“the lessons of Constantine’s story resonate more than ever. Modern narratives, disseminated through major media channels, often reflect the same biases, agendas, and selective storytelling as ancient histories.”
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The Shadows of Constantine: Fact, Fiction, and the Writing of History
by Beezone
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“Now that the whole empire had fallen into the hands of Constantine, he no longer concealed his evil disposition and vicious inclinations, but acted as he pleased, without controul. He indeed used the ancient worship of his country; though not so much out of honour or veneration as of necessity. Therefore he believed the soothsayers, who were expert in their art, as men who predicted the truth concerning all the great actions which he ever performed. But when he came to Rome, he was filled with pride and arrogance. He resolved to begin his impious actions at home. For he put to death his son Crispus, stiled (as I mentioned) Caesar, on suspicion of debauching his mother-in-law Fausta, without any regard to the ties of nature. And when his own mother Helena expressed much sorrow for this atrocity, lamenting the young man’s death with great bitterness, Constantine under pretence of comforting her, applied a remedy worse than the disease. For causing a bath to be heated to an extraordinary degree, he shut up Fausta in it, and a short time after took her out dead. Of which his conscience accusing him, as also of violating his oath, he went to the priests to be purified from his crimes. But they told him, that there was no kind of lustration that was sufficient to clear him of such enormities. A Spaniard, named Aegyptius, very familiar with the court-ladies, being at Rome, happened to fall into converse with Constantine, and assured him, that the Christian doctrine would teach him how to cleanse himself from all his offences, and that they who received it were immediately absolved from all their sins. Constantine had no sooner heard this than he easily believed what was told him, and forsaking the rites of his country, received those which Aegyptius offered him ; and for the first instance of his impiety, suspected the truth of divination.”
Zosimus – Historia Nova
Zosimus; also known by the Latin name Zosimus Historicus, i.e. “Zosimus the Historian;” was a Greek historian who lived in Constantinople during the reign of the Eastern Roman Emperor Anastasius I (491–518).
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istory is often likened to a tapestry, woven together from the threads of countless narratives. But what if some of those threads are frayed or fabricated? What if the vivid patterns we see are the designs of victors rather than an unvarnished portrayal of truth? Nowhere is this more apparent than in the tales surrounding Constantine the Great, particularly the alleged executions of his son Crispus and his wife Fausta. These stories, steeped in intrigue, betrayal, and tragedy, are as captivating as any Shakespearean drama. But as we peel back the layers, a troubling question arises: how much of this tale is fact, and how much is the fiction of history?
In 326 CE, Crispus, Constantine’s eldest son, met a sudden and violent end. Shortly thereafter, Fausta, Constantine’s wife, was reportedly suffocated in a steaming bath. The reasons for these shocking events remain murky, with historical accounts offering a bewildering array of motives: accusations of adultery, political rivalry, or palace intrigue. Yet these very sources—Eusebius, Zosimus (5th century CE), Theophanes (c. 758–817 CE), and others—present a fragmented and often contradictory narrative. This patchwork of hearsay and speculation leaves us grappling with uncertainty.
Eusebius of Caesarea (c. 260–340 CE), Constantine’s contemporary and staunch ally, is conspicuously silent on the matter. In his Life of Constantine, he paints the emperor as a saintly figure, omitting any mention of familial bloodshed. This silence is deafening, suggesting either a deliberate cover-up or a desire to preserve Constantine’s image as the champion of Christianity. In stark contrast, Zosimus (5th century CE), a pagan historian writing in the 5th century, spares no effort in casting Constantine as impulsive and tyrannical. He attributes Crispus’ death to Fausta’s accusation of adultery and her subsequent execution to Constantine’s realization of her treachery. But can we trust Zosimus (5th century CE), whose disdain for Constantine’s Christian legacy is evident throughout his work?
Later sources like Theophanes (c. 758–817 CE) and John Zonaras (12th century CE) add their own layers of interpretation, blending earlier accounts with legend and conjecture. By the time we reach the medieval chronicles, the story has taken on a life of its own, reshaped to fit the moral and political agendas of subsequent generations. Each retelling embellishes the narrative, transforming it into a cautionary tale of ambition and betrayal or a testament to divine justice. The result is a vivid but unreliable portrait, a mosaic of truth and fiction.
This raises a crucial point: history, as we know it, is often written by the winners. Constantine’s reign marked a turning point in the Roman Empire, with Christianity emerging as the dominant faith. As the victor in this monumental cultural and religious shift, Constantine’s story was curated to serve the new order. His triumphs were celebrated, his flaws minimized, and his controversies shrouded in ambiguity. The alleged executions of Crispus and Fausta, though acknowledged, became footnotes in a grander narrative of divine providence and imperial glory.
“Consider the source,” the old adage goes, and it is a motto worth adopting in our exploration of history. The sources that survive are not impartial witnesses; they are products of their time, shaped by the biases, beliefs, and agendas of their authors. Eusebius wrote to glorify Constantine and Christianity. Zosimus (5th century CE) wrote to critique them. Later chroniclers sought to moralize the events for their own audiences. In each case, the story of Crispus and Fausta is less about what happened and more about who controlled the narrative.
This does not mean we should dismiss history as mere fiction. Rather, it invites us to approach historical accounts with a critical eye, recognizing that they are interpretations rather than immutable truths. The tale of Constantine’s alleged crimes is a microcosm of this larger reality. It is a story that resonates not because it is incontrovertibly true, but because it reflects the complexities of human ambition, power, and morality—themes that transcend time and place.
As we navigate the shadows of Constantine’s reign, we are reminded that history is not a fixed record but a living dialogue. Each generation revisits the past, reinterpreting it in light of new evidence, perspectives, and priorities. The challenge is to discern the underlying patterns, to sift fact from fiction, and to remain vigilant against the seductive simplicity of a single narrative. In doing so, we honor not only the past but also the enduring quest for truth in a world of competing stories.
A Modern Parallel and Moral: Reader Beware
In today’s world, the lessons of Constantine’s story resonate more than ever. Modern narratives, disseminated through major media channels, often reflect the same biases, agendas, and selective storytelling as ancient histories. Competing voices, whether political or conspiratorial, vie for dominance, shaping public opinion with stories that are compelling but not always truthful. Just as the accounts of Crispus and Fausta’s deaths were tailored to fit the needs of their times, so too are today’s headlines crafted to serve specific agendas.
The moral of this story is clear: reader beware. To accept any narrative at face value, whether ancient or modern, is to risk becoming a pawn in someone else’s game. Healthy skepticism is not cynicism; it is the foundation of informed thought. By questioning the sources, examining the motives, and seeking out multiple perspectives, we equip ourselves to discern truth from fiction in a world awash with competing realities.
As we sift through the stories of the past and the present, let us remember that history—and indeed reality—is not a monologue but a conversation. The power to question, to doubt, and to think critically is our greatest defense against the seductive allure of a single, unquestioned narrative. In the end, the truth is rarely simple, but it is always worth the effort to seek.