Herodian and Elagabalus: Reassessing the Historical Record
The modern re-evaluation of Herodian’s treatment of Elagabalus encourages us to recognize that historical narratives are often products of their own time
In the study of ancient Roman history, the figure of the emperor Elagabalus (also known by the later, non-contemporary name Heliogabalus) poses intriguing questions about the reliability of historical sources. Much of what we know about Elagabalus derives from writers like Cassius Dio, Herodian, and the anonymous author(s) of the Historia Augusta. Modern scholars have frequently dismissed Herodian as a mere purveyor of rhetorical flourishes or labeled his work a “historical novel” (Geschichtsroman). Yet, closer investigation—particularly of Herodian’s account of the reign of Elagabalus—reveals a more nuanced picture. Far from being a wholesale fabricator, Herodian sometimes provides details that are independent of Cassius Dio and, in several cases, prove to be credible or at least plausible upon comparison with other evidence.
Below, we will explore Herodian’s historiographical aims, the modern critiques of his work, and the specific episodes from Elagabalus’s reign that shed fresh light on Herodian’s reliability.
The Ambition of Herodian’s History
Herodian wrote in the middle of the third century A.D., a period when the Roman Empire was experiencing intense social, political, and military upheavals. In crafting his eight-book History of the Roman Emperors (often called simply History), Herodian claimed to be an eyewitness (“writing of events which I saw and heard”) and adopted the lofty historiographical goals associated with Thucydides. Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian War, which emphasized rigorous inquiry (historia) and impartial reporting, had been held up for centuries as the gold standard of Greek historiography.
Yet, whereas Thucydides wrote about a conflict in the fifth century B.C., Herodian confronted a series of imperial reigns that were often characterized by sensational stories, palace intrigue, and moralizing anecdotes—elements that appealed to a “sophistic” age. Moreover, the rhetorical education of the time often encouraged ornamentation and dramatic scenes. Herodian, therefore, had to balance two impulses: the tradition of serious history, inspired by Thucydides, and the contemporary expectation of vivid narrative. This tension may explain the mixture of sober detail and rhetorical embroidery that we see in his text.
Modern scholars, however, have not been kind to Herodian. Frank Kolb categorizes Herodian’s work as a Geschichtsroman, while Geza Alfoldy calls it “more a kind of historical novel than a historical work.” T. D. Barnes finds in Herodian a “ubiquitous distaste for facts,” and Sir Ronald Syme dismisses him as “fluent and superficial.” Such judgments, repeated frequently, have formed a scholarly consensus. In turn, they have led many historians to consider Herodian unreliable, especially when his account diverges from the version of events offered by Cassius Dio.
Yet we must be cautious in wholesale condemnations. The question is not whether Herodian is always right (no ancient historian is) but whether he can, in certain circumstances, offer valuable or even unique insights. Generalizing from Herodian’s weaknesses during some reigns does not necessarily address his potential strengths elsewhere. The reign of Elagabalus is a compelling test case.
The Challenge of Elagabalus’s Reign
Elagabalus (reigned A.D. 218–222) was an extraordinary figure by any standard. Even the name by which he is widely known today is not contemporary: “Elagabalus” (or “Heliogabalus”) was the name of the solar deity worshiped at Emesa (in modern-day Syria), where the emperor served as a priest before coming to power. Ancient authors present him as a scandalous ruler who indulged in religious and sexual excesses. Traditional Roman religion was allegedly turned on its head; Elagabalus introduced new rites, married multiple times, and reportedly flouted deeply held social norms. Indeed, Cassius Dio’s account of Elagabalus is a “violent and hysterical diatribe,” as T. D. Barnes describes it. One result of this lurid portrait is that many historians have hesitated to examine Elagabalus’s reign in detail, perhaps due to the sensational nature of the subject matter.
Nonetheless, Dio was not the only contemporary writer. Herodian, too, devotes substantial space to Elagabalus’s ascent and rule. And the Historia Augusta (HA)—despite ongoing debates about its date, its authorship, and its reliability—also provides a vita (life) of Elagabalus. Barnes, in a significant reassessment, has argued that parts of the HA’s Vita Heliogabali are more trustworthy than once believed, suggesting that the HA for this particular life may have been based on a fairly reliable source, possibly Marius Maximus. This re-evaluation opens the door to re-examining Herodian on the same period. If the HA is better for Elagabalus than for other emperors and if Dio’s account is “violent and hysterical,” is it possible that Herodian—despite rhetorical elaboration—might sometimes preserve independent and accurate details about the emperor?
Assessing Herodian’s Reliability
Herodian’s account should not be approached as a single homogeneous text. Like many ancient historians, Herodian drew on multiple sources, personal experience, and general rumor. His portrayal of one reign can be more reliable than his portrayal of another. When it comes to the reign of Elagabalus, certain details in Herodian either diverge from or go beyond Cassius Dio and the HA. These divergences are not merely rhetorical flourishes; in fact, some reveal information that we can credibly trace to eyewitness or local knowledge, potentially placing Herodian in a position to observe or confirm events that Dio or the HA might have heard only secondhand.
1. The Names of the Emperor and His Cousin
One of the most intriguing points of contention involves the names of Elagabalus and Severus Alexander. Herodian states that Elagabalus was originally named Bassianus (after his mother Soaemias, herself called Julia Soaemias Bassiana) and that his cousin, the future emperor Severus Alexander, was named Alexianus (the son of Mamaea). In contrast, Cassius Dio gives these two young men different names: Elagabalus (the emperor) is called Avitus or Varius Avitus, and Alexander is called Bassianus (the father’s name given as Gessius, presumably referencing Gessius Marcianus).
Modern scholars often dismiss Herodian’s version on the grounds that Dio is usually the better historian. Yet no source other than Dio calls Elagabalus “Avitus,” and the HA itself uses the nomen “Varius” but never Avitus. Moreover, Herodian’s attribution of Bassianus to Elagabalus makes sense in light of the claim that Elagabalus was Caracalla’s illegitimate son (Caracalla himself was called Bassianus, following his maternal grandfather), and Soaemias was known to have the cognomen Bassiana. Herodian’s claim that Alexander’s original name was Alexianus also aligns nicely with the attested presence of the name Alexianus in the family (Julia Avita Mamaea’s marriage to Gessius Alexianus). On purely logical grounds, Herodian’s account may better explain the transition from “Alexianus” to “Alexander,” given how suggestive that name already was.
This discrepancy regarding names is not trivial. It speaks to each author’s sources and the contexts in which they wrote. Cassius Dio, who was in Asia for part of Elagabalus’s reign, might have received rumors or used documents that were inconsistent with what circulated in Rome or in the imperial household. Herodian, for his part, might have had direct access to the imperial court or official records—especially if, as he hints, he witnessed many of the events he describes. Thus, while modern scholarship leans toward Dio’s version on many points, the possibility that Herodian was correct about these names deserves consideration.
2. The Black Stone of Emesa
Elagabalus’s religious innovations centered on the worship of a meteorite—described as a conical, black stone—brought from Emesa to Rome. This stone represented the sun god Elagabal (or Heliogabal). Herodian is alone in describing the object’s shape in detail. He notes that it was rounded at the base and tapered to a point at the top, with small projections on the surface. This portrayal has been accepted as accurate by most modern scholars, who understand the object as a meteorite akin to the famous black stone venerated in the Ka‘aba at Mecca.
Dio mentions Elagabalus’s devotion to the Syrian sun god but does not dwell on the physical features of the stone. Likewise, the HA is aware of the emperor’s devotion to the deity, but it does not detail the stone’s shape. That Herodian supplies this specific information—on which later tradition and no other contemporary source elaborate—suggests first-hand knowledge, or at least contact with someone who had closely observed the relic. It is not a detail that emerges from rhetorical necessity; rather, it seems like a realistic, factual note.
3. The Emperor’s Enormous Painting
Herodian also recounts a massive painting of Elagabalus and his god that was purportedly sent ahead to Rome, presaging the emperor’s own arrival in the city. This anecdote is absent in Dio and only partially reflected in the HA. Were Herodian merely striving for rhetorical shock value, we might expect a fuller, more dramatic depiction of the painting’s colors, style, or contents. Instead, Herodian simply states that a huge image arrived, depicting both the young emperor and his god together, and was placed in the Senate—a detail that Herodian is uncertain about but attempts to convey.
Far from being a mere flight of fancy, this episode plausibly reflects Elagabalus’s desire to prepare Rome for the new religious order that would accompany his reign. The story fits the emperor’s consistent (and often unpopular) efforts to prioritize the cult of Elagabal, including physically relocating a foreign idol into the heart of the Empire. Herodian’s mention of the painting, while unique, resonates with the broader narrative of Elagabalus’s theocratic ambitions.
4. The Removal of the Palladium
Perhaps one of the more dramatic acts Herodian attributes to Elagabalus is his decision to remove the Palladium—an ancient and sacred statue of Athena (or Pallas) believed to protect the city of Troy and, by extension, Rome itself. According to Herodian, Elagabalus initially intended to marry his god to Pallas, thus symbolically uniting the old Roman protective deity with the new sun god from Syria. However, Elagabalus changed his mind and instead brought over the goddess Urania from Carthage to be the divine bride.
Cassius Dio, where extant, mentions the introduction of the Carthaginian goddess but apparently omits the scheme to wed Elagabal to Pallas. The HA, on the other hand, does refer to the Palladium being moved but does not locate it exactly as Herodian does. Both authors—Herodian and the HA—agree on an episode that is not in Dio, suggesting they each drew on traditions, rumors, or sources that Cassius Dio either discounted or did not know. Herodian’s error in specifying exactly where Pallas was taken does not undermine the core claim that Elagabalus contemplated this symbolic union. Again, this does not smack of pure invention; it aligns with Elagabalus’s penchant for theatrical religious gestures, corroborated in other evidence.
Comparison with Dio Cassius and the Historia Augusta
When weighing Herodian’s account against Dio’s or that of the HA, it is crucial to remember that all ancient sources can be uneven. The HA, for example, is known to be highly fanciful and polemical in certain sections, especially in its lives of minor emperors. Yet, as T. D. Barnes has demonstrated, the Vita Heliogabali contains numerous facts and details that align well with external evidence or plausible historical contexts. This has led Barnes to argue that the portion of the HA dealing with Elagabalus might derive from a more solid historical tradition—possibly from Marius Maximus, an early third-century historian whose works only survive in fragments, or from another author with direct knowledge of the period.
Dio, for his part, remains a principal source for the Severan period because he was a contemporary participant in Roman governance. Yet his coverage of Elagabalus is prone to overt moralizing and scornful asides. He characterizes the emperor with epithets such as “Sardanapallus” and “the Assyrian,” creating an image of an effeminate and decadent Eastern monarch who threatened Roman cultural values. While there is certainly a historical kernel in these anecdotes, Dio’s florid hostility can obscure straightforward reporting.
Herodian, despite rhetorical flaws, does not seem driven by the same moral panic. He offers a more measured (though still disapproving) depiction, refraining from piling on every lurid rumor or sexual innuendo. Where Dio revels in condemnation, Herodian appears more interested in describing what he saw and how he interpreted the emperor’s religious ambitions. This tonal difference could partially account for why Herodian’s text occasionally preserves details that Dio either glosses over or omits entirely.
A Closer Look at Specific Incidents
The Fate of Diadumenianus
One interesting discrepancy between the sources concerns Diadumenianus, the son of Macrinus, who briefly served as Caesar and then Augustus before being captured and executed in A.D. 218. Cassius Dio records that Macrinus proclaimed Diadumenianus Augustus at Apamea, and both Dio and Herodian acknowledge that the child was very young. The HA, however, depicts him as if he were a grown man by the time of his death. This highlights how the HA can veer into embellishment or confusion, perhaps conflating events or condensing timelines. Meanwhile, Herodian’s consistent portrayal of Diadumenianus as a pais (boy) at the time of his demise aligns better with Dio’s account and other evidence.
The Early Title of Severus Alexander
Another chronological slip in the HA places Severus Alexander’s elevation to Caesar immediately after Macrinus’s death in 218, a full three years earlier than the actual date (221). This glaring mistake raises questions about the ultimate sources of the HA’s narrative for the reigns of Macrinus and Elagabalus. Barnes proposes that such a discrepancy “might derive ultimately from Marius Maximus” and represent a contemporary invention. Yet it seems unlikely that a reputable historian like Maximus would make such a demonstrably false claim about a major event. A simpler explanation is that a reliable source (possibly Maximus) was corrupted or confused by another intermediary chronicle before it reached the HA.
This possibility underscores why it is precarious to assume direct dependency between these authors—whether the HA on Herodian or Herodian on Cassius Dio. Instead, each historian might have tapped shared or overlapping pools of information (public records, senatorial proceedings, eyewitness accounts). Then, each shaped that material to fit rhetorical, moralizing, or narrative goals.
Herodian’s Independent Value
Herodian’s description of Elagabalus’s extravagances and religious innovations is not beyond reproach. He can be dramatic, colorful, and moralistic. Nonetheless, comparing his account with those of Dio and the HA reveals that he:
- Preserves unique details (e.g., the shape of the black stone, the massive painting).
- Provides plausible local knowledge of Elagabalus’s original name, family ties, and early roles at Emesa.
- Exhibits occasional independence from Dio, rather than parroting Dio’s text or simply reworking it.
- Is not the direct source for the HA, nor is the HA necessarily reliant upon Herodian, indicating multiple traditions in play.
Even if Herodian is often overshadowed by Dio—whose reputation as a senator and historian is generally stronger—his testimony deserves careful scrutiny, especially in areas where he might have personal knowledge. For instance, Herodian may have spent time in the imperial administration (basilikai hyperesiai, “imperial services” or “court functions”) during Elagabalus’s reign. If so, he might have been well-placed to observe some of the events he describes, such as the shipping of the Emesan stone and the young emperor’s ceremonial activities.
Conclusion
The historical reputation of Elagabalus was shaped in late antiquity and remains controversial even today. His memory was influenced by sensational anecdotes and moralistic judgment. For modern readers, the question is not whether Elagabalus was indeed as flamboyant or scandalous as the ancient sources claim—he very well might have been—but how to assess the reliability of those sources in recounting the facts of his reign.
Herodian’s reputation has suffered a broad dismissal as a “superficial” or “unreliable” historian. While he undoubtedly falls short of Thucydides’ heights—indeed, almost every ancient historian might, in some respects—there are moments when Herodian provides details that appear genuine and do not merely reflect rhetorical or novelistic invention. In these instances, Herodian can be seen as a valuable, if cautious, resource.
The case of Elagabalus, in particular, demonstrates how generalizing judgments about Herodian’s inaccuracy can obscure the nuances of his account. If Herodian had significant personal exposure to court life in Rome or Emesa, his record of events like the black stone’s transport, the painting of the emperor, and the emperor’s attempts to wed Elagabal to Rome’s most sacred objects takes on heightened importance. Where Cassius Dio’s account of Elagabalus is vehemently condemnatory and the HA is at times contradictory, Herodian’s narrative occasionally emerges as an independent voice—one that, when carefully parsed, can enlarge our understanding of this tumultuous period.
Reassessing Herodian’s portrayal of Elagabalus reminds us that even “flawed” ancient sources can hold useful and even accurate details for historians. The methodological lesson is that each source must be evaluated on a case-by-case basis, balancing accusations of unreliability against specific points where it might preserve authentic information. In the end, Herodian’s ambition to write a work of history modeled on Thucydides was not entirely realized; yet his version of events in the reign of Elagabalus, far from being an empty fiction, may preserve glimpses of the truth that no other ancient writer records.
While modern scholarship will no doubt continue to refine the study of Elagabalus and the Severan period, Herodian’s text warrants re-examination rather than outright dismissal. If, as he states, he witnessed many of these events personally, it remains possible that he captured details that a more hostile or less well-informed observer—like Dio, in some respects—overlooked or glossed. Thanks to the renewed interest in the HA and other late antique sources, the time is ripe to give Herodian’s account the careful, critical scrutiny it deserves. Through such reevaluation, we glean a more rounded portrait of one of Rome’s most enigmatic emperors and the broader complexities of the third-century imperial court.
Sophie
Sophie
