and Marius Maximus
The Historia Augusta is chronologically the latest of our three major traditions, but
I am addressing it at this point because it shows important traces of the same offi-
cial narrative already seen in Cassius Dio. Admittedly those traces are buried in a text
38 For dating, see Kemezis (2014) 294–7. For the invective in the context of Aelian’s work, see now Smith
(2014) 21–2, 274–9, although I am not convinced by Smith’s argument that several fragments of Aelian
narrating the rape of a virgin priestess should be ascribed to this work, referring to the Vestal Aquilia
Severa. Aelian’s priestess commits suicide, and if that had been part of the tradition on Aquilia, it would
surely appear in other literary accounts.
39 Aeschylus F78a (Radt), also Aristoph. Thesm. 136, Theoc. 22.69. The one prose use before the Severan
period appears to be Plutarch Apophth. Lac. 234E, in a quotation, evidently as a colloquialism. Dio simi-
larly uses it only in quotations of abusive speech, at 46.22.3 and 59.29.2 (Xiph.): in both cases the original
utterance would naturally have been in Latin. For Aelian, see VH 12.12 and repeatedly in Frag. 10, as well
as his contemporary Athenaeus (Deipn. 10.45).
40 In P. Oxy. 3298, dating from the late third century, he is referred to as Ἀντωνείνος ὁ κορύφος. The same ep-
ithet applied to the same emperor should also likely be restored in P. Warren 21 (see Neugebauer and Van
Hoesen [1959] 56 for text, the emendation can be found in comm. on P. Oxy. 3298). Lukaszewicz (1992)
argues for translating the word as “violator of virgins,” referring in this case presumably to Aquilia, but
the traditional link to male sexual passivity remains more persuasive. Our definition of the word depends
on a scholion to Theocritus 4.62, and whether one (along with Lukaszewicz) retains a manuscript reading
or emends to conform better with the EM and the usual construction of οἰφεῖν. It is not relevant (pace
Lukaszewicz 45) that the scholiast uses κορύφος in a gloss on a word (φίλοιφα) that refers to a male in
the active sexual role: the scholiast does not claim that the two words are synonymous, but is concerned
only to show that οἰφεῖν (the presumed root of κορύφος) is synonymous with συνουσιάζειν (both meaning
“sexually penetrate”). In P. Oxy. 3299 Elagabalus is called ἀνοσίος Ἀντωνῖνος μικρός. This may serve to dis-
tinguish him from Caracalla, who is attested as both θεὸς Ἀντωνῖνος and Ἀντωνῖνος μέγας. In all of these
cases, the names are being applied posthumously to give year-dates for astrological purposes. For these
names in the context of imperial nicknaming practices, see Bruun (2003) 95–6.
41 For an overview, see Millar (1964) 122–34, 150–60, also recently Davenport (2012a) on Caracalla.
whose overall approach is very different from Dio’s, and which presents a unique set
of interpretive problems. The author of the HA, writing in the decades either side
of the year 400, has a great many uses for Elagabalus.42 His brief reign receives one
of the longest treatments in the whole HA, mostly because the author invents pages
and pages of material on a series of running themes carried over from (and forward
into) his other lives. These include the dynastic naming practices of emperors and,
above all, the luxurious practices of tyrants. In fact, most of the second half of the life
(§ 19–33) consists of a marvelously imaginative catalog of Elagabalus’ gastronomic,
sartorial and interior-decorating excesses. This exaggerated development of standard
rhetorical themes, along with the narrator’s own repeated allusions to Caligula, Nero
and Vitellius, creates the sense of Elagabalus as a “tyrant like other tyrants,” a Gre-
co-Roman stock figure rather than the anomalous or culturally alien figure seen in Dio
and Herodian.43
However, the HA author’s creative zeal does not entirely preclude his use of ac-
curate contemporary sources. In particular the Hel. is, on the most likely reconstruc-
tion, the last life in the sequence to draw on a collection of emperor-lives written in
the 220s by Marius Maximus, a former civil-war partisan of Severus’ who went on to
high senatorial office under his successors. Maximus was an exact contemporary and
undoubtedly an acquaintance of Dio, but he had a less prestigious family background
and (not coincidentally) a more active political and military career.44 Unlike Dio, he
was probably in Rome or at least Italy during Elagabalus’ reign. It is to him that the
HA owes its detailed and, it is generally thought, accurate account of the final conflicts
between Elagabalus, Alexander and the Praetorians.45 The same is likely true of a series
42 The HA Hel. is now the subject of an extremely thorough commentary, Zinsli (2014), which contains an
up-to-date survey of the dating question (281–90).
43 The contrast is well brought out by Mader (2005), with particular attention to the luxuria motifs in the
last third. See also now Bittarello (2011) on parallels between literary traditions on Elagabalus and Otho.
Sommer (2004) prefers to see Dio and HA as basically aligned and Herodian as the outlier. In most re-
spects this is true, and my own argument will follow Sommer on many points, but it remains the case that
the HA’s lack of interest in the culturally anomalous aspects of Elagabalus would be a noticeable absence
to anyone familiar with the other traditions.
44 My own view (laid out more fully at Kemezis [2012] 407–9) is broadly in line with those who see Maxi-
mus as the principal source of good information for all the main lives through the Hel. For an overview of
the controversy on Maximus, and the senator’s career, see Birley (1997). Recent alternative theses include
those of Paschoud (1999); Bertrand-Dagenbach (2004); Fündling (2006) 105; Kulikowski (2007). Sup-
porters of Maximus include Molinier Arbò (2009); Schlumberger (2010) and Rohrbacher (2013). For a
comparison of Maximus’ and Dio’s careers, see Syme (1971) 135–45.
45 Zinsli (2014) 55–83 argues powerfully against the consensus, and asserts that nearly the whole content
of HA Hel. 13–17 can be traced to Dio, Herodian, or the HA author’s invention. The few exceptions (i. e.
those data that are also found in the Epitome de Caesaribus) Zinsli prefers to see as deriving from Nicoma-
chus Flavianus. Many of Zinsli’s individual arguments are convincing, and I would certainly agree with
him that these sections of the HA Hel. are more thematically integrated into the Hel. as a whole, and con-
tain considerably more invented material, than Barnes (1972) would allow. Nonetheless, since I still be-
lieve, for reasons unrelated to the Hel., that Maximus was the main source of the Hadr. through Carc., and
that Maximus’ collection did also include Elagabalus (both of which Zinsli doubts but does not exclude),
it is natural to suppose that the HA author also used Maximus in the Hel., and that the many factual items
in the Hel. that cannot be verified elsewhere constitute an independent contemporary tradition.
362 adam kemezis
of features that the text shares with Dio but not with Herodian: Comparative lack of
interest in Elagabalus’ own religious practices as opposed to the traditions he violated;
Lengthy treatment of his sexual offenses, separately from his religious transgressions;
an explicit connection between the emperor’s sexual deviance and his promotion of
corrupt and incompetent men.
The HA deals with Elagabalus’ religious peculiarities mostly in one unified section
that, while long, is not especially helpful for reconstructing the political events of 218–
22.46 It is the HA above all that presents Elagabalus as a quasi-monotheist consciously
bent on replacing traditional Roman religion with his new cult. The details, however,
are suspiciously reminiscent of the religious controversies of the late fourth century,
and biographical traditions on Constantine the Great.47 We hear a great deal about
the traditional cults that the emperor offended, but rather less about his own actual
agenda.48 The details that Herodian provides about the Black Stone, the emperor’s
costume and the processions in Rome are nowhere to be found, although elsewhere
the HA author uses Herodian’s text extensively.49 If we allow that the HA relies on
Maximus for details of Elagabalus’ fall, the most plausible explanation is that his ac-
count of the religious offenses is based on that same source, heavily elaborated with
material relating to the HA’s own milieu. Thus Maximus provided a picture not that
different from Dio, in which Elagabalus’ religious activities are a symptom of his over-
all depravity, not its cause and not its defining or most interesting feature. And in nei-
ther case is religious outrage made the cause of his unpopularity and subsequent fall.
The HA is more explicit than Dio in giving that role to Elagabalus’ sexual miscon-
duct. There are two extended episodes dealing with the subject. The first comes quite
early (§ 5) and describes events at Nicomedia during Elagabalus’ journey from Syria
to Rome. The second comes, as in Dio, immediately before the narrative of his rivalry
with Alexander and subsequent fall.50 The actual details are rather less lurid and imag-
inative than in Dio, but the general idea is the same, with the same explicit focus on
sexual passivity and desire for well endowed (bene vasati) partners. What is most no-
table is that on several occasions (e. g. § 5.1–2; 10.1) the disgust felt by the HA narrator
himself is focalized through the soldiers who surround Elagabalus. The HA’s various
narrative personae do not generally endorse or even notice the opinions of ordinary
46 HA Hel. 6.6–8.2. This is preceded by a shorter notice at Hel. 3.4–5, which however is notable because it
locates some of his most important violations of taboos early in his reign, immediately after his entry into
Rome in 219.
47 See on this point e. g. Turcan (1988); Cracco Ruggini (1991); Zinsli (2005).
48 At HA Hel. 3.4 it is alleged that he tried to move several of Rome’s notable sacred objects to a new temple
of Elagabal on the Palatine. At 6.7–9, there is a long anecdote of his attempt to profane the Vestal rites, and
at 7.5–10 another involving a cult of Artemis at Syrian Laodicea. The two main references to non-Roman
cult activities are highly stereotyped: the first (7.1–3) involves the worship of Magna Mater and Salambo,
while the second (8.1–3) refers to human sacrifice. On the Vestal cult specifically in the HA, see Haehling
(2007).
49 This occurs most obviously in the Mxmn. (see Lippold [1991] 59–78 for full details). Kolb (1972) cites
some convincing examples from earlier lives, notably at 39–43 (HA Comm. 9.3 ≈ Hdn. 1.17.2–4), although
his overall thesis regarding the dependence of the HA on Herodian is not followed here.
50 HA Hel. 8.7–12.4, interspersed with examples of his other vices.
soldiers, and in this case the author surely means to highlight the causal role that their
antipathy will play. The episodes of sexual misconduct are repeatedly linked with ref-
erences to corruption at court.51 The bene vasati turn out to be not simply a moral
disgrace, but also an administrative abuse, to both of which the soldiers demand an
end. This endgame is more protracted in the HA than in any other tradition, and more
straightforwardly moralistic. The tyrannical emperor makes wicked plots against his
virtuous cousin, but these are suppressed by soldiers and palace staff who are supris-
ingly morally sympathetic.52 After Elagabalus’ first attempt to murder Alexander, the
soldiers turn against the tyrant, but are unwilling to murder him and try to compel
him to behave better and dismiss his wicked courtiers.53 After this manifestly fails and
Elagabalus sets another plot on foot, the soldiers kill him; the actual death is described
briefly, with no dramatic confrontation in the camp, no mention of Soaemias and no
pathos, ironic or otherwise.54 Crucially, there is the same emphasis as in Dio on how
Elagabalus is surrounded with undesirable courtiers who are removed along with him.
It seems likely that Maximus also embraced an official narrative that tried to stress the
differences between the Elagabalus and Alexander regimes by scapegoating the rela-
tively few officials who fell from power as opposed to the rather more who remained
in place. In this case there is no equivalent to the knowing wink expressed in Dio’s
“except for one.” The HA may of course have changed Maximus’ tone entirely, but
it may also be that for personal reasons Maximus embraced the new narrative more
wholeheartedly. Unlike Dio, he had seemingly been sidelined under the Elagabalus
regime, perhaps because of his having been promoted to City Prefect under Macrinus,
and he returns to prominence under Alexander.55 Whatever may have been his person-
al reasons, the crucial point is that he largely confirms Dio’s picture of an official nar-
rative in which Elagabalus’ sexual depravity and corruption cause the army to revolt
and back the claims of Alexander, who in turn is meant to embody all the virtues that
correspond to Elagabalus’ supposed vices.
Herodian
To understand modern narratives of Elagabalus, and the role that they give to his reli-
gious excesses, one has to look at the third of our principal narratives, that of Herodi-
an. This very shadowy character is the author of a completely extant eight-book histo-
ry that goes from the death of Marcus Aurelius in 180 to the accession of Gordian III in
51 For the structural relationship between sexual misconduct and administrative abuses, see Zinsli (2014)
155–7.
52 See e. g. § 14.1 nihil agunt improbi contra innocentes.
53 See § 14.8–15.4, where the prefect Antiochianus is able to remind the Praetorians of their sacramentum,
although see Zinsli (2014) 531 for the lack of narrative clarity on this point.
54 Soaemias’ death is mentioned at § 18.2, in a post-mortem summing-up, but not in the actual account of her
son’s death, although she had been briefly mentioned in the account of the “first plot” at § 14.4.
55 See Syme (1971) 141–3; Davenport (2011) 286 and (2012b) 199–200.
364 adam kemezis
238 and was probably written in the late 240s. We know nothing meaningful about the
author, and his narrative persona is designedly colorless and detached.56 He expresses
in a generalized way the same kind of nostalgia for the Antonine age that Dio does, but
in his case this is tempered by an ironic narrative technique that undermines the value
of traditionalist rhetoric amid Severan realities.
Herodian’s account of Elagabalus, like most of his work, is an elegant linear narra-
tive that never strays far from the emperor’s immediate environment but gives little in
the way of circumstantial detail. Of the three major versions, it is easily the least sala-
cious. Sexual scandal, and indeed personal anecdotes more generally, have little place
in Herodian’s version of historiography except as necessary details of the larger plot.57
Religious cult, on the other hand, is the one subject on which Herodian does regu-
larly digress, and the Elagabalus-narrative is no exception.58 It is Herodian who gives
us a physical description of the Elagabal-meteorite and of the costume its priest wore
(5.3.5–6), and of the public processions in Rome where Elagabalus walked backwards
before a chariot in which the meteorite was positioned as the driver (5.6.6–9). Rather
than cordoning Elagabalus’ religious inclinations off into one section, as both Dio and
HA do, Herodian makes it a constant motif throughout the narrative, and a key causal
factor in Elagabalus’ rise, though less so, significantly, in his fall.
Herodian’s version of Elagabalus is thematically and stylistically less anomalous
within his narrative than Dio’s, and there is considerably less sense of ordinary reality
being suspended.59 Thus whereas in Dio’s version, the moving forces behind Elaga
balus are his reprobate courtiers, notably Gannys and Comazon, Herodian names
none of these men and gives much bigger roles to the various women of the Sever-
an family, especially Maesa, and to Alexander himself.60 The result is that Elagabalus’
reign becomes not a bizarre interlude but another act in the ongoing drama of the
dysfunctional Severan family. Elagabalus himself is somewhat less of a monster for
Herodian than for Dio. Certainly Herodian does not like him or approve of him, but
he seems oddly more sensitive to the culture-clash aspects of Elagabalus’ story. Elaga-
balus is one of several characters in Herodian who get into trouble because they move
from a cultural and geographical milieu in which they function well into one where
56 For Herodian’s anonymity and the lack of real information about him, see Hidber (2006) 1–16; Kemezis
(2014) 298–308. Older scholarship, notably Whittaker (1969) and Alföldy (1971), was more willing to
reconstruct Herodian’s geographical and social origins from inadequate evidence, and tended to assert
that he was from Asia Minor and either an imperial freedman or the son of one. Sommer (2004) revives
the older theory that Herodian was from Syria, though with equally little real basis.
57 Herodian restricts himself to brief and vague mentions of Elagabalus’ effeminacy (5.6.2; 5.8.1) that none-
theless make their point clear.
58 Scheithauer (1990) 355–6 and Sommer (2004) 104–9 bring out the differences between Herodian and
the other traditions in this respect. For Herodian’s interest in cult activities more generally, see Whittaker
(1969) xxix–xxx, also Sidebottom (1998) 2823–4.
59 For an overview of Herodian’s Elagabalus in the larger thematic context of his work, see Hidber (2006)
217–20.
60 Notably on the question of Maesa’s role during the coup, for which see n.9 above. Kettenhofen (1979)
23–9 makes a convincing case that this still represents Herodian’s adaptation of Dio’s account rather than
an independent tradition.
they do not; both Macrinus and Alexander, as well as Maximinus Thrax, suffer from
analogous problems of location.61 In Elagabalus’ case, as long as he stays in Syria, his
religious role is culturally appropriate, indeed actually an asset. In Herodian’s version,
the soldiers first notice Elagabalus precisely when they visit the temple at Emesa and
see him in his priestly role complete with the meteorite and the outlandish costume
(5.3.8). They are struck by his beauty and royal lineage and apparently think that such
a person would do just fine as emperor. It is only after the successful coup, when Elaga-
balus has reached more central areas of the empire, that problems start to develop. The
contrast is signalled quite self-consciously by Herodian. Thus when Elagabalus is in
Syria, we are told (5.3.7) that in his priestly role he resembled depictions of Dionysus,
and that is evidently a positive omen, evoking a divinity making a successful westward
movement. When he reaches Nicomedia, though, that same performance is still re-
ferred to in Dionysiac vocabulary (5.5.3 ἐξεβακχεύετο), but with a decidedly negative
connotation that reminds us of the Γύννις nickname.
This same episode in Nicomedia contains a scene (5.5.5–7) that gets a prominent
role in nearly every modern version of the Elagabalus story. Herodian describes how,
when Elagabalus continues his religious performances in Nicomedia, his grandmoth-
er Maesa becomes worried that this will cause problems when they reach Rome. She
suggests that he adopt a more traditionally Roman costume, but he instead comes up
with the solution of sending a portrait of himself in priestly garb on ahead to Rome,
so that people there will have time to become accustomed to this new persona. This
scene is typically cited in support of the thesis I mentioned earlier, namely that the
Elagabalus cult was culturally unacceptable to key constituencies in Rome, and that
its promotion was the teenage emperor’s personal initiative.62 Such a reading fails to
account for several important features of the story within Herodian’s narrative.
The first of these is that, given Herodian’s narrative technique, there is no good
reason to suppose the incident ever actually occurred. Herodian’s narrator is very dif-
ferent from Dio’s, who heavily emphasizes his viewpoint as a senator and gives de-
tailed descriptions of events that he was able to witness while conversely underlining
his ignorance of political processes from which the Senate was excluded.63 In the case
of Elagabalus, this mostly means that Dio passes on, with knowing irony, the official
line as presented to senators along with the detailed rumors that circulated in Rome.
Herodian’s narrator, by contrast, embraces his anonymity and distance from the center
of power. Most of the time he either describes events that the broad elite public in the
provinces would have heard about (as with the various wars) or gives plausible but
not very detailed reconstructions of events whose details would not have been widely
known (as notably with Maesa’s coup in Syria). Sometimes, however, he does give
61 See Kemezis (2014) 239–52.

62 For readings that take the story as more or less true, see e. g. Frey (1989) 73; Ando (2012) 66; Icks (2012)
17–8. Zimmermann (1999b) 228–32 is much more skeptical about this incident, and about Herodian’s
account of Elagabalus’ religious activities more generally.
63 For contrasts between the two narrative practices, see Hidber (2004a) and (2004b).
366 adam kemezis
very detailed, even novelistic, descriptions of scenes. On these occasions he ignores

all informational constraints, uses key characters as focalizers and is privy to internal
thought processes that one would never reasonably expect to become public.64 The
contrast with Herodian’s normal stance is marked, and readers are meant to recog-
nize the artistic verisimilitude for what it is rather than supposing that their otherwise
indifferently informed historian has somehow really learned these intimate details.
The incident in Nicomedia falls very much into this category. It is heavily focalized
through Maesa, and one has difficulty imagining what sort of source would have pro-
vided such details, even to a better positioned and more curious investigator than
Herodian. The story has no “kernel of truth” to extract, beyond perhaps that portraits
of Elabagalus in his priestly costume did exist, something one might have inferred
anyway from numismatic evidence.65 If we want to say it testifies to a perception on
Herodian’s part, then we need to consider its full narrative context as evidence of what
that perception was, and in context the story works quite differently from how it does
in modern reconstructions.
For Herodian, it is not the story of a rational adult confronting a deluded ado-
lescent but rather, as so often in Herodian, one of traditional cultural expectations
proving a poor guide in a bizarre political world. In the immediate narrative sequel, it
is Maesa who is wrong and her nephew who is right.66 Maesa’s fears about his recep-
tion in Rome are focused on the city population and the Senate, whom she expects to
be disgusted by Elagabalus’ foreignness. This is akin to the fear that Herodian makes
Pertinax feel upon taking the throne in spite of his low social standing.67 In both cas-
es the fear is misplaced, in the sense that trouble will come not from the Senate and
people, but from the Praetorians, who are left pointedly unmentioned. As regards the
population, Elagabalus’ trick with the portrait apparently works: Herodian says, with-
out further comment or apparent irony, that when Elagabalus arrived in person “the
Romans saw nothing unusual (οὐδὲν παράδοξον), since they had become accustomed
to the portrait (τῇ γραφῇ ἐνεθισμένοι).”68
Now Herodian himself, or at any rate his narrator, certainly does not consid-
er Elagabalus’ activities “nothing unusual.” On the contrary, most of the account of
Elagabalus’ reign will be taken up with describing his various priestly performanc-
64 See e. g. 1.17.5, involving Commodus’ mistress. For further discussion, see Hidber (2006) 148–9; Kemezis
(2014) 263–4.
65 On numismatic representations of the costume, see Baldus (1989); Zimmermann (1999b) 225–32; Kru-
meich (2000–01); Dirven (2007).
66 For the various forms of reading and misreading going in this scene, and the link with Macrinus, see Ward
(2011) 134–44, also Zimmermann (1999b) 222–4 and Hidber (2006) 168–70.
67 Hdn. 2.3.1–2, where again the narrator has access to Pertinax’ unexpressed thoughts.
68 Hdn. 5.5.7. Such a statement from Dio’s narrator might well be taken as ironic, but Herodian does not tend
to employ this particular technique of irony, in which a narrator’s statement appears to be at odds with the
immediate narrative content. Herodian does shortly afterwards (5.6.1) mention that Elagabalus executed
some “notable and rich” (ἐνδόξων τε καὶ πλουσίων) people after receiving denunciations that they had
been “grumbling at and mocking his way of life” (ἀπαρεσκομένους καὶ σκώπτοντας αὐτοῦ τὸν βίον). This
seems like a very brief summary of Dio 80.[79].3–7, and it is not clear whether it is thematically related to
what precedes it, and whether αὐτοῦ τὸν βίον refers to the costume.
es, which Herodian explicitly condemns and contrasts with the respectable educa-
tion that Alexander receives (5.7.4–6). But as regards the internal audience, these
descriptions contain little sign of negative crowd reaction: to the extent the Roman
elite and populace are present, they play their parts adequately, and their actual feel-
ings about the matter are not noted for good or ill. When it comes time to begin the
account of Elagabalus’ fall, Herodian breaks off into what looks like a summary of
Dio’s detailed account of the emperor’s sexual vices and other bad habits, including
chariot-racing.69 This is immediately followed by another focalization through Maesa
(5.7.1), who is now afraid that her grandson’s vaguely described “way of life” (βίος) will
offend the soldiers. This time she is correct, and the narrator will shortly afterwards
(5.8.1) confirm in his own voice that the soldiers “were disgusted (ἐμυσάττοντο) when
they saw [Elagabalus] with a face more heavily made up than that of a chaste woman
(καλλωπιζόμενον περιεργότερον ἢ κατὰ γυναῖκα σώφρονα), tricked out with gold chains
and delicate, unmanly garments (περιδεραίοις δὲ χρυσίνοις ἐσθῆσί τε ἁπαλαῖς ἀνάνδρως
κοσμούμενον), and doing dances where he could be seen by everyone.” Since we have
already heard about the wearing priestly clothes and leading his meteorite-god in a
chariot, and since the scene just quoted contains vocabulary reminiscent of earlier
accounts of religious activity, it does appear that Herodian sees more of a link than
Dio and the HA between Elagabalus’ cult activities and his fall.70 But that link is con-
siderably less direct than it might be, or than it is in modern accounts. The narrator is
curiously vague as to whether we are talking about the same chariot, the same dances
and the same funny clothes.71 The description of the costume and the soldiers’ re-
action to it is if anything more reminiscent of a slightly earlier episode in Herodian.
Macrinus in Antioch is described as “all dressed up with brooches and belts decorated
with lot of gold and jewels” (5.2.4 πόρπαις καὶ ζωστῆρι χρυσῷ τε πολλῷ καὶ λίθοις τιμίοις
πεποικιλμένοις κεκοσμημένος). “Such luxury,” Herodian tells us, “does not find favor
with Roman soldiers, who consider it more appropriate for barbarians or women”
(τῆς τοιαύτης πολυτελείας παρὰ τοῖς Ῥωμαίων στρατιώταις οὐκ ἐπαινουμένης, βαρβάρου
δὲ μᾶλλον καὶ θηλυπρεποῦς εἶναι δοκούσης). The soldiers’ antipathy toward Macrinus’
appearance is what leads them to remember Caracalla fondly and to back Elagabalus’
69 Hdn. 5.6.9, two sentences of Greek that describe Elagabalus’ chariot-racing, dancing and use of cosmetics.
The same items are described in the same order in greater detail at Dio 80.[79].14.2–4 (EV).
70 Notably at 5.8.1 the verb ἐκβακχέυω is used of the behavior that enrages the soldiers, recalling its use at 5.5.3
to describe Elagabalus’ priestly dances at Nicomedia. Cognate vocabulary is also employed at 5.7.2 and
5.7.6, describing the “priestly” education Elagabalus wants Alexander to receive, as opposed to that which
Maesa makes sure he gets. The latter studies are identified in gendered terms as τὰ ἀνδρῶν.
71 If it is the “priestly” costume, then it is the same one he was wearing in Syria, when he was first seen by
the soldiers (5.3.6–7) and at that point it was seen as enhancing his beauty. At 5.6.10, by contrast, he is
said to have spoiled his beauty by using cosmetics, and the costume is singled out at 5.8.1 as the one thing
that most outrages the soldiers. Herodian gives no indication that he considers the soldiers in Syria to be
culturally distinct from those in Rome (cf. 5.2.4).
368 adam kemezis
coup in the first place, counter-intuitive as that may seem.72 Is this a story about reli-
gious aberration or about military psychology?
Herodian’s version of Elagabalus’ final days is based on Dio, but Herodian uses the
soldiers’ discontent to motivate Maesa, who is as always a much more active figure
than in the other narratives.73 Maesa does not wait for the soldiers to make their anger
clear, but as soon as she suspects that they are disaffected (5.7.1: ὑποπτεύουσα) she
starts putting forward Alexander as a better alternative, and bribing the soldiers to
support him when the time comes (5.8.3). The whole episode is a one-sided battle of
wits between grandmother and grandson, in which he tries to corrupt or plot against
Alexander, and Maesa thwarts him at every turn until the final confrontation in the
Praetorian camp, when Elagabalus hastens his own death by senselessly provoking the
soldiers, who by this point are entirely pro-Alexander. The overall impression is not as
pathetic as Dio’s version, but one does feel a certain ironic sense of pity for Elagabalus
as the fly caught in Maesa’s web, and the heavy emphasis on a grandmother plotting
against her grandson prevents one from feeling the same sense of moral vindication
as in the HA account.74
The ending is thus dominated by family intrigue and soldierly codes of manliness,
but the narrative that went before heavily emphasizes weird religion. There are several
reasons Herodian might tell the story in this peculiar and somewhat ambivalent way.
As noted above, he seems to have a genuine interest in details of cult performance
more generally. But perhaps more significantly, he is much more attuned than either
Dio or the HA to his rulers’ visual self-presentation. There are several long sections of
Herodian’s narrative, notably those on Commodus’ arena performances and Severus’
wars, that have been convincingly read as reconstructions based on static visual re
presentations.75 Herodian deliberately gives the impression of an author with limited
access to the scene of political action, who often learns about his rulers’ activities from
pictures. His imagined readers are similarly attuned to visual representations, albeit
the author seems to have unusually good access to them, perhaps because he is located
in Rome. Herodian’s focus on the Elagabal-cult suggests that the coin images we have
of Elagabalus in his sacerdotal role were part of a larger visual-media campaign that
included representations of the priest-emperor, the Black Stone and the various cer-
emonies involving the two. It might not have been as shocking or alien as sometimes
thought, but it was at all events memorable.
72 Dirven (2007) 29–30 makes the interesting point that Elagabalus’ costume as represented on coins is
actually quite reminiscent of the cloak-and-breeches military ensemble favored by his alleged father.
73 Thus Herodian takes the notice at Dio 80.[79].19.4 (Xiph.) about Maesa turning against Elagabalus and
places it much earlier in the sequence of events (5.7.1) and makes it Maesa’s reason for having Alexander
made Caesar in the first place.
74 In addition, the final words of Herodian’s Book 5, that the new emperor Alexander was “truly a youth, and
very much under the guidance (πάνυ ... παιδαγογόυμενον) of his mother and grandmother,” foreshadow
problems with the new reign that do not exist in the HA’s more idealized picture of Alexander.
75 See Rubin (1975); Potter (1999) 88–9.
When Herodian and his imagined readers remembered the emperor Elagabalus,
these visual images were probably the first thing they thought of, along with the fact
that the reign was short and followed by one whose images were very different. Some
sort of causal link between these facts would naturally suggest itself, but the images
by themselves did not supply the details. To speculate still further, we can imagine
Herodian confronted on one side by his memory of Elagabalus’ visual images, and
on the other by Dio’s version of the official account.76 He probably knew better than
to believe, and in any case had no wish to reproduce, the details of the emperor’s sex-
ual offenses. On the other hand, Dio’s portrayal of the Praetorian Guard as the main
agents of Elagabalus’ overthrow fits very well into Herodian’s narrative world. Sol-
diers in Herodian are chronic disturbers of the political order, and their motivations
are explained in quite stereotyped terms.77 They overthrow commanders whom they
consider unmanly, unlucky or overly devoted to aristocratic discipline, as Pertinax,
Macrinus, Alexander, Maximinus, Pupienus and Balbinus all learn to their cost. Their
motivations do not, however, include the defense of traditional religious propriety.
Herodian is unusually sensitive to the cultural-conflict elements of Elagabalus’ reign,
but he is not actually willing to say that Praetorians assassinated an emperor because
they were outraged that a Vestal’s chastity was violated or Jupiter’s place on the Cap-
itoline was usurped.78 Vague talk of “unmanliness” and topoi about soldierly machis-
mo make a better explanation. Thus he falls back in some measure on Dio’s causality,
though with none of Dio’s sense that there is a story behind the story, in which other
players are controlling and even stirring up the military violence.
Historical Narratives and Realities
Our modern narrative of Elagabalus, then, is supported by ancient literary sources,

in a way. Its various factual premises can all be traced back to ancient sources: it is in
effect a combination of Dio’s stress on the emperor’s exceptionality and Herodian’s
descriptions of his religious practices and relationship with Maesa, along with some
circumstantial detail from the HA. But the resulting whole, especially in its stress on
the Elagabal-cult as a causal factor, is very different from what any of the literary sourc-
es puts forward. In itself this is not a problem. We are certainly not bound as historians
of antiquity to tell only the stories that surviving authors themselves tell, so long as
we are aware of the divergences and can account for them properly while still having
some basis for believing in the accuracy of the facts that we are extracting from those
authors. In the case of Elagabalus, these last conditions have not been met, and there
is no adequate basis for asserting that Elagabalus was overthrown because he, on his
76 This is more or less the conclusion of Scheithauer (1990) 356.

77 For an overview, see Marasco (1998) 2876–80; Kuhn-Chen (2002) 318–21.
78 The problem of religious outrage as the soldiers’ motivation has struck some modern historians as well,
e. g. Whittaker (1969) 2.57; Kettenhofen (1979) 33.
370 adam kemezis
personal initiative, promoted a religious cult that was offensive to his subjects. To be
sure, our literary sources certainly do say that his cult activities were offensive. Their
outrage may well be retrospective, a point to which I will return below, but assuming
for now that it represents their feelings at the time, that outrage remains for them not
the reason he fell, but only the reason it was good that he fell. One may object that
this distinction is overly strict, and that causality in narrative need not be explicit,
especially in genres, like ancient historiography, that have a strong moralizing compo-
nent. Our sources present Elagabalus as unfit for the throne in a great many ways, and
perhaps his fall is thus so overdetermined that it is pedantic to dwell on which of the
available causes actually works out. This is to take the logic of the opening quotation
from the HA more or less at face value. In my conclusion, I will argue why this is an
inadequate reading of the sources.
Before that, however, in the second half of this article I will offer an alternative
reconstruction that does not rely heavily on Elagabalus’ personal violations of reli-
gious or other norms of traditional Roman society. This will not amount to a full-scale
prosopographical reconstruction of events in order to identify other individuals as
principally responsible.79 My concern is to bring out what type of political event the
coup of 222 was, what sort of actors were involved and the objectives and significance
of their actions. In my view, the fall of Elagabalus was not primarily a reaction to the
individual character of the emperor, indeed the position of emperor was only part of
what was at stake. The events of 222 are only the most spectacular example of a form
of violence that was endemic to imperial politics in the 210s to 240s, and it is that po-
litical background that I will now briefly sketch.80
This period saw the functional collapse of the Roman monarchy in the form Au-
gustus had established, whereby an adult emperor based primarily in Rome used tra-
ditional social hierarchies to exert personal control over a stable regime. At no time
between 211 and 244 did such an emperor exist, and the model of military rule that
would emerge in the 240s–60s would work very differently still. Other than three
short and unstable intervals of rule by authentic adults (Macrinus, Maximinus, Pu-
pienus-Balbinus), the century’s early decades were mostly presided over by emper-
ors who were either adolescents (Elagabalus, Gordian III) or young men who never
stepped into the adult role of emperor (Alexander, to an extent Caracalla).81 This phe-
nomenon was not a matter of dynastic chance, like minorities in medieval hereditary
monarchies. Elagabalus, Alexander and Gordian III were not heirs apparent whose
succession was the automatic and undesirable outcome of a system of rigidly applied
rules: on the contrary, all three emerged from coups that could easily have produced
79 Important prosopographical treatments of the later Severan reigns include Syme (1971) 146–62; Salway
(1997) and (2000); Davenport (2011) and (2012b); Icks (2012) 20–3 along with the relevant portions of
Leunissen (1989).
80 The following regrettably cursory outline is heavily influenced by Potter (2014), though many of my con-
clusions regarding Elagabalus differ from those found there.
81 An analogous phenomenon of child-emperor rule occurs in the 370s to 450s, especially in the west, for
which see McEvoy (2013), to whose insights the following analysis is much indebted.
an adult ruler. In Elagabalus’ case, his status as heir to the Severan dynasty’s authority
was a major factor, but by Gordian III’s time we have two senior senatorial emperors
rejected in favor of a child whose sole claim to the throne was that his grandfather’s
revolt in Africa had been endorsed for a few weeks earlier that year by the same Senate
that subsequently backed Pupienus and Balbinus.82 We are dealing with a systemic
problem, that the rule of an effective adult emperor had become unviable, or at any
rate unacceptable to key political constituencies. These constituencies – principally
the army, the court and the equestrian bureauracy – had grown by the 210s into real
power centers independent of the senatorial hierarchy from which emperors were
meant to come and through which they were meant to rule.83 Leading members of
these constituencies would hold real power throughout the period, in unstable coali-
tions with the emperors as figureheads providing an ever less convincing appearance
of dynastic continuity and legitimacy.
The causes of this situation are deep-seated, but the reigns of Caracalla and Com-
modus are key precursors. As their fathers’ sons, they inherited automatically after
considerable preparation and were young men rather than children, but nonetheless
they clearly required considerably more assistance at the helm of state than those
fathers had.84 This led to increased control for the military, palatine and bureauratic
figures around them. To be sure, both men had distinctive personalities that created
considerable political instability, but this evidently did not make youthful emperors
unacceptable to the Roman political public, although it did produce a discourse
opposing child rule, seen most explicitly in Herodian.85 For all the obvious disadvan-
tages of a teenaged emperor, there were from the point of view of the political es-
tablishment distinct pluses that outweighed them. Emperors who lacked an agenda of
their own, or new networks of friends to promote, were not liable to disturb the day-
-to-day workings and ethos of these constituent organs, or the patronage structures
on which their leaders’ power relied. Nor, like the few adult emperors of the period,
82 The most common explanation, (see e. g. Haegemans [2010] 80) is that the plebs supported Gordian III
because of his hereditary claim from Gordian I. This is to some extent supported by Hdn. 7.10.6–9, but
it simply raises the question of how the Roman plebs became so attached to the family name of two such
ephemeral and absent figures as the first two Gordians. On the events of 238 see, in addition to Haege-
mans, Loriot (1975); Huttner (2008).
83 The city plebs, though at times a significant political actor, is not included here because its role was spo-
radic and it did not figure into regular governing “coalitions” of this kind. For its role in the reign of
Elagabalus, see n.109 below.
84 Neither succession was completely automatic, however. Most obviously in Caracalla’s case, there was the
question of Geta’s role and his promotion to Augustus in 208, and the coup against him in 211 has many
parallels with the later incidents that I will be addressing here. While Commodus’ brother had provi-
dentially died young, the revolt in 175 of Avidius Cassius does appear to have been tied to conflicts about
the succession, though exactly who was on whose side is less clear. For differing views, see Birley (1987)
184–5; Schettino (1997).
85 Specifically at 1.1.6, where Herodian seems to make it the thesis of his entire work that mature, experi-
enced emperors are good and young, inexperienced ones are bad. Herodian’s narrative notably fails to
bear out this prefatory statement, in that all his post-Marcus emperors, old and young alike, are funda-
mentally ineffectual, for which see Kemezis (2014) 227–72.
372 adam kemezis
would they represent and favor one constituency over others.86 Elagabalus, Alexander
and Gordian III were thus not imposed on the Roman political system by outside
forces or extraordinary historical contingency: they were on the contrary its typical
products at that time. This was a result of pragmatic politics, but it had implications
on other levels. The visible role of emperor retained its ideological importance, and
would have to be redefined into something a teenager could play. We can see signs of
the process under Commodus and Caracalla, both of whom were known for extrava-
gant performances in the role of arena fighter and soldier respectively, and it is what
lies behind Elagabalus’ extraordinary sacerdotal persona. All of these emperors fell
under violent circumstances, and their performances thus came to be characterized as
deluded charades, but they testify to the need emperors and their handlers felt to find
alternatives to the traditional imperial idiom, ones in which youth would be an asset
rather than a drawback.
Elagabalus’ rise and fall, I contend, are not an aberration but can be explained as
a characteristic part of the functioning of the political system at this time. This is not
to say that that system functioned in a stable fashion, or that people at the time were
happy with it. Quite the contrary. Roman politics, at least at its highest levels, was
chaotically unstable in this period. This is most visible in the changes of emperor, but
can also be seen in the rapid and often violent turnover in those administrative posts
that were key to maintaining control over resources and appointments, and over the
person of the emperor. Notable above all is the praetorian prefecture, which in the
reigns of Macrinus, Elagabalus and Alexander sees an unprecedented turnover: for the
decade following Elagabalus’ accession, we know of perhaps eleven prefects, at least
five of whom lost their post by means of violent death.87 These men were not indivi-
dually “powers behind the throne,” although the scope of their office had increased
greatly in the preceding decades.88 Rather they should be seen as signs of constant re-
alignments of power within the ongoing loose governing coalition. Young figurehead
emperors could lend legitimacy to the ruling class as a whole, but not to its individual
members, who thus found it relatively easy to bring down those above them, but har-
der to prevent being similarly brought down in their turn by anyone who could get
control of an armed force, often consisting of at least part of the Praetorian Guard.
Having access to the emperor (or an emperor) who would transmit one’s orders was
also necessary, but the character or inclinations of that emperor were at most secon-
dary factors. The events of Alexander’s reign illustrate this point amply, when Ulpian
was able first to obtain the execution of Alexander’s first two praetorian prefects, and
his own appointment in their place, only to be overthrown and murdered within the
year by another intriguing rival. My key contention in the following reconstruction of
86 Thus Macrinus and Maximinus and Pupienus-Balbinus are clearly representatives of the bureaucracy,
army and senate respectively.
87 This is derived from the list in Mennen (2011) 263–7. Two of the eleven (Lorenius Celsus and Didius
Marinus) are listed as incerti. Mennen follows traditional practice in dating all eleven to the years 218–23,
but Salway (2000) 148–60 has argued that several of these figures belong later in the 220s.
88 See on this point most recently Mennen (2011) 159–87, with refs.
Elagabalus’ fall is that the entire incident has considerably more in common with Ul-
pian’s coup and counter-coup than it does with the falls of such earlier “bad emperors”
as Nero, Domitian or Commodus.
Elagabalus’ Reign: An Alternative Reconstruction
Such was the political culture in which Elagabalus emerged. Macrinus had never really
gained the support of any political constituency other than the bureaucracy to which
he himself belonged, and he was critically unpopular with the army thanks to pay
cuts and military inactivity. There was a set of people in Emesa who were uniquely
well positioned to take advantage of this weakness, because they held a trump card,
living male representatives of the Severan dynasty. Who exactly were these people?
They surely included former courtiers of Julia Domna, of whom Maesa was in effect
one, but we should avoid the temptation to make her the sole or principal leader. The
figure of Maesa as Lady Macbeth is largely a dramatic creation of Herodian’s and there
is no reason to suppose he had solid information on which to base it, beyond a few
references in Dio that he greatly played up. How much power Maesa really exerted
is not something our sources can tell us, and indeed contemporaries are unlikely to
have known.89 Her and her daughters’ prominence on coins and the extravagant titles
we find for them tell us only that they were, as mothers, important symbols of dynas-
tic continuity.90 Other names are scarce: Dio gives extraordinary prominence to the
otherwise unattested Gannys, whom Dio paints as a low-level family retainer who
became Soaemias’ lover and (most improbably) the military leader of the coup.91 The
Alexander Severus regime would have found it convenient to attribute Elagabalus’ rise
to such an otherwise insignificant figure, especially given that he obligingly died early
in Elagabalus’ reign, supposedly at the hands of the emperor himself, whose excesses
Gannys had been trying to restrain.92 Other than this, Dio’s lacunose text refers only to
89 On the dangers of equating an imperial woman’s prominent public image with actual power, see now
Langford (2013).
90 For the public image of the various Severan women, see Kettenhofen (1979) and Rowan (2011), also
Saavedra Guerrero (2006) and for Mamaea specifically, Kosmetatou (2002). Treatments of the various
women’s political role include Kettenhofen (1979) 33–43; Icks (2012) 19–20.
91 Dio at first uses the name “Eutychianus” for this character and then after 79.[78].38.3 always uses the
name “Gannys.” Nowhere in the surviving text are we explicitly told that Gannys and Eutychianus are
the same person, but this is by far the most likely conclusion, as seen by Boissevain (ad 79.[78].31.1) and
argued at length by Howe (1942) 97–100 and Kettenhofen (1979) 29–32. Many scholars, including the
editors of PIR2, have wanted to see “Eutychianus” as identical with Comazon rather than Gannys, based
on a reference in Xiphilinus (Boissevain 3.724) that must be an error of the epitomator. The facts Dio
asserts about Eutychianus are entirely inconsistent with Comazon’s career as related elsewhere in Dio and
independently attested. To treat “Eutychianus” as an entirely separate third person, as per Arrizabalaga y
Prado (1999), generates considerably more interpretive problems than it solves.
92 The story is told at 80.[79].6.3, the idea being that Gannys had tried to make Elagabalus live “respectably
and sensibly” (σωφρόνως καὶ ἐμφρόνως) and that the emperor struck him down personally after none of
the soldiers had been willing to do the deed. The story is highly stereotyped and not credited by e. g. Icks
(2012) 15.
374 adam kemezis
“a few freedmen and soldiers, six (?) men of the equestrian order and some (?) coun-
cillors of Emesa.”93 One of these was presumably the Aurelius Eubulus who features
in Dio’s account of the reign’s end, but he is not mentioned at this early stage. The
coup plotters emerge from Dio’s account as a low-status group. I have noted already
that this can be traced to the propaganda of Alexander Severus’ regime, and impor-
tant names may well have been suppressed. The original plotters of the coup included
men and women with substantial backgrounds and connections in the Severan court.
Nonetheless, we do not have adequate grounds to see them as representing a preex-
isting faction or interest group, nor did they have independent power in the sense of
high social prestige or control of state resources.94 Primarily they were defined by their
location and their access to the surviving relatives of Caracalla and to the substantial
independent fortune of Julia Domna’s family.
This turned out to be enough first to gain acceptance from the army, and shortly
thereafter from other key political constituencies. The most important element was
the persistent authority of the Severan (and by extension Antonine) name, which for
the soldiers was associated above all with military victories and material generosity.
Macrinus had tried unsuccessfully to appropriate some of that authority to his own
regime, but the Emesene plotters would prove much more adept at doing so.95 Their
main technique was to associate the young Elagabalus as closely as possible with Cara
calla, through alleged visual resemblances and the fiction regarding the boy’s paterni-
ty. Their first and most important task was to gain the army’s acceptance as the heirs
to Severus and Caracalla’s legacy of soldierly good will. At this they were remarkably
effective, and continued to be so after defeating Macrinus in battle. It is true that we
have several notices of military disturbances in 218, several legion commanders are
executed and two legions are disbanded.96 These are unsuprising in the circumstances
and do not show that the new regime lacked the wherewithal to establish control.
What is notable is that the incidents remain on a small scale, and they do not recur
later in the reign. The new regime evidently feared the kind of highly sterotyped civil
war that had broken out after the deaths of Nero and Commodus, between the sena-
torial commanders of major armies. This notably failed to materialize, in part because
the prestige and freedom of action of senior senators were perhaps less in the late
Severan period than they had been thirty years earlier. But it also attests to the new re-
gime’s overall competency and the strength of their main asset, that being the dynastic
authority of the Severans.
The young pretender was mostly trading on his ancestry, but his position as priest
of Elagabal should also be seen as one of the ways his supporters presented him politi-
cally. It may well be that the whole notion of making Elagabalus a priest only emerged
93 Dio 79.[78].31.3, with some restorations by Boissevain.

94 Potter (2014) 149 characterizes Elagabalus’ supporters as representing the court against the bureaucracy
supporting Macrinus.
95 On Macrinus as trying to harness the legacy of the Severan dynasty, see Kemezis (2014) 79–83.
96 For the role of army commanders, see n.22 above.
in 217 or 218, when his family or their handlers were already planning the coup and saw
the priesthood as a stage on which to make their candidate visible. As best his early
life can be reconstructed, Elagabalus probably spent less than a year of it in Emesa.97
The Elagabal-cult was not an essential part of his ethnic makeup that clashed with his
Roman political ambitions, but a rather a role that his handlers chose to place him in,
for pragmatic political reasons. The god could be evoked as a divine patron in the war
to come, and there may be some basis for Herodian’s idea that his cult performances
in Emesa brought him to the soldiers’ attention.98 It may also be that Soaemias was
associated with her son’s sacerdotal self-presentation, although this has to be inferred
indirectly from coins, and from the fact that she was both killed along with him and
included in the memory sanctions against him and his god.99
Once the war was won, the new emperor’s handlers were naturally anxious to re-
turn to Rome, and they decided that the priestly act that had played well in Syria wou-
ld work there too. This decision should not be seen as self-evidently stupid, or even
necessarily misguided. If, as is often argued, the boy-emperor’s sacerdotal role became
a more prominent part of his image later in his reign, this would most naturally sug-
gest that its initial reception was at least not unfavorable.100 The people who managed
Elagabalus’ image were not provincial outsiders: many of them had, like Elagabalus
himself, spent most of their lives or careers in court society before being relegated
to Emesa. They surely understood the various ways in which metropolitan Roman
society was both prejudiced against and receptive to foreign religious practices, and
97 In this I follow Arrizabalaga y Prado’s argument (2010, 219–38) that the young Elagabalus spent his child-
hood in Rome or in the provinces his father served in rather than at Emesa. I do not, however, agree with
him that mother and child moved to Emesa after his father’s death, which probably occurred before Cara
calla’s. Our literary sources either explicitly state (Victor 23.1, HA Hel. 2.3) or strongly imply (Hdn. 5.3.2;
5.3.6) that they on the contrary only went there after Caracalla’s or Julia Domna’s death. One also need not
assume, as Arrizabalaga y Prado does, that Elagabalus’ priestly role required lengthy training. Herodian’s
imaginative reconstruction notwithstanding, the role was quite likely something that could be adequately
mastered in a few months by one accustomed to court ceremonial. There is also the acute observation of
Millar (1993) 307, that when Dio describes Elagabalus’ circumcision, he gives the impression that it oc-
curred during the time he is narrating (i. e. Elagabalus’ reign and the immediately preceding coup) rather
than before.
98 While Dio’s narrative does not appear to mention the priesthood at all in describing the coup, he does
allude in a lacunose passage (79.[78].31.2) to Gannys specifically as being devoted to Elagabal and moti-
vated in part by prophecies of that god.
99 In particular, the great majority of Soaemias’ coins feature Venus Caelestis on the reverse, a goddess never
previously seen on Roman coinage but perhaps assimilated to the Elagabal-cult. This is in contrast with
Maesa and Mamaea, who both have relatively traditional coinage not dissimilar to Domna’s. For the coin-
age of the various women, see Rowan (2011). For the memory sanctions, see Varner (2001) 48–9.
100 Icks (2012) 73–9 gives the most recent argument that Elagabalus’ sacerdotal image is more strongly pro-
moted in 220 and after. See also the more detailed treatment of Frey (1989) 73–86. Icks in particular
sees a disconnect between the relatively traditional images seen on coins and the transgressive actions
described in literary sources. For him, the transgressions lead to unpopularity, which the coin propaganda
then attempts to mitigate. It seems to me more natural to reverse the priority, and assume that the coins
represent the contemporary perception, while the literary sources give us a retrospective negative view
from Alexander’s reign or later. Rowan (2012) 210–3 argues that it is only the numismatic picture that
really changes, and that inscriptions from the beginning of the reign (chiefly published after Frey’s book)
already identify the emperor as sacerdos.
376 adam kemezis
they were also familiar with the usual role of an emperor. Septimius and Caracalla had
both incorporated the protection of provincial cults into their self-image; the princeps
had always had a sacerdotal role, which Septimius especially had been happy to em
brace.101 Later parallels from the Valentinian and Theodosian dynasties suggest that
the religious role of the emperor could be enhanced under a ruler who was too young
to interact with his fellow human beings in a suitably regal fashion.102
It is of course the specific content of the Elagabal-cult and the aggressiveness with
which it was promoted that supposedly doomed the new regime. The Romans, in this
version, were inherently hostile to such “oriental” features as the meteorite, and the
circumcised priest who danced around in an exotic costume. The priest-emperor com-
pounded this hostility by obtruding his new god into physical and symbolic spaces
that had previously been reserved for Jupiter and other traditional cults; his marriage
to a Vestal was only the most egregious example.103 Several objections can be made to
this picture, in addition to those already brought up. First of all, it does not receive as
much support as it should from the non-literary sources. Clare Rowan’s recent study
of Elagabalus’ numismatic, epigraphic and artistic image finds relatively little evidence
for any full-scale overhaul of Roman public religion.104 There is considerable evidence
of provincial cities adopting the Elagabal-cult, but it is too irregular to suggest syste-
matic top-down imposition.105 Rather, the cities incorporated the new cult into the
long-standing practice of using symbols from the imperial center to define one’s own
position relative to that center. We can tell from Herodian that Elagabalus’ propagan-
da was visually arresting and memorable, but it was not necessarily offensive in the
way that our other literary accounts might suggest.106 The picture of the Elagabal-cult
as offensive thus rests ever more heavily on literary sources. And even there, as has
been noted, it rests not really on what the sources say, but the way that they say it. The
historians do not talk about gasps of collective shock at the emperor’s costume, or of
performances that failed when audiences could not or would not follow the script.107
101 On the religious self-presentation of earlier Severans, see esp. Lichtenberger (2011) and Rowan (2012),
also Elsner (2005) on Severus and Mennen (2006); Hekster and Kaizer (2012) on Caracalla. On Elaga-
balus specifically in this tradition see also Dirven (2007) 30–1. For full particulars of the priestly roles of
the emperor more generally, see Stepper (2003), though with an uncritical approach to sources on Elaga-
balus.
102 See McEvoy (2013) 117–27.
103 The key passage generally cited is Dio 80.79.11.1 (Xiph.), quoted above. See esp. Lichtenberger (2011)
149–50. Rowan (2012) 207 suggests that the reference to Jupiter may be a contemporary misunderstand-
ing based on the use of an eagle in Elagabal’s iconography.
104 See esp. Rowan (2012) 206–15. Arguments along the same lines are also made by Dirven (2007).
105 See Rowan (2012) 178–89, who stresses the cities’ initiative, also Robert (1976) and Icks (2012) 83–8.
106 Though see Potter (2014) 156 for a reading of the Elagabal procession in Herodian (5.6.6–10) as modeled
on a triumph, with Jupiter and other traditional gods in the role of defeated victims. For the procession
more generally, see also Rowan (2012) 203–6.
107 Both historians are fond in other contexts of crowd-reaction scenes in which the emperor meets an un-
expected response, see e. g. Dio 73.[72].20–1 (Xiph.-EV) (on Commodus’ arena performances) and Hdn.
4.9.2–3 (Alexandrians mocking Caracalla). Contrast also HA Hel. 13.2, where the Senate does fall sig-
nificantly silent after Elagabalus announces that he means to revoke his adoption of Alexander. For the
What they do is voice their own displeasure, which we are meant to suppose was sha-
red by like-minded but still ultimately impotent segments of the political public.
When Romans of any period use the rhetoric of cultural traditionalism, it is easy to
take them too literally. One should consider that by Elagabalus’ time, Cato the Elder
was 400 years in the past and Constantine the Great was only 100 years in the future.
The public of the time was used not only to religious diversity in the City of Rome,
but also to a substantial blurring of the strict lines that moderns try to erect between
“state” and “provincial” or “oriental” cults.108 This last became ever more true under
the Severans. To be sure, religious aspects of the mos maiorum were still a powerful
rhetorical tool, and would remain so for another two centuries. Those who wished
to lambaste tyrants could call up images of old gods hubristically insulted by savage
alien devotees, all of which became much more potent when linked to specific sites
of memory in the physical and symbolic landscape of Rome. But that latent discur-
sive resource is not the same thing as active taboos and prejudices that will emerge
spontaneously even in situations where nobody wants them to or has anything to gain
from their doing so. Nothing points to a situation in which Elagabalus’ cult activities
spontaneously outrage a pious traditionalist public such that it becomes impossible
for them to tolerate him or for his handlers to continue using him as a figurehead
and the latter are obliged to fall back on Alexander as a “Plan B.”109 Rather these were
matters that required interpretation. The public had to figure out on some basis what
portions of the Capitoline were acceptable and unacceptable exhibition sites for a gi-
ant meteorite. Someone had to read the respective positioning of Jupiter and Elagabal
as an insult to the former rather than an act of deference by the latter.110 When our
literary sources treat the wedding with the Vestal as an authentic physically consum
mated union and a sacrilege, that remains one interpretive choice among several.111
Roman plebs visibly refusing to participate in imperial ceremonies as a political tactic, see Flaig (1992)
67–75, 86–93.
108 On the state vs. private distinction, see e. g. Price (2011), and with specific reference to “oriental cults”;
Van Haeperen (2007). This is not to embrace, however, the older narrative of ongoing religious “orien-
talization,” in which the Elagabal-cult becomes part of a progressive takeover of Roman religion by solar
deities from the east. For effective deconstruction of this model, see Hijmans (1996) and, as regards to the
Severan dynasty, Berrens (2004) 39–60.
109 As far as the city populace of Rome is concerned, our literary sources give no convincing sign of gener-
al discontent beyond general statements that the emperor became unpopular (Dio 80.[79].17.1 [Xiph.];
Hdn. 5.8.1). These are included as necessary background to his fall rather than as descriptions of specific
incidents. Elagabalus’ regime was extravagantly generous with liberalitas distributions to the people and
soldiers. For details, see Sünskes Thompson (1990) 122–5, who considers that the only concrete mani-
festation of popular discontent is the outcry against Aurelius Eubulus recorded at Dio 80.[79].21.1 (EV),
which has no apparent connection to the Elagabal-cult.
110 Dio’s text oddly replicates this difficulty by claiming that Elagabalus placed his god “before Jupiter him-
self ” (πρὸ τοῦ Διὸς αὐτοῦ ἤγαγεν). Does this refer to physical or conceptual placement, and if the former,
what is it meant to signify? On the difficulties, see Arrizabalaga y Prado (2010) 169–73.
111 Our literary sources (Dio 80.[79].9.3 [Xiph.] and Hdn. 5.5.2) both have Elagabalus justify the marriage
on the grounds that as a priest, it is appropriate for him to marry a priestess, but they both treat this as an
excuse. Frey (1989) 87–93, in an influential argument, takes it more seriously, and claims that Elagabalus
was trying to replicate “sacred marriage” ceremonies found in Near Eastern contexts. Haehling (2007)
235–9 links the marriage with traditional Roman associations of the Vesta-cult with the pontifex maximus,
378 adam kemezis
It is not a question of serious belief as against skepticism or conformity. Even where

religious discourse is taken seriously, it is not self-interpreting. People who believed in
the efficacy of cult activities still needed some way of understanding the significance
of the human actions relative to the divine, and where the emperor was involved they
could be influenced by their contacts within the political elite. Many of these opinion
makers were far from disinterested, and they had motivations for stirring up outrage,
religious and otherwise, against the emperor.112 Elagabalus’ cult activities did become
abominable to the Roman public, certainly after and perhaps before his death, but this
was an effect or a symptom of the fall of his regime, not its cause.
If one leaves aside the idea, propagated by the Alexander Severus regime and re-
flected in Dio and the HA, that the administration of Elagabalus was uniformly cha-
otic, then there is considerable evidence that after the initial events of 218, a sort of
stability emerges as the various segments of the political world accept the idea of a
figurehead Severan on the throne.113 Then in June 221, the emperor’s slightly younger
cousin is adopted as his son and Caesar, under the name Alexander. This move does
not seem to have been forced upon Elagabalus in an atmosphere of conflict, nor was
it necessarily a decisive change of plans.114 It is likely that both cousins had figured
into the plans of the original coup plotters in Emesa.115 The recent precedent of Geta,
while inauspicious, is still illustrative. Septimius badly needed to project dynastic sta-
bility, and the Roman public had been readied throughout his reign to expect some
form of political cohabitation after his death.116 In 218–21, the backers of the revived
Severan regime may have thought that if the imperial role could be rewritten so as to
be played by one teenager, then why not two teenagers, in complementary roles? The
archaic kings and imperial women, see also Gualerzi (2005) 68–70. Aquilia Severa’s coinage, however,
does not refer to any sacerdotal role, and is in general much like that of Elagabalus’ earlier wife Julia Paula,
for which see Rowan (2011) 258–61. One should also note that, at all periods of Roman history, episodes
of anxiety over the chastity of Vestals tended to reflect larger political uncertainties, for which the wom-
en’s sexual status became a proxy, for which see Parker (2004) 581–2.
112 Thus the curious note at HA Hel. 9.8 that slanders against Elagabalus were spread by those who were
aggrieved (dolebant) that they had to compete for preferment against those with large fortunes and large
penises.
113 For the idea of a “Severan restoration” in administrative practice that continues into the reign of Alexan-
der, see Salway (1997).
114 Dio’s account (80.[79].17.2–3 [Xiph.]), at least in Xiphilinus, presents the action as Elagabalus’ own, to
which he claimed to have been prompted by his god. It is only some time later (80.[79].19.4 [Xiph.])
that Maesa rejects Elagabalus in favor of Alexander. Herodian (5.7.1) has Maesa engineer Alexander’s
adoption, based on Elagabalus’ growing unpopularity, but Elagabalus acquiesces remarkably easily. In any
case both Maesa’s role and the novelistic focalization by which it is described suggest that Herodian has,
with no other evidence, reversed the order of events in Dio so as to make for neater causality with Maesa
in the leading role. The HA, very oddly, asserts at Hel. 5.1, 10.1 and again at Alex. 1.2 that Alexander was
made Caesar right at the start of Elagabalus’ reign, and Victor (23.3) agrees. See for details and bibliogra-
phy Zinsli (2014) 383–4. On the peculiarities of Alexander’s position as Caesar, see Dusanić (1964); Eck
(1995) 22–6.
115 In addition to the variant HA tradition mentioned in the previous note, note that at Dio 79.[78].38.1,
Macrinus has the Senate proclaim war not just against Elagabalus and Soaemias, but also Mamaea and the
future Alexander.
116 Geta was only made Augustus in 209 or 210 (see Birley [1988] 218), but had been Caesar since 197.
name taken by the new Caesar, Alexander, looks like an attempt to evoke a different
version of Caracalla’s legacy, a more specifically military one.117
Alexander’s adoption may not have been the result of opposition to Elagabalus’
regime, but it certainly and quite rapidly came to serve as a focus for such oppositi-
on. The literary sources suggest a period of several months starting in late 221 during
which there were at least two public confrontations between the two emperors before
the final showdown in March 222 at which Elagabalus was deposed and killed. The
first of these was Elagabalus’ near-assassination by Praetorians after he tried to remove
Alexander, and the second was the failure of the two emperors to appear together on 1
January 222 to mark their joint consulship.118 Before considering the nature of this op-
position, however, we should consider what it means that it focused around Alexander
rather than anyone else. If Elagabalus really had been as full of cultural alienation and
adolescent rebellion as he is often made out to be, one might have expected his enemies
to back someone who would never replicate those characteristics. But what they actua-
lly chose was someone equally Syrian and even younger. In part this was because of the
dynastic authority Alexander possessed, but his birth did not make him the only po-
ssible choice. The idea that he was Caracalla’s son through a youthful indiscretion with
Mamaea appears not to have been widely publicized until after Elagabalus’ death, and
was in any case a flimsy dynastic fiction, basically the same distasteful and inherently
implausible story that the public had been told five years before, only now with suspi-
ciously convenient changes in the cast of characters. 119 In addition it required giving a
prominent role to Alexander’s mother, which would prove a liability later in his reign
when he tried and failed to take on a more adult role. In 220 there were also several li-
ving great-grandsons of Marcus Aurelius in their teens or twenties, in spite of efforts by
the new dynasty to eliminate or marginalize them.120 Alexander was not an inevitable
second choice, and the fact that Elagabalus’ enemies chose someone who so resembled
him is a sign that the young emperor had not reached any critical level of unpopularity
that made his regime unviable. On the contrary he still had many assets that it was use-
ful for his rival to replicate, not the least of these being his youth.
117 On the significance of the name, see Rösger (1988). It is noteworthy that in Dio’s narrative of the adop-
tion of Alexander (80.[79].18.4 [PP]), he makes Elagabalus explicitly reject victory-titles (Germanicus,
Parthicus etc.) as too military. Non-literary evidence confirms that Elagabalus never used such titles, or
imperatorial acclamations (see Kienast [1996] 172–3). Alexander never seems to use the former either
(Kienast [1996] 177–8), but was repeatedly acclaimed as imperator, and Mars is notably prominent in
the early coinage of his reign (per Rowan [2012] 233–4). Noreña (2011) 228, however, sees Elagabalus as
continuing the general Severan practice of increased emphasis on military virtues.
118 For the incident with the Praetorians, see HA Hel. 13.5–15.4, with Dio 80.[79].19.1–3 (PP-Xiph.). The
Kalends fiasco is mentioned only at HA Hel. 15.5–7.
119 It is only after Elagabalus’ death that inscriptions begin to refer to Alexander as Caracalla’s son (see Icks
[2012] 37). Hdn. 5.7.3 and Dio 80.[79].19.4 (Xiph.) both first mention the question relatively late in their
narrative, in connection with Alexander’s adoption and supersession of Elagabalus. In neither case does
the historian make it clear whether the fiction had been put forth at any earlier time. The HA, despite its
preoccupation with Elagabalus’ paternity, never mentions the idea of Alexander as Caracalla’s son, and
the KG tradition is similarly silent.
120 For details, see Pflaum (1961).
380 adam kemezis
Who exactly it was that supported Alexander can be reconstructed at best par-
tially. We have to rely on Dio and the HA, who themselves go back to pro-Alexan-
der accounts that were designed to obscure rather than convey the key facts. We are
constrained to use the few confirmed names in our sources as proxies for factional
struggles. The names surrounding Elagabalus and Soaemias at the end suggest that
they were no longer completely controlled by the original Emesene plotters. Of the
two figures who were initially most prominent, Gannys had been killed apparently be-
fore Elagabalus reached Rome, and Comazon had lost his position as city prefect.121 In-
stead, both the HA and Dio have Elagabalus being dominated politically and sexually
by a low-status member of the palace staff, although they differ on the man’s identity.
HA favors a “cook’s son” named Zoticus, while Dio names a “charioteer” called Hie-
rocles.122 Each man figures in both literary accounts, however, and Dio (80.[79].16.1–6
[EV]) describes an indirect but highly comical confrontation between the two men,
in which Hierocles drugs Zoticus to prevent him from satisfying the emperor sexually.
One gathers that in reality, one publicly visible figure in Elagabalus’ entourage repla-
ced another, and people noticed. Hierocles evidently remained with Elagabalus to the
end, and HA (Hel. 15.2–4) and Dio (80.[79].19.3 [Xiph.]) agree that he was a major
focus for the soldiers’ discontent. In Zoticus’ case, on the other hand, Dio notes sardo-
nically that the athlete “was hated by [Elagabalus] and for that reason was saved,” and
indeed Zoticus seems to be epigraphically attested after 222, at which time Comazon
also prospers again.123 It is tempting to see here a contest for power in which Comazon
and Zoticus represent those who lost control of Elagabalus and gravitated toward his
cousin. Perhaps neither man wielded real power himself, and the Hierocles-Zoticus
stories certainly read like posthumous slander and scapegoating, but they do suggest
that Alexander’s supporters had first been pushed off Elagabalus’ ship rather than de-
serting it as it sank.
Our main other clue consists of Dio’s account of those who died with Elagabalus.
These included both praetorian prefects and the city prefect (80.[79].21.1–2 [Xiph.]),
a fact that has not attracted the attention it should. If the opposition to Elagabalus at
the end was so widespread, how is it that none of these men was able to save himself
by joining it? It appears that, on the contrary, both praetorian prefects had stood by
Elagabalus during the first confrontation with the guard. That they continued to do so
121 For Comazon’s career, see n. 28 above. At 80.[79].21.2 (Xiph.), Dio compares Comazon to a mask put on
stage in comedies when no actors are present, implying that he was a nonentity used at the convenience
of more important players, but this is said with evident malice. He is not named at all by Herodian or the
HA, though he appears anonymously at HA Hel. 12.1, on which see Syme (1971) 141–2. Icks (2012) 40
proposes that he was an early supporter of Mamaea and Alexander and that his loss of office was a punish-
ment, but it could just as easily have been the other way round.
122 Hierocles gets a long introduction at Dio 80.[79].15 (EV), while the HA’s main reference to Zoticus is at
Hel. 10.2–5.
123 For the quotation, see Dio 80.[79].16.1 (EV). Zoticus is perhaps identical with the person of that name
attested in the post of nomenclator a censibus in the reign of Alexander (CIL 14.3553) and/or the dedicatee
of CIL 6.1094 from the reign of Gordian III. For a speculative reconstruction of his athletic career, see
Caldelli (2008).
suggests, first, that that initial attempt was less of a threat and was parried more deci-
sively than the HA account makes out.124 It also suggests that Alexander’s supporters
were unable or unwilling to co-opt these key figures, and instead eliminated them,
perhaps because taking over their posts had been the entire point of the exercise.
New prefects duly appear, although within a year the two praetorian prefects were
dead, and Ulpian had taken their place. Unfortunately, we cannot meaningfully iden-
tify any of these personalities other than Comazon; our sources for the later Seve-
ran era do not allow for the kind of prosopographical speculations that are possible
with the deaths of Domitian and Commodus. Elagabalus’ final city prefect is named
as Fulvius, his replacement was Comazon, and Alexander’s first praetorian prefects
were named Chrestus and Flavianus, but we know little or nothing else about either
one.125 The names of Elagabalus’ last praetorian prefects are uncertain, although one
of them can tentatively be linked to an inscription that suggests he had joined Elaga-
balus’ camp early, after finding an opportune moment to betray Macrinus.126 It was a
performance he was unable to repeat with his successor. The only other figure named
by Dio is a certain Aurelius Eubulus, an equestrian fiscal official who had become
hated for his rapacity and was likely more a convenient scapegoat than a key political
figure.127 Eubulus was a native of Emesa, and it may be that Alexander’s supporters
included fewer of the family’s original Syrian supporters, but the idea that Elagabalus’
appointments were radically unorthodox and that Alexander represents a revival of
senatorial prestige is exaggerated.128 If there was a real aberration in this respect, it was
Macrinus’ reign, whereas the restored Severan regime under Elagabalus and Alexan-
124 For the role of the prefects during the first confrontation with the Praetorians, see HA Hel. 14.7–15.3. I am
following the general assumption that these men are the same as the two prefects who die with Elagabalus
at Dio 80.[79].21.1 (Xiph.), though this is not explicitly attested, see Howe (1942) 75; Chastagnol (1970)
65.
125 On Chrestus and Flavianus, see Howe (1942) 75; Chastagnol (1970) 65. Chrestus was likely prefect of
Egypt in 219–20, and may still have been in that post (and in Egypt) at the time of Elagabalus’ assassina-
tion and his own promotion. Leunissen (1989) lists several consular Fulvii from this period, and does not
identify any of them with the prefect of 222.
126 On this character, known only as “… atus” due to the incomplete state of the inscription in question, see
Salway (1997).
127 See 80.[79].21.1 (EV) for this otherwise unknown figure, whom Dio calls τοὺς καθόλου λόγους
ἐπιτετραμμένος (= procurator summarum rationum, see Mason [1974] s. v. καθόλου).
128 The argument that the Alexander regime was notably generous in giving second consulships to older
consulars is found in Syme (1971) 157–62, see also Nasti (1995); Potter (2014) 162–3, though Davenport
(2011) suggests important reservations. One reason for the apparent contrast between the two regimes
is perhaps that Elagabalus’ reign was short and had few eponymous consulates to award. Of the eight
consulates (219–22) that were determined in his reign, three went to Elagabalus himself (219, 220, 222)
and one to Alexander (222). One went to Comazon (220), evidently as a reward for services during the
civil war. Another (219) was clearly a traditional gesture, a second consulship for Tineius Sacerdos (cos.
suff. 192). The remaining two, both for 221, were first consulships for characters who are otherwise poorly
attested but not elsewhere known as partisans of Elagabalus, namely C. Vettius Gratus Sabinianus and
M. Flavius Vitellius Seleucus. The former is listed by Leunissen (1989) 109 as a patrician. Syme (1971) 159
takes the latter’s cognomen to be evidence of Syrian origin. One might note that in Alexander’s case both
of his first two praetorian prefects and their successor Ulpian all died before having the chance to claim a
consulship that might have been their expected reward for their role in the coup of 222.
382 adam kemezis
der strove to satisfy all constituencies, including the Senate, with adequate symbolic
recognition, although Elagabalus was the more constrained by the need to reserve
consulships for new emperors and to reward supporters from a civil war.129
In short, the Coup of 222 is best seen as a conflict between two not dissimilar sub-
groups of the same multi-layered ruling elite. It is not that the losers were dragged
down by the flawed emperor they served. If anything, Elagabalus and Soaemias fell
because they were controlled by a less adept set of handlers than Alexander and Ma-
maea. The personalities of the boys and their mothers were not irrelevant, but they
were secondary, and they are nearly as irretrievable as those of the anonymous agents
around them. These were very young men whose public role was heavily scripted by
others, and whatever impact their personalities were able to make is obscured by layers
of political theater, retrospective propaganda and literary artistry. The apparent differ-
ences in their regimes, between Elagabalus’ exotic priestly role and Alexander’s studied
traditionalism, stem not from character but from their supporters’ need to generate
different stories to justify the different circumstances of their coming to power.
Conclusion: Narrative in Political Culture
The story as I have just reconstructed it could not be told that way, not even after Al-
exander’s death. It is not just a question of leaving out details that were embarrassing
to a particular regime. The pragmatic realities of youthful-figurehead rule were not
something that could be expressed within Roman political discourse, at least not in
the ideologically privileged medium of literary historiography or biography. What-
ever the facts, a Roman emperor in this period had to be seen and spoken of as a real
agent whose personal qualities were in some way responsible for the course of political
events, and rulers and ruled alike needed a story of the events of 221–2 that conformed
to that requirement.130 It is quite likely that on some other level Cassius Dio and his
fellows did acknowledge the reality of figurehead-emperor rule, but there were many
discursive contexts in which it had no place. If this seems odd or schizophrenic, it is
worth considering how often citizens of contemporary democracies will assign per-
sonal responsibility to individual leaders for events from political corruption to eco-
nomic ups and downs even to military success and failure. In more reflective contexts,
we readily acknowledge that the individuals have at most very limited control over the
events, but much of the time we still prefer to speak of “President X’s handling of the
economy” or “Prime Minister Y’s conduct of the war.” This may be because we find
individual personalities emotively easier to contemplate than impersonal forces, and
better subjects for everyday conversation. It may also be because we are ideologically
129 For the relative orthodoxy of Elagabalus’ appointments as opposed to Macrinus’, see esp. Salway (1997)
and (2006); Davenport (2012b).
130 For the ideological function of an emperor’s moral character within the Roman monarchy, see Noreña
(2009) and (2011) 32–100.
committed to the principle that politicians must personally live up to the responsibil-
ities assigned to them by laws and constitutions, and must be accountable, so that we
in turn can come up with a coherent response by exercising our votes.
Not just Alexander’s propaganda imperatives but all of Roman political culture
demanded a story in which Elagabalus’ fall was his own fault. And in the first instance
that story appears to have been about sex, and not about religion. It is not hard to see
why. The religious ceremonies of the reign had been public, and many people had
participated in them beyond Elagabalus and those of his associates who needed to
be tainted along with him.131 Many of the scapegoats of 222 were centered around the
palace, and it was an easy matter to invent scandal about what they did there behind
closed doors. It was much simpler to make Hierocles into Elagabalus’ husband than
his acolyte. It is certainly possible that such rumors had existed earlier in the reign.
Elagabalus’ marital history was irregular even leaving the Vestal out of account, and it
may be that in his visual media he had been presented as an object of sexual desire in
an unprecedented and ideologically risky way.132 Such things are very difficult to judge
across such a cultural gulf, but is noteworthy that Herodian, with his sensitivity to
visual images, twice (5.3.5; 5.6.10) takes time out from his basically hostile account to
compliment Elagabalus’ looks.
None of this is to say that the cult of Elagabal escaped hostile comment. Far from
it: the Black Stone itself was sent back to Emesa, and its images appear to have been
subjected to a kind of memory sanction unprecedented for a deity.133 Moreover, Al-
exander’s religious self-presentation placed a marked stress on Jupiter, to whom he
appears to have reconsecrated a temple on the Palatine that had been Elagabal’s, and
the idea of Elagabal’s being a rival of the traditional head of the Roman pantheon may
have emerged in retrospect as a reflection of the conflict between the two emperors.134
Elagabal fell along with his most prominent servant, but it was not, I suggest, that the
emperor failed because he was devoted to an unacceptable god, but rather that the
god became unacceptable because it had been the patron of an emperor who failed
for entirely different reasons. Alexander’s association with Jupiter and the general air
of cultural orthodoxy that surrounds his image should similarly be read as an effort to
131 Herodian (5.5.9) is explicit that the cult ceremonies were witnessed by the assembled Senate and eques-
trian order, on the model of theatrical performances. This may once again reflect a visual depiction of the
events, but given the prominence of sacerdotal imagery and language in the non-literary sources, it is hard
to see how the cult actions themselves would not be highly public. Dio notably avoids referring to the
public cult acts described by Herodian and claims (80.[79].11.3 [Xiph.]) that the barbaric chanting and
human sacrifice took place in secret and that Soaemias and, interestingly, Maesa participated in at least
the former. He also mentions (80.[79].11.1 [Xiph.]) that a number of people at Elagabalus’ court were
circumcised during his reign.
132 Leitmeir (2011) 20–1 notes specific features of Elagabalus’ portraiture as markers of physical beauty,
though without suggesting the political implications drawn here. On the question of marriage, one can
only note that none of the young emperors from Commodus to Gordian III had a lasting marriage or
produced a legitimate heir.
133 See Rowan (2012) 177–8.
134 On Alexander and Jupiter, see Rowan (2012) 219–33, also Manders (2004–05) on the contrast between
the two emperors’ use of religious imagery in coinage.
384 adam kemezis
differentiate himself from his predecessor, and to explain why the latter’s overthrow
was both necessary and salutary. After all, the two shared so many characteristics, and
even Dio is forced to admit that Elagabalus could, when he chose, put on a toga and
give a credible performance as an elite Roman male (80.[79].14.3 [EV]). The contrast
we see especially in Herodian between the outsider Elagabalus and the mainstream
Alexander is an effect that Alexander’s image-makers tried hard to create in retrospect.
Nonetheless, in most of its key cultural and religious aspects, this propaganda was
intended to justify the change of regime morally and not to explain it causally, and
when our literary sources pass on these stories, that is a distinction they consciously
preserve, for reasons that I wish in conclusion to explore.
Earlier in this article, I mentioned the possibility of eliding the distinction between
morality and causality, and reading Elagabalus’ fall as overdetermined. There is no
doubt that many ancient as well as modern readers did indeed read it that way, follow-
ing the logic of the HA Hel.’s preface. Nonetheless, such a reading obscures a critical
point about ancient historians’ portrayal of Roman politics and elite opinion. Dio, for
example, does want us to believe that from very early in the reign, he and people like
him considered Elagabalus completely unacceptable as an emperor. But Dio does not
suppose that emperors come and go based on whether he and people like him approve
of them.135 Quite the contrary. When Elagabalus does fall, the main agents (at least on
the explicit level) are the Praetorians, a highly unsympathetic group. Their displeasure
happens temporarily to be directed the same way as Dio’s, but their actions do not
bring any real sense of resolution to the moral tension created by Elagabalus’ rule,
or any sense that Dio’s narrative present under Alexander has reached a satisfactory
equilibrium. Similarly, Herodian views Elagabalus’ costume and performances as bi-
zarre, but his narrative abounds in bizarre imperial behavior, and the only corrective
he seems to envision is acts of chaotic violence by soldiers and courtiers with whom
he feels no more affinity than Dio does.
Both narrators claim the social and cultural standing necessary to make moral
judgements about emperors, but those judgements, and by implication the standing,
seem to be alienated from the actual political decision-making process. For both au-
thors this is part of a problem that goes well beyond this one reign. They are each in
different ways ideologically commited to a political system in which public expres-
sions of consensus did a lot of the work of formal rules or constitutional procedures in
our world. The emperor’s rule was justified because all the significant political consti
tuencies in the empire outwardly proclaimed their conviction that it was right and de-
sirable.136 This applied both to the larger Roman imperial order and, at least in theory,
135 The distinction is nicely caught by Andrade (2013) 323, who is arguing for the significance of religiously
inspired unpopularity, but only claims that it “prompted Rome’s senators to endorse his murder by Prae-
torian guards.”
136 Key treatments of consensus as a feature of Roman political culture include Ando (2000) on provincial
populations and Rowe (2002) and Lobur (2008) on the Augustan and Julio-Claudian periods. All these
works read expressions of consensus as acts of ideological communication and negotiation between ruler
and ruled. Also important, though from a different theoretical standpoint, is Flaig (1992).
to the individual who stood at its peak. Neither Dio nor Herodian nor their imagined
readers were naive enough to take such expressions at face value, but they did suppose
that it was in the general interest to act as if they were true, and that in a properly func-
tioning Roman state one could do this without absurdity.
But any politically realistic narrative in which a limited number of players act out
of self-interest, thus necessitating conflict and compromise, is alien to such an ideol-
ogy. When the Roman ruling class constructs such narratives about their own time,
it is often a sign of ideological dysfunction.137 Such narratives have to engage with the
current regime’s version of the past, which tends to speak in black-and-white terms of
the defeat of chaotic tyranny and the triumph of righteous good order. In times like
the mid-third-century, the elite often found it easy to believe in the defeat, less so in
the triumph. In the political culture of imperial Rome, it was risky or suicidal to write
literature that openly dissented from the official line, but there remained considerable
room to position oneself relative to it. This self-positioning often showed itself not in
the facts or opinions that one asserted, but rather in the structure and moral trajectory
of one’s story, and in the implicit picture one drew of oneself and one’s audience. In
the case of Elagabalus, we have three literary narratives, which all agree that he was
bad and his fall was good. They still, however, remain very different stories, each with
its own take on what the events really meant. That diversity in itself is a sign of elite
disaffection, and of the ideological problems inherent in child-emperor monarchy.
The tension between those problems and the pragmatic realities that produced figures
like Elagabalus, Alexander and Gordian III is the story behind the story of Roman
politics in the early third century.
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Historia 65, 2016/3, 348–390

The Fall of Elagabalus as Literary Narrative

namesake god (conventionally referred to as Elagabal), and his supposedly delusional

The Events of 218–22

The emperor Caracalla, son of Septimius Severus, was assassinated in Mesopotamia

This account is by no means without foundation. All aspects of it can be supported

17 For a survey of the methodological issues involved, see Potter (1999).

19 See Barnes (1972) and Bowersock (1975) on HA and Herodian respectively.

The Historia Augusta and Marius Maximus

61 See Kemezis (2014) 239–52.

very detailed, even novelistic, descriptions of scenes. On these occasions he ignores

Historical Narratives and Realities

Our modern narrative of Elagabalus, then, is supported by ancient literary sources,

76 This is more or less the conclusion of Scheithauer (1990) 356.

Elagabalus’ Reign: An Alternative Reconstruction

93 Dio 79.[78].31.3, with some restorations by Boissevain.

It is not a question of serious belief as against skepticism or conformity. Even where

Conclusion: Narrative in Political Culture

Alföldy, Géza (1971) “Herodians Person,” AncSoc 2: 204–33.

Barnes, Timothy D. (1972) “Ultimus Antoninorum,” in Bonner Historia-Augusta-Colloquium 1970, ed.

Kuhn-Chen, Barbara (2002) Geschichtskonzeptionen griechischer Historiker im 2. und 3. Jahrhundert

– (1961) “Les gendres de Marc-Aurèle,” Journal des Savants: 28–41.

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