Attila:The Scourge of God

APPENDIX I

DID ATTILA REALLY DESERVE HIS SOUBRIQUET ‘THE SCOURGE OF GOD’?

The received understanding of Attila’s soubriquet Flagellum Dei, the Scourge of God, is of a ruthless barbarian leader heading a horde of bloodthirsty savages on a rampage through the Roman Empire. There is an undeniable element of truth in that image. To contemporaries, however, the epithet had a somewhat different meaning. Attila was seen as just retribution sent by God to chastise the Christian Romans for some (unspecified) collective fault or omission. Catastrophes, whether caused by man or nature, then tended to be regarded as the consequence of divine disapproval. Which perhaps lends a fresh perspective to the interpretation of Attila’s nickname. Had Attila been Christian instead of heathen, would he still have been seen as the Scourge of God? It’s a moot point. The Vandal monarch Gaiseric, who was Christian, and whose tally of destruction and atrocities was not so very inferior to Attila’s, was never known by anything other than his own name.

Judged by the standards of the ancient world, Attila may not have been quite the monster he appears to us. ‘Greatness’ in that world tended to be equated with scale of conquest, large numbers of enemy killed or enslaved being a bonus — vide Alexander ‘the Great’, Pompey ‘the Great’, et al. One condition of a Roman general’s being awarded a triumph was that enemy dead should number not less than five thousand. (Julius Caesar boasted of having slaughtered a million Gauls.) By this yardstick, Attila would certainly qualify as a legitimate contender for the palm of greatness! ‘Attila the Great’ — it sounds preposterous, but only perhaps because he left no legacy. Had the vast empire he built up endured, and not disintegrated immediately following his death, his reputation might today be very different. History, after all, is written by the winners.

On a personal level, Attila compares favourably with many supposedly ‘civilized’ Greeks and Romans. His legendary simplicity of dress and lifestyle (skin garments, wooden cup and platter) was in refreshing contrast to the ostentatious pomp and luxury of the imperial courts of Constantinople and Ravenna. Although his punishments could be cruel (crucifixion and impalement were favourite forms), he could — as befits magnanimous monarchs who are above acts of petty revenge — display mercy and forgiveness. For example, when Bigilas/Vigilius, the chief agent in the bungled conspiracy to assassinate Attila, was brought before him, the King disdained to punish the man as being so insignificant as to constitute no threat. This surely displays a certain nobility of character, which contrasts with the jealous vindictiveness of Valentinian III, who slew his chief general, Aetius, with his own hand, or the rancorous spite shown by the Empress Eudoxia in hounding the saintly John Chrysostom to his death.

Attila’s onslaught on first the Eastern then the Western Roman Empire, has created an indelible image of a power-hungry megalomaniac. The truth is that he had little choice. By inheriting the Hun throne, he became shackled to a juggernaut. The only way to hold the Hun nation together, and maintain personal power by rewarding his followers, was to wage war — incessant, successful war. Failure to maintain that momentum would have resulted in his swift replacement (and almost certain liquidation). So, by a (very) generous re-interpretation of history, Attila could be portrayed more as a man of his time and the prisoner of circumstances, than as the Scourge of God.