HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY,
FROM THE BIRTH OF CHRIST
TO THE ABOLITION OF PAGANISM IN THE ROMAN EMPIRE.
BY
THE REV. H. H. MILMAN,
VOL.
III.
CONTENTS OF THE THIRD VOLUME.
CHAPTER V.
CHRISTIANITY UNDER THE SONS OF CONSTANTINE.
Page
Accession of the Sons of Constantine * - 1
Religious Differences of the two surviving Sons
■* -2
Moral more slow than Religious Revolution * -4
Athanasius - - - - > 7
Restoration of Athanasius to Alexandria (a. d. 338) - 9
Council at Antioch (a. d. 341.) - - - 9
Athanasius flies to Rome - - - - 11
Usurpation of Gregory - - - - 11
Bloody Quarrel at Constantinople - - - 12
Effects of the Trinitarian Controversy in the West - 13
Athanasius at Rome - - - - 14
Julius, Bishop of Rome - - - 14
Synod at Rome — at Milan (a. d. 343.) - - 15
Council of Sardica (a.
d. 345, 346.) - - - 15
Rival Council at Philippopolis - - >16
Reconciliation of Constantius with Athanasius (a. d.
349.) 16
Persian War' - . - 18
Death of Constans - - - - 18
War with Magnentius (a.
d. 351.) - - - 18
Battle of Mursa - _ _ - 19 Paul deposed
from the Bishopric of Constantinople — Ma-
cedonius re-instated - - - - 20
Councils of Arles and Milan - - - 20
Persecution of Liberius, Bishop of Rome - . 20
A 3
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New Charges against Athanasius - - |
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Page 21 |
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Council of Milan ... - |
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22 |
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Fall of Liberius - - - - - |
- |
24 |
|
ofHosius - - - - |
_ |
25 |
|
Reception of Constantius at Rome - - |
- |
25 |
|
Orders to remove Athanasius - - |
- |
26 |
|
Tumult in the Church of Alexandria - |
_ |
27 |
|
George of Cappadocia ... |
- |
28 |
|
Escape and Retreat of Athanasius - - |
- |
30 |
|
Hilary of Poitiers - - - |
- |
32 |
|
Lucifer of Cagliari - - - - |
- |
32 |
|
Mutual Accusations of Cruelty - - - |
- |
35 |
|
Athanasius as a Writer - - - |
- |
38 |
|
Necessity of Creeds during the succeeding
Centuries |
- |
40 |
|
Influence of the Athanasian Controversy on the
Growth of |
|
|
|
the Papal Power ... |
- |
40 |
|
Superiority of Arianism ... |
- |
42 |
|
Heresy of Aetius - - - |
- |
43 |
|
of Macedonius ... |
- |
44 |
|
Council of Rimini ... - |
- |
45 |
CHAPTER VI.
JULIAN.
Short Reign of Julian (a. d. 361—363.)
H is Character - -
His Religion - - -
Unfavourable State of Christianity Julian’s
Education - -
Intercourse with the Philosophers Conduct of
Constantius towards him Julian at Athens - - -
initiated at Eleusis - -
Julian’s Elevation to the rank of Ctesar Death of
Constantius - -
Conduct of Julian - - -
Restoration of Paganism - *
- 50
- 51
- 53
- 54
- 50
- 58
- 60 - 62
- 63
- 64
- 64
- 65
- 68
Page
Julian’s new Priesthood - - - -72
charitable Institutions imitated from Christianity - 73
Ritual ... - -74
Respect for Temples - - - - 74-
Plan of Religious Instruction - - 75
animal Sacrifices - - - 75
Philosophers - - - - - -77
Maximus - - - - - -78
Julian’s Toleration - - - - - 80
sarcastic Tone - - - - - 81
Taunts of the Christians’ Professions of Poverty - 82
Withdrawal of their Privileges - - - 82
Exclusion of them from public Education - - 82
Education of the higher Classes - • - 83
Arts of Julian to undermine Christianity - - 86
Persecutions - - - - - 86
Restoration of Temples - - - - 88
Julian contends on ill-chosen Ground - - - 88
Constantinople — Antioch - - - - 89
Julian at Antioch - - - - - 90
Temple on Mount Casius. — Grove of Daphne - 91
Remains of Babylas - - - - 92
Fire in the new-built Temple - - - 93
Alexandria - - - - - 93
George, the Arian Bishop - - - - 94
His Death - - - * - 95
Athanasius - - - - - - 96
Death of Mark of Arethusa - - - 98
Julian courts the Jews - - - - 98
determines to rebuild the Temple at Jerusalem - 99
Writings of Julian - - *- - 102
His Work against Christianity - - - 103
The “Misopogon” - - - - 104
Julian sets forth on his Persian Expedition - - 105
Death of Julian - - - - - 105
Probable Results of his Conflict with Christianity - 107
A 4<
CHAPTER VII.
VALENTINIAN AND VALENS.
Page
Lamentations of the Pagans at the Death of Julian - 109
Reign of Jovian - - - - - 110
Valentinian and Valens - - - - 110
Toleration of Valentinian (a. d. 364.) - - - 111
Laws of Valentinian - - - - 112
Prosecutions for Magic - - - - 112
Cruelty of Valentinian - - - - 114
Trials in Rome before Maximin - - - 115
Connection of these crimes with Paganism - - 117
Rebellion of Procopius in the East (a. d. 365.) - - 119
State of Christianity in the East - - - 124
Interview of Valens with Basil - - - - 125
Effects of Christianity in mitigating the Evils of
Barbarism 127
Influence of the Clergy - - - - 129
Their Importance in the new State of Things - - 130
Influence of Christianity on Literature - - 131
on Language - - - 132
on the Municipal Institutions - 132
on general Habits - - 134
Early Christianity among the Goths - - 135
Ulphilas’s Version of the Scriptures - - - 136
Arianism of the Goths - - - - 138
CHAPTER VIII.
THEODOSIUS.
ABOLITtON OF PAGANISM.
Hostility of Theodosius to Paganism - - 143
Alienation of the Revenue of the Temples - - 147
Oration ofLibanius - - - . ]4,$
Syrian Temples destroyed - - - J4g
Temple of Serapis, at Alexandria - - - 150
Worship of Serapis - - - „ ^ 151
Statue of Serapis - - - - - 152
The first Attacks on Paganism - - - 153
Olympus, the Philosopher - - - 154?
War in the City - - - - - 154-
Flight of Olympus - - - - 155
Rescript of Theodosius - - - - 155
The Temple assailed - - - - 156
The Statue - - - - -
157
Paganism at Rome - - - - - 162
Gratian Emperor (a. d. 367.) - - - - 165 refuses the Pontificate ... 1(55
Statue of Victory _ - - - 166
Apology of Symmachus - - - - 169
Reply of Ambrose - - - - 171
Murder of Valentinian (a. d. 392.) - - - 173
Accession of Eugenius - - - - 173
Law of Honorius - - - - - 179
Capture of Rome by Alaric - - - 181
CHAPTER IX.
THEODOSIUS. TRIUMPH
OF TRINITARIANfSM. THE
GREAT PRELATES OF THE EAST.
Orthodoxy of Theodosius - - - - J 85
Laws against Heretics (a. d. 380.) - - - 185 All the more powerful ecclesiastical
Writers favourable to
Trinitarianism - - - -
186'
Theophilus of Alexandria, Bishop (a. d. 385—4-12.) - 188
St. Ephrem, the Syrian - - - - 190
Cappadocia - - ^ - -
193
St. Basil - - - .. - _
194.
Gregory of Nazianzum - - - 196
11
is Poems - - - - - 197 Characteristic Difference between Greek and Christian
Poetry - - - • -
197
Value of Gregory’s Poems - - - - 198
Gregory, Bishop of Sasima (a. d. 372.) * - 199
Gregory, Bishop of Constantinople (a. d. 339—379.) - 200 Chrysostom ------ 205
his Life - - - -
206 Riots in Antioch - . - - - 211
Intercession of Flavianus for the Rioters - -
213 Sentence of Theodosius - - - 214*
Issue of the interview of Flavianus with the Emperor - 216 Chrysostom, Bishop of Constantinople (a. d. 398.) - 217
Difference of the Sacerdotal Power in Rome and Constantinople - - - - - -218 Political Difficulties of Chrysostom
- - - 220 Interference of the Clergy in
secular Affairs - - 220 Eutropius the
Eunuch - - - - 222 Right of Asylum - -
- - - 222 Chrysostom saves the Life of
Eutropius - - 224?
is governed by his Deacon Serapion - 225
Theophilus of Alexandria - - - - 227
Council of the Oak - - - - - 228
Condemnation of Chrysostom - - - 230
He leaves Constantinople - - - - 231
Earthquake - - - - - -
231
Return of Chrysostom - - - - 232
Statue of the Empress ... . 234
Second Condemnation of Chrysostom - - 234
Tumults in the Church (a. d. 404.) - - - 235
Chrysostom surrenders - - - - 236
His Seclusion and Death - - - 237
His Remains transported to Constantinople «• - 238
CHAPTER X.
THE GREAT PRELATES OF THE WEST.
Ambrose, Archbishop of Milan - - - 241
his Youth - - - -
242
is made Bishop (a.
d. 374.) - - - 243
an Advocate of Celibacy - - - 244
his Redemption of Captives - - 245
Ambrose disputes with the Empress Justina - - 24-7
compels the Emperor to yield - - 249
his second Embassy to the Usurper Maximus - 254-
Accession of Theodosius (a. d. 338.) - - 255
Jewish Synagogue destroyed - - - - 256
Conduct of Ambrose ... . 256
Massacre of Thessalonica (a. d. 390.) - - 258
First Capital Punishment for Religion (a. d. 385.) - 260
Priscillian and his Followers - - - 261
Martin of Tours - - - - - 261
Death of Valentinian (a. d. 392.) - - - 262
of Theodosius (a. d. 395.) - - - 262
of Ambrose (a. d. 397.) - - - - 262
Augustine - - - - -
263
Augustinian Theology - - - - - 264?
Augustine’s Baptism (a. d. 387.) - - - 276
controversial Writings - - - 276
“ City of God ” - - - - 277
Life and Character - - - 282
CHAPTER XI.
JEROME* THE
MONASTIC SYSTEM.
Monachism - - - - - -
289
Ccenobitism - - - - -
290
Origin of Monachism - * - - - 291
Celibacy - - - - .
292
Causes which tended to promote Monachism - . 294<
Antony . 297
Self-torture 301
Influence of Antony - . . _ 303
Ccenobitic Establishments - - . . 305
Dangers of Ccenobitism - - - . 307
Bigotry - - - - - -
307
Fanaticism - ... .
308
Ignorance - _ - _ . .
309
General Effects of Monachism on Christianity - 311
on Political Affairs »
312
Some of its Advantages - - - - 314?
Effect on the Maintenance of Christianity - - 316
Influence on the Clergy - - - - 319
in promoting Celibacy - - - 320
Life of Jerome - - -
- 323
Trials in his Retreat - - - - 324?
His Return to Rome - - - - 326
Morality of the Roman Clergy - - - 327
Jerome’s Influence over the Females - - - 328
Character of Roman Females - - - 329
Paula - - - - -
- 330
Controversies of Jerome - - - - 331
Retreat to Palestine - - - - 332
Jovinian and Vigilantius - - * ‘ 332
CHAPTER I.
THE tlOMAN EMPIRE UNDER CHRISTIANITY.
General Survey of the Change effected by
Christianity - 341
Sources of Information - - - - 342
Theodosian Code * - - - 342
Christian Writers - - - - - 342 Slavery ----- 343
Manners of the Court - - - - 345
Government of Eunuchs - - - 345
The Emperor - - - - -
346
The Aristocracy - - - - - 348
Their Manners - - - - - - 349
The Females - - - - -
350
Gradual Development of the Hierarchical Power - 353
Expulsion or Excommunication * - - 358
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Page |
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Increase of Priestly Civil Influence - - |
-
359 |
|
The Bishop in the early Community - |
- - 360 |
|
Dissensions in the Church Cause of Increase of
Sacerdotal |
|
|
Power - - _ _ _ |
-
360 |
|
Language of the Old Testament - - |
-
363 |
|
Clergy and Laity - - _ |
- 363 |
|
Change in the Mode of electing the Priesthood |
-
- 366 |
|
Metropolitan Bishops - - - |
-
367 |
|
Formation of the Diocese - - |
-
367 |
|
Chorepiscopi - _ - _ |
'
- 368 |
|
Archbishops and Patriarchs - - |
-
369 |
|
Church of Rome - - - . |
- 370 |
|
New sacred Offices - - - |
- 372 |
|
Unity of the Church - - - |
- 373 |
|
General Councils - - - _ |
- 373 |
|
Increase in Pomp - - - |
- - 375 |
|
Wealth of the Clergy - - - |
-
378 |
|
Uses to which it was applied - - |
-
- 378 |
|
Law of Constantine empowering the Church to |
receive |
|
Bequests - - - - |
-
- 380 |
|
Restrictive Edict of Valentinian - - |
-
380 |
|
Pope Damasus - - - - |
- 380 |
|
Application of Church Wealth - - |
-
382 |
|
Celibacy of the Clergy - - _ |
-
383 |
|
Married Bishops and Clergy - - |
- 388 |
|
Moral Consequences of Celibacy - - |
- 389 |
|
Mulieres subintroductae - - - |
- 389 |
|
Union of Church and State - - - |
- 391 |
|
The State under Ecclesiastical Discipline - |
-
396 |
|
Divorce - - - - |
-
398 |
|
Wills - .... |
-
400 |
|
Penitential Discipline - - _ |
-
401 |
|
Excommunication - - - |
- 404 |
|
Synesius - - - - .. |
- 405 |
|
Ecclesiastical Censures chiefly confined to Heresy |
- 408 |
|
executed by the State |
- 4-08 |
|
Civil Punishment for Ecclesiastical Offences ■ |
- - 409 |
|
Objects of the great Defenders of the Hierarchical
Power 411 |
|
|
Dignity and Advantages of the Clerical Station |
- - 413 |
|
General Influence of the Clergy - - |
-
414 |
CHAPTER II.
PUBLIC SPECTACLES.
Page
Religious Ceremonial - - - - 418
Divisions of the Church - - - - 420
The Porch.— The Penitents - - - - 421
The Narthex - - - -
- 422
The Preacher - - -
- 423
Secrecy of the Sacraments . - - - 425
Baptism .... -
- 427
Eucharist - - - -
- - 428
Christian Funerals - - - - - 431
Worship of the Martyrs - - - - 433
Festivals - - - -
- - 435
Profane Spectacles 441
Heathen Calendar - - - - - 442
Theoretica - - - - -
- 443
Four Kinds of Spectacles ... - 447
Gymnastic Games - - -
- 448
Tragedy and Comedy - - - - 448
Mimes - - - - -
- 450
Pantomimes - - - -
- 451
Amphitheatre. — Gladiatorial Shows - - 455
The Circus Chariot
Races - - - 460
CHAPTER III.
CHRISTIAN LITERATURE.
Fate of Greek Literature and Language - - 463
Roman Literature and Language - - 463
Christian Literature - - - - 464
Poetry - - - -
- 466
Sacred Writings .... -
- 467
Legends - - - -- -471
Spurious Gospels - - - - - 472
Lives of Saints - - - - - 473
History - - - - -
474-
Apologies - - - - -
476
Hermeneutics - - - - -
477
Expositions of Faith - - - - - 478
Polemical Writings - - - - - 4*78
Christian Oratory - - - - - 479
CHAPTER IV.
CHRISTIANITY AND THE FINE ARTS.
Fine Arts - - - _ -
486 Architecture - - - - - 488
Windows - - - - -
489 Subdivisions of the Church ... 490
Sculpture - - - - - -
493
Symbolism - - - - - _
498
Person of the Saviour - - - _ 502 Earliest Images Gnostic - .... 505
Earliest Portraits of the Saviour - - - 507
The Father rarely represented - - - 508
The Virgin - - - - -
509
The Apostles - - - - -512
Martyrdom not represented - - - - 513
The Crucifix - - - - -515
Paintings at Nola - - - - - 516
Music - - - - -
518
CHAPTER V.
CONCLUSION.
Christian Theology of the Period - - - 527 Separation of Christian Faith and
Christian Morals never
complete - . _ .
528
Christian Feelings never extinct - - - 529
Mythic Age of Christianity - - -531
Page
- 532
- 533
- 536
- 537
- 539
- 541
- 544-
ERRATA.
Page
399. line 9 of note, for “— ” read “he.” 537. line 5. for “ though ” read “ through.”
Faith - - -
Imaginative State of the Human Mind Religious
Impressions -
Effect on Natural Philosophy -
Polytheistic Form of Christianity Worship of Saints
and Angels -
of the Virgin -
0 f, '^v 'V ft
OF
CHAPTER V.
CHRISTIANITY UNDER THE SONS OF CONSTANTINE.
If
Christianity was making such rapid progress in chap.
the conquest of the world, the world was making t ' , fearful reprisals
on Christianity. By enlisting new Accession
. , . , ; . . of
the sons
passions and
interests m its cause, religion surren- ofConstan- dered itself to an
inseparable fellowship with those tine’ passions and interests. The
more it mingles with the tide of human affairs, the more turbid becomes the
stream of Christian history. In the intoxication of power, the Christian, like
ordinary men, forgot his original character ; and the religion of Jesus,
instead of diffusing peace and happiness through society, might, to the
superficial observer of human affairs, seem introduced only as a new element of
discord and misery into the society of man.
The Christian
emperor dies ; he is succeeded by his sons, educated in the faith of the
Gospel.
The first act
of the new reign is the murder of one of the brothers, and of the nephews of
the deceased sovereign, who were guilty of being named in the
VOL. III. B
BOOK
111.
Religious
differences of the two surviving sons.
will of Constantine
as joint heirs to the empire. This act, indeed, was that of a ferocious
soldiery, though the memory of Constantius is not free from the suspicion, at
least of connivance in these bloody deeds. Christianity appears only in a favourable
light as interposing between the assassins and their victim. Marcus, Bishop of
Arethusa, saved Julian from his enemies : the future apostate was concealed
under the altar of the church. Yet, on the accession of the sons of
Constantine, to the causes of fraternal animosity usual 011 the division of a
kingdom between several brothers, was added that of religious hostility. The
two Emperors (for they were speedily reduced to two) placed themselves at the
head of the two contending parties in Christianity. The weak and voluptuous
Constans adhered with inflexible firmness to the cause of Athanasius ; the no
less weak and tyrannical Constantius, to that of Arianism. The East was
arrayed against the West. At Rome, at Alexandria, at Sardica, and, afterwards,
at Arles and Milan, Athanasius was triumphantly acquitted; at Antioch, at
Philippopolis, and finally at Rimini, he was condemned with almost equal
unanimity. Even within the church itself, the distribution of the superior
dignities became an object of fatal ambition and strife. The streets of
Alexandria and of Constantinople were deluged with blood by the partisans of
rival bishops. In the latter, an officer of high distinction, sent by the
Emperor to quell the tumult, was slain, and his body treated with the utmost indignity
by the infuriated populace.
To dissemble
or to disguise these melancholy chap. facts,
is alike inconsistent with Christian truth and . . wisdom. In some degree they
are accounted for by the proverbial reproach against history, that it is the
record of human folly and crime; and history, when the world became impregnated
with Christianity, did not at once assume a higher office. In fact, it extends
its view only over the surface of society, below which, in general, lie human
virtue and happiness. This would be especially the case with regard to
Christianity, whether it withdrew from the sight of man, according to the
monastic interpretation of its precepts, into solitary communion with the
Deity, or, in its more genuine spirit, was content with exercising its
humanising influence in the more remote and obscure quarters of the general
social system.
Even the
annals of the church take little notice of those cities where the Christian
episcopate passed calmly down through a succession of pious and beneficent
prelates, who lived and died in the undisturbed attachment and veneration of
their Christian disciples, and respected by the hostile Pagans ; men whose
noiseless course of beneficence was constantly diminishing the mass of human
misery, and improving the social, the moral, as well as the religious condition
of mankind. But an election contested with violence, or a feud which divided a
city into hostile parties, arrested the general attention, and was perpetuated
in the records, at first of the church, afterwards of the empire.
b 2
rook But, in
fact, the theological opinions of Christ I1L tianity
naturally made more rapid progress than Moral more its moral influence. The
former had only to over- ren'rioiTs'1 power the resistance of a
religion which had already revolution. j0S{- jts ]10]cl
upon the mind, or a philosophy too speculative for ordinary understandings, and
too unsatisfactory for the more curious and enquiring ; it had only to enter,
as it were, into a vacant place in the mind of man. But the moral influence had
to contest, not only with the natural dispositions of man, but with the
barbarism and depraved manners of ages. While, then, the religion of the world
underwent a total change ; the church rose on the ruins of the temple, and the
pontifical establishment of Paganism became gradually extinct, or suffered
violent suppression ; the moral revolution was far more slow and far less
complete. With a large portion of mankind, it must be admitted that the
religion itself was Paganism under another form and with different appellations
; with another part, it was the religion passively received, without any change
in the moral sentiments or habits ; with a third, and, perhaps, the more
considerable part, there was a transfer of the passions and the intellectual
activity to a new cause.* They were completely identified with Christianity,
and to a certain degree actuated by its principles, but they did not apprehend
the beautiful harmony which subsists
* “ If,” said the dying Bishop of man versed in the affairs of the
Constantinople,
“ you would have world, and able to
maintain the
for
my successor a man who would interests of
the religion, your suf-
edify
you by the example of his frages
must be given to Macedo-
life,
and improve you by the purity nius.” Socr.
of his precepts, choose Paul; if a
between its
doctrines and its moral perfection. Its chap.
dogmatic purity was the sole engrossing subject; , v’ the
unity of doctrine superseded and obscured all other considerations, even of
that sublimer unity of principles and effects, of the loftiest views of the
divine nature, with the purest conceptions of human virtue. Faith not only
overpowered, but discarded from her fellowship, Love and Peace. Every where there
was exaggeration of one of the constituent elements of Christianity; that
exaggeration which is the inevitable consequence of a strong impulse upon the
human mind. Wherever men feel strongly, they act violently. The more speculative
Christians, therefore, who were more inclined, in the deep and somewhat
selfish solicitude for their own salvation, to isolate themselves from the
infected mass of mankind, pressed into the extreme of asceticism ; the more
practical, who were earnest in the desire of disseminating the blessings of
religion throughout society, scrupled little to press into their service
whatever might advance their cause. With both extremes, the dogmatical part of
the religion predominated. The monkish believer imposed the same severity upon
the aberrations of the mind as upon the appetites of the body ; and, in
general, those who are severe to themselves, are both disposed and think
themselves entitled to enforce the same severity 011 others.
The other, as
his sphere became more extensive, was satisfied with an adhesion to the
Christian creed, instead of that total change of life demanded of the early
Christian, and watched over with such
13 3
book jealous
vigilance by the mutual superintendence 11L , of a small society.
The creed, thus become the sole test, was enforced with all the passion of intense
zeal, and guarded with the most subtle and scrupulous jealousy. In proportion
to the admitted importance of the creed, men became more sternly and
exclusively wedded to their opinions. Thus an antagonist principle of
exclusiveness co-existed with the most comprehensive ambition. While they swept
in converts indiscriminately from the palace and the public street; while the
Emperor and the lowest of the populace were alike admitted on little more than
the open profession of allegiance, they were satisfied if their allegiance in
this respect was blind and complete. Hence a far larger admixture of human
passions, and the common vulgar incentives of action, were infused into the
expanding Christian body. Men became Christians, orthodox Christians, with
little sacrifice of that which Christianity aimed chiefly to extirpate. Yet,
after all, this imperfect view of Christianity had probably some effect in
concentrating the Christian community, and holding it together by a new and
more indissoluble bond. The world divided into two parties. Though the shades
of Arianism, perhaps, if strictly decomposed, of Trinitarianism, were
countless as the varying powers of conception or expression in man, yet they
were soon consolidated into two compact masses. The semi-Arians, who
approximated so closely to the Nicene creed, were forced back into the main
body. Their fine distinctions were not seized by their adversaries, or by the
general body
of the
Christians. The bold and decisive defini- ciiap.
tiveness of the Athanasian doctrine admitted less t v'
discretion; and no doubt, though political vicissitudes had some influence on
the final establishment of their doctrines, the more illiterate and less imaginative
West was predisposed to the Athanasian opinions by its natural repugnance to
the more vague and dubious theory. All, however, were enrolled under one or the
other standard, and the party which triumphed, eventually would rule the whole
Christian world.
Even the
feuds of Christianity at this period, though with the few more dispassionate
and reasoning of the Pagans they might retard its progress, in some respects
contributed to its advancement; they assisted in breaking up that torpid
stagnation which brooded over the general mind. It gave a new object of
excitement to the popular feeling.
The ferocious
and ignorant populace of the large cities, which found a new aliment in
Christian faction for their mutinous and sanguinary outbursts of turbulence,
had almost been better left to sleep 011 in the passive and undestructive quiet
of Pagan indifference. They were dangerous allies, more than dangerous, fatal
to the purity of the Gospel.
Athanasius
stands out as the prominent charac- Athana- ter of the period, in the history,
not merely of Chris- Slus' tianity, but of the world. That history
is one Tong controversy, the life of Athanasius one unwearied and incessant
strife.* It is neither the serene course
* Life of
Athanasius prefixed to his Works. Tillemont. Vie d’Atha- nase.
B 4
book of a
being elevated by his religion above the cares * and tumults of ordinary life,
nor the restless activity of one perpetually employed in a conflict with the
ignorance, vice, and misery of an unconverted people. Yet even now (so
completely has this polemic spirit become incorporated with Christianity) the
memory of Athanasius is regarded by many wise and good men with reverence,
which, in Catholic countries, is actual adoration, in Protestant, approaches
towards it.# It is impossible, indeed, not to admire the force of
intellect which he centered on this minute point of theology, his intrepidity,
his constancy; but had he not the power to allay the feud which his inexorable
spirit tended to keep alive? Was the term Consubstantialism absolutely
essential to Christianity ? If a somewhat wider creed had been accepted, would
not the truth at least as soon and as generally have prevailed ? Could not the
commanding or persuasive voice of Christianity have awed or charmed the troubled
waters to peace?
But
Athanasius, in exile, would consent to no peace which did not prostrate his
antagonists before his feet. He had obtained complete command over the minds of
the western Emperors. The demand for his restoration to his see was not an appeal
to the justice, or the fraternal affection of Constantius ; it was a question
of peace or war.
* Compare Mohler, Athanasius volved in this controversy; and
der
Grosse und seine zeit (Maintz, stating one
side of the question
]827),and
Newman’s Arians. The with consummate
ability. It is
former
is the work of a very the panegyric of
a dutiful son on
powerful
Roman Catholic writer, him whom he
calls the father of
labouring
to show that all the vital church
theology, p. 304-. principles of Christianity were in-
Constantius
submitted; he received the prelate, chap.
on his return, with courtesy, or rather with favour t v’
, and distinction. Athanasius entered Alexandria A. D.
33s. at the head of a triumphal procession ; the bishops tf0enst°fra'
of his party resumed their sees ; all Egypt re- 4^at^a'
turned to its obedience ; but the more inflexible Aiexan. Syria still waged the
war with unallayed activity. A™' 340. A council was held
at Tyre, in which new charges were framed against the Alexandrian prelate : —
the usurpation of his see in defiance of his condemnation by a council, (the
imperial power seems to have been treated with no great respect), for a
prelate, it was asserted, deposed by a council, could only be restored by the
same authority ; violence and bloodshed during his re-occupation of the see ;
and malversation of sums of money intended for the poor, but appropriated to
his own use. A rival council at Alexandria at once acquitted Athanasius 011 all
these points ; asserted his right to the see; appealed to and avouched the
universal rejoicings at his restoration ; his rigid administration of the
funds entrusted to his care.*
A more ausmst
assembly of Christian prelates met a. ». 341.
-
1 n 1 A
•
1 -XT- i Council at
in the
presence of the Emperor at Antioch. JNinety Antioch, bishops celebrated the
consecration of a splendid edifice, called the Church of Gold. The council then
entered on the affairs of the church ; a creed was framed satisfactory to all,
except that it seemed carefully to exclude the term consubstantial or
Homoousion. The council ratified the decrees of
* Compare throughout the ecclesiastical
historians, Theodoret,
Socrates, and
Sozomen.
BOOK
III.
that of Tyre,
with regard to Athanasius. It is as- J sorted on his part
that the majority had withdrawn to their dioceses before the introduction of
this question, and that a factious minority of forty prelates assumed and
abused the authority of the council. They proceeded to nominate a new bishop of
Alexandria. Pistus, who had before been appointed to the see, was passed over
in silence, probably as too inactive or unambitious for their purpose. Gregory,
a native of the wilder region of Cappa- docia, but educated under Athanasius
himself, in the more polished schools of Alexandria, was invested with this
important dignity. Alexandria, peacefully reposing, it is said, under the
parental episcopate of Athanasius, was suddenly startled by the appearance of
an edict, signed by the imperial praefect, announcing the degradation of
Athanasius, and the appointment of Gregory. Scenes of savage conflict ensued ;
the churches were taken as it were by storm ; the priests of the Athanasian
party were treated with the utmost indignity; virgins scourged; every atrocity
perpetrated by unbridled multitudes, embittered by every shade of religious
faction. The Alexandrian populace were always ripe for tumult and bloodshed.
The Pagans and the Jews mingled in the fray, and seized the opportunity, no
doubt, of shewing their impartial animosity to both parties; though the Arians
(and, as the original causes of the tumult, not without justice) were loaded
with the unpopularity of this odious alliance. They arrayed themselves on the
side of the soldiery appointed to execute the decree of the prsefect; and the
Arian bishop is charged, not with much pro
bability,
with abandoning the churches to their ciiap. pillage. Athanasius fled ; a
second time an exile, t * . he took refuge in the West. He appeared
again at Athanasius Rome, in the dominions and under the protection ^ of an
orthodox Emperor ; for Constans, who, after the death of Constantine, the first
protector of Athanasius, had obtained the larger part of the empire belonging
to his murdered brother, was no less decided in his support of the Nicene
opinions. The two great Western prelates, Hosius of Cordova, eminent from his
age and character, and Julius, bishop of Rome, from the dignity of his see,
openly espoused his cause. Wherever Athanasius resided, — at Alexandria, in Gaul,
in Rome, — in general the devoted clergy, and even the people, adhered with
unshaken fidelity to his tenets. ‘ Such was the commanding dignity of his
character, such his power of profoundly stamping his opinions 011 the public
mind.
The Arian
party, independent of their speculative opinions, cannot be absolved from the
unchristian heresy of cruelty and revenge. However darkly coloured, we cannot
reject the general testimony to their acts of violence, wherever they attempted
to regain their authority. Gregory is said to have attempted to compel bishops,
priests, monks, and holy virgins, to Christian communion with a prelate thus
forced upon them, by every kind of insult and outrage ; by scourging and
beating with clubs : those were fortunate who escaped with exile*. But if
Alexandria was dis-
* Athanas. Oper., p. 112. 149. 350. 352.,
and the ecclesiastical historians in loc.
book turbed by the hostile excesses of the Arians, in
Con. ’ . stantinople itself, the conflicting religious parties gave rise to
the first of those popular tumults which so frequently, in later times,
distracted and disgraced the city. Eusebius, formerly Bishop of Nicomedia, the
main support of the Arian party, had risen to the episcopacy of the imperial
city. His enemies reproached the worldly ambition which deserted an humbler for
a more eminent see ; but they were not less inclined to contest this important
post with the utmost activity. At his death the Athanasian party revived the
claims of Paul, whom they asserted to have been canonically elected, and
unjustly deposed from the see ; the Arians sup- Bioody ported Macedonius. The
dispute spread from the conTiarui- church into the streets, from the clergy to
the po- nople- pulace ; blood was shed; the whole city was in arms
on one part or the other.
The Emperor
was at Antioch ; he commanded Hermogenes, who was appointed to the command of
the cavalry in Thrace, to pass through Constantinople, and expel the intruder
Paul. Hermogenes, at the head of his soldiery, advanced to force Paul from the
church. The populace rose ; the soldiers were repelled ; the general took
refuge in a house, which was instantly set on fire ; the mangled body of
Hermogenes was dragged through the streets, and at length cast into the sea.
Constantius heard this extraordinary intelligence at Antioch. The contempt of
the imperial mandate ; the murder of an imperial officer in the contested
nomination of a bishop, were as yet so new in the annals of the
world, as to
fill him with equal astonishment and chap.
indignation. He mounted his horse, though it was t ' ,
winter, and the mountain-passes were dangerous and difficult with snow; he
hastened with the utmost speed to Constantinople. But the deep humiliation of
the senate and the heads of the people, who prostrated themselves at his feet,
averted his resentment: the people were punished by a diminution of the usual
largess of corn. Paul was expelled ; but, as though some blame adhered to both
the conflicting parties, the election of Macedonius was not confirmed, although
he was allowed to exercise the episcopal functions. Paul retired, first to
Thessalonica, subsequently to the court of Constans.
The remoter
consequences of the Athanasian con- Effects of troversy began to develope
themselves at this early Jarian^on- period. The Christianity of the East and
the ^w^t'1 West gradually assumed a divergent and independent
character. Though, during a short time, the Arianism of the Ostrogothic
conquerors gave a temporary predominance in Italy to that creed, the West in
general submitted, in uninquiring acquiescence, to the Trinitarianism of
Athanasius. In the East, on the other hand, though the doctrines of Athanasius
eventually obtained the superiority, the controversy gave birth to a long and
unexhausted line of subordinate disputes. The East retained its mingled
character of Oriental speculativeness and Greek subtlety. It could not abstain
from investigating and analysing the divine nature, and the relations of
Christ and the Holy Ghost to the Supreme
book
Being. Macedonianism, Nestorianism, Eutychian- 11L ism, with the
fatal disputes relating to the procession of the Holy Ghost, during almost the
last hours of the Byzantine empire, may be considered the lineal descendants
of this prolific controversy. The opposition of the East and West, of itself
tended to increase the authority of that prelate, who assumed his acknowledged
station as the head and representative of the Western churches. The commanding
and popular part taken by the Bishop of Rome, in favour of Athanasius and his
doctrines, enabled him to stand forth in undisputed superiority, as at once the
chief of the Western episcopate, and the champion of orthodoxy. The age of
Hosius, and his residence in a remote province, withdrew Athanasius the only
competitor for this superiority. Athana- at Rome. s*us Up j^g residence at Rome, and, under the
protection of the Roman prelate, defied his Julius, adversaries to a new
contest. Julius summoned Rome! °f the accusers of Athanasius
to plead the cause before a council in Rome.* The Eastern prelates altogether
disclaimed his jurisdiction, and rejected his pretensions to rejudge the cause
of a bishop already condemned by the council of Tyre. The answer of Julius is
directed rather to the justification of Athanasius than to the assertion of his
own au
* Julius is
far from asserting sert that Rome claimed a right of any individual authority,
or pon- adjudication. rviopiZovmv ovv r<£ tifical supremacy. “ Why do you
fc7n<7/co7ry 'Pibfjtyjg ’lovXiy ra tcaO’ alone write?” “Because I repre-
iavTovg’ 6 dk are 7rpovofiea rr}g tv sent the opinions of the bishops of 'Piip
tiac\i)<jiag Socr. E.
Italy.”
Epist. Julian. Athanas. H. ii. 15. Ota twv TcavTwv Op. i. 146. Ktjcefioviag avT<i> 7cpoai)KOvariQ
Sia
The
ecclesiastical historians, t?)v
aZUiv tov Spovov. Soz. E. H.
however, in the next century, as- iii. 8.
at Rome.
a.
n. 343. At Milan.
Sardica.
A. d. 345-6.
thority. The
synod of Rome solemnly acquitted Athanasius, Paul, and all their adherents. The
Western Emperor joined in the sentiments of his Synod clergy. A second council
at Milan, in the presence of Constans, confirmed the decree of Rome. Con- stans
proposed to his brother to convoke a general council of both empires. A neutral
or border ground was chosen for this decisive conflict. At Council of Sardica
met one hundred prelates from the West, from the East only seventy-five.*
Notwithstanding his age and infirmities, Hosius travelled from the extremity of
the empire: he at once took the lead in the assembly; and, it is remarkable
that the Bishop of Rome, so zealous in the cause of Athanasius, alleged an
excuse for his absence, which may warrant the suspicion that he was unwilling
to be obscured in this important scene by the superior authority of Hosius.
Five of the Western prelates, among whom were Ursacius of Singidunum and Valens
of Mursa, embraced the Arian cause: the Arians complained of the defection of
two bishops from their body, who betrayed their secret counsels to their
adversaries.t In all these councils, it appears not to have occurred, that,
religion being a matter of faith, the suffrages of the majority could not
possibly impose a creed upon a conscientious minority. The question had been
too often agitated to expect that it could be placed in a
new light.
On matters of
fact, the suffrages of the more nu-
* By some accounts there were -f* Concilia
Labbe, vol. iii. 100 Western bishops; 73 Eastern. Athanas. contr. Arian.
&c.
book merous
party might have weight, in the personal t I1L ,
condemnation for instance or the acquittal of Athanasius; but as these
suffrages could not convince the understanding of those who voted on the other
side, the theological decisions must of necessity be rejected, unless the
minority would submit likewise to the humiliating confession of insincerity,
ignorance, or precipitancy in judgment.* The Arian minority did not await this
issue ; having vainly attempted to impede the progress of the council, by
refusing to sanction the presence of persons excommunicated, they seceded to
Philippopolis in Thrace. In Rival these two cities sate the rival councils,
each assert- Sippo- mS itself the genuine representative of Christen-
poHs. dom, issuing decrees, and anathematising their adversaries. The Arians
are accused of maintaining their influence, even in the East, by acts of great
cruelty. In Adrianople, in Alexandria, they enforced submission to their tenets
by the scourge, and by heavy penalties.t
The Western
council at Milan accepted and ratified the decrees of the council of Sardica,
absolving Athanasius of all criminality, and receiving his doctrines as the
genuine and exclusive truths Reconciiia- of the Gospel On a sudden, affairs
took a new constan- turn; Constantius threw himself, as it were, at Athana- ^ie
feet Athanasius, and in three successive aud 349 Otters,
entreated him to resume his episcopal
* The Oriental bishops pro- f The cause of
Marcellus of
tested
against the assumption of Ancyra, whom
the Eusebian party
supremacy
by the Western. No- accused of
Sabellianism, was
vam
legem introducere putave- throughout
connected with that
runt,
ut Oricntales Episcopi ah Oc- of
Athanasius, cidentalibus judicarentur. Apud Hilar. Fragm. iii.
throne. The
Emperor and the prelate (who had chap. delayed
at first to obey, either from fear or from , ' pride, the flattering
invitation), met at Antioch with mutual expressions of respect and cordiality.
* Constantins commanded all the accusations against Athanasius to be erased
from the registers of the city. He commended the prelate to the people of
Alexandria in terms of courtly flattery, which harshly contrast with his
former, as well as with his subsequent, conduct to Athanasius. The Arian
bishop, Gregory, was dead, and Athanasius, amid the universal joy, re-entered
the city. The bishops crowded from all parts to salute and congratulate the
prelate who had thus triumphed over the malice even of imperial enemies.
Incense curled up in all the streets ; the city was brilliantly illuminated. It
was an ovation by the admirers of Athanasius; it is said to have been a
Christian ovation ; alms were lavished on the poor; every house resounded with
prayer and thanksgiving as if it were a church ; the# triumph of
Athanasius was completed by the recantation of Ursacius and Valens, two of his
most powerful antagonists.t
This sudden
change in the policy of Constantins A. n. 349. is scarcely
explicable upon the alleged motives.
It is
ascribed to the detection of an infamous conspiracy against one of the Western
bishops, deputed on a mission to Constantius. The aged prelate
* The
Emperor proposed to the Arians
predominated, should
Athanasius
to leave one church be set apart for
those of his eom-
to
the Arians at Alexandria ; Atha- niunion.
nasius
dexterously eluded the re- + Greg.
Nazian, Enc. Athanas.
quest,
by very fairly demanding Athanas.
llist. Arian. that one church in Antioch, where
VOL.
III. C
book was charged with incontinence, but
the accusation (^ f
recoiled on its inventors. A man of infamous character, Onager the wild ass,
the chief conductor of the plot, on being detected, avowed himself the agent of
Stephen, the Arian bishop of Antioch. Stephen was ignominiously deposed from
his see. Yet this single fact would scarcely have at once estranged the mind of
Constantius from the interests of the Arian party ; his subsequent conduct
when, as Emperor of the whole world, he could again dare to display his
deep-rooted hostility to Athanasius, induces the suspicion of political reasons.
Constantius was about to be embarrassed with Persian the Persian war ; at this
dangerous crisis, the ad- war' monitions of his brother, not
unmingled with warlike menace, might enforce the expediency at least of a
temporary reconciliation with Athanasius. The political troubles of three years
suspended the religious strife. The war of Persia brought some fame to the
arms of Constantius ; and in the more honourable character, not of the
antagonist, but the ^ . - avenger of his murdered brother, the survivingson of
Death
of & °
Constans.
Constantine again united the East and West under his sole dominion. The battle
of Mursa, if we are to credit a writer somewhat more recent, was no less fatal
to the interests of Athanasius than to the War with arms of Magnentius.*
Ursacius and Valens, after ^ie^r recantation, had
relapsed to Arianism. Valens was the Bishop of Mursa, and in the immediate
neighbourhood of that town was fought the decisive
* Sulpicius Severus, ii. c. 54.
battle.
Constantius retired with Valens into the ciiap.
principal
church, to assist with his prayers rather v______________ '_
than with his
directions or personal prowess, the Battle of success of his army. The agony of
his mind may ursa* be conceived, during the long suspense of a conflict
on which the sovereignty of the world depended, and in which the conquerors
lost more men than the vanquished.* Valens stood or knelt by his side; on a
sudden, when the Emperor was wrought to the highest state of agitation, Valens
proclaimed the tidings of his complete victory; intelligence communicated to
the prelate by an an^el from heaven. Whether Valens had anticipated the event
by a bold fiction, or arranged some plan for obtaining rapid information, he
appeared from that time to the Emperor as a man especially favoured by Heaven,
a prophet, and one of good omen.
But either
the fears of the Emperor, or the can- A.«. 351 tion of the Arian
party, delayed yet for three or to355’ four years to execute their
revenge on Athanasius.
They began
with a less illustrious victim. Philip, the praefect of the East, received
instructions to expel Paul, and to replace Macedoniuson the episcopal throne
of Constantinople. Philip remembered the fate of Hermogenes ; he secured himself
in the thermae of Zeuxippus, and summoned the prelate to his presence. He then
communicated his instructions, and frightened or persuaded the
* Magnentius is said by Zo- mentous
occasion. Lib. xiii. t. ii. naras, to have sacrificed a girl, to p. IC, 17.
propitiate the gods on this mo-
C 2
book aged Paul to consent to be secretly transported
in
t nL
, a boat over the Bosphorus. In the
morning, Philip
Paul
de- appeared in his car, with Macedonius
by his side in
fhe
bLho^ the pontifical attire; he
drove directly to the church, nc of Con- £jie soldiers were obliged
to hew their way
stantinople. 0 J
Macedo-
through the dense and resisting crowd to the altar, stated. Macedonius passed
over the murdered bodies (three thousand are said to have fallen) to the throne
of the Christian prelate. Paul was carried in chains first to Emesa, afterwards
to a wild town in the deserts about Mount Taurus. He had disappeared from the
sight of his followers, and it is certain that he died in these remote regions.
The Arians gave out that he died a natural death. It was the general belief of
the Athanasians that his death was hastened, and even that he had been
strangled by the hands of the prasfect Philip.*
But before
the decisive blow was struck against Athanasius, Constantins endeavoured to
subdue the West to the Arian opinions. The Emperor, released from the dangers
of war, occupied his triumphant leisure in Christian controversy. He seemed
determined to establish his sole dominion over the religion as well as the
civil obedience of his subjects. The Western bishops firmly opposed Councils of
the conqueror of Magnentius. At the councils, Milan. first of Arles and
afterwards of Milan, they refused to subscribe the condemnation of Athanasius,
or Persecu- to communicate with the Arians. Liberius, the Liberius, new
Bishop of Rome, refused the timid and disin- Bishop of genuous compromise to
which his representative at
* Athenas. Oper. i. 3*22. 348. Socrat. E. H.
ii. 26.
Arles,
Vincent, deacon of Rome, had agreed ; to chap.
assent to the condemnation of Athanasius, if, at the , ‘ same time, a
decisive anathema should be issued against the tenets of Arius. At Milan, the
bishops boldly asserted the independence of the church upon the empire. The
Athanasian party forgot, or chose not to remember, that they had unanimously
applauded the interference of Constantine, when, after the Nicene council, he
drove the Arian bishops into exile. Thus it has always been : the sect or party
which has the civil power in its favour is embarrassed with no doubts as to the
legality of its interference ; when hostile, it resists as an unwarrantable
aggression on its own freedom, that which it has not scrupled to employ against
its adversaries.
The new
charges against Athanasius were of very New different degrees of magnitude and
probability, gainst He was accused of exciting the hostility of Con- ^siana"
stans against his brother. The fact that Constans had threatened to reinstate
the exiled prelate by force of arms might give weight to this charge; but the
subsequent reconciliation, the gracious reception of Athanasius by the
Emperor, the public edicts in his favour, had, in all justice, cancelled the
guilt, if there were really guilt, in this undue influence over the mind of
Constans. He was accused of treasonable correspondence with the usurper
Magnentius. Athanasius repelled this charge with natural indignation. He must
be a monster of ingratitude, worthy a thousand deaths, if he had leagued with
the murderer of his bene-
c 3
factor,
Constans. He defied his enemies to the production of any letters; he demanded
the severest investigation, the strictest examination, of his own secretaries
or those of Magnentius. The descent is rapid from these serious charges to that
of having officiated in a new and splendid church, the Caesarean, without the
permission of the Emperor ; and the exercising a paramount and almost
monarchical authority over the churches along the whole course of the Nile,
even beyond his legitimate jurisdiction. The first was strangely construed
into an intentional disrespect to the Emperor, the latter might fairly be
attributed to the zeal of Athanasius for the extension of Christianity. Some of
these points might appear beyond the jurisdiction of an ecclesiastical
tribunal; and in the council of Milan there seems to have been an inclination
to separate the cause of Athanasius from that of his doctrine. As at Arles,
some proposed to abandon the person of Athanasius to the will of the Emperor,
if a general condemnation should be passed against the tenets of Arius.
Three hundred
ecclesiastics formed the council of Milan. Few of these were from the East. The
Bishop of Rome did not appear in person to lead the orthodox party. His chief
representative was Lucifer of Cagliari, a man of ability, but of violent temper
and unguarded language. The Arian faction was headed by Ursacius and Valens,
the old adversaries of Athanasius, and by the Emperor himself. Constantius,
that the proceedings might take place more immediately under his own super-
intendence,
adjourned the assembly from the church ciiap.
to the palace. This unseemly intrusion of a lay- , ‘ man in the
deliberations of the clergy, unfortunately, was not without precedent. Those
who had proudly hailed the entrance of Constantine into the synod of Nice could
not, consistently, deprecate the presence of his son at Milan.
The
controversy became a personal question be- a. d. 355. tween the Emperor and his
refractory subject.
The Emperor
descended into the arena, and mingled in all the fury of the conflict. Constan-
tius was not content with assuming the supreme place as Emperor, or interfering
in the especial province of the bishops, the theological question, he laid
claim to direct inspiration. He was commissioned by a vision from Heaven to
restore peace to the afflicted church. The scheme of doctrine which he proposed
was asserted by the Western bishops to be strongly tainted with Arianism.
The prudence
of the Athanasian party was not equal to their firmness and courage. The obsequious
and almost adoring court of the Emperor must have stood aghast at the audacity
of the ecclesiastical synod. Their language was that of vehement invective,
rather than dignified dissent or calm remonstrance. Constantius, concealed
behind a curtain, listened to the debate ; he heard his own name coupled with
that of heretic, of Antichrist. His indignation now knew no bounds. He
proclaimed himself the champion of the Arian doctrines, and the accuser of
Athanasius. Yet flatteries, persuasions, bribes, menaces, penalties, exiles,
were neces-
c 4
sary to
extort the assent of the resolute assembly. Then they became conscious of the
impropriety of a lay Emperor’s intrusion into the debates of an ecclesiastical
synod. They demanded a free council, in which the Emperor should neither
preside in person nor by his commissary. They lifted up their hands, and
entreated the angry Constantins not to mingle up the affairs of the state and
the church.* Three prelates, Lucifer of Cagliari, Eusebius of Vercellae,
Dionysius of Milan, were sent into banishment, to places remote from each
other, and the most inhospitable regions of the empire. Liberius, the Roman
pontiff, rejected with disdain the presents of the Emperor ; he resisted with
equal firmness his persuasions and his acts of violence.
Though his
palace was carefully closed and garrisoned by some of his faithful flock,
Liberius was seized at length, and carried to Milan. He withstood, somewhat
contemptuously, the personal entreaties and arguments of the Emperor.t He
rejected with disdain the imperial offers of money for his journey, and told
him to keep it to pay his army. The same offer was made by Eusebius the eunuch
: — “ Does a sacrilegious robber like thee think to give alms to me, as to a
mendicant ? ” He was exiled to Berbea, a city of Thrace. An Arian prelate,
Felix, was forced upon the unwilling city. But two years of exile broke the
spirit of Liberius.
* Ntjce dvan'iaytiv T))v'V(i>fiiuK)]v •j'
Theodoret, iv. 16. rj7 ti)q harayy. Athanas.
acl Mon. c. 34. 3G. Compare c. 52.
>J
JjC *j
/. "
&
S
He began to
listen to the advice of the Arian chap.
* • • V
bishop of
Berbea ; the solitude, the cold climate, t ' and the discomforts of
this uncongenial region, had more effect than the presents or the menaces of
the Emperor. He signed the Arian formulary of Sirmium ; he assented to the
condemnation of Athanasius. The fall of the aged Hosius increased Fail of
o Hosius
the triumph
of the Arians. Some of the Catholic , writers reproach with undue bitterness
the weakness of an old man, whose nearer approach to the grave, they assert,
ought to have confirmed him in ^ his inalienable fidelity to Christ. But
even Christianity has no power over that mental imbecility which accompanies
the decay of physical strength ; and this act of feebleness ought not, for an
instant, to be set against the unblemished virtue of a whole life.
Constantius,
on his visit to Rome, was astonished Reception by an address, presented by some
of the principal females of the city in their most splended attire, to entreat
the restoration of Liberius. The Emperor offered to re-admit Liberius to a
co-ordinate authority with the Arian bishop, Felix. The females rejected with
indignant disdain this dishonourable compromise ; and when Constantius
commanded a similar proposition to be publicly read in the circus at the time
of games, he was answered by a general shout, “ One God, one Christ, one
bishop.”
Had then the
Christians, if this story be true, already overcome their aversion to the
public games ? or are we to suppose that the whole populace of Rome took an
interest in the appointment of the Christian pontiff?
tius at Rome.
book
Athanasius awaited in tranquil dignity the burst. 1H' , ing storm.
He had eluded the imperial summons orders to to appear at Milan, upon the plea
that it was am- Athanasius. biguous and obscure. Constantius, either from some
lingering remorse, from reluctance to have his new condemnatory ordinances
confronted with his favourable, and almost adulatory, testimonies to the innocence
of Athanasius, or from fear lest a religious insurrection in Alexandria and
Egypt should embarrass the government, and cut off the supplies of corn from
the Eastern capital, refused to issue any written order for the deposal and expulsion
of Athanasius. He chose, apparently, to retain the power, if convenient, of
disowning his emissaries. Two secretaries were despatched with a verbal
message, commanding his abdication. Athanasius treated the imperial officers
with the utmost courtesy ; but respectfully demanded their written
instructions. A kind of suspension of hostilities seems to have been agreed
upon, till further instructions could be obtained from the Emperor. But in the
mean time, Syrianus, the duke of the province, was drawing the troops from all
parts of Libya and Egypt to invest and occupy the city. A force of 5000 men was
thought necessary to depose a peaceable Christian prelate. The great events in
the life of Athanasius, as we have already seen on two occasions, seem, either
designedly or of themselves, to take a highly dramatic form. It was midnight,
and the archbishop, surrounded by the more devout of his flock, was performing
the solemn ceremony, previous to the sacramental service of the
next day, in
the church of St. Theonas. Suddenly chap.
the sound of trumpets, the trampling of steeds, the , * , clash of arms,
the bursting the bolts of the doors, Tumult in interrupted the silent devotions
of the assembly,
The bishop on
his throne, in the depth of the andna- choir, on which fell the dim light
of the lamps, beheld the gleaming arms of the soldiery, as they burst into the
nave of the church. The archbishop, as the ominous sounds grew louder,
commanded the chaunting of the 135th (136th) Psalm. The choristers’ voices
swelled into the solemn strain : —
“ Oh, give
thanks unto the Lord, for he is gracious ;” the people took up the burthen,
“For his mercy endureth for ever!” The clear, full voices of the congregation
rose over the wild tumult, now without, and now within, the church.
A discharge of
arrows commenced the conflict; and Athanasius calmly exhorted his people to continue
their only defensive measures, their prayers to their Almighty Protector.
Syrianus at the same time ordered the soldiers to advance. The cries of the
wounded; the groans of those who were trampled down in attempting to force
their way out through the soldiery ; the shouts of the assailants, mingled in
wild and melancholy uproar. But before the soldiers had reached the end of the
sanctuary, the pious disobedience of his clergy, and of a body of monks,
hurried the archbishop by some secret passage out of the tumult. His escape
appeared little less than miraculous to his faithful followers. The riches of
the altar, the sacred ornaments of the church, and even the consecrated
virgins, were aban-
book doned to
the licence of an exasperated soldiery. t nL . The
Catholics in vain drew up an address to the Emperor, appealing to his justice
against this sacrilegious outrage ; they suspended the arms of the soldiery,
which had been left on the floor of the church, as a reproachful memorial of
the violence, Constantins confirmed the acts of his officers.* Georpce 0f
The Arians were prepared to replace the deposed doda.a~ prelate;
their choice fell on another Cappadocian more savage and unprincipled than the
former one. Constantius commended George of Cappadocia to the people of
Alexandria, as a prelate above praise, the wisest of teachers, the fittest
guide to the kingdom of heaven. His adversaries paint him in the blackest
colours ; the son of a fuller, he had been in turns a parasite, a receiver of
taxes, a bankrupt. Ignorant of letters, savage in manners, he was taken up,
while leading a vagabond life, by the Arian prelate of Antioch, and made a
priest before he was a Christian. He employed the collections made for the poor
in bribing the eunuchs of the palace. But he possessed no doubt, great worldly
ability ; he was without fear and without remorse. He entered Alexandria
environed by the troops of Syrianus. His presence let loose the rabid violence
of party; the Arians exacted ample vengeance for their long period of
depression ; houses were plundered; monasteries burned; tombs broken open, to
search for concealed Athanasians, or for the prelate himself, who still eluded
their pur
* Athanas. Apol.de Fuga, vol. i. 393. 395.;
ad Const. 307.310. Til- p. 334.; ad Monachos, 373. 378. lemont, Vie d’Athanase.
suit; bishops
were insulted; virgins scourged; chap. the
soldiery encouraged to break up every meeting , * of the Catholics by violence,
and even by inhuman tortures. The Duke Sebastian, at the head of 3000 troops,
charged a meeting of the Athanasian Christians : no barbarity was too
revolting; they are said to have employed instruments of torture to compel them
to Christian unity with the Arians; females were scourged with the prickly
branches of the palm-tree.
The Pagans
readily transferred their allegiance, so far as allegiance was demanded ; while
the savage and ignorant among them rejoiced in the occasion for plunder and cruelty.
Others hailed these feuds, and almost anticipated the triumphant restoration of
their own religion. Men, they thought, must grow weary and disgusted with a
religion productive of so much crime, bloodshed, and misery. Echoing back the
language of the Athanasians, they shouted out— “Longlife to the Emperor
Constantius, and the Arians who have abjured Christianity.” And Christianity
they seem to have abjured, though not in the sense intended by their
adversaries. They had abjured all Christian humanity, holiness, and peace.
The avarice
of George was equal to his cruelty. Exactions were necessary to maintain his
interest with the eunuchs, to whom he owed his promotion.
The prelate
of Alexandria forced himself into the secular affairs of the city. He endeavoured
to secure a monopoly of the nitron produced in the lake Mareotis, of the
salt-works, and of the papyrus. He became a manufacturer of those painted
coffins which were still in use among the Egyptians.
Once lie was
expelled by a sudden insurrection of the people, who surrounded the church, in
which he was officiating, and threatened to tear him in pieces. He took refuge
in the court, which was then at Sirmium, and a few months beheld him reinstated
by the command of his faithful patron the Emperor.* A reinstated tyrant is, in
general, the most cruel oppressor ; and, unless party violence has blackened
the character of George of Cappa- docia beyond even its ordinary injustice, the
addition of revenge, and the haughty sense of impunity, derived from the
imperial protection, to the evil passions already developed in his soul,
rendered him a still more intolerable scourge to the devoted city.
Every where
the Athanasian bishops were expelled from their sees ; they were driven into
banishment. The desert was constantly sounding with the hymns of these pious
and venerable exiles, as they passed along, loaded with chains, to the remote
and savage place of their destination ; many of them bearing the scars, and
wounds, and mutilations, which had been inflicted upon them by their barbarous
persecutors, to enforce their compliance with the Arian doctrines.
Athanasius,
after many strange adventures ; having been concealed in a dry cistern, and in
the chamber of a beautiful woman, who attended him with the most officious
devotion (his awful character was not even tinged with the breath of
suspicion), found refuge at length among the monks of the desert. Egypt is
bordered on all sides by wastes
* He was at Sirmium, May, 359 j restored in
October.
of sand, or
by barren rocks, broken into caves and ciiap,
intricate passes ; and all these solitudes were now , ‘ peopled by the fanatic
followers of the hermit Antony. They were all devoted to the opinions, and
attached to the person, of Athanasius. The austerities of the prelate extorted
their admiration : as he had been the great example of a dignified, active, and
zealous bishop, so was he now of an ascetic and mortified solitary. The most
inured to self-inflicted tortures of mind and body found themselves equalled, if
not outdone, in their fasts and austerities by the lofty Patriarch of
Alexandria.
Among these
devoted adherents, his security was complete : their passionate reverence
admitted not the fear of treachery. The more active and inquisitive the search
of his enemies, he had only to plunge deeper into the inaccessible and inscrutable
desert. From this solitude Athanasius himself is supposed sometimes to have
issued forth, and, passing the seas, to have traversed even parts of the West,
animating his followers, and confirming the faith of his whole widely
disseminated party. His own language implies his personal, though secret
presence at the councils of Seleucia and Rimini.*
From the
desert, unquestionably, came forth many of those writings which must have astonished
the Heathen world by their unprecedented boldness. For the first time since
the foundation of the empire, the government was more or less publicly
assailed in addresses, which arraigned its mea
* Athanas. Oper. vol. i. p. 8G9. Compare
Tillemont, Vie d’Athanase.
cook sures as unjust, and as transgressing its
legitimate t I1L , authority, and which did not spare the
person of the reigning Emperor. In the West, as well as in the East,
Constantius was assailed with equal free- niiary dom of invective. The book of
Hilary of Poitiers ° 011C1S‘ against Constantius, is said not to
have been made public till after the death of the Emperor ; but it was most
likely circulated among the Catholics of the West; and the author exposed
himself to the activity of hostile informers, and the indiscretion of fanatical
friends. The Emperor is declared to be Antichrist, a tyrant, not in secular,
but likewise in religious affairs ; the sole object of his reign was to make a
free gift to the devil of the whole world, Lucifer of for which Christ had
suffered.* Lucifer of Cagliari,
Cagliari.
* Nihil prorsus aliud egit, quam sunt dici. Hoc tanden rogo, quis
ut
orbem terrarum, pro quo episcopis
jubeat et quis aposto-
Christus passus est, diabolo con- licae
praedicationis vetet formam ?
donaret.
Adv. Constant, c. 15. c. 10. Among the
sentences as-
Ililarv’s
highest indignation is ex- cribed to the
Arians, which so
cited
by the gentle and insidious much
shocked the Western
manner
with which he confesses that bishops,
there is one which is
Constantius
endeavoured to com- evidently the
argument of a strong
pass
his unholy end. He would anti-materialist
asserting the sole
not
honour them with the dignity existence
of the Father, and that
t
of martyrs, but he used the pre- the
terms of son and generation,
vailing
persuasion of bribes, flat- &e.,
are not to be received in a
teries,
and honours — Non dorsa literal sense. Erat Deus quod est.
caedit, sed ventrem palpat; non tru- Pater
non erat, quia neque ei filius ;
dit
carcere ad libertatem, sed in- nain si
filius, necesse est ut et fae-
tra
palatium honorat ad servi- mina
sit, &c. One phrase has a
tutem;
non latera vexat, sed cor singularly
Oriental, I would say, In-
occupat * * non contendit ne dian
cast. How
much soever the
vincatur,
sed adulatur ut domi- Son expands
himself towards the
netur.
There are several other knowledge
of the Father, so much
remarkable
passages in this tract, the Father
super-expands himself,
Constantius
wished to confine the lest he should be
known by the
creed
to the language of scripture. Son. Quantum enim Filius se ex-
This
was rejected, as infringing on tendit
cognoscere Patrem, tantum
the
authority of the bishops, and Pater
superextendit se, ne cogni-
the
forms of Apostolic preaching, tus Filio
sit. c. 13. The parties,
Nolo,
inquit, verba quae non scripta at
least in the West, were speak-
whose violent
temper afterwards distracted the chap.
Western church with a schism, is now therefore re- t ' pudiated by
the common consent of all parties. But Athanasius speaks in ardent admiration
of the intemperate writings of this passionate man, and once describes him as
inflamed by the spirit of God. Lucifer, in his banishment, sent five books full
of the most virulent invective to the Emperor. Constantius—it was the brighter
side of his religious character — received these addresses with almost contemptuous
equanimity. He sent a message to Lucifer, to demand if he was the author of
these works.
Lucifer
replied not merely by an intrepid acknowledgment of his former writings, but
by a sixth, in still more unrestrained and exaggerated language. Constantius
was satisfied with banishing him to the Thebaid. Athanasius himself, who in his
public vindication addressed to Constantius, maintained the highest respect for
the imperial dignity, in his Epistle to the Solitaries gives free vent and
expression to his vehement and contemptuous sentiments. His recluse friends
are cautioned, indeed, not to disclose the dangerous document, in which the
tyrants of the Old Testament, Pharaoh, Ahab,
ing
two totally distinct languages, nitionem
sui docuit potius quam
It
would be unjust to Hilary not exegit.
* * Deus universitatis est
to
acknowledge the beautifui and Dominus ;
non requirit coactam
Christian
sentiments scattered confessionem.
Nostra potius non
through
his two former addresses sua causa
venerandus est * *
to
Constantius, which are firm, but simplicitate
quaerendus est, con-
respectful
; and if rigidly, yet sin- fcssione
discendus est, charitate
cercly,
dogmatic. His plea for toler- amandus
est, tiinore venerandus
ation,
if not very consistently est, voluntatis
probitate retinendus
maintained,
is expressed with great est. Lib. i.
c. G. force and simplicity. Deus cog-
VOL. III.
D
book
Belshazzar, are contrasted, to his disadvantage, with
m' , the base, the cruel, the hypocritical
Constantins.
It is curious
to observe this new element of freedom, however at present working in a
concealed, irregular, and, perhaps, still-guarded manner, mingling itself up
with, and partially up-heaving, the general prostration of the human mind. The
Christian, or, in some respects, it might be more justly said, the
hierarchical principle, was entering into the constitution of human society, as
an antagonist power to that of the civil sovereign. The Christian community
was no longer a separate republic, governed within by its own laws, yet
submitting, in all but its religious observances, to the general ordinances. By
the establishment of Christianity under Constantine, and the gradual reunion of
two sections of mankind into one civil society, those two powers, that of the
church and the state, became co-ordinate authorities, which, if any difference
should arise between the heads of the respective supremacies, — if the Emperor
and the dominant party in Christendom should take opposite sides, led to
inevitable collision. This crisis had already arrived. An Arian emperor was
virtually excluded from a community in which the Athanasian doctrines
prevailed. The son of Constantine belonged to an excommunicated class, to whom
the dominant party refused the name of Christians. Thus these two despotisms,
both founded on opinion (for obedience to the imperial authority was rooted in
the universal sentiment), instead of gently counteracting and mitigating each
other, came at once into
direct and
angry conflict. The Emperor might with chap.
justice begin to suspect that, instead of securing a v v'
, peaceful and submissive ally, he had raised up a rival or a master; for the
son of Constantine was thus in his turn disdainfully ejected from the society
which his father had incorporated with the empire. It may be doubted how far
the violences and barbarities ascribed by the Catholics to their Arian foes may
be attributed to the indignation of the civil' power at this new and determined
resistance. Though Constantius might himself feel or affect a compassionate
disdain at these unusual attacks on his person and dignity, the general feeling
of the Heathen population, and many of the local governors, might resist this
contumacious contempt of the supreme authority. It is difficult otherwise to
account for the general tumult excited by these disputes in Alexandria, in
Constantinople, and in Rome, where at least a very considerable part of the
population had no concern in the religious quarrel. The old animosity against
Christianity would array itself under the banners of one of the conflicting
parties, or take up the cause of the insulted sovereignty of the Emperor. The
Athanasian party constantly assert that the Arians courted, 01* at least did
not decline, the invidious alliance of the Pagans.
But in truth,
in the horrible cruelties perpetrated Mutual ac- during these unhappy
divisions, it was the same of cruelty, savage ferocity of manners, which half a
century before had raged against the Christian church, which now apparently
raged in its cause.* The abstruse
* See the depositions of the the violence
which they had them- bishops assembled at Sardica, of selves endured at the
hands of the
D 2
book tenets
of the Christian theology became the ill- I1L , understood, perhaps
unintelligible, watchwords of violent and disorderly men. The rabble of Alexandria
and other cities availed themselves of the commotion to give loose to their
suppressed passion for the excitement of plunder and bloodshed. How far the
doctrines of Christianity had worked down into the populace of the great cities
cannot be ascertained, or even conjectured ; its spirit had not in the least
mitigated their ferocity and inhumanity. If Christianity is accused as the
immediate exciting cause of these disastrous scenes, the predisposing principle
was in that uncivilised nature of man, which not merely was unallayed by the
gentle and humanising tenets of the Gospel, but, as it has perpetually done,
pressed the Gospel itself, as it w^ere, into its own unhallowed service.
Arians. Alii autem gladiorum signa, plagas et cicatrices osten- debant.
Alii se fame ab ipsis excruciatos querebantur. Et base non ignobiles
testificabantur viri, sed de ecclesiis omnibus electi propter quas hue
convenerunt, res gestas edocebant, milites armatos, populos cum fustibus,
judicum minas, falsarum literarum supposi- tiones. * * Ad haec
virginum nu- dationes, incendia ecclesiarum, carceres adversos ministros Dei.
Hilar. Fragm. Op. Hist. ii. c. 4.
The Arians
retort the same accusations of violence,cruelty, and persecution, against
Athanasius. They say—Per vim, per caedem, per bellum, Alexandrinorum ecclesias
depraedatus ; — and this, per pug- nas et cades gentilium. Decretum Synodi
Orientalium Episcoporum apud Sardicam, apud S. Hila- rium.
Immensa autem
confluxerat ad Sardicam rnultitudo sceleratorum omnium et perditorum, adventan-
tium de Constantinopoli, de Alexandria, qui rei homicidiorum, rei sanguinis,
rei caedis, rei latro- ciniorum, rei praedarum, rei spo- liorum, nefandorumque
omnium sacrilegiorum et criminum rei; qui altaria confregerunt, ecclesias
incenderunt, domosque privatorum compilaverunt; profanatores mys- teriorum,
proditoresque sacramen- torum Christi; qui impiam scele- ratamque haereticorum
doctrinam contra ecclesiae fidem asserentes, sapientissimos presbyteros Dei,
diacones, sacerdotes, atrociter de- mactaverunt. Ibid. 19. And this protest,
full of these tremendous charges, was signed by the eighty seceding Eastern
bishops.
The severe
exclusiveness of dogmatic theology chat.
attained
its height in this controversy. Hitherto, ,___________ *
the Catholic
and heretical doctrines had receded from each other at the first outset, as it
were, and drawn off to opposite and irreconcileable extremes.
The heretics
had wandered away into the boundless regions of speculation ; they had
differed on some of the most important elementary principles of belief; they
had rarely admitted any common basis for argument. Here the contending parties
set out from nearly the same principles, admitted the same authority, and
seemed, whatever their secret bias or inclination, to differ only on the import
of one word. Their opinions, like parallel lines in mathematics, seemed to be constantly
approximating, yet found it impossible to unite. The Atha- nasians taunted the
Arians with the infinite variations in their belief: Athanasius recounts no
less than eleven creeds. But the Arians might have pleaded their anxiety to
reconcile themselves to the church, their earnest solicitude to make every
advance towards a reunion, provided they might be excused the adoption of the
one obnoxious word, the Homo- ousion, or Consubstantialism. But the inflexible
orthodoxy of Athanasius will admit no compromise; nothing less than complete
unity, not merely of expression, but of mental conception, will satisfy the
rigour of the ecclesiastical dictator, who will permit no single letter, and,
as far as he can detect it, no shadow of thought, to depart from his peremptory
creed. He denounces his adversaries, for the least deviation, as enemies of
Christ; he presses them with
d 3
book
consequences drawn from their opinions ; and, int ' , stead of
spreading wide the gates of Christianity, he seems to unbar them with jealous
reluctance, and to admit no one without the most cool and inquisitorial
scrutiny into the most secret arcana of his belief.
Athanasius Jn
the writings of Athanasius is embodied the ’ perfection of polemic divinity.
His style, indeed, has no splendour, no softness, nothing to kindle the
imagination, or melt the heart. Acute, even to subtlety, he is too earnest to
degenerate into scholastic trifling. It is stern logic, addressed to the reason
of those who admitted the authority of Christianity. There is no dispassionate
examination, no candid philosophic inquiry, no calm statement of his adversaries’
case, no liberal acknowledgment of the infinite difficulties of the subject,
scarcely any consciousness of the total insufficiency of human language to
trace the question to its depths; all is peremptory, dictatorial, imperious ;
the severe conviction of the truth of his own opinions, and the inference that
none but culpable motives, either of pride, or strife, or ignorance, can blind
his adversaries to their cogent and irrefragable certainty. Athanasius walks
on the narrow and perilous edge of orthodoxy with a firmness and confidence
which it is impossible not to admire. It cannot be doubted that he was deeply,
intimately, persuaded that the vital power and energy, the truth, the consolatory
force of Christianity, entirely depended on the unquestionable elevation of the
Saviour to the most absolute equality with the Parent Godhead. The
ingenuity
with which he follows out his own views of the consequences of their errors is
wonderfully acute; but the thought constantly occurs, whether a milder and
more conciliating tone would not have healed the wounds of afflicted Christianity;
whether his lofty spirit is not conscious that his native element is that of
strife rather than of peace.#
Though
nothing can contrast more strongly with the expansive and liberal spirit of
primitive Christianity than the repulsive tone of this exclusive theology, yet
this remarkable phasis of Christianity seems to have been necessary, and not
without advantage to the permanence of the religion. With the civilisation of
mankind, Christianity was about to pass through the ordeal of those dark ages
which followed the irruption of the barbarians. During this period, Christianity
was to subsist as the conservative principle of social order and the sacred
charities of life, the sole, if not always faithful, guardian of ancient
knowledge, of letters, and of arts. But in order to preserve its own existence,
it assumed, of necessity, another form. It must have a splendid and imposing
ritual, to command the barbarous minds of its new proselytes, and one which
might be performed by an illiterate priesthood ; for the mass of the
priesthood could not but be involved in the general darkness of the times. It
must likewise have brief and definite formularies of doctrine. As the original
languages,
o o O 7
* At a later
period, Athanasius seems to have been less rigidly exclusive against the
Semi-Arians. Compare Mohler, ii. p. 230.
D 4
book and even
the Latin, fell into disuse, and before the t 1 IT‘
, modern languages of Europe were sufficiently formed to admit of translations,
the sacred writings receded from general use ; they became the depositaries of
Christian doctrine, totally inaccessible to the laity, and almost as much so to
the lower Necessity clergy. Creeds therefore became of essential im- dudn^the Portance
to compress the leading points of Chris- succeeding tian doctrine into a small
compass. And as the barbarous and ignorant mind cannot endure the vague and the
indefinite, so it was essential that the main points of doctrine should be
fixed and cast into plain and emphatic propositions. The theological language
was firmly established before the violent breaking up of society; and no more
was required of the barbarian convert than to accept with uninquiring
submission the established formulary of the faith, and gaze in awe-struck
veneration at the solemn ceremonial, of Atiiana ^ie Athanasian
controversy powerfully contri- siancontro- buted to establish the supremacy of
the Roman theSgrowth pontiff. It became almost a contest between
powerPapal Eastern and Western Christendom $ at least the West was
neither divided like the East, nor submitted with the same comparatively
willing obedience, to the domination of Arianism under the imperial authority.
It was necessary that some one great prelate should take the lead in this
internecine strife. The only Western bishop whom his character would designate
as this leader was Hosius, the Bishop of Cordova. But age had now disqualified
this good man, whose moderation, abilities, and proba-
centunes.
bly important
services to Christianity in the con- ciiap.
version of Constantine, had recommended him to t * the common
acceptance of the Christian world, as president of the council of Nice. Where
this acknowledged superiority of character and talent was wanting, the dignity
of the see would command the general respect; and what see could compete, at
least, in the West, with Rome ? Antioch, Alexandria, or Constantinople, could
alone rival, in pretensions to Christian supremacy, the old metropolis of the
empire : and those sees were either fiercely contested, or occupied by Arian
prelates. Athanasius himself, by his residence, at two separate periods, at
Rome, submitted as it were his cause to the Roman pontiff’. Rome became the
centre of the ecclesiastical affairs of the West; and, since the Trinitarian
opinions eventually triumphed through the whole of Christendom, the firmness
and resolution with which the Roman pontiffs, notwithstanding the temporary
fall of Liberius, adhered to the orthodox faith ; their uncompromising attachment
to Athanasius, who, by degrees, was sanctified and canonised in the memory of
Christendom, might be one groundwork for that belief in their infallibility,
which, however it would have been repudiated by Cyprian, and never completely
prevailed in the East, became throughout the West the inalienable spiritual
heirloom of the Roman pontiffs. Christian history will hereafter show how
powerfully this monarchical principle, if not established, yet greatly
strengthened, by these consequences of the Athanasian controversy, tended to
consolidate and
book so to
maintain, in still expanding influence, the t m< , Christianity
of Europe.*
Superiority
This conflict continued with unabated vigour isra^nan” the close of
the reign of Constantius. Arianism gradually assumed the ascendant, through the
violence and the arts of the Emperor ; all the more distinguished of the
orthodox bishops were in exile, or, at least, in disgrace. Though the personal
influence of Athanasius was still felt throughout Christendom, his obscure
place of concealment was probably unknown to the greater part of his own
adherents. The aged Hosius had died in his apostasy. Hilary of Poictiers, the
Bishop of Milan, and the violent Lucifer of Cagliari, were in exile, and,
though Constantius had consented to the return of Liberius to his see, he had
returned with the disgrace of having consented to sign the new formulary framed
at Sirmium, where the term, Consubstantial, if not rejected, was, at least, suppressed.
Yet the popularity of Liberius was undiminished, and the whole city
indignantly rejected the insidious proposition of Constantius, that Libe-
* The orthodox Synod of libus judicarentur.
Fragm. iii.
Sardica
admits the superior dig- c. 12. In a
subsequent clause,
nity
of the successors of St. they condemn
Julius, Bishop of
Peter.
Hoc enim optimum et Rome, by name. It is
difficult to
valde
congruentissimum esse vide- calculate the
effect which would
bitur,
si ad caput, id est, ad commonly be
produced on men’s
Petri
Apostoli sedem, de singulis minds by
their involving in one com-
quibusque
provinciis Domini re- mon cause the
two tenets, which,
ferant
sacerdotes. Epist. Syn. in fact, bore no
relation to each
Sard,
apud Hilarium, Fragm. other, — the
orthodox belief in the
Oper.
Hist. ii. c. 9. It was dis- Trinity, and
the supremacy of the
claimed
with equal distinctness by Bishop of Rome.
Sozomen, iv.
the
seceding Arians. Novam le- 11.
13. Theodoret, ii. 17. Phi-
gem
introducere putaverunt, ut lostorgius,
iv. 3.
Orientales
Episcopi ab Occidenta-
rius and his
rival Felix should rule the see with conjoint authority. The parties had
already come to blows, and even to bloodshed, when Felix, who it was admitted,
had never swerved from the creed of Nice, and whose sole offence was entering
into communion with the Arians, either from moderation, or conscious of the
inferiority of his party, withdrew to a neighbouring city, where he soon closed
his days, and relieved the Christians of Rome from the apprehension of a rival
pontiff.
The unbending
resistance of the Athanasians was no doubt confirmed, not merely by the
variations in the Arian creed, but by the new opinions which they considered
its legitimate offspring, and which appeared to justify their worst
apprehensions of its inevitable consequences. Aetius formed a new Heresy of
sect, which not merely denied the con substantiality, but the similitude of the
Son to the Father. He was not only not of the same, but of a totally different,
nature. Aetius, according to the account of his adversaries, was a bold and
unprincipled adventurer * ; and the career of a person of this class is
exemplified in his life. The son of a soldier, at one time condemned to death
and to the confiscation of his property, Aetius became a humble artisan, first
as
* Socrates, ii. 35. Sozomen, Aristotelianism and Platonism in
iii.
15., iv. 12. Philostorg. iii. 15. the
church. Aetius, to prove his
17. Suidas, voc. Amor. Epiphan. unimaginative doctrines, employed
Haeres.
76. Gregor. Nyss. con- the severe
and prosaic categories
tra
Eunom. of Aristotle, repudiating the
pre-
The
most curious part in the vailing
Platonic mode of argu- History of Aetius is his attach- ment used by Origen and Clement to the Aristotelian philo- ment of Alexandria. Socrates, ii. sophy.
With him appears to have c. 35. begun
the long strife between
Aetius.
a worker in
copper, afterwards in gold. His dishonest practices obliged him to give up the
trade, but not before be had acquired some property. He attached himself to
Paulinus, Bishop of Antioch ; was expelled from the city by his successor ;
studied grammar at Anazarba; was encouraged by the Arian bishop of that see,
named Athanasius ; returned to Antioch; was ordained deacon; and again
expelled the city. Discomfited in a public disputation with a Gnostic, he
retired to Alexandria, where, being exercised in the art of rhetoric, he
revenged himself on a Manichean, who died of shame. He then became a public
itinerant teacher, practising, at the same time, his lucrative art of a
goldsmith. The Arians rejected Aetius with no less earnest indignation than the
orthodox, but they could not escape being implicated, as it were, in his
unpopularity ; and the odious Anomeans, those who denied the .similitude of the
Son to the Father, brought new discredit even on the more temperate partisans
of the Arian creed. Another heresiarch, of a higher rank, still further brought
disrepute on the Arian party. Macedonius, the Bishop of Constantinople, to the
Arian tenet of the inequality of the Son to the Father, added the total denial
of the divinity of the Holy Ghost.
Council still
followed council. Though we may not concur with the Arian bishops in ascribing
to their adversaries the whole blame of this perpetual tumult and confusion in
the Christian world, caused by these incessant assemblages of the clergy, there
must have been much melancholy truth in their state-
ment. “The
East and the West are in a perpetual ciiap.
state of restlessness and disturbance. Deserting our , , spiritual charges ;
abandoning the people of God ; neglecting the preaching of the Gospel; we are
hurried about from place to place, sometimes to great distances, some of us
infirm with age, with feeble constitutions or ill health, and are sometimes obliged
to leave our sick brethren on the road. The whole administration of the empire,
of the Emperor himself, the tribunes, and the commanders, at this fearful
crisis of the state, are solely occupied with the lives and the condition of
the bishops.
The people
are by no means unconcerned. The whole brotherhood watches in anxious suspense
the event of these troubles ; the establishment of posthorses is worn out by
our journeyings; and all on account of a few wretches, who, if they had the
least remaining sense of religion, would say witli the Prophet Jonah, ‘ Take us
up and cast us into the sea ; so shall the sea be calm unto you ; for we know
that it is on our account that this great tempest is upon you.’ ” *
The synod at
Sirmium had no effect in reconciling the differences, or affirming the
superiority of either party. A double council was appointed, of the Eastern
prelates at Seleucia, of the Western at Rimini. The Arianism of the Emperor
himself had by this time degenerated still farther from the creed of Nice.
Eudoxus, who had espoused the Anomean doctrines of Aetius, ruled his
untractable but passive mind. The council of Rimini con- ?°UI?ci.lof
1 Rimini.
* Hilar. Oper. Ilist. Fragm. xi. c. 25.
book sisted of at
least 400 bishops, of whom not above m’ , eighty were Arians. Their resolutions
were firm and peremptory. They repudiated the Arian doctrines ; they expressed
their rigid adherence to the formulary of Nice. Ten bishops, however, of each
party, were deputed to communicate their decrees to Constantius. The ten Arians
were received with the utmost respect, their rivals with every kind of slight
and neglect. Insensibly they were admitted to more intimate intercourse ; the
flatteries, perhaps the bribes, of the Emperor prevailed ; they returned,
having signed a formulary directly opposed to their instructions. Their reception
at first was unpromising; but by degrees the council, from which its firmest
and most resolute members had gradually departed, and in which many poor and
aged bishops still retained their seat, wearied, perplexed, worn out by the
expense and discomfort of a long residence in a foreign city, consented to sign
a creed in which the contested word, the homoousion, was carefully suppressed.*
Arianism was thus deliberately adopted by a council, of which the authority was
undisputed. The world, says Jerome, groaned to find itself Arian. But, on
their return to their dioceses, the indignant prelates every where protested
against the fraud and violence which had been practised
* It is curious enough, that the “jam usias et homoousii nomina
Latin
language did not furnish recedant
quae in divinis Scripturis
terms
to express this fine distinc- de Deo, et
Dei Filio, non inveni-
tion.
Some Western prelates, many untur
scripta.” Apud Hilarium,
of
whom probably did not under- Oper.
Hist. Fragm. ix. stand a word of Greek, proposed,
against
them. New persecutions followed: Gan- ciiap.
dentins, Bishop of Ilimini, lost his life. (
V'
The triumph
of Arianism was far easier among the hundred and sixty bishops assembled at
Seleucia.
But it was
more fatal to their cause : the Arians, and Semi-Arians, and Anomeans, mingled
in tumultuous strife, and hurled mutual anathemas against each other. The new
council met at Constantinople. By some strange political or religious vicissitude,
the party of the Anomeans triumphed, while Aetius, its author, was sent into
banishment.* Ma- cedonius was deposed ; Eudoxus of Antioch was translated to
the imperial see; and the solemn dedication of the church of St. Sophia was
celebrated by a prelate who denied the similitude of nature between the Father
and the Son. The whole Christian world was in confusion ; these fatal feuds
penetrated almost as far as the Gospel itself had reached. The Emperor, whose
alternately partial vehemence and subtlety had inflamed rather than allayed the
tumult, found his authority set at nought; a deep, stern, and ineradicable
resistance opposed the imperial decrees. A large portion of the empire
proclaimed aloud that there were limits to the imperial despotism ; that there
was a higher allegiance, which superseded that due to the
* Aetius and Eunomius seem seems to object to the anti-mate-
to
have been the heroes of the his- rialist
view of the Deity main-
torian
Philostorgius, fragments of tained by
the Semi-Arian Euse-
whose
history have been preserved bins, and,
according to him, by
by
the pious hostility of Photius. Arius
himself. He reproaches
This
diminishes our regret for the Eusebius
with asserting the Deity
loss
of the original work, which to be
incomprehensible and incon-
would
be less curious than a genu- ceivable :
dyvioaroq kcu aicaTaXiiir-
ine
Arian history. Philostorgius rog. Lib. i. 2, 3.
BOOK
III.
civil
authority ; that in affairs of religion they would not submit to the
appointment of superiors who did not profess their views of Christian
orthodoxy.* The Emperor himself, by mingling with almost fanatical passion and
zeal in these controversies, at once lowered himself to the level of his
subjects, and justified the importance which they attached to these questions.
If Constantius had firmly, calmly, and consistently, enforced mutual
toleration, — if he had set the example of Christian moderation and temper; if
he had set his face solely against the stern refusal of Athanasius and his
party to admit the Arians into communion, — he might, perhaps, have retained
some influence over the contending parties. But he was not content without
enforcing the dominance of the Arian party ; he dignified Athanasius with the
hatred of a personal enemy, almost of a rival; and his subjects, by his own
apparent admission that these were questions of spiritual life and death, were
compelled to postpone his decrees to those of God; to obey their bishops, who
held the keys of heaven and hell, rather than Caesar, who could only afflict
them with civil disabilities, or penalties in this life.
* Hilary quotes the sentence of Emperor’s
assuming the cogni- St. Paul. Ubi fides est, ibi et sance over religious
questions, libertas est; in allusion to the Oper. Hist. Fragm. i. c. 5.
CIIAP.
VI.
JULIAN.
Amidst all this intestine strife within the pale of
Christianity, and this conflict between the civil and religious authorities,
concerning their respective limits, Paganism made a desperate effort to regain
its lost supremacy. Julian has, perhaps, been somewhat unfairly branded with
the ill-sounding name of Apostate. His Christianity was but the compulsory
obedience of youth to the distasteful lessons of education, enforced by the
hateful authority of a tyrannical relative. As early as the maturity of his
reason,—at least as soon as he dared to reveal his secret sentiments,—he avowed
his preference for the ancient Paganism.
The most
astonishing part of Julian’s history is the development and partial fulfilment
of all his vast designs during a reign of less than two years. His own age
wondered at the rapidity with which the young Emperor accomplished his
military, civil, and religious schemes.* During his separate and subordinate
command as
*
Dicet aliquis: quomodo tam tione dierum
ct mensium, sed
multa tain brevi tempore. Etrecte. operum
multitudinc et effectarum
Sed
Imperator noster addit ad rerum
niodo Juliani tempora mo-
tempus quod otio suo detrahit. tientur.
Mumertini Grat. Actio.
* * * Itaque grandaevuin jam
im- c. xiv. perium videbitur his, qui
non ra-
VOL.
III. E
book Caesar, his
time was fully occupied with his t IIL , splendid
campaigns upon the Rhine.* Julian was the vindicator of the old majesty of the
empire ; he threw back with a bold and successful effort the inroad of
barbarism, which already threatened to overwhelm the Roman civilisation of
Gaul. During the two unfinished years of his short reign sole government,
Julian had reunited the whole ^^36!— Roman empire under his single sceptre; he
had 363. reformed the army, the court, the tribunals of justice ; he had
promulgated many useful laws, which maintained their place in the jurisprudence
of the empire ; he had established peace on all the frontiers ; he had
organised a large and well- disciplined force to chastise the Persians for
their aggressions on the eastern border, and by a formidable diversion within
their own territories, to secure the Euphratic provinces against the most
dangerous rival of the Roman power. During all these engrossing cares of
empire, he devoted himself with the zeal and activity of a mere philosopher and
man of letters to those more tranquil pursuits. The conqueror of the Franks and
the antagonist of Sapor delivered lectures in the schools, and published
works, which, whatever may be thought of their depth and truth, display no mean
powers of composition : as a writer, Julian will compete with most of his age.
Besides all this, his vast and restless spirit contemplated, and had already
commenced, nothing less than a total change in the religion of the empire ;
not merely the restoration
* Six years, from 335 to 361.
of Paganism
to the legal supremacy which it ciiap.
possessed
before the reign of Constantine, and the ,____________ ^r*
degradation
of Christianity into a private sect; but the actual extirpation of the new
religion from the minds of men by the reviving energies of a philosophic, and
at the same time profoundly religious, Paganism.
The
genius of ancient Rome and of ancient Character Greece might appear to revive
in amicable union ’
in the soul
of Julian. The unmeasured military ambition, which turned the defensive into a
war of aggression on all the imperilled frontiers ; the broad and vigorous
legislation ; the unity of administration ; the severer tone of manners, which
belonged to the better days of Rome ; the fine cultivation; the perspicuous
philosophy; the lofty conceptions of moral greatness and purity, which
distinguished the old Athenian. If the former (the Roman military enterprise),
met eventually with the fate of Crassus or of Varus, rather than the glorious
successes of Germanicus or Trajan, the times were more in fault than the
general: if the latter (the Grecian elevation and elegance of mind) more resembled
at times the affectation of the Sophist, and the coarseness of the Cynic, than
the lofty views and exquisite harmony of Plato, or the practical wisdom of
Socrates, the effete and exhausted state of Grecian letters and philosophy must
likewise be taken into the account.
In the
uncompleted two years of his sole empire*,
* One year, eight months, and twenty-three
days. La Bleterie, Vie de Julien, p. 491.
BOOK Julian
had advanced so far in the restoration of the ' . internal vigour and unity of
administration, that it is doubtful how much further, but for the fatal Persian
campaign, he might have fulfilled the visions of his noble ambition. He might
have averted, at least for a time, the terrible calamities which burst upon the
Roman world during the reign of Valentinian and Valens. But difficult and desperate
as the enterprise might appear, the re-organisation of a decaying empire was
less impracticable than the restoration of an extinguishing religion. A religion
may awaken from indifference, and resume its dominion over the minds of men ;
but not, if supplanted by a new form of faith, which has identified itself
with the opinions and sentiments of the general mind. It can never dethrone a
successful invader, who has been recognised as a lawful sovereign. And
Christianity (could the clear and sagacious mind of Julian be blind to this
essential difference ?) had occupied the whole soul of man with a fulness and
confidence which belonged, and could belong, to no former religion. It had
intimately blended together the highest truths of philosophy with the purest
morality; theloftiest speculation with the most practical spirit. The vague
theory of another life, timidly and dimly announced by the later Paganism,
could ill compete with the deep and intense conviction, now rooted in the
hearts of a large part of mankind by Christianity ; the source in some of
harrowing fears, in others of the noblest hopes.
Julian united
in his own mind, and attempted to work into his new religion, the two
incongruous
characters
of a zealot for the older superstitions, chap. and for the more modern
philosophy of Greece. , V1, , He had fused together, in that which
appeared to Religion of him an harmonious system, Homer and Plato. Jul,an-
He thought that the whole ritual of sacrifice would combine with that allegoric
interpretation of the ancient mythology, which undeified the greater part of
the Heathen Pantheon. All that Paganism had borrowed from Christianity, it had
rendered comparatively cold and powerless. The one Supreme Deity was a name
and an abstract conception, a metaphysical being. The visible representative of
the Deity, the Sun, which was in general an essential part of the new system,
was, after all, foreign and Oriental ; it belonged to the genuine mythology
neither of Greece nor Rome. The Theurgy, or awful and sublime communion of the
mind with the spiritual world, was either too fine and fanciful for the vulgar
belief, or associated, in the dim confusion of the popular conception, with
that magic, against which the laws of Rome had protested with such stern solemnity
; and which, therefore, however eagerly pursued, and reverenced with
involuntary awe, was always associated with impressions of its unlawfulness and
guilt. Christianity, on the other hand, had completely incorporated with
itself all that it had admitted from Paganism, or which, if we may so speak,
constituted the Pagan part of Christianity. The Heathen Theurgy, even in its
purest form, its dreamy intercourse with the intermediate race of daemons, was
poor and ineffective, compared with the diabolic ' e 3
book and angelic
agency, which became more and more IIL mingled up with Christianity.
Where these subordinate daemons were considered by the more philosophic Pagan
to have been the older deities of the popular faith, it was rather a degradation
of the ancient worship ; where this was not the case, this fine perception of
the spiritual world was the secret of the initiate few, rather than the
all-pervading superstition of the many. The Christian daemono- logy, on the
other hand, which began to be heightened and multiplied by the fantastic
imagination of the monks, brooding in their solitudes, seemed at least to grow
naturally out of the religious system. The gradual darkening into superstition
was alto- tlier imperceptible, and harmonised entirely with the general
feelings of the time. Christianity was a living plant, which imparted its
vitality to the foreign suckers grafted upon it; the dead and sapless trunk of
Paganism withered even the living boughs which were blended with it, by its own
inevitable decay.
Unfavour- On the other hand, Christianity at no period Christate°f
could appear in a less amiable and attractive light tianity. to a mind
preindisposed to its reception. It was in a state of universal fierce and
implacable discord : the chief cities of the empire had run with blood shed in
religious quarrels. The sole object of the conflicting parties seemed to be to
confine to themselves the temporal and spiritual blessings of the faith; to
exclude as many as they might from that eternal life, and to anathematise to
that eternal death, which were revealed by the Gospel, and placed, according to
the general
belief, under the special authority of the chap.
clergy. Society seemed to be split up into irrecon- , V1‘
cileable parties ; to the animosities of Pagan and Christian, were now added
those of Christian and Christian. Christianity had passed through its earlier
period of noble moral enthusiasm; of the energy with which it addressed its
first proclamation of its doctrines to man ; of the dignity with which it stood
aloof from the intrigues and vices of the world; and of its admirable constancy
under persecution.
It had not
fully attained its second state as a religion generally established in the
minds of men, by a dominant hierarchy of unquestioned authority.
Its great
truths had no longer the striking charm of novelty j nor were they yet
universally and profoundly implanted in the general mind by hereditary
transmission, or early education, and ratified by the unquestioning sanction of
ages.
The early
education of Julian had been, it might almost appear, studiously and skilfully
conducted, so as to show the brighter side of Paganism, the darker of
Christianity. His infant years had been clouded by the murder of his father.
How far his mind might retain any impression of this awful event, or
remembrance of the place of his refuge, the Christian church, or the saviour of
his life, the virtuous Bishop of Arethusa, it is of course impossible to
conjecture. But his first instructor was a man who, born a Scythian, and
educated in Greece*, united the severe morality of his ruder ancestors
* His name was Mardonius. Socrat. E. II.
iii. 1. Amm. Marc.
Julian, ad
Athen. et Misopogon. xxii 12.
E 4
with the
elegance of Grecian accomplishments. He enforced upon his young pupil the
strictest modesty, contempt for the licentious or frivolous pleasures of youth,
the theatre and the bath. At the same time, while he delighted his mind with
the poetry of Homer, his graver studies were the Greek and Latin languages, the
elements of the philosophy of Greece, and music, that original and attractive
element of Grecian education.* At the age of about fourteen or fifteen, Julian
was shut up, with his brother Gall us, in Macellse, a fortress in Asia Minor,
and committed in this sort of honourable prison to the rigid superintendence
of ecclesiastics. By his Christian instructors, the young and ardent Julian was
bound down to a course of the strictest observances ; the midnight vigil, the
fast, the long and weary prayer, and visits to the tombs of martyrs, rather
than a wise and rational initiation in the genuine principles of the Gospel; or
a judicious familiarity with the originality, the beauty, and the depth of the
Christian morals and Christian religion. He was taught the virtue of implicit
submission to his ecclesiastical superiors ; the munificence of conferring
gifts upon the churches ; with his brother Gallus he was permitted, or rather
incited, to build a chapel over the tomb of St. Mammas.t For six years,
* See the high character of this tianity. A prophetic miracle foreman in the
Misopogon, p. 351. bodecl his future
course. While
f
Julian is said even thus early this
church rose expeditiously
to
have betrayed his secret inclin- under
the labour of Gallus, the
ations;
in his declamations he obstinate stones
would not obey
took
delight in defending the that of Julian;
an invisible hand
cause
of Paganism against Chris- disturbed the
foundations, and
lie bitterly
asserts, that he was deprived of every kind of useful instruction.* Julian and
his brother, it is even said, were ordained readers, and officiated in public
in that character. But the passages of the sacred writings, with which he might
thus have become acquainted, were imposed as lessons ; and in the mind of
Julian, Christianity, thus taught and enforced, was inseparably connected with
the irksome and distasteful feelings of confinement and degradation. No youths
of his own rank, or of ingenuous birth, were permitted to visit his prison; he
was reduced, as he indignantly declares, to the debasing society of slaves*
At the age of
twenty, Julian was permitted to reside in Constantinople, afterwards at
Nicomedia. The jealousy of Constantius was excited by the popular demeanour,
sober manners, and the reputation for talents, which directed all eyes towards
his youthful nephew. He dismissed him to the more dangerous and fatal residence
in Nicomedia, in the neighbourhood of the most celebrated and most attractive
of the Pagan party. The most faithful adherents of Paganism were that class
with which the tastes and inclinations of Julian brought him into close
intimacy ; the sophists, the men of letters, the rhetoricians, the poets, the
philosophers. He was forbidden, indeed, perhaps by the jealousy of his appointed
instructor Ecebolus, who at this time conformed to the religion of the court,
to hear the
threw
clown all his work. Gregory heard it from
eye-witnesses. Gre-
Nazianzen
declares that he had gor. Or. iii. p.
59. 61. Sozomen,
heard
this from eye-witnesses ; v. 2.
Sozomen,
from those who had * Ylavrog fiaOfijiiaTog Girovcaiov.
book dangerous
lectures of Libanius, equally celebrated for his eloquence and his ardent
attachment to the
Intercourse
old
religion. But Julian obtained his writings, which phfioso- devoured with all the delight of a stolen
enjoy-
phers. ment.#
He formed an intimate acquaintance with the heads of the philosophic school,
with iEdesius, his pupils Eusebius and Chrysanthius, and at last with the
famous Maximus. These men are accused of practising the most subtle and
insidious arts upon the character of their ardent and youthful votary. His
grave and meditative mind imbibed with eager delight the solemn mysticism of
their tenets, which were impressed more deeply by significant and awful
ceremonies. A magician at Nicomedia first excited his curiosity, and tempted
him to enter on these exciting courses. At Pergamus he visited the aged
JEdesius ; and the manner in which these philosophers passed Julian onward
from one to another, as if through successive stages of initiation in their
mysterious doctrines, bears the appearance of a deliberate scheme to work him
up to their purposes. The aged JEdesius addressed him as the favoured child of
wisdom ; declined the important charge of his instruction, but commended him to
his pupils, Eusebius and Chrysanthius, who could unlock the inexhaustible
source of light and wisdom. “ If you should attain the supreme felicity of
being initiated in their mysteries, you will blush to have been born a man, you
will no longer endure the name.” The pupils of iEdesius fed the greedy mind of
the proselyte with all their stores of wisdom, and then skilfully unfolded the
greater fame of Maximus.
* Liban.
Orat. Par. t. i. p. 526.
Eusebius
professed to despise the vulgar arts of wonder-working, at least in comparison
with the purification of the soul ; but he described the power of Maximus in
terms to which Julian could not listen without awe and wonder. Maximus had led
them into the temple of Hecate; he had burned a few grains of incense, he had
murmured a hymn, and the statue of the goddess was seen to smile. They were
awe-struck, but Maximus declared that this was nothing. The lamps throughout
the temple shall immediately burst into light: as he spoke, they kindled and
blazed up. “ But of these mystical wonder-workers, we think lightly,” proceeded
the skilful speaker, 44 do thou, like us, think only of the internal
purification of the reason.” “ Keep to your book,” broke out the impatient
youth, “this is the man I seek.” * He hastened to Ephesus. The person and
demeanour of Maximus were well suited to keep up the illusion. He was a
venerable man, with a long white beard, with keen eyes, great activity, soft
and persuasive voice, rapid and fluent eloquence. By Maximus, who summoned
Chrysanthius to him, Julian was brought into direct communion with the
invisible world. The faithful and officious Genii from this time watched over
Julian in peace and war ; they conversed with him in his slumbers, they warned
him of dangers, they conducted his military operations. Thus far we proceed on
the authority of Pagan writers ; the scene of his solemn initiation rests on
the more doubtful testimony of Christian historianst, which, as
* Eunapius, in Vit. yEclesii et f Greg. Naz.
Orat. iii. 71. The- Maximi. ocloret.
iii. 3.
book they were
little likely to be admitted into the secrets
t IIL
, of these dark and hidden rites, is to be received with grave suspicion, more
especially as they do not scruple to embellish them with Christian miracle.
Julian was led first into a temple, then into a subterranean crypt, in almost
total darkness. The evocations were made ; wild and terrible sounds were heard;
spectres of fire jibbered around. Julian, in his sudden terror, made the sign
of the cross. All disappeared, all was silent. Twice this took place, and
Julian could not but express to Maximus his astonishment at the power of this
sign. “ The gods,” returned the dexterous philosopher, “ will have no
communion with so profane a worshipper.” From this time, it is said, on better
authority*, that Julian burst, like a lion in his wrath, the slender ties which
bound him to Christianity. But he was still constrained to dissemble his secret
apostasy. His enemies declared that he redoubled his outward zeal for
Christianity, and even shaved his head in conformity with the monastic
practice. His brother Gallus had some suspicion of his secret views, and sent
the Arian bishop Aetius to confirm him in the faith.
Conduct of How far Julian, in this time of danger, stooped
Constantius . v • i • i • ±. i j
to Julian, to disguise his real sentiments, it were rash to decide. But
it would by no means commend Christianity to the respect and attachment of
Julian, that it was the religion of his imperial relative. Popular rumour did
not acquit Constantius of the murder of Julian’s father; and Julian himself
afterwards publicly avowed his be
* Libanius.
lief in this
crime.* He had probably owed his own escape to his infant age and the activity
of his friends. Up to this time, his life had been the precarious and
permissive boon of a jealous tyrant, who had inflicted on him every kind of
degrading restraint. His place of education had been a prison, and his
subsequent liberty watched with suspicious vigilance. The personal religion of
Constantius ; his embarking with alternate violence and subtlety in theological
disputations ; his vacillation between timid submission to priestly authority
and angry persecution, were not likely to make a favourable impression on a wavering
mind. The Pagans themselves, if we may take the best historian of the time as
the representative of their opinions t, considered that Constantius dishonoured
the Christian religion by mingling up its perspicuous simplicity with anile
superstition. If there was little genuine Christianity in the theological
discussions of Constantius, there had been less of its beautiful practical
spirit in his conduct to Julian. It had allayed no jealousy, mitigated no
hatred ; it had not restrained his temper from overbearing tyranny, nor kept
his hands clean from blood. And now, the death of his brother Gallus, to whom
he seems to have cherished warm attachment, was a new evidence of the
capricious and unhumanised tyranny of Constantius, a fearful omen of the uncertainty
of his own life under such a despotism. He had beheld the advancement and the
fate of his brother ; and his future destiny presented the alternative either
of ignomi-
* Ad
Senatum Populumque Athe- f Ammianus Marcellinus. mensem. Julian. Oper. p. 270.
book nious
obscurity or fatal distinction. His life was t 1IL ,
spared only through the casual interference of the humane and enlightened
Empress ; and her influence gained but a slow and difficult triumph over the
malignant eunuchs, who ruled the mind of Constantius. But he had been exposed
to the ignominy of arrest and imprisonment, and a fearful suspense of seven
weary months.* His motions, his words, were watched ; his very heart
scrutinised ; he was obliged to suppress the natural emotions of grief for the
death of his brother; to impose silence on his fluent eloquence ; and act the
hypocrite to nature as well as to religion. His retreat Julian at was Athens,
of all cities in the empire that, probably, in which Paganism still maintained
the highest ascendancy, and appeared in the most attractive form. The political
religion of Rome had its stronghold in the capital; that of Greece, in the
centre of intellectual culture and of the fine arts. Athens might still be
considered the university of the empire ; from all quarters, particularly of
the East, young men of talent and promise crowded to complete their studies in
those arts of grammar, rhetoric, philosophy, which, however, by no means
disdained by the Christians, might still be considered as more strictly
attached to the Pagan interest.
Among the
Christian students who at this time paid the homage of their residence to this
great centre of intellectual culture, were Basil and Gregory of Nazianzum. The
latter, in the orations with which in later times he condemned the memory
* 'EjUf ck
a<pTiKe [xoyic, tTrra /.ujvuiv o\ojv eXicvoag
r?j?e icaicelcre. Ad. S. P. Ath. p. 272.
of Julian,
has drawn, with a coarse and unfriendly citap.
hand, the picture of his person and manners. His , ' , manners did injustice to
the natural beauties of his person, and betrayed his restless, inquisitive, and
somewhat incoherent, character. The Christian (we must remember, indeed, that
these predictions were published subsequent to their fulfilment, and that, by
their own account, Julian had already betrayed, in Asia Minor, his secret
propensities) already discerned in the unquiet and unsubmissive spirit, the
future apostate. But the general impression which Julian made was far more
favourable. His quickness, his accomplishments, the variety and extent of his
information ; his gentleness, his eloquence, and even his modesty, gained
universal admiration, and strengthened the interest excited by his forlorn and
perilous position.
Of all
existing; Pagan rites, those which still Julian,
. . , , 0 , ii* initiated at
maintained
the greatest respect, and would lm- Eieusis. press a mind like Julian’s with
the profoundest veneration, were the Eleusinian mysteries. They united the
sanctity of almost immemorial age with some similitude to the Platonic Paganism
ot the day, at least sufficient for the ardent votaries of the latter to claim
their alliance. The Hierophant of Eieusis was admitted to be the most potent
theurgist in the world.* Julian honoured him, or was honoured by his intimacy ;
and the initiation in the Mystery of those, emphatically called the Goddesses,
with all its appalling dramatic ma
* Compare (in Eunap. Vit. credit to the
sagacity, or evince ,/Edes. p. 52., edit. Boissonade) the apprehensions of the
seer, but the prophecy of the dissolution will by no means claim the honour of
Paganism ascribed to this pon- of divine foreknowledge, tiff; a prediction
which may do
Elevation of Julian to the rank of
book chinery, and its high speculative and imaginative
I1L doctrines, the impenetrable, the ineffable tenets of the
sanctuary, consummated the work of Julian’s conversion.
The elevation
of Julian to the rank of Caesar was at length extorted from the necessities,
rather Csesar. tjian
free]y bestowed by the love, of the Emperor.
Nor
did the jealous hostility of Constantius cease with this apparent
reconciliation. Constantius, with cold suspicion, thwarted all his measures,
crippled his resources, and appropriated to himself, with unblushing injustice,
the fame of his victories.* Julian’s assumption of the purple, whether forced
upon him by the ungovernable attachment of his soldiery, or prepared by his own
subtle ambition, was justified, and perhaps compelled, by the base ingratitude
of Constantius; and by his manifest, if not avowed, resolution of preparing the
ruin of Julian, by removing his best troops to the East, t Death of The timely
death of Constantius alone prevented the deadly warfare in which the last of
the race of Constantine were about to contest the empire. The dying bequest of
that empire to Julian, said to have been made by the penitent Constantius,
could not efface the recollection of those long years of degradation, of
jealousy, of avowed or secret hostility ; still less could it allay the
dislike or con
* Ammianus, 1. xv. 8.
et seqq. odium venit cum victoriis suis Socrates, iii. 1. Sozomen, v. 11.
capella non homo; ut hirsutum La Bleterie, Vie de Julien, 89. et Julianum
carpentes appellantesque seqq. The campaigns of Julian, loquacem
talpam, et purpuratam in La Bleterie, lib. ii. Gibbon, iv. simiam, et
litterionem Graecum. pp# j, 4 Amm.
Marc. xvii. 11.
The
well-known passage in Am- -f- Amm. Marc. xx. See. Zo- mianus shows the real
sentiments simus, iii. Liban. Or. x. Jul. ad
Constan
tius.
of the court
towards Julian. In S. P. Q. A.
tempt of
Julian for his weak and insolent prede- chap.
cessor, who, governed by eunuchs, wasted the v__VI*
precious time which ought to have been devoted to the cares of the empire, in
idle theological discussions, or quarrels with contending ecclesiastics.
The part in
the character of the deceased Emperor least likely to find favour in the sight
of his successor Julian was his religion. The unchristian Christianity of
Constantius must bear some part of the guilt of Julian’s apostasy.
Up to the
time of his revolt against Constantius, conduct Julian hadrespected the
dominant Christianity. The of Julian* religious acts of his early
youth, performed in obedience, or under the influence of his instructors; or
his submissive conformity, when his watchful enemies were eager for his life,
ought hardly to convict him of deliberate hypocrisy. In Gaul, still under the
strictest suspicion, and engaged in almost incessant warfare, he would have few
opportunities to betray his secret sentiments. But Jupiter was consulted in his
private chamber, and sanctioned his assumption of the imperial purple.* And no
sooner had he marched into Illyria, an independent Emperor, at the head of his
own army, than he threw aside all concealment, and proclaimed himself a
worshipper of the ancient gods of Paganism. The auspices were taken, and the
act of divination was not the less held in honour, because the fortunate
soothsayer announced the death of Constantius.
The army
followed the example of their victorious general. At his command, the neglected
temples
* Amm.
xxi. I. F
book resumed their ceremonies ; he adorned them with '
, offerings ; he set the example of costly sacrifices.* The Athenians in
particular obeyed with alacrity the commands of the new Emperor ; the honours
of the priesthood became again a worthy object of contest; two distinguished
females claimed the honour of representing the genuine Eumolpida?, and of
officiating in the Parthenon. Julian, already anxious to infuse as much of the
real Christian spirit, as he could, into reviving Paganism, exhorted the
contending parties to peace and unity, as the most acceptable sacrifice to the
gods.
The death of
Constantius left the whole Roman world open to the civil and religious schemes
which lay, floating and unformed, before the imagination of Julian. The civil
reforms were executed with necessary severity ; but in some instances, with
more than necessary cruelty. The elevation of Paganism into a rational and
effective faith, and
O J
the depression,
and even the eventual extinction of Christianity, were the manifest objects of
Julian’s religious policy. Julian’s religion was the eclectic Paganism of the
new Platonic philosophy. The chief speculative tenet was Oriental rather than
Greek or Roman. The one immaterial inconceivable Father dwelt alone \ though
his majesty was held in reverence, the direct and material object of worship
was the great Sun t, the living
* The Western army was more KareXOovTog fioi <rrpaT07r(Sov
Beoae-
easily
practised upon than the €tg 1<jtiv.
Epist. xxxviii.
Eastern
soldiers at a subsequent f ToV fityav'’ll\iov,To %u>v c’iyaX-
period.
Oprj^Kevopev rovg 0eovg /xa Kai e/uxpvxov, /cat tvvovv
Kai
avafavdbv Kai to
nrXrjQog tov ovy- ayaOoepyov, tov vorjrov irarpog.
and animated,
and propitious and beneficent image chap.
of the immaterial Father.* Below this primal Deity t * and
his glorious image, there was room for the whole Pantheon of subordinate
deities, of whom, in like manner, the stars were the material representatives;
but who possessed invisible powers, and manifested themselves in various ways,
in dreams and visions, through prodigies and oracles, the flights of birds, and
the signs in the sacrificial victims.! This vague and comprehensive Paganism
might conclude under its dominion all classes and nations which adhered to the
Heathen worship ; the Oriental, the Greek, the Roman, even, perhaps, the
Northern barbarian, would not refuse to admit the simplicity of the primal
article of the creed, spreading out as it did below into the boundless latitude
of Polytheism. The immortality of the soul appears to follow as an inference
from some of Julian’s Platonic doctrinest ; but it is remarkable how rarely it
is put forward as an important point of difference in his religious writings,
while, in his private correspondence, he falls back to the dubious and
hesitating language of the ancient Heathens : “ I am not one of those who
disbelieve
* Compare Julian, apud Cyril, against the dishonourable honours lib. ii. p.
65. thus heaped upon him, and pro-1-
Julian asserts the various offi- tests
against being responsible for ees of the subordinate deities, the acts, or involved in the fate, apud
Cyril., lib. vii. p. 235. of Liber,
Attys,or Osiris. Nolo lit
One
of the most remarkable errori vestro
nomen meum fomenta
illustrations
of this wide-spread suppeditet. * *
Quicquid sum
worship
of the sun is to be found simpliciter
Deo pareo, nee aliud
in
the address of Julius Firmicus volo de
me intelligatis, nisi quod
Maternus
to the Emperors Con- videtis. c. 8.
stantius and Constans. lie in- J Lib. ii. 58. troduces the sun as remonstrating
F 2
book the immortality of the soul; but the gods alone i
' . can know ; man can only conjecture that secret*
but his best
consolation on the loss of friends was the saying of the Grecian philosopher to
Darius, that if he would find three persons who had not suffered the like
calamities, he would restore his beautiful wife to life.t His dying language,
however, though still vague, and allied to the old Pantheistic system, sounds
more like serene confidence in some future state of being.
Restoration The first care of Julian was to restore the out- ifmPagan"
ward form of Paganism to its former splendour, and to infuse the vigour of
reviving youth into the antiquated system. The temples were every where to be
restored to their ancient magnificence j the municipalities were charged with
the expense of these costly renovations. Where they had been destroyed by the
zeal of the Christians, large fines were levied on the communities, and became,
as will hereafter appear, a pretext for grinding exaction, and sometimes cruel
persecution. It assessed on the whole community the penalty, merited, perhaps,
only by the rashness of a few zealots j it revived outrages almost forgotten,
and injuries perpetrated, perhaps, with the sanction, unquestionably with the
connivance, of the former government. In many instances, it may have revenged
on the innocent and peaceful, the crimes of the avaricious and irreligious, who
either plundered under the
* Ov yap St) Kctl tjfitig tfffiev twv tTriaracrOai Ft avrd rovg
Sreovg
7re7rti<Tn'evix)v
rag xf/vydg yroi 7rpo- avciyKi).
Epist. Ixiii.
p. 452. airokXvadai ru>v aw/iarwv
y avvci- -f Epistle to Amerius
on the
TroXXvaOdi. * #
'Qg ro7g fisv av- loss of his wife. Ep.
xxxvii. p.
6pu)7roig
apfioZu rrepl toiovtuv sited- 412.
mask of
Christian zeal, or seized the opportunity, ciiai\
when
the zeal of others might secure their impu- v______________
nity. That
which takes place in all religious revolutions, had occurred to a considerable
extent: the powerful had seized the opportunity of plundering the weaker party
for their own advantage. The eunuchs and favourites of the court had fattened
on the spoil of the temples.* If these men had been forced to regorge their
ill-gotten gains, justice might have approved the measure, but their crimes
were unfairly visited on the whole Christian body.
The extent to
which the ruin and spoliation of the temples had been carried in the East, may
be estimated from the tragic lamentations of Libanius.
The soul of
Julian, according to the orator, burned for empire, in order to restore the
ancient order of things.
In some
respects, the success of Julian answered the high-wrought expectations of his
partisans. His panegyrist indulges in this lofty language. “Thou, then, I say,
O mightiest Emperor, hast restored to the republic the expelled and banished
virtues ; thou hast rekindled the study of letters ; thou hast not only
delivered from her trial Philosophy, suspected heretofore and deprived of her
honours, and even arraigned as a criminal, but hast clothed her in purple,
crowned her with jewels, and seated her on the imperial throne. We may now look
on the heavens, and contemplate the stars with fearless gaze,
* Pasti templorum spoliis, is temples.
Xp»//*ara iriXovv oi the strong expression of Ammi- rolg t<Zv lepaip Xidoig
a<pi<nv avroig anus. Libanius says, that some owing
kytipoi>-tg. Orat. Parent, persons had built themselves p. 504. houses from
the materials of the
book who, a short
time ago, like the beasts of the field, 11L fixed our downward and
grovelling vision on the earth.”* “First of all,” says Libanius, “ he re-established
the exiled religion, building, restoring, embellishing the temples. Everywhere
were altars and fires, and the blood and fat of sacrifice, and smoke, and
sacred rites, and diviners, fearlessly performing their functions. And on the
tops of mountains were pipings and processions, and the sacrificial ox, which
was at once an offering to the gods and a banquet to men.”t The private temple
in the palace of Julian, in which he worshipped daily, was sacred to the Sun ;
but he founded altars to all the gods. He looked with especial favour on those
cities which had retained their temples, with abhorrence on those which had
suffered them to be destroyed, or to fall to ruin.t
Julian so
entirely misapprehended Christianity, as to attribute its success and influence
to its internal organisation, rather than to its internal authority over the
soul of man. He thought that the religion grew out of the sacerdotal power, not
that the sacerdotal power was but the vigorous development of the religion. He
fondly supposed that the imperial edict, and the authority of the government,
could supply the place of profound religious sentiment, and transform the whole
Pagan priesthood, whether attached to the dissolute worship of the East, the
elegant ceremonial of Greece,
* Mam. Grat. Act. c. xxiii. This many passages ; likewise, the Ora-
clause
refers, no doubt, to astrology tio
pro Templis, and the Monodia. and divination. J Orat. Parent, p. 564?.
f See v. I.
p. 529. one among
or the graver
ritual of Rome, into a serious, highly chap.
moral, and blameless hierarchy. The Emperor was ( VI*
to be at once the supreme head, and the model of this new sacerdotal order. The
sagacious mind of Julian might have perceived the dangerous power, growing up
in the Christian episcopate, which had already encroached upon the imperial
authority, and began to divide the allegiance of the world.
His political
apprehensions may have concurred with his religious animosities, in not merely
endeavouring to check the increase of this power, but in desiring to
concentrate again in the imperial person both branches of authority. The supreme
pontificate of Paganism had indeed passed quietly down with the rest of the
imperial titles and functions. But the interference of the Christian emperors
in ecclesiastical affairs had been met with resistance, obeyed only with
sullen reluctance, or but in deference to the strong arm of power. The doubtful
issue of the conflict between the Emperor and his religious antagonist might
awaken reasonable alarm for the majesty of the empire. If, on the other hand,
Julian should
succeed in reorganising the Pagan priesthood in efficiency, respect, and that
moral superiority which now belonged to the Christian ecclesiastical system,
the supreme pontificate, instead of being a mere appellation, or an appendage
to the imperial title, would be an office of unlimited influence and
authority.* The Emperor
* See the
curious fragment of among
the worshippers of Cybele.
the
sixty-second epistle, p. 450, ’Eyw
toivov tTreidt) irtp elfii Kara
in
which Julian asserts his suprem- jutv
tu tzarpta ^eyag ’Apx^pivg,
acy
not merely as Pontifex Maxi- tXaxov 8k vvv icai rov Aidv/jialov
mils,
but as holding a high rank irpo^ijTfosir,
F 4
book would be the undisputed and unrivalled head of the
III • •
t ^
' , religion of the empire; the whole sacerdotal order Julian’s would be at his
command; Paganism, instead of -:rest" being, as heretofore, a
confederacy of different religions, an aggregate of local systems of worship,
each under its own tutelar deity, would become a well- regulated monarchy, with
its provincial, civic, and village priesthoods, acknowledging the supremacy,
and obeying the impulse, of the high imperial functionary. Julian admitted the
distinction between the priest and the laity.# In every province a
supreme pontiff was to be appointed, charged with a superintendence over the
conduct of the inferior priesthood, and armed with authority to suspend or to
depose those who should be guilty of any indecent irregularity. The whole
priesthood were to be sober, chaste, temperate in all things. They were to
abstain, not merely from loose society, but, in a spirit diametrically opposite
to the old religion, were rarely to be seen at public festivals, never where
women mingled in them.t In private houses, they were only to be present at the
moderate banquets of the virtuous ; they were never to be seen drinking in
taverns, or exercising any base 01 sordid trade. The priesthood were to stand
aloof from society, and only mingle with it to infuse their own grave decency,
and unimpeachable moral tone. The theatre, that second temple, as it might be
called, of the older religion, was sternly
* ’E7ra (toi
ttov /.driGTiv ifnrtl- oloOct tI fiiv \eptvcy tl <3e piag
(oXwg) TtZv dtKaiiov, of ovk Fragm. Epist. Ixii.
f See Epist. xlix.
proscribed;
so entirely was it considered sunk chap. from its high religious character, so
incapable of t ^' , being restored to its old moral influence. They
were to avoid all books, poetry, or tales, which might inflame their passions ;
to abstain altogether from those philosophical writings which subverted the
foundations of religious belief, those of the Pyrrhonists and Epicureans, which
Julian asserts had happily fallen into complete neglect, and had almost become
obsolete. They were to be diligent and liberal in almsgiving, and to exercise
hospitality on the most generous scale. The Jews had no beggars, the Christians
maintained, indiscriminately, all applicants to their charity ; it was a
disgrace to the Pagans to be inattentive to such duties ; and the authority of
Homer is alleged to show the prodigal hospitality of the older Greeks. They
were to establish houses Hischa- of reception for strangers in every city, and
thus to stitution" rival or surpass the generosity of the Christians.
Supplies of
corn from the public granaries were assigned for these purposes, and placed at
the disposal of the priests, partly for the maintenance of their attendants,
partly for these pious uses. They were to pay great regard to the burial of the
dead, a subject on which Grecian feeling had always been peculiarly sensitive,
particularly of strangers.
The
benevolent institutions of Christianity were to imitated be imitated and
associated to Paganism. A tax was tianity. to be levied in every province for
the maintenance of the poor, and distributed by the priesthood. Hospitals for
the sick and for indigent strangers of
book every
creed were to be formed in convenient places. iii • ••
t ’
, The Christians, not without justice, called the Emperor “the ape of
Christianity.” Of all homage to the Gospel, this was the most impressive and
sincere ; and we are astonished at the blindness of Julian in not perceiving
that these changes, which thus enforced his admiration, were the genuine and
permanent results of the religion; but the disputes, and strifes, and
persecutions, the accidental and temporary effects of human passions, awakened
by this new and violent impulse on the human mind.
Ritual. Something
like an universal ritual formed part
of the design
of Julian. Three times a day prayer was to be publicly offered in the temples.
The powerful aid of music, so essential a part of the older and better Grecian
instruction, and of which the influence is so elevating to the soul *, was
called in to impress the minds of the worshippers. Each temple was to have its
organised band of choristers. A regular system of alternate chanting was introduced.
It would be curious, if it were possible, to ascertain whether the Grecian
temples received back their own music and their alternately responding chorus
from the Christian churches. Respect Julian would invest the Pagan priesthood
in that for temples. regpec^ or rather
i\^ commanding majesty, with
which the
profound reverence of the Christian world arrayed their hierarchy. Solemn
silence was to reign in the temples. All persons in authority were to leave
their guards at the door when they entered the hallowed precincts. The Emperor
* On Music. See Epist. lvi.
himself
forbade the usual acclamations on his entrance into the presence of the gods.
Directly he touched the sacred threshold, he became a private man.
It is said
that he meditated a complete course of Religious
. . nil !• instruction.
religious
instruction, schoolmasters, catechists, preachers, were to teach, — are we to
suppose the Platonic philosophy ?—as a part of the religion. A penitential form
was to be drawn up for the readmission of transgressors into the fold. Instead
of throwing open the temples to the free and promiscuous reception of
apostatising Christians, the value of the privilege was to be enhanced by the
difficulty of attaining it.# They were to be slowly admitted to the
distinction of rational believers in the gods.
The dii
averruncatores (atoning deities) were to be propitiated ; they were to pass
through different degrees of initiation. Prayers, expiations, lustrations,
severe trials, could alone purify their bodies and their minds, and make them
worthy participants in the Pagan mysteries.
But Julian
was not content with this moral re- Animal generation of Paganism ; he
attempted to bring back the public mind to all the sanguinary ritual of
sacrifice, to which the general sentiment had been gradually growing unfamiliar
and repugnant.
The time was
passed when men could consider the favour of the gods propitiated according to
the number of slaughtered beasts. The philosophers must have smiled in secret
over the superstition of the philosophic Emperor. Julian himself washed
* See Epist. Iii.
sacrifices.
book off his Christian baptism by the new Oriental rite IIL
, of aspersion by blood, the Taurobolia or Kriobolia of the Mithriac mysteries*
; he was regenerated anew to Paganism.t This indeed was a secret ceremony ;
but Julian was perpetually seen, himself wielding the sacrificial knife, and
exploring with his own hands the reeking entrails of the victims, to learn the
secrets of futurity. The enormous expenditurelavished on the sacrifices, the
hecatombs of cattle, the choice birds from all quarters, drained the revenue.!
The Western soldiers, especially the intemperate Gauls, indulged in the feasts
of the victims to such excess, and mingled them with such copious libations of
wine, as to be carried to their tents amid the groans and mockeries of the more
sober. § The gifts to diviners, soothsayers, and imposters of all classes,
offended equally the more wise and rational. In the public, as well as private,
conduct of Julian, there was a Heathen Pharisaism, an attention to minute and
trifling observances, which could not but excite contempt even in the more
enlightened of his own party. Every morning and evening he offered sacrifice
to the sun ; he rose at night to offer the same homage to the moon and stars.
Every day brought the rite of some other god ; he was constantly seen prostrate
* Gregor. Naz. iii. p. 70. “ Show me,” he says, to the phi-
■f
The person initiated descend- losopher
Aristomenes, “ a genuine
ed
into a pit or trench, and through Greek
in Cappadocia.” Ttcog yap
a
kind of sieve, or stone pierced rovg
jx'tv ov fiovXofitvovg, oXlyovg
with
holes, the blood of the bull St nvag
iOeXoi'rag fitv, ovk eiSontg
or
the ram was poured over his it Svtir,
bpu. Epist. iv. p. 375. whole person. § I do not believe the story of
J
Julian acknowledges the re- human
sacrifices in Alexandria
luctance
to sacrifice in many parts, and Athens,
Socrat. E. H. iii. 13.
before the
image of the deity, busying himself chap. about the ceremony, performing the
menial offices VL of cleansing the wood, and kindling the fire with
' his own breath, till the victim was ready for the imperial hands.*
Instead of
the Christian hierarchy, Julian has- Phiioso- tened to environ himself with the
most distin- phers* guished of the Heathen philosophers. Most of
these, indeed, pretended to be a kind of priesthood. Intercessors between the
deities and the world of man, they wrought miracles, foresaw future events;
they possessed the art of purifying the soul, so that it should be reunited to
the Primal Spirit: the Divinity dwelt within them.
The obscurity
of the names which Julian thus set up to rival in popular estimation an Athanasius
or a Gregory of Nazianzum, is not altogether to be ascribed to the final success
of Christianity.
The impartial
verdict of posterity can scarcely award to these men a higher appellation than
that of sophists and rhetoricians. The subtlety and ingenuity of these more
imaginative, perhaps, but far less profound, schoolmen of Paganism, were wasted
on idle reveries, on solemn trifling, and questions which it was alike useless
to agitate, and impossible to solve. The hand of death was alike upon the
religion, the philosophy, the eloquence, of Greece ; and the temporary movement
which Julian excited was but a feeble quivering, a last impotent struggle,
preparatory to total disso-
* Innumeros sine parsimonia tisset tie
Parthis, boves jam defec- mactans; ut crederetur, si rever- turos. Amn. Marc.
xxv. 4.
book lution. Maximus appears, in his own time, to t
nL , have been the most eminent of his class. The writings of
Libanius and of Iamblichus alone survive, to any extent, the general wreck of
the later Grecian literature. The genius and the language of Plato were alike
wanting in his degenerate disciples. Julian himself is, perhaps, the best,
because the plainest and most perspicuous, writer of his time : and the “
Csesars” may rank as no unsuccessful attempt at satiric irony.
Maximus.
Maximus was the most famous of the school.
He had been
among the early instructors of Julian. The Emperor had scarcely assumed the
throne, when he wrote to Maximus in the most urgent and flattering terms : life
was not life without him.* Maximus obeyed the summons. On his journey through
Asia Minor, the cities vied with each other in doing honour to the champion of
Paganism. "When the Emperor heard of his arrival in Constantinople,
though engaged in an important public ceremonial, he broke it off at once, and
hastened to welcome his philosophic guest. The roads to the metropolis were
crowded with sophists, hurrying to bask in the sunshine of imperial favour.t
The privilege of travelling at the public cost, by the posting establishment of
the empire, so much abused by Constantius in favour of the bishops, was now
conceded to some
* Epist. xv. The nameless despised the youths who embraced
person
to whom the first epistle philosophy as a
fashion. Kopv-
is
addressed is declared superior €ai>rubvriov
tvrl (jo<piq, /nupaiciiov.
to
Pythagoras or Plato. Epist. i. Vit. Prise, apud Eunap., ed.
p. 372. Boisson, p.
67.
f The severe
and grave Priscus
of the
philosophers. Chrysanthius, another sophist chap. of great reputation, was more modest
and more t V1‘ prudent; he declined the dazzling honour,
and preferred the philosophic quiet of his native town.
Julian
appointed him, with his wife, to the high- priesthood of Lydia; and
Chrysanthius, with the prophetic discernment of worldly wisdom, kept on
amicable terms with the Christians. Of Libanius,
Julian writes
in rapturous admiration. Iambli- clnis had united all that was excellent in the
ancient philosophy and poetry; Pindar, Democritus, and Orpheus, were blended
in his perfect and harmonious syncretism.* The wisdom of lam- blichus so much
dazzled and overawed the Emperor that he dared not intrude too much of his
correspondence on the awful sage. “ One of his letters surpassed in value all
the gold of Lydia.”
The influence
of men over their own age may in general be estimated by the language of contemporary
writers. The admiration they excite is the test of their power, at least with
their own party.
The idolatry
of the philosophers is confined to the few initiate; and even with their own
party, the philosophers disappointed the high expectations which they had excited
of their dignified superiority to the baser interests and weaknesses of
mankind. They were by no means proof against the intoxication of court favour ;
they betrayed their vanity, their love of pleasure. Maximus himself is accused
of assuming the pomp and inso-
book lence of a
favourite; the discarded eunuchs had been replaced, it was feared, by a new,
not less
hi.
intriguing or
more disinterested, race of courtiers.
Toleration
r
T To the Christians, Julian assumed the
language
of Julian. °
°
of the most
liberal toleration. His favourite orator thus describes his policy. “ He
thought that neither fire nor sword could change the faith of mankind ; the
heart disowns the hand which is compelled by terror to sacrifice. Persecutions
only make hypocrites, who are unbelievers throughout life, or martyrs,
honoured after death.* He strictly prohibited the putting to death the Galileans
(his favourite appellation of the Christians), as worthy rather of compassion
than of hatred, f “ Leave them to punish themselves, poor, blind, and misguided
beings, who abandon the most glorious privilege of mankind, the adoration of
the immortal gods, to worship the mouldering remains and bones of the dead.”t
He did not perceive that it was now too late to reassume the old Roman contempt
for the obscure and foreign religion. Christianity had sate on the throne; and
disdain now sounded like mortified pride. And the language, even the edicts,
of the Emperor, under the smooth mask of gentleness and pity, betrayed the
bitterness of hostility. His conduct was a perpetual sarcasm. It was the
interest of Paganism
* Liban. Orat. Parent, v. i. worshippers of the gods were on
p.
562. all occasions to be preferred —
-f He asserts, in his 7th epis- 7rpoTifxanOat. Compare Episc. lii.
tie,
that he is willing neither to J His
usual phrase was, “wor-
put
to death, nor to injure the shippers of
the dead, and of the
Christians
in any manner, but the bones of men.”
to inflame,
rather than to allay, the internal feuds chap.
of Christianity. Julian revoked the sentence of , ' banishment
pronounced against Arians, Apollina- His rians, and Donatists. He determined,
it is said, tone!StC to expose them to a sort of public exhibition
of intellectual gladiatorship. He summoned the advocates of the several sects
to dispute in his presence, and presided with mock solemnity over their
debates. His own voice was drowned in the clamour, till at length, as though to
contrast them, to their disadvantage, with the wild barbarian warriors with
whom he had been engaged,— “Hear me,” exclaimed the Emperor; “ the Franks and
the Alemanni have heard me.” “ No wild beasts,” he said, “are so savage and
intractable as Christian sectaries.” He even endured personal insult. The
statue of the “ Fortune of Constantinople,” bearing a cross in its hand, had
been set up by Constantine. Julian took away the cross, and removed the Deity
into a splendid temple. While he was employed in sacrifice, he was interrupted
by the remonstrances of Maris, the Arian bishop of Chal- cedon, to whom age and
blindness had added courage. “ Peace,” said the Emperor, “ blind old man, thy
Galilean God will not restore thine eyesight.” “I thank my God/5
answered Maris,
“ for my
blindness, which spares me the pain of beholding an apostate like thee.” Julian
calmly proceeded in his sacrifice.*
The sagacity
of Julian perceived the advantage to be obtained by contrasting the wealth, the
power,
* Socrates, iii. 12.
book and the lofty tone of the existing priesthood
with t 11L the humility of the primitive Christians. On
the Taunts occasion of a dispute between the Arian and ortho- fesslons^f dox Party
m Edessa, he
confiscated their wealth, poverty. jn or(jer) as he
saidj to reduce them to their becoming and boasted poverty. “
Wealth, according to their admirable law,” he ironically says, “prevents them
from attaining the kingdom of heaven.”* Privileges But his hostility was not
confined to these withdrawn. jn(jirect and
invidious measures, or to quiet or insulting scorn. He began by abrogating all
the exclusive privileges of the clergy; their immunity from taxation, and
exemptions from public duties. He would not allow Christians to be prae- fects,
as their law prohibited their adjudging capital punishments. He resumed all the
grants made on the revenues of the municipalities, and the supplies of corn for
their maintenance. It was an act of more unwarrantable yet politic tyranny to
Exclusion exclude them altogether from the public education. ed°u^adon.1C
By a familiarity with the great models of antiquity, the Christian had risen at
least to the level of the most correct and elegant of the Heathen writers of
the day. Though something of Oriental expression, from the continual adoption
of language or of imagery from the Sacred Writings, adhered to their style,
yet even that gives a kind of raciness and originality to their language,
which, however foreign to the purity of Attic Greek, is more animating and
attractive than the prolix and languid periods of Libanius, or the vague
metaphysics
* Socrat. iii. 13.
of
Iamblichus. Julian perceived the danger, and CI^R
resented this usurpation, as it were, of the arms of *—t Paganism,
and their employment against their legitimate parent. It is not, indeed, quite
clear how far, or in what manner, the prohibition of Julian affected the
Christians. A general system of Education education, for the free and superior
classes, had £1^ gradually spread through the empire. * Each classes-
city maintained a certain number of professors, according to its size and
population, who taught grammar, rhetoric, and philosophy. They were appointed
by the magistracy, and partly paid from the municipal funds. Vespasian first
assigned stipends to professors in Rome, the Antonines extended the
establishment to the other cities of the empire. They received two kinds of
emoluments ; the salary from the city, and a small fixed gratuity from their
scholars. They enjoyed considerable immunities, exemption from military and
civil service, and from all ordinary taxation. There can be no doubt that this
education, as originally designed, was more or less intimately allied with the
ancient religion. The grammarians, the poetst, the orators, the philosophers of
Greece and Rome, were the writers whose works were explained and instilled into
the youthful mind. “ The vital principle, Julian asserted, in the writings of
Homer,
Hesiod,
Demosthenes, Herodotus, Thucydides,
* There is an essay on the f Homer, then considered, if not
professors
and general system of the parent, the
great authority for
education,
by Monsieur Naudet, the Pagan
mythology, was the
Mem.
de l’lnstitut., vol. x. p. elementary
school-book.
399.
book Isocrates, Lysias, was the worship of the gods.
J , Some of these writers had dedicated
themselves to
Mercury, some
to the Muses. Mercury and the Muses were the tutelar deities of the Pagan
schools.’’ The Christians had glided imperceptibly into some of these offices,
and perhaps some of the professors had embraced Christianity. But Julian
declared that the Christians must be shameful hypocrites, or the most sordid of
men, who, for a few drachms, would teach what they did not believe.* The
Emperor might, with some plausibility, have insisted that the ministers of
public instruction paid by the state, or from public funds, should at least not
be hostile to the religion of the state. If the prohibition extended no
farther than their exclusion from the public professorships, the measure might
have worn some appearance of equity ; but it was the avowed policy of Julian to
exclude them, if possible, from all advantages derived from the liberal study
of Greek letters. The original edict disclaimed the intention of compelling the
Christians to attend the Pagan schools; but it contemptuously asserted the
right of the government to control men so completely out of their senses, and,
at the same time, affected condescension to their weakness and obstinacy.t But
if the Emperor did not compel them to learn, he forbade them to teach. The
* When Christianity resumed communem usum Juliani lege
the
ascendancy, this act of into- proxima
denegarunt. Ambros.
lerance
was adduced in justifica- Epist. Resp.
ad Symmach. tion of the severities of Theodo- -f- Julian. Epist. xlii. p. 420.
sius
against Paganism. Petunt Socrates,
v. 18. Theodoret, iii. 8.
etiam, ut illis privilegia deferas, Sozomen,
v. 18. Greg. Naz. Or.
qui loquendi et docendi nostris iii.
p. 51. 96,
97.
interdict, no
doubt, extended to their own private chap.
and separate schools for Hellenic learning. They t V1‘
were not to instruct in Greek letters without the sanction of the municipal
magistracy. He added insult to this narrow prohibition : he taunted them with
their former avowed contempt for human learning; he would not permit them to
lay their profane hands on Homer and Plato. “ Let them be content to explain
Matthew and Luke in the churches of the Galileans.” # Some of the
Christian professors obeyed the imperial edict t Proae- resius, who taught
rhetoric with great success at Rome, calmly declined the overtures of the Emperor,
and retired into a private station. Muso- nius, a rival of the great
Proaeresius, was silenced.
But they
resorted to an expedient which shows that they had full freedom of Christian
instruction.
A Christian
Homer, a Christian Pindar, and other works were composed in which Christian
sentiments and opinions were interwoven into the language of the original
poets. The piety of the age greatly admired these Christian parodies, which,
however, do not seem to have maintained their ground even in the Christian
schools, t
Julian is
charged with employing unworthy or insidious arts to extort an involuntary
assent torPagan-
* Julian.
Epist. xlr. maticos, ritus Christiani
cultores.
f
The more liberal Heathens Amm. Marcell.
xx. c. 10.
were
disgusted and ashamed at J After the
death of Julian,
this
measure of Julian. Illud they were
contemptuously thrown
autem
erat incleinens, obruendum aside by the
Christians themselves,
perenni
silentio, quod arcebat do- To~>v ce
oi ttovoi■ tv Ttji pi)
cere magistros, rhetoricos, et gram- ypa<pi}vai,
Xoyi’Covrai. Socrates, E.v
H. iii. 16.
G 3
book ism. Heathen symbols every where replaced those i
‘ . of Christianity. The medals display a great variety Ans of of deities, with
their attributes. Jupiter is crown- underniine the Emperor, Mars and Mercury
inspire him fr!ityt _ with military skill and eloquence. The
monogram of Christ disappeared from the labarum, and on the standards were
represented the gods of Paganism. As the troops defiled before the Emperor,
each man was ordered to throw a few grains of frankincense upon an altar which
stood before him. The Christians were horror-stricken, when they found that,
instead of an act of legitimate respect to the Emperor, they had been betrayed
into paying homage to idols. Some bitterly lamented their involuntary
sacrilege, and indignantly threw down their arms; some of them are said to have
surrounded the palace, and loudly avowing that they were Christians, reproached
the Emperor with his treachery, and cast down the largess that they had
received. For this breach of discipline and insult to the Emperor, they were
led out to military execution. They vied with each other, it is said, for the
honours of martyrdom.* But the bloody scene was interrupted by a messenger
from the Emperor, who contented himself with expelling them from the army, and
sending them into banishment.
Persecu-
Actual persecutions, though unauthorised by the imperial edicts, would take
place in some parts
* Jovian, Valentinian, and Va- refused to
serve in the army, lens, the future Emperors, are said Julian, however,
declined to ac- to have been among those who cept the resignation of the
former.
from the
collision of the two parties. The Pagans, now invested in authority, would not
be always disposed to use that authority with discretion, and the Pagan
populace would seize the opportunity of revenging the violation of their
temples, or the interruption of their rites, by the more zealous Christians. No
doubt the language of an address delivered to Constantius and Constans expressed
the sentiments of a large party among the Christians. “ Destroy without fear,
destroy ye, most religious Emperors, the ornaments of the temples. Coin the
idols into money, or melt them into useful metal. Confiscate all their
endowments for the advantage of the Emperor and of the government. God has
sanctioned, by your recent victories, your hostility to the temples.” The
writer proceeds to thunder out the passages of the Mosaic law, which enforce
the duty of the extirpation of idolaters.* No doubt, in many places, the eager
fanaticism of the Christians had outstripped the tardy movements of imperial
zeal. In many cases it would now be thought an act of religion to reject, in
others, it would be impossible to satisfy, the demands for restitution. The
best authenticated acts of direct persecution relate to these disputes. Nor can
Julian himself be exculpated from the guilt, if not of conniving at, of
faintly rebuking these tumultuous acts of revenge or of wanton outrage. In some
of the Syrian towns, Gaza, Hieropolis, and Caesarea, the Pagans had perpetrated
cruelties too horrible
CIIAP.
VI.
y
* Julius Firmicus Maternus, de Errore
Profanorum Religionum, c.29.
G 4
BmK
C^e^a^* content
with massacring the Chris-
v- t
i tians, with every kind of indignity, they had treated their lifeless remains
with unprecedented outrage. They sprinkled the entrails of their victims with
barley, that the fowls might be tempted to devour them. At Heliopolis, their
cannibal fury did not shrink from tasting the blood and the inward parts of
murdered priests and virgins. Julian calmly Samples" exPresses
regret that the restorers of the temples of the gods have in some instances
exceeded his expressed intentions ; which, however, seem to have authorised the
destruction of the Christian churches, or at least some of their sacred
places.* Julian con. Julian made an inauspicious choice in the
tends on
iii-chosen
battle-field on which he attempted to decide his ground. conflict with
Christianity. Christianity predominated to a greater extent in Constantinople
and in Antioch than in any other cities of the empire. In Rome lie might have
appealed to the antiquity of Heathenism, and its eternal association with the
glories of the republic* In Athens, he would have combined in more amicable
confederacy the philosophy and the religion. In Athens his accession had given
a considerable impulse to Paganism, the temples with the rest of the public
*
Greg. Nazianz. Socrates, iii. ical fieTEiopoi ytvofitvoi rt)v diavo'iav,
I+.
Sozomen, v. 9. Compare ojg K-ai TrX'tov hreZtXOelv toiq eig
Gibbon,
vol. iv. p. 116., who has rovg Seovg
7rXi]fxfie\ovaiv, i) fiovXn)-
referred
the following passage in fisvu)/xot
i]v. Misopogon, p. 361. the Misopogon to these scenes. Did he mean by the
ratyoi cha-
O'l ra n*v rdv Seiov dvtarrj^av pels, like those built
over the
avriKa refit vrj' rovg ra^ovg ce tu>v remains of St. Babylas, in the
nOiojp dvkrpeipav 7rdvrcig into tov Daphne,
at Antioch, or the
rTwdfifiaTog, o dr) fedorai Trap' sfiov churches in
general ? rrpu»)v, ovTwg iirdp&ti’Ttg tqv vovv,
buildings,
had renewed their youth.* Eieusis, chap. which
had fallen into ruin, now reassumed its t VL splendour,
and might have been wisely made the centre of his new system. But in Constantinople
all was modern and Christian. Piety to the imperial founder was closely
connected with devotion to his religion. Julian could only restore the fanes of
the tutelary gods of old Byzantium ; he could strip the fortune of the city of
her Christian attributes, but he could not give a Pagan character to a city
which had grown up under Christian auspices. Constantinople remained
contumaciously constan- and uniformly Christian. Antioch had been a chief tin°Ple-
seat of that mingled Oriental and Grecian worship Antioch, of the Sun which had
grown up in all the Hellen- ised parts of Asia ; the name of Daphne given to
the sacred grove, implied that the fictions of Greece had been domiciliated in
Syria. Antioch was now divided by two incongruous, but equally dominant
passions, devotion to Christianity and attachment to the games, the theatre,
and every kind of public amusement. The bitter sarcasms of Julian on the latter
subject are justified and confirmed by the grave and serious admonitions of
Chrysostom. By a singular coincidence, Antioch came into collision with the
strongest prejudices of Julian. His very virtues were fatal to his success in
the re-establishment of Paganism; its connection
* Mamertinus, probably, highly privatimque perdiderant. In mi-
paints
the ruin, that he may exalt serandam
ruinam conciderat Eleu-
the
restorer. Ipsa? illae bonarum sina.
Mamert. Grat. Actio, ix.
artium
magistrae et inventrices p. 147.
Athense omnem
cultum publice
with the
amusements of the people Julian repudiated with philosophic disdain. Instead
of attempting to purify the degenerate taste, he had all the austerity of a
Pagan monk. Public exhibitions were interdicted to his reformed priesthood ;
once, at the beginning of the year, the Emperor entered the theatre, remained
in undisguised weariness, and withdrew in disgust. He was equally impatient of
wasting his time as a spectator of the chariot race ; he attended occasionally,
out of respect to the presiding deity of the games ; saw five or six courses,
and retired.* Yet Paganism might appear to welcome Julian to Antioch. It had
still many followers, who clung with fond attachment to its pomps and gay
processions. The whole city poured forth to receive him ; by some he was hailed
as a deity. It happened to be the festival of Adonis, and the loud shouts of
welcome to the Emperor were mingled with the wild and shrill cries of the
women, wailing that Syrian symbol of the universal deity, the Sun. It might
seem an awful omen that the rites which mourned the departure of the genial
deity should welcome his ardent worshipper.f The outward appearance of religion
must have affected Julian with alternate hope and disappointment. From all
quarters, diviners, augurs, magicians, enchanters, the priests of Cybele, and
of the other Eastern religions, flocked to Antioch. His palace was crowded with
men, whom Chrysostom describes
* Misopogon, p 339, 340. mio cursu completo
Adonica ritu Amm. xxii. 9. veteri
'celebrari. Amm. Marc,
f Evenerat
iisdem diebus an- xxii. 9.
as branded
with every crime, as infamous for poison- chap.
ings and witchcrafts. “ Men who had grown old in t ^ L
, prisons and in the mines, and who maintained their wretched existence by the
most disgraceful trades, were suddenly advanced to places of dignity, and invested
with the priesthood and sacrificial functions.”*
The severe
Julian, as he passed through the city, was encircled by the profligate of every
age, and by prostitutes, with their wanton laughter and shameless language.
Among the former, the ardent, youthful, and ascetic preacher, probably
included all the Theurgists of the philosophic school; the latter describes the
festal processions, which no doubt retained much of their old voluptuous
character.
Julian
ascended the lofty top of Mount Casius, to Temple on solemnise, under the broad
and all-embracing cope caS. of heaven, the rites of Jupiter Philius.t But in
the luxurious grove of Daphne, he was doomed to The a melancholy
disappointment. The grove remained Daphne* with all its beautiful
scenery, its shady recesses, its cool and transparent streams, in which the
Heathen inhabitants of Antioch had mingled their religious rites with their
private enjoyments.
But a serious
gloom, a solemn quiet, pervaded the whole place. The temple of Apollo, the magnificent
edifice in which the devotion of former ages had sacrificed hecatombs, where
the clouds of incense had soared above the grove, and in which the pomp of
Oriental worship had assembled half
* Chrysostom contra Gent. lary deity of
Antioch, and appears
•j* The
Jupiter Philius, or on the medals of the city. St.
Casius. This
god was the tute- Martin, note to Le Beau, iii. C.
book Syria, was silent and deserted. He expected (in t
In- his own words *) a magnificent procession, victims, "
libations, dances, incense, boys with white and graceful vests, and with minds
as pure and unspotted, dedicated to the service of the god. He entered the
temple ; he found a solitary priest, with a single goose for sacrifice. The
indignant Emperor poured out his resentment in the bitterest language; he
reproached the impiety, the shameful parsimony of the inhabitants, who enjoyed
the large estates attached to the temple, and thus neglected its services; who
at the same time permitted their wives to lavish their treasures on the
infamous Galileans, and on their scandalous banquets, called the Maiuma.
Julian
determined to restore the majesty of the temple and worship of Apollo. But it
was first necessary to dispossess the Christian usurper of the Remains sacred
place. The remains of Babylas, the martyred ofBabyias. 0f Antioch, who had suffered, probably
in
the Decian persecution, had been removed eleven years before to Daphne ; and
the Christians crowded to pay their devotions near his tomb. The Christians
assert, that the baffled Apollo confessed himself abashed in the presence of
the saint; his oracle dared not break silence, t At all events, Julian
determined to purify the grove from the contamination of this worship. The
remains of Babylas were ordered to be transported back to Antioch. They were
met by a solemn procession of a great part of the inhabitants. The relics were
raised on a chariot, and conducted in triumph, with the excited multitude
dancing before it, and thunder
* Misopogon, 362. f Chrysostom, Orat. in S. Babylam.
ing out the
maledictory psalm: — “ Confounded be CIJ^P- all they that
worship carved images, and delight in t ‘ j vain idols.” Julian
attempted to punish this outburst of popular feeling. But the firmness of the
first victim who endured the torture, and the remonstrances of the Prsefect
Sallust, brought him back to his better temper of mind. The restoration of the
temple proceeded with zealous haste.
A splendid
peristyle arose around it; when at midnight Julian received the intelligence
that the temple was on fire. The roof and all the ornaments were entirely
consumed, and the statue of the Fire in the god himself, of gilded wood, yet of
such astonishing temp,e' workmanship that it is said to have
enforced the homage of the conquering Sapor, was burned to ashes.
The
Christians beheld the manifest wrath of Heaven, and asserted that the lightning
had come down and smitten the idolatrous edifice. Julian ascribed the
conflagration to the malice of the Christians. The most probable account is, that
a devout worshipper had lighted a number of torches before an image of the
Queen of Heaven, which had set fire to some part of the building. Julian
exacted, as it were, reprisals on Christianity; he ordered the cathedral of
Antioch to be closed. His orders were executed with insult to the sacred place,
and the spoliation of the sacred vessels.*
Julian, in
the meantime, was not regardless of the advancement of the Pagan interest in
other parts of the empire. Alexandria could not be (^xan"
at peace while any kind of religious excitement inflamed the minds of men. The
character of
* Amm. Marc. xxii. 13. Theodor.iii.il.
Sozomen, v. 20.
George, the
Arian bishop of Alexandria, is loaded by Heathen as well as by Christian writers
with every kind of obloquy. His low birth ; the base and sordid occupations of
his youth ; his servile and intriguing meanness in manhood; his tyranny in
power, trace, as it were, his whole life with increasing odiousness. Yet,
extraordinary as it may seem, the Arian party could find no man of better
reputation to fill this important post; and George, the impartial tyrant of all
parties, perished at last, the victim of his zealous hostility to Paganism. A
chief cause of the unpopularity of George was the assertion of the imperial
right over the fee-simple of the land on which Alexandria was built. This right
was gravely deduced from Alexander the Great. During the reign of Constantins,
George had seized every opportunity of depressing and insulting Paganism; he
had interdicted the festivals and the sacrifices of the Heathen ; he had
pillaged the gifts, the statues, and ornaments of their temple ; he had been
heard, as he past the temple either of Serapis himself, or of the Fortune of
the city, to utter the contemptuous expression, “ How long will this sepulchre
be permitted to stand?”* He had discovered a cave where the Mithriac mysteries
were said to have been carried on with a horrible sacrifice of human life. The
heads of a number of youths were exposed (probably disinterred from some old
cemetery near which these rites had been established), as of the victims of
this sanguinary idolatry. These insults and outrages rankled in the hearts of
* Amm. Marcell. xxii. 11. Socrates, iii. 2.
the Pagans.
The fate of Artemius, the Duke of chap.
Egypt,
the friend and abettor of George in all his v______________
tyrannical
proceedings, prepared the way for that of George. Artemius was suspected of
being concerned in the death of Gallus. He was charged with enormous
delinquencies by the people of Alexandria. Whether as a retribution for the former
offence against the brother of Julian, or as the penalty for his abuse of his
authority in his government, Artemius was condemned to death. The intelligence
of his execution was the signal for a general insurrection of the Pagans in
Alexandria.
The palace of
George was invested by a frantic mob. In an instant he was dragged forth, murdered,
trampled under foot, dragged along the streets, and at length torn limb from
limb. With His death, him perished two officers of the empire, Dracontius,
master of the mint, and the Count Diodorus ; the one accused of having
destroyed an altar of Serapis, the other of having built a church. The mangled
remains of these miserable men were paraded through the streets on the back of
a camel, and at length, lest they should be enshrined and worshipped as the
relics of martyrs, cast into the sea. The Christians, however, of all parties,
appear to have looked with unconcern on the fate of this episcopal tyrant *,
whom, the general hatred, if it did not excite them to assist in his massacre,
prevented them from attempting to defend. Julian addressed a letter to the
people of Alexandria. While he
* Poterantque miserandi ho- ni Georgii odio
omnes indiscrete mines ad crudele supplicium devoti, flagrabant. Ammian.
Marcell. Christianorum adjumento defendi, xxii. 11.
book admitted, in the strongest terms, the guilt of
George,
v , he severely rebuked their
violence and presumption
in thus
taking the law into their own hands, and the horrible inhumanity of tearing
like dogs the bodies of men in pieces, and then presuming to lift up their
blood-stained hands to the gods. He admitted that their indignation for their
outraged temples and insulted gods might naturally madden them to just resentment;
but they should have awaited the calm and deliberate course of justice, which
would have exacted the due punishment from the offender. Julian secured to
himself part of the spoils of the murdered prelate. George had a splendid
library, rich not merely in the writings of the Galileans, but, what Julian
esteemed as infinitely more precious, the works of the Greek orators and philosophers.
The first he would willingly have destroyed, the latter he commanded to be
carefully reserved for his own use.*
In the place
of George arose a more powerful adversary. Julian knew and dreaded the charac-
Athanasius. ter of Athanasius, who, during these tumults, had quietly resumed
his authority over the orthodox Christians of Alexandria. The general edict of
Julian for the recall of all exiles contained no exception ; and Athanasius
availed himself of its protecting authority.t Under his auspices, the church,
even in these disastrous times, resumed its vigour. The Arians, terrified
perhaps by the hostility of the Pagans, hastened to reunite themselves to the
church ; and Julian heard, with bitter indignation,
* Julian. Epist. ix. & x. •}• Julian. Epist. xxvi. p. 398.
that some
Pagan females had received baptism from chap. Athanasius. Julian expressed his astonishment,
not t VL that Athanasius had returned from exile, but
that he had dared to resume his see. He ordered him into instant banishment. He
appealed, in a letter to the prcefect, to the mighty Serapis, that if Athanasius,
the enemy of the gods, was not expelled from the city before the calends of
December, he should impose a heavy fine. c< By his influence the
gods were brought into contempt; it would be better, therefore, that “this most
wicked Athanasius” were altogether banished from Egypt.” To a supplication
from the Christian inhabitants of the city in favour of Athanasius, he returned
a sarcastic and contemptuous reply, reminding the people of Alexandria of their
descent from Pagan ancestors, and of the greatness of the gods they worshipped,
and expressing his astonishment that they should prefer the worship of Jesus,
the Word of God, to that of the Sun, the glorious and visible and eternal
emblem of the Deity.*
In other
parts, justified perhaps in their former excesses, or encouraged to future acts
of violence, by the impunity of the Alexandrians, Paganism awoke, if not to
make reprisals by conversion, at least to take a bloody revenge on its
Christian adversa- ries.t The atrocious persecutions of the fanatic populace,
in some of the cities of Syria, have already been noticed. The aged Mark of
Arethusa was, if not the most blameless, at least the victim of these
cruelties, whose life ought to have been
* Julian. Epist. xi. p. 378. f Julian. Epist. x. p. 377.
VOL. III. II
book sanctified
even by the rumour which ascribed the hi • . . •
t *
. preservation of Julian, when an infant, to the pious
Death of
bishop. Mark was accused of having destroyed ArethuL a temple; he
was summoned to rebuild it at his own expense. But Mark, with the virtues, inherited
the primitive poverty of the Apostles; and, even if he had had the power, no
doubt, would have resisted this demand.* But the furious populace, according
to Sozomen, men, women, and schoolboys, seized on the old man, and inflicted
every torment which their inventive barbarity could suggest. The patience and
calm temperament of the old man resisted and survived the cruelties.t Julian
is said to have expressed no indignation, and ordered no punishment. The prefect
Sallust reminded him of the disgrace to which Paganism was exposed, by being
thus put to shame by a feeble old man.
Julian The policy of Julian induced him to seek
out
jewTthe
every alliance which could strengthen the cause of Paganism against
Christianity. Polytheism courted an unnatural union with Judaism ; their bond
of connection was their common hatred to Christianity. It is not clear whether
Julian was sufficiently acquainted with the writings of the Christians, distinctly
to apprehend that they considered the final destruction of the Jewish temple to
be one of the great prophecies on which their religion rested. The
* According to Theodoret, 'O tailed account of this cruel scene,
dk, “t(jov tig aa&etctv tcprj, to 6€o\dv which was clearly a kind of popu-
yovv 'iva dovvat, 7ravra dovvcit. lar tumult, which
the authorities
E.
H. iii. 7. in no way interfered to
repress,
t
Sozomen gives the most de- E. H. v. 10.
rebuilding of
that temple was bringing, as it were, chap.
this question to direct issue; it was an appeal to t VL
, God, whether he had or had not finally rejected the people of Israel, and
admitted the Christians to all their great and exclusive privileges. At all
events, the elevation of Judaism was the depression of Christianity. It set
the Old Testament, to which the Christians appealed, in direct and hostile
opposition to the New.
The profound
interest awakened in the Jewish mind showed that they embraced, with eager fervour,
this solemn appeal to Heaven. With the joy which animated the Jew, at this
unexpected summons to return to his native land, and to rebuild his fallen
temple, mingled, no doubt, some natural feeling of triumph and of gratified
animosity over the Christian. In every part of the empire the Jews awoke from
their slumber of abasement and of despondency. It was not for them to repudiate
the overtures of Paganism. The Emperor acknow- Deter- ledged their God, by the
permission to build again ™buiid°the the temple to his glory ; and, if not as
the sole je^aiem. and supreme God, yet his language affected a monotheistic tone,
and they might indulge the fond hope that the re-establishment of the temple
upon Mount Moriah might be preparatory to the final triumph of their faith, in
the awe-struck veneration of the whole world; the commencement of the
Messiah’s kingdom ; the dawn of their long- delayed, but, at length,
approaching millennium of empire and of religious supremacy. Those who could
not contribute their personal labour devoted
ii 2
book their wealtli
to the national work. The extent of . ’ , their sacrifices, the eagerness of
their hopes, rather belong to the province of Jewish history. But every
precaution was taken to secure the uninterrupted progress of the work. It was
not an affair of the Jewish nation, but of the imperial government. It was
entrusted to the ruler of the province, as the delegate of the Emperor. Funds
were advanced from the public treasury ; and, if the Jews themselves, of each
sex and of every age, took pride in hallowing their' own hands by assisting in
heaping up the holy earth, or hewing the stone to be employed in this sacred
design ; if they wrought their wealth into tools of the precious metals,
shovels and spades of silver, which were to become valued heirlooms, as
consecrated by this pious service, the Emperor seemed to take a deep personal
interest in the design, which was at once to immortalise his magnificence, and
to assist his other glorious undertakings. The Jews, who acknowledged that it
was not lawful to offer sacrifice except on that holy place, were to propitiate
their God, during his expedition into Persia; and on his triumphant return from
that region, he promised to unite with them in adoration in the restored city
and in the reconstructed fane of the great God of the Jews. *
Judaism and
Paganism had joined in this solemn adjuration, as it were, of the Deity. Their
vows were met with discomfiture and disappointment.
* In his letter to the Jews, he in his
Theologic Fragment (p.295.), calls the God of the Jews, Kpdmov; fi'iyag G tog.
The simple
fact of the interruption of their labours, chap. by an event, which the mass of mankind
could not t * but consider praeternatural, even as recorded by the
interPagan historians, appeared, in the more excited and rupted*
imaginative minds of the Christians, a miracle of the most terrific and
appalling nature. Few, if any, of the Christians could have been eye-witnesses
of the scene. The Christian world would have averted its face in horror from
the impious design.
The relation
must, in the first instance, have come from the fears of the discomfited and
affrighted workmen. The main fact is indisputable, that, as they dug down to
the foundations, terrific explosions took place; what seemed balls of fire
burst forth ; the works were shattered, to pieces; clouds of smoke and dust
enveloped the whole in darkness, broke only by the wild and fitful glare of the
flames.
Again the
work was renewed by the obstinate zeal of the Jews; again they were repelled by
this unseen and irresistible power, till they cast away their implements, and
abandoned the work in humiliation and despair. How far natural causes, the
ignition of the foul vapours, confined in the deeply excavated recesses of the
hill of the temple, according to the recent theory, will account for the
facts, as they are related in the simpler narrative of Marcellinus, may admit
of some question ; but the philosophy of the age, whether Heathen or Christian,
was as unable as it was unwilling to trace such appalling events to the
unvarying operations of nature. *
* See M.
Guizot’s note on Gib- ations. There seems a strong bon, with my additional
obscrv- distinction in point of credibility
ii 3
BOOK
III.
Writings of Julian.
Christianity
may have embellished this wonderful event, but Judaism and Paganism confessed
by their terrors the prostration of their hopes. The work was abandoned; and
the Christians of later ages could appeal to the remains of the shattered works
and unfinished excavations, as the unanswerable sign of the divine wrath
against their adversaries, as the public and miraculous declaration of God in
favour of their insulted religion.
But it was
not as Emperor alone that the indefatigable Julian laboured to overthrow the
Christian religion. It was not by the public edict, the more partial favour
shown to the adherents of Paganism, the insidious disparagement of Christianity,
by the depression of its ministers and apostles, and the earnest elevation of
Heathenism, to a moral code and an harmonious religion, with all the pomp of a
sumptuous, ritual; it was not in the council, or the camp, or the temple alone,
that Julian stood forth as the avowed antagonist of Christianity. He was
ambitious, as a writer, of confuting its principles and disproving its veracity
: he passed in his closet the long nights of the winter, and con-
between
miracles addressed to the venture to
conclude that terrific
terror
and those which appeal to miracles,
resting on human tes-
the
calmer emotions of the mind, timony,
are less credible than those
such
as most of those recorded in of a less
appalling nature. Though
the
Gospel. The former, in the the
other class of emotions, those
first
place, are usually momentary, of
joy or gratitude, or religious
or,
if prolonged, endure but a veneration,
likewise disturb the
short
time. But the passion of equable and
dispassionate state of
fear
so completely unhinges and mind
requisite for cool reasoning,
disorders
the mind, as to deprive yet such
miracles are in general
it
of all trustworthy power of both more
calmly surveyed, and
observation
or discrimination. In more permanent in
their effects, themselves, therefore, I should
tinned,
during his Persian campaign, his elaborate ciiap.
work against the faith of Christ. He seemed, as , ^' , it were,
possessed with an equal hatred of those whom he considered the two most
dangerous enemies of the Roman empire, the Persians and the Christians. While
oppressed by all the serious cares of organising and moving such an army as
might bring back the glorious days of Germanicus or of Trajan; while his
ambition contemplated nothing less than the permanent humiliation of the great
Eastern rival of the empire; his literary vanity found time for its exercise,
and in all his visions of military glory and conquest, Julian never lost sight
of his fame as an author.* It is difficult to judge from the fragments of this
work, selected Work for confutation after his death by Cyril of Jerusalem, of
the power, or even of the candour, shown tlanlt^* by the imperial
controversialist. But it appears to have been composed in a purely polemic spirit,
with no lofty or comprehensive views of the real nature of the Christian
religion, no fine and philosophic perception of that which in the new faith
had so powerfully and irresistibly occupied the whole soul of man; with no
consciousness of the utter inefficiency of the cold and incoherent Pagan
mysticism, which he endeavoured to substitute for the Gospel.
But, at
least, this was a grave and serious employment. Whatever might be thought of
his success as a religious disputant, there was no loss
* Julianus Augustus septem li- versum
Christum evomuit. Iliero- bros in expeditione Parthica ad- nyni. Oper. Epist.
lxx.
H 4
of dignity in
the Emperor condescending to enlighten his subjects on such momentous questions.
But, when he stooped to be the satirist of the inhabitants of a city which had
ridiculed his philosophy and rejected his religion, the finest and most elegant
irony, the keenest and most delicate wit, would scarcely have justified this
compromise of the imperial majesty. But, in the Miso- pogon — the apology for
his philosophic beard — Julian mingled the coarseness of the Cynic with the
bitterness of personal indignity. The vulgar ostentation of his own filthiness,
the description of the vermin which peopled his thick beard, ill accord with
the philosophic superiority with which Julian rallies the love of amusement and
gaiety among his subjects of Antioch. Their follies were at least more graceful
and humane than this rude pedantry. There is certainly much felicity of
sarcasm, doubtless much justice, in his animadversions on'the dissolute
manners, the ingratitude for his liberality, the dislike of his severe justice,
the insolence of their contempt for his ruder manners, throughout the
Misopogon ; but it lowers Julian from a follower of Plato, to a coarse imitator
of Diogenes ; it exhibits him as borrowing the worst part of the Christian
monkish character, the disregard of the decencies and civilities of life,
without the high and visionary enthusiasm, or the straining after superiority
to the low cares and pursuits of the world. It was singular to hear a Grecian
sophist, for such was undoubtedly the character of Julian’s writings, extolling
the barbarians, the Celts
and
Germans, above the polished inhabitants of chap.
Greece and Syria. , ’ .
Paganism
followed with faithful steps, and with Julian sets eager hopes, the career of
Julian on the brilliant p^si^x! outset of his Persian campaign. Some of the Pcdlt,on*
Syrian cities through which he passed, Batne and Hierapolis, and Carrhae,
seemed to enter into his views, and endeavoured, with incense and sacrifice, to
propitiate the gods of Julian.* For the last time the Etruscan haruspices
accompanied a Roman Emperor; but by a singular fatality, their adverse
interpretation of the signs of heaven was disdained, and Julian followed the
advice of the philosophers, who coloured their predictions with the bright hues
of the Emperor’s ambition.t
The death of
Julian did greater honour to his Death of philosophy. We may reject as in
itself improbable, Juhau* and as resting on insufficient authority,
the bitter sentence ascribed to him when he received his fatal wound. “Thou
hast conquered, O Galilean.t”
He comforted
his weeping friends ; he expressed his readiness to pay the debt of nature, and
his joy that the purer and better part of his being was so soon to be released
from the gross and material body. “ The gods of heaven sometimes bestow an
early death as the best reward of the most pious.” His conscience uttered no
reproach ; he had administered the empire with moderation, firmness and
clemency \ he had repressed the licence of
* Julian.
Epist. xxvii. p. 399. J 'Nsvhctiicac, rdXiXau. Theo- Amm. Marc. xxii. 2. doret, Ilist. Eccl. iii. 25.
f Amm. Marc,
xxiii. v.
BOOK
III.
public
manners ; he had met danger with firmness. His prescient spirit had long
informed him that he should fall by the sword. And he thanked the everlasting
deity that he thus escaped the secret assassination, the slow and wasting
disease, the ignominious death ; and departed from the world in the midst of
his glory and prosperity. “ It is equal cowardice to seek death before our
time, and to attempt to avoid it when our time is come.” His calmness was only
disturbed by the intelligence of the loss of a friend. He who despised his own
death lamented that of another. He reproved the distress of his attendants,
declaring that it was humiliating to mourn over a prince already reconciled to
the heavens and to the stars; and thus calmly discoursing with the philosophers
Priscus and Maximus on the metaphysics of the soul, expired Julian, the
philosopher and Emperor.*
Julian died,
perhaps happily for his fame. Perilous as his situation was, he might still
have extricated himself by his military skill and courage, and eventually
succeeded in his conflict with the Persian empire ; he might have dictated
terms to Sapor, far
* Arum. Marc. ibid. Even the immodicEe;
cultus numinum super- Christians, at a somewhat later pe- stitiosus : audax
plus, quam im- riod, did justice to the great quali- peratorem decet, cui salus
propria ties of Julian. The character drawn cum semper ad securitatein om- by
the Pagan, Aurelius Victor, is nium,maximein bello, conservanda adopted by
Prudentius, who kindles est. Epit. p. 228. into unusual vigour. Cupido laudis
Ductor
fortissimus armis;
Conditor et
legum celeberrimus; ore manuque Consultor patriae, sed non consultor habendee
lleligionis ; amans ter centum millia Divum ;
Perfidus ille Deo, sed non et perfidus orbi. Apoth. 430.
different
from those which the awe of his name and chap.
the vigorous organisation of his army, even after his , ^' , death,
extorted from the prudent Persian. Butin Probable his other, his internal
conflict, Julian could have ob- j^iians^ tained no victory, even at the price
of rivers of blood ^thOms- shed in persecution, and perhaps civil wars,
through- tianity- out the empire. He might have arrested the fall of
the empire, but that of Paganism was beyond the power of man.* The invasion of
arms may be resisted or repelled, the silent and profound encroachments of
opinion and religious sentiment will not retrograde. Already there had been
ominous indications that the temper of Julian would hardly maintain its more
moderate policy; nor would Christianity in that age have been content with opposing
him with passive courage ; the insulting fanaticism of the violent, no less
than the stubborn contumacy of the disobedient, would have goaded him by
degrees to severer measures. The whole empire would have been rent by civil
dissensions ; the bold adventurer would scarcely have been wanting, who,
either from ambition or enthusiasm, would have embraced the Christian cause ;
and the pacific spirit of genuine Christianity, its high notions of submission
to civil authority,would scarcely, generallyor constantly, have resisted the
temptation of resuming its seat upon the throne. Julian could not have subdued
Christianity, without depopulating the empire; nor contested with it the
sovereignty of the world, without danger to himself
* Julian’s attempt to restore Paganism was
like that of Rienzi to restore the liberties of Rome.
BOOK
III.
and to the
civil authority; nor yielded, without the disgrace and bitterness of failure.
He who stands across the peaceful stream of progressive opinion, by his
resistance maddens it to an irresistible torrent, and is either swept away by
it at once, or diverts it over the whole region in one devastating deluge.*
* Theodoret describes the rejoicings at
Antioch on the news of the death of Julian. There were not only festal dancings
in the churches and the cemeteries of the martyrs, but in the theatres they
celebrated the triumph of the cross, and mocked at his vaticinations.
'H fit ’Avtwxov 7roXtg rt)v tKtlvov fle/iaOijKvia atyayijv,
Stjfio9oiviag £7Tfrf\fi Kal ravijyvpeig Kal ov Iuovov tv ralg tKKXrjtriaig
i^opevov Kal Toig /laprvpojv at]Koig) aXXa Kai tv Toig Stdrpoig
rov aravpov rrtv
VlKTJV tKljpVTTOVy Kal TOig tK t'lVOV
fiavrevfiaaiv hrtrojQa%ov. E. H. iii. 27.
VALENTIN IAN AND VALENS.
It is singular
to hear the Pagans taking up, in Lament- their altered position, the arguments
of the Chris- the Pagans tians. The extinction of the family of Constantine was
a manifest indication of the divine displeasure at the abandonment of Paganism.#
But this was the calmer conclusion of less recent sorrow and disappointment.
The immediate expression of Pagan regret was a bitter and reproachful complaint
against the ingratitude of the gods, who made so bad a return for the zealous
services of Julian. “ Was this the reward for so many victims, so many prayers,
so much incense, so much blood, shed on the altar, by night as well as by day.
Julian, in his profuse and indiscriminate piety, had neglected no deity ; he
had worshipped all who lived in the tradition of the poets,—fathers and
children, gods and goddesses, superior and subordinate deities; and they,
instead of hurling their thunderbolts and lightnings, and all the armoury of
Heaven, against the hostile Persians, had thus basely abandoned their sacred
charge. The new Salmoneus, the more impious Lycurgus, the sense-
* Liban. pro Templis, ii. 184.
book less image of a man (such were the
appellations ' with which the indignant rhetorician alluded to Constantius),
who had waged implacable warfare with the gods, quenched the sacred fires,
trampled on the altars, closed or demolished or profaned the temples, or
alienated them to loose companions,— this man had been permitted to pollute the
earth for fifty years, and then departed by the ordinary course of nature ;
while Julian, with all his piety, and all his glory, had only given to the
world a hasty glimpse of his greatness, and suddenly departed from their
unsatisfied sight.” # But, without regarding the vain lamentations
of Paganism, Reign of Christianity calmly resumed its ascendancy. The short
reign of Jovian sufficed for its re-establishment ; and, as yet, it exacted no
revenge for its sufferings and degradation under Julian, t The character of
the two brothers who succeeded to the Vaientinian empire, Valentinian and
Valens, and their religious andVaiens. were
widely at variance. Valentinian as
cended the
throne with the fame of having rejected the favour of Julian, and the prospects
of military
* Libanius insults, in this pas- seems best to him.” Ad Jovian,
sage,
the worship of the dead man, p. 81., ed.
Dindorf. He pro-
whose
sarcophagus (he seems to ceeds to
assert, that the general
allude
to the pix or consecrated piety will
be increased by the
box
in which the sacramental rivalry of
different religions. “ The
symbol
of our Saviour’s body was Deity does not
demand uniformity
enclosed)
is introduced into the of faith.” He
touches on the evils
K\ijpog of the gods. Monod. in which had arisen out of religious
Julian,
i. p. 509. factions, and urges him to
permit
-j-
Themistius praises highly the supplications
to ascend to Heaven
toleration
of Jovian. “ Thy law, from all parts
of the empire for
and
that of God, is eternal and his
prosperous reign. He praises
unchangeable;
that which leaves him, however, for
suppressing
the
soul of every man free to magic and
Goetic sacrifices, follow that form of religion which
distinction,
for the sake of his religion. lie had chap.
. VII.
withdrawn
from the army rather than offer even . ^ * . questionable adoration to
standards decorated with the symbols of idolatry. But Valentinian was content
to respect those rights of conscience which he had so courageously asserted.
The Emperor
of the West maintained a calm and uninterrupted toleration, which incurred the
ofVaienti- reproach of indifference from the Christian party, n,an*
but has received the respectful homage of the Pagan historian.* The immunities
and the privileges of the Pagan priesthood were confirmedf; the rites of
divination were permitted, if performed without malicious intent, t The
prohibition of midnight sacrifices, which seemed to be required by the public
morals, threatened to deprive the Greeks of their cherished mysteries.
Praetextatus, then proconsul of Achaia, the head of the Pagan party, a man of
high and unblemished character, represented to the Emperor that these rites
were necessary to the existence of the Greeks. The law was relaxed in their
favour, on the condition of their strict adherence to ancient usage. In Rome,
the vestal virgins maintained their sanctity ; the altar of Victory, restored
by Julian, preserved its place ; a military guard protected the temples from
insult, but a tolerant as well as prudent provision, forbade the employment of
Christian soldiers on this service. §
* Ammianus Marcellinus,l.xxx. colendi libera facultas tributa est.
c. 9. Cod. Theod.
1. ix. tit. 16. 1. 9.
Testes
sunt leges a me in exor- + Cod. Theod. xii. 1. 60.75.
dio imperii mei dataj; quibus uni- T
Cod. Theod. ix. 16. 9.
cuique quod animo imbibisset, §
Cod. Theod.
xvi. 1.1.
book On the other hand, Valentinian appears to have ,
' , retracted some of the lavish endowments conferred Laws of by Julian on the Heathen
temples. These estates nfan”1" were re-incorporated with the
private treasure of the sovereign. * At a later period of his reign, there must
have been some general prohibition of animal sacrifice ; the Pagan worship was
restricted to the offering of incense to the gods.t But, according to the
expression of Libanius, they dared not execute this law in Rome, so fatal would
it have been considered to the welfare of the empire, t Prosecu- Valens, in the
East, as Valentinian, in the m°agicfor West, allowed perfect freedom
to the public ritual of Paganism. But both in the East and in the West, the
persecution against magic and unlawful divination told with tremendous force
against the Pagan cause. It was the more fatal, because it was not openly
directed against the religion, but against practices denounced as criminal, and
believed to be real, by the general sentiment of mankind, and prosecuted by
that fierce animosity which is engendered by fear. Some compassion might be
felt for innocent victims, supposed to be unjustly implicated in such charges;
the practice of extorting evidence or confession by torture, might be revolting,
to those especially who looked back with pride and with envy to the boasted
immunity of all Roman citizens from such cruelties ; but where strong suspi-
* Cod. Theod. x. 1. 8. The ed. Reiske. This arose out of
law
reads as if it were a more some recent and
peculiar circum-
general
and indiscriminate confis- stances,
cation. % Liban. vol.ii. p. 180. f Lib. pro Templis,
vii. p. 1G3.,
cion of guilt
prevailed, the public feeling would ratify chap.
the stern sentence of the law against such delin- t VIL
quents ; the magician or the witch would pass to execution amid the universal
abhorrence. Thenotorious connection of any particular religious party with such
dreaded and abominated proceedings, particularly if proved by the conviction
of a considerable majority of the condemned from their ranks, would tend to
depress the religion itself. This sentiment was not altogether unjust. Paganism
had, as it were, in its desperation, thrown itself upon the inextinguishable
superstition of the human mind. The more the Pagans were depressed, the hope
of regaining their lost superiority, the desire of vengeance, would induce them
to seize on every method of awing or commanding the minds of their wavering
votaries. Nor were those who condescended to these arts, or those who in many
cases claimed the honours annexed to such fearful powers, only the bigoted
priesthood, or mere itinerant traders in human credulity; the high philosophic
party, which had gained such predominant influence during the reign of Julian,
now wielded the terrors and incurred the penalties of these dark and forbidden
practices. It is impossible to read their writings without remarking a
boastful display of intercourse with supernatural agents, which to the
Christian would appear an illicit communion with malignant spirits. This was
not indeed magic, but it was the groundwork of it.
The theurgy,
or mysterious dealings of the Platonic philosopher with the daemons or still
higher powers,
VOL.
III. I
was separated
by a thin and imperceptible distinction from Goetic or unlawful enchantment.
Divination, indeed, or the foreknowledge of futurity by different arts, was an
essential part of the Greek and Roman religion. But divination had, in Greece
at least, withdrawn from its public office. It had retired from the silenced
oracles of Delphi or Do- dona. The gods, rebuked, according to the Christian,
offended, according to the Pagan, had withdrawn their presence. In Rome the
Etruscan soothsayers, as part of the great national ceremonial, maintained
their place, and to a late period preserved their influence over the public
mind. But, in general, it was only in secret, and to its peculiar favourites,
that the summoned or spontaneous deity revealed the secrets of futurity; it was
by the dream, or the private omen, the sign in the heavens, vouchsafed only to
the initiate, or the direct inspiration ; or, if risked, it was by the secret,
mysterious, usually the nocturnal rite, that the reluctant God was compelled
to disclose the course of fate.
The
persecutions of Valentinian in Rome were directed against magical ceremonies.
The Pagans, who remembered the somewhat ostentatious lenity and patience of
Julian on the public tribunal, might contrast the more than inexorable, the
inquisitorial and sanguinary, justice of the Christian Valentinian, even in
ordinary cases, with the benignant precepts of his religion. But justice with
Valentinian, in all cases, more particularly in these persecutions, degenerated
into savage tyranny. The
Emperor kept
two fierce bears by his own chain- ciiap.
ber, to which the miserable criminals were thrown t ^1L . in his presence, while
the unrelenting Valentinian listened with ferocious delight to their groans.
One of these animals, as a reward for his faithful service to the state,
received his freedom, and was let loose into his native forest.*
Maximin, the
representative of Valentinian at Tria,s in Rome, administered the
laws with all the vindictive fo^Max'i- ferocity, but without the severe
dignity, of his im- m,n' perial master. Maximin was of an obscure
and barbarian family, settled in Pannonia. He had attained the government of
Corsica and Sardinia, and subsequently of Tuscany. He was promoted in Rome to
the important office of superintendent of the markets of the city. During the
illness of Olybius, the praefect of Rome, the supreme judicial authority had
been delegated to Maximin. Maximin was himself rumoured to have dabbled in
necromantic arts, and lived in constant terror of accusation till released by
the death of his accomplice. This rumour may create a suspicion that Maximin
was, at least at the time at which the accusation pointed, a Pagan. The
Paganism of a large proportion of his victims is more evident. The first trial
over which Maximin presided was a charge made by Chilon, vicar of the
praefects, and
* The Christians did not escape of three towns to be put to death,
these
legal murders, constantly per- in a
remonstrance against their
petrated
by the orders of Valen- execution, it was
stated that they
tinian.
In Milan, the place where would be
worshipped as martyrs
three
obscure victims were buried, by the
Christians. Amm. Marc,
was
called ad Innocentes. When xxvii. 7.
he had condemned the decurions
book his wife, Maximia, against three obscure persons
for
* , attempting their lives by magical arts:
of these, one was a soothsayer.* Cruel tortures extorted from these miserable
men a wild string of charges at once against persons of the highest rank and of
the basest degree. All had tampered with unlawful arts, and mingled up with
them the crimes of murder, poisoning, and adultery. A general charge of magic
hung over the whole city. Maximin poured these dark rumours into the greedy ear
of Valentinian, and obtained the authority which he coveted, for making a
strict inquisition into these offences, for exacting evidence by torture from
men of every rank and station, and for condemning them to a barbarous and
ignominious death. The crime of magic was declared of equal enormity with
treason ; the rights of Homan citizenship, and the special privileges granted
by the imperial edicts, were suspended t; neither the person of senator nor
dignitary was sacred against the scourge or the rack. The powers of this
extraordinary commission were exercised with the utmost latitude and most
implacable severity. Anonymous accusations were received ; Maximin was understood
to have declared that no one should be esteemed innocent whom he chose to find
guilty. But the details of this persecution belong to our history only as far
as they relate to religion. On general grounds, it may be inferred, that the
chief brunt of this sanguinary persecution fell on the Pagan party. Magic, al-
* Haruspex. f Juris prisci
justitia et divorum arbitria. Amm. Marc.
though, even
at that time, perhaps, the insatiate ciiai\
curiosity about the future, the indelible passion for , VIL ,
supernatural excitement, even more criminal designs, might betray some few
professed Christians into this direct treason against their religion, was a
crime which, in general, would have been held in dread and abhorrence by the
members of the church. In the laws it is invariably denounced as a Pagan crime.
The aristocracy of Ilome were the chief victims of Maximin’s cruelty, and in
this class, till its final extinction, was the stronghold of Paganism. It is
not assuming too much influence to connection the Christianity of that age, to
consider the immo- if;^ese
^ Cr I III OS W11 il
ralities and
crimes, the adulteries and the poisonings, Paganism, which were mingled up with
these charges of magic, as the vestiges of the old unpurified Roman manners.
The Christianity of that period ran into the excess of monastic asceticism, for
which the enthusiasm, to judge from the works of St. Jerom, was at its height;
and this violation of nature had not yet produced its remote but apparently
inevitable consequence— dissoluteness of morals. In almost every case recorded
by the historian may be traced indications of Pagan religious usages. A soothsayer,
as it has appeared, was involved in the first criminal charge. While his meaner
accomplices were beaten to death by straps loaded with lead, the judge having
bound himself by an oath that they should neither die by fire nor steel, the
soothsayer, to whom he had made no such pledge, was burned alive. The affair of
Hymettius betrays the same connection with the ancient religion. Hymettius
1 8
book had been accused, seemingly without justice, of
malm' , versation in his office of proconsul of Africa, in the
supplies of corn to the metropolis. A celebrated soothsayer(haruspex), named
Amantius,was charged with offering sacrifices, by the command of Hy- mettius,
with some unlawful or treasonable design. Amantius resisted the torture with
unbroken courage, but among his papers was found a writing of Hymettius, of
which one part contained bitter invectives against the avaricious and cruel
Valen- tinian ; the other implored him, by sacrifices, to induce the gods to
mitigate the anger of both the Emperors. Amantius suffered capital punishment.
A youth named Lollianus, convicted of inconsiderately copying a book of magic
incantations, and condemned to exile, had the rashness to appeal to the
Emperor, and suffered death. Lollianus was the son of Lampadius, formerly
prefect of Rome*, and, for his zeal for the restoration of the ancient
buildings, and his vanity in causing his own name to be inscribed on them, was
called the Lichen. Lampadius, was probably a Pagan. The leader of that party,
Prastextatus, whose unimpeachable character maintained the universal respect
of all parties, was the head of a deputation to the Emperor t, entreating him
that the punishment might be proportionate to the offences, and claiming for
the senatorial order their immemorial exemption from the unusual and illegal
application of torture. On the
* Tillemont thinks Lampadius f Amm. Marc,
xxviu 1. &c. to have been a Christian; but his reasons are to me
inconclusive.
whole, this
relentless and sanguinary inquisition chap.
into the crime of magic, enveloping in one dreadful ^1L
proscription a large proportion of the higher orders of Rome and of the West,
even if not directly, must, incidentally, have weakened the cause of Paganism;
connected it in many minds with dark and hateful practices ; and altogether
increased the deepening animosity against it.
In the East,
the fate of Paganism was still more in the adverse. There is strong ground for
supposing ^bdiion that the rebellion of Procopius was connected with t)f
Vro*
1 copius.
the revival
of Julian’s party. It was assiduously a.
n. 365. rumoured abroad that Procopius had been designated as his successor by
the expiring Julian. Procopius, before the soldiery, proclaimed himself the
relative and heir of Julian.* The astrologers had predicted the elevation of
Procopius to the greatest height — of empire, as his partisans fondly hoped, —
of misery, as the ingenious seers expounded the meaning of their oracle after
his death.t The Pagan and philosophic party were more directly and exclusively
implicated in the fatal event, which was disclosed to the trembling Valens at
Antioch, and brought as wide and relentless desolation on the East as the
cruelty of A-D- 368- Maximin on the West. It
was mingled up with treasonable designs against the throne and the life of the
Emperor. The magical ceremony of divination, which was denounced before
Valens, was
* Amm. Marc. xxvi. 6. rTjg
<yt)[i<popag ytvioQai Siaatjpon-
■j- See Le Beau, iii. p. 250. pov.
He
was deceived by the
"Qare civtov rtiv ini Taig fxeyiaraig Genethliaci. Greg. Nyss.
de Fato. apxaig yvajpicrOkvTOJVj iv fieyeStL
I 4
BOOK
III.
Pagan
throughout all its dark and mysterious circumstances.* The tripod on which the
conspirators performed their ill-omened rites was modelled after that at
Delphi; it was consecrated by magic songs and frequent and daily ceremonies,
according to the established ritual. The house where the rite was held was
purified by incense; a kind of charger made of mixed metals was placed upon the
altar, around the rim of which were letters at certain intervals. The
officiating diviner wore the habit of a Heathen priest, the linen garments,
sandals, and a fillet wreathed round his head, and held a sprig of an
auspicious plant in his hand; he chanted the accustomed hymn to Apollo, the god
of prophecy. The divination was performed by a ring running round on a slender
thread and pointing to certain letters, which formed an oracle in heroic verse,
like those of Delphi. The fatal prophecy then pointed to the three first and
the last letters of a name, like T'heodonu, as the fated successor of Valens.
Among the
innumerable victims to the fears and the vengeance of Valens, whom the ordinary
prisons were not capacious enough to contain, those who either were, or were
suspected of having been entrusted with the fatal secret, were almost all the
chiefs of the philosophic party. Hilary of Phrygia, with whom is associated, by
one historian, Patricius of Lydia, and Andronicus of Caria, all men of the most
* Philostorgius describes it as a by Libanius, which seems contrary
prediction
of the Gentile oracles, to the general
policy of the bro-
TJv
'EXXrjviKtZv xpncTilpiwv. Lib. thers, and
was but partially carried
viii.
c. 15. into execution, may have been
I
cannot but suspect that the connected
with these transac-
prohibition
of sacrifice mentioned tions.
profound
learning*, and skilled in divination, were chap.
those who had been consulted on that unpardoned , V1L , and
unpardonable offence, the enquiring the name of the successor to the reigning
sovereign. They were, in fact, the conductors of the magic ceremony, and on
their confession betrayed the secret circumstances of the incantation. Some,
among whom appears the name of Iamblichus, escaped by miracle from torture and
execution.t Libanius himself (it may be observed, as evidence how closely magic
and philosophy were mingled up together in the popular opinion) had already
escaped with difficulty two charges of unlawful practices t; on this occasion,
to the general surprise, he had the same good fortune: either the favour or the
clemency of the Emperor, or some interest with the general accusers of his
friends, exempted him from the common peril. Of those whose sufferings are
recorded, Pasiphilus resisted the extremity of torture rather than give
evidence against an innocent man : that man was Eutropius, who held the rank
of proconsul of Asia. Simonides, though but a youth, was one of the most
austere disciples of philosophy. He boldly admitted that he was cognisant of
the dangerous secret, but he kept it undivulged. Simonides was judged worthy of
a more barbarous death than the rest; he was condemned to be burned alive; and
the martyr of philosophy calmly ascended the funeral pile. The fate of Maximus,
since the death of Julian, had
* Zosimus, iv. 15. f See Zonaras, 13. 2.
% Vit. i. 114.
book been marked with strange vicissitude. With
Priscus,
* , on the accession of Valentinian, he was
summoned before the imperial tribunal; the blameless Priscus was dismissed,
but Maximus, who, according to his own friends, had displayed, during the life
of Julian, a pomp and luxuriousness unseemly in a philosopher, was sent back to
Ephesus and amerced in a heavy fine, utterly disproportioned to philosophic
poverty. The fine was mitigated, but, in its diminished amount, exacted by
cruel tortures. Maximus, in his agony, entreated his wife to purchase poison
to rid him of his miserable life. The wife obeyed, but insisted on taking the
first draught: — she drank, expired, and Maximus — declined to drink. He was so
fortunate as to attract the notice of Clearchus, proconsul of Asia; he was
released from his bonds; rose in wealth and influence, returned to
Constantinople; and resumed his former state. The fatal secret had been
communicated to Maximus. He had the wisdom, his partisans declared the
prophetic foresight, to discern the perilous consequences of the treason. He
predicted the speedy death of himself and of all who were in possession of the
secret. He added, it is said, a more wonderful oracle ; that the Emperor
himself would soon perish by a strange death, and not even find burial. Maximus
was apprehended and carried to Antioch. After a hasty trial, in which he
confessed his knowledge of the oracle, but declared that he esteemed it
unworthy of a philosopher to divulge a secret entrusted to him by his friends,
he was taken back to Ephesus, and there executed with all
the rest of
his party who were implicated in the chap.
conspiracy. Festus, it is said, who presided over t ' the
execution, was haunted in after life by a vision of Maximus dragging him to
judgment before the infernal deities.* Though a despiser of the gods, a
Christian, he was compelled by his terrors to sacrifice to the Eumenides, the
avengers of blood ; and having so done, he fell down dead. So completely did
the cause of the Pagan deities appear involved with that of the persecuted
philosophers.
Nor wras
this persecution without considerable influence on the literature of Greece.
So severe an inquisition was instituted into the possession of magical books,
that, in order to justify their sanguinary proceedings, vast heaps of manuscripts
relating to law and general literature were publicly burned, as if they
contained unlawful matter. Many men of letters throughout the East, in their
terror destroyed their whole libraries, lest some innocent or unsuspected work
should be seized by the ignorant or malicious informer, and bring them
unknowingly within the relentless penalties of the law.t From this period,
philosophy is almost extinct, and Paganism, in the East, drags on its silent
and inglorious existence, deprived of its literary aristocracy, and opposing
only the inert resistance of habit to the triumphant energy of Christianity.
* Eunap. Vit. Maxim. Amm, exurerent libraria
omnia: tantus Marc. xxix. 1. universos
invaserat terror, xxix. 2.
f Amm. Marcell. xxix. 1. In- Compare Ileyne, note on Zo.si- de factum est per Orientales pro-
mus. vincias, ut omnes metu similium
Arianism,
under the influence of Valens, maintained its ascendancy in the East.
Throughout the whole of that division of the empire, the two forms of
Christianity still subsisted in irreconcileable hostility. Almost every city
had two prelates, each at the head of his separate communion ; the one,
according to the powers or the numbers of his party, assuming the rank and
title of the legitimate bishop, and looking down, though with jealous animosity,
on his factious rival. During the life of Athanasius the see of Alexandria
remained faithful to the Trinitarian doctrines. For a short period, indeed, the
prelate was obliged to retire, during what is called his fifth exile, to the
tomb of his father, but he was speedily welcomed back by the acclamations of
his followers, and the baffled imperial authority acquiesced in his peaceful
rule till his decease. But at his death, five years afterwards, were renewed
the old scenes of discord and bloodshed. Palladius, the prasfect of Egypt,
received the imperial commission to install the Arian prelate, Lucius, on the
throne of Alexandria. Palladius was a Pagan, and the Catholic writers bitterly
reproach their rivals with this monstrous alliance. It was rumoured that the
Pagan population welcomed the Arian prelate with hymns of gratulation as the
friend of the god Serapis, as the restorer of his worship.
In
Constantinople, Valens had received baptism from Eudoxus, the aged Arian
prelate of that see. Sacerdotal influence once obtained over the feeble mind of
Valens, was likely to carry him to any
extreme ;
yet, on the other hand, he might be chap.
. 7 o VII.
restrained
and overawed by calm and dignified re- . ' sistance. In general, therefore, he
might yield himself up as an instrument to the passions, jealousies, and
persecuting violence of his own party; while he might have recourse to violence
to place Demo- philus on the episcopal throne of Constantinople, he might be
awed into a more tolerant and equitable tone by the eloquence and commanding
character of Basil. It is unjust to load the memory of Valenswith the most
atrocious crime which has been charged upon him by the vindictive exaggeration
of his triumphant religious adversaries. As a deputation of eighty Catholic
ecclesiastics of Constantinople were returning from Nicomedia, the vessel was
burned, the crew took to the boat, the ecclesiastics perished to a man. As no
one escaped to tell the tale, and the crew, if accomplices, were not likely to accuse
themselves, we may fairly doubt the assertion that orders had been secretly
issued by Valens to perpetrate this wanton barbarity.
The memorable
interview with Saint Basil, aS it Interview is related by the Catholic party,
displays, if the WIthBasi1, weakness, certainly the patience and
toleration, of the sovereign — if the uncompromising firmness of the prelate,
some of that leaven of pride with which he is taunted by Jerome.
During his
circuit through the Asiatic provinces, the Emperor approached the city of
Caesarea in Cappadocia. Modestus, the violent and unscrupulous favourite of
Valens, was sent before, to persuade the bishop to submit to the religion of
the
BOOK
III.
■ y
A. D. 371.
Emperor.
Basil was inflexible. “ Know you not,” said the offended officer, “ that I have
power to strip you of all your possessions, to banish you, to deprive you of
life ? “ He,” answered Basil, “ who possesses nothing can lose nothing ; all
you can take from me is the wretched garments I wear, and the few books, which
are my only wealth. As to exile, the earth is the Lord’s; every where it will
be my country, or rather my place of pilgrimage. Death will be a mercy ; it
will but admit me into life : long have I been dead to this world.” Mo- destus
expressed his surprise at this unusual tone of intrepid address. “ You have
never, then,” replied the prelate, “ conversed before with a bishop ? ”
Modestus returned to his master. “ Violence will be the only course with this
man, who is neither to be appalled by menaces nor won by blandishments.” But
the Emperor shrunk from violent measures. His humbler supplication confined
itself to the admission of Arians into the communion of Basil ; but he implored
in vain. The Emperor mingled with the crowd of undistinguished worshippers ;
but he was so impressed by the solemnity of the Catholic service, the deep and
full chanting of the psalms, the silent adoration of the people, the order and
the majesty, by the calm dignity of the bishop and of his attendant clergy,
which appeared more like the serenity of angels than the busy scene of mortal
men, that, awe-struck and overpowered, he scarcely ventured to approach to
make his offering. The clergy stood irresolute, whether they were to receive it
from the infectious hand of an Arian ; Basil, at length, while the trembling
Emperor
leaned for support 011 an attendant priest, chap.
condescended to advance and accept the oblation. t VI1‘
, But neither supplications, nor bribes, nor threats, could induce the bishop
to admit the sovereign to the communion. In a personal interview, instead of
convincing the bishop, Valens was so overpowered by the eloquence of Basil, as
to bestow an endowment on the church for the use of the poor. A scene of
mingled intrigue and asserted miracle ensued. The exile of Basil was
determined, but the mind of Valens was alarmed by the dangerous illness of his
son. The prayers of Basil were said to have restored the youth to life ; but a
short time after, having been baptized by Arian hands, he relapsed and died.
Basil however maintained his place and dignity to the end.*
But the fate
of Valens drew on ; it was followed ^ctt.of
by the first permanent establishment of the barba- anity in mi- rians within
the frontiers of the Roman empire. erfS'ofthe Christianity now began
to assume a new and im- ^)‘7o1^11
portant function, that assimilation and union between the conquerors and the
conquered, which prevented the total extinction of the Roman civilisation, and
the oppression of Europe, by complete and almost hopeless barbarism. However
Christianity might have disturbed the peace, and therefore, in some degree,
the stability of the empire, by the religious factions which distracted the
principal cities ; however that foreign principle of celibacy, which had now
become completely identified with it, by withdrawing so many active and
* Greg. Naz. Orat. xx. ; Greg. Nyss. contra
Eunom. ; and the ecclesiastical historians in loco.
book powerful minds into the cloister or the
hermitage,
* . may have diminished the civil energies,
and even have impaired the military forces of the empire*, yet the enterprising
and victorious religion amply repaid those injuries by its influence in
remodelling the new state of society. If treacherous to the interests of the
Roman empire, it was true to those of mankind. Throughout the whole process of
the resettling of Europe and the other provinces of the empire, by the
migratory tribes from the north and east, and the vast system of colonisation
and conquest, which introduced one or more new races into every province,
Christianity was the one common bond, the harmonising principle, which subdued
to something like unity the adverse and conflicting elements of society.
Christianity, no doubt, while it discharged this lofty mission, could not but
undergo a great and desecrating change. It might repress, but could not
altogether subdue, the advance of barbarism ; it was constrained to
accommodate itself to the spirit of the times ; while struggling to counteract
barbarism, itself became barbarised. It lost at once much of its purity and its
gentleness ; it became splendid and imaginative, warlike, and at length
chivalrous. When a country in a comparatively high state of civilisation is
overrun by a foreign and martial horde, in numbers too great to
* Valens, perceiving the actual teries and solitary hermitages of
operation
of this unwarlike dedi- Egypt, and
swept the monks by
cation
of so many able-bodied men thousands
into the ranks of his
to
useless inactivity, attempted to army.
But a reluctant Egyptian
correct
the evil by law, and by the monk would,
in general, make but
strong
interference of the govern- an
indifferent soldier, ment. He invaded the monas-
be absorbed
by the local population, the conquerors chap.
usually establish themselves as a kind of armed t ’
aristocracy, while the conquered are depressed into a race of slaves. Where
there is no connecting, no intermediate power, the two races co-exist in stern
and irreconcileable hostility. The difference in privilege, and often in the
territorial possession of the land, is increased and rendered more strongly
marked by the total want of communion in blood. Intermarriages, if not, as
commonly, prohibited by law, are almost entirely discountenanced by general
opinion. Such was, in fact, the ordinary process in the formation of the
society which arose out of the ruins of the Roman empire. The conquerors
became usually a military aristocracy ; assumed the property in the conquered
lands, or, at least, a considerable share in the landed estates, and laid the
groundwork, as it were, for that feudal system which was afterwards developed
with more or less completeness in different countries of Europe.
One thing
alone in some cases, tempered, during influence the process of conquest, the irreclaimable
hostility j in all, after the final settlement, moulded up together in some
degree the adverse powers. Where, as in the Gothic invasion, it had made some
previous impression on the invading race, Christianity was constantly
present, silently mitigating the horrors of the war, and afterwards blending together,
at least to a certain extent, the rival races.
At all times,
it became the connecting link, the intermediate power, which.gave some
community
VOL.
III. K
book of interest, some similarity of feeling, to the
master
>. ' , and
the slave. They worshipped at least the same God, in the same church ; and the
care of the same clergy embraced both with something of an harmonising and
equalising superintendence. The Christian clergy occupied a singular position
in this new state of society. At the earlier period, they were, in general,
Roman ; later, though sometimes barbarian by birth, they were Roman in education.
When the prostration of the conquered people was complete, there was still an
order of people, not strictly belonging to either race, which maintained a
commanding attitude, and possessed certain authority. The Christian bishop
confronted the barbarian sovereign, or took his rank among the leading nobles.
During the invasion, the Christian clergy, though their possessions were
ravaged in the indiscriminate warfare ; though their persons were not always
secure from insult, or from slavery; yet, on the whole, retained, or very soon
resumed, a certain sanctity, and hastened, before long, to wind their chains
around the minds of the conquerors. Before a new invasion, Christianity had, in
general, mingled up the invaders with the invaded ; till at length Europe,
instead of being a number of disconnected kingdoms, hostile in race, in civil polity,
in religion, was united in a kind of federal Christian republic, on a principle
of unity, acknowledging the supremacy of the Pope.
Their
im. overwecninff
authority claimed and exer-
portance
in n j
this new
cised by the clergy ; their existence as a separate
state
of J
things. and
exclusive caste, at this particular period m the
progress of
civilisation, became of the highest chap.
• • • * VII
utility. A
religion without a powerful and separate t ' sacerdotal order, even,
perhaps, if that order had not in general been bound to celibacy, and so
prevented from degenerating into an hereditary caste, would have been absorbed
and lost in the conflict and confusion of the times. Religion, unless invested
by general opinion in high authority, and that authority asserted by an active
and incorporated class, would scarcely have struggled through this complete
disorganisation of all the existing relations of society. The respect which the
clergy maintained was increased by their being almost the exclusive possessors
of that learning which commands the reverence even of barbarians, when not
actually engaged in war. A religion which rests on a written record, however
that record maybe but rarely studied, and by a few only of its professed interpreters,
enforces the general respect to literary attainment. Though the traditional
commentary may overload or supersede the original book, the commentary itself
is necessarily committed to writing, and becomes another subject of honoured
and laborious study. All other kinds of literature, as Influence far as they
survive, gladly rank themselves under tfanity'on the protection of that which
commands reverence literatu,e» for its religious authority. The
cloister or the religious foundation thus became the place of refuge to all
that remained of letters or of arts. Knowledge brooded in secret, though almost
with unproductive, yet with life-sustaining warmth, over these secluded
treasures. But it was not merely an
k 2
book
inert and quiescent resistance which was thus offered , 71L , to
barbarism ; it was perpetually extending its encroachments, as well as
maintaining its place. Perhaps the degree to which the Roman language modified
the Teutonic tongues may be a fair example of the extent to which the Roman
civilisation generally modified the manners and the laws of the Northern
nations, on ian- ^he language of
the conquered people lived in
guage, O & 1 r L ^
thereligiousritual.
Throughouttherapid§uccession of invaders who passed over Europe, seeking their
final settlement, some in the remotest province of Africa, before the formation
of other dialects, the Latin was kept alive as the language of Western
Christianity. The clergy were its conservators, the Vulgate Bible and the
offices of the church its depositaries, unviolated by any barbarous interruption,
respected as the oracles of divine truth. But the constant repetition of this
language in the ears of the mingled people can scarcely have been without
influence, in increasing and strengthening the Roman element in the common
language, which gradually grew up from mutual intercourse, intermarriage, and
all the other bonds of community which blended together the various races, on
the mu- The old municipal institutions of the empire stkiltlons." probably
owed their permanence, in no inconsiderable degree, to Christianity. It has
been observed in what manner thedecurionate, the municipal authorities of each
town, through the extraordinary and oppressive system of taxation, from
guardians of the liberties of the people, became mere passive and
unwilling
agents of the government. Responsible CI^IP*
for payments which they could not exact, men of l~ t * opulence, men
of humanity, shrunk from the public offices. From objects of honourable
ambition, they had become burdens, loaded with unrepaid unpopularity, assumed
by compulsion, and exercised with reluctance. The defensors, instituted by
Valentinian and Valens, however they might afford temporary protection and
relief to the lower orders, scarcely exercised any long or lasting influence
on the state of society. Yet the municipal authorities at least retained the
power of administering the laws; and, as the law became more and more
impregnated with Christian sentiment, it assumed something of a religious as
well as civil authority. The magistrate became, as it were, an ally of the
Christian bishop ; the institutions had a sacred character, besides that of
their general utility. Whatever remained of commerce and of art subsisted
chiefly among the old Roman population of the cities, which was already
Christian ; and hence, perhaps, the guilds and fraternities of the trades,
which may be traced up to an early period, gradually assumed a sort of
religious bond of union.
In all
points, the Roman civilisation and Christianity, when the latter had
completely pervaded the various orders of men, began to make common cause ; and
during all the time that this disorganisation of conquest and new settlement
was taking place in this groundwork of the Roman social system, and the loose elements of society were severing
by gradual disunion, a new confederative
k 3
principle
arose in these smaller aggregations, as well as in the general population of
the empire. The church became another centre of union. Men incorporated
themselves together, not only, nor so much, as fellow-citizens, as
fellow-Christians. They submitted to an authority co-ordinate with the civil
power, and united as members of the same religious fraternity.
Christianity,
to a certain degree, changed the general habits of men. For a time, at least,
they were less public, more private and domestic men. The tendency of
Christianity, while the Christians composed a separate and distinct community,
to withdraw men from public affairs ; their less frequent attendance on the
courts of law, which were superseded by their own peculiar arbitration ; their
repugnance to the ordinary amusements, which soon however, in the large cities,
such as Antioch and Constantinople, wore off — all these principles of disunion
ceased to operate when Christianity became the dominant, and at length the
exclusive, religion. The Christian community became the people; the shows, the
pomps, the ceremonial of the religion, replaced the former seasons of
periodical popular excitement; the amusements, which were not extirpated by
the change of sentiment, some theatrical exhibitions and the chariot race,
were crowded with Christian spectators, Christians ascended the tribunals of
law ; not only the spirit and language of the NewTestament, but likewise of the
Old, entered both into the Roman jurisprudence and into the various barbarian
codes, in which the Roman law was
mingled with
the old Teutonic usages. Thus Chris- chap.
? • . VII
tianity was
perpetually discharging the double office , ^ * , of conservator, with regard
to the social institutions with which she had entered into alliance; and of
mediator between the conflicting races which she was gathering together under
her own wing.
Where the
relation between the foreign conqueror and the conquered inhabitant of the
empire was that of master and slave, the Roman ecclesiastic still maintained
his independence, and speedily regained his authority ; he only admitted the
barbarian into his order on the condition that he became to a certain degree
Romanised ; and there can be no doubt that the gentle influence of Christian
charity and humanity was not without its effect in mitigating the lot, or at
least in consoling the misery of the change from independence, or superiority,
to humiliation and servitude. Where the two races mingled, as seems to have
been the case in some of the towns and cities, on more equal terms, by
strengthening the municipal institutions with something of a religious
character, and by its own powerful federative principle, it condensed them much
more speedily into one people, and assimilated their manners, habits, and
usages.
Christianity
had early, as it were, prepared the Early way for this amalgamation of the
Goths with the ity among Roman empire. In their first inroads,
during the tl,e Gotl,s* reign of Gallienus, when they ravaged a
large part of the Roman empire, they carried away numbers of slaves, especially
from Asia Minor and Cappa- docia. Among these were many Christians. The
K 4
BOOK
III.
Ulpliilas’s
version of the Scriptures.
slaves
subdued the conquerors ; the gentle doctrines of Christianity made their way to
the hearts of the barbarous warriors. The families of the slaves continued to
supply the priesthood to this growing community. A Gothic bishop*, with a Greek
name, Theophilus, attended at the council of Nice; Ulphilas, at the time of the
invasion in the reign of Valens, consecrated bishop of the Goths during an
embassy to Constantinople, was of Cappa- docian descent.t Among the Goths,
Christianity first assumed its new office, the advancement of general
civilisation, as well as of purer religion. It is difficult to suppose that the
art of writing was altogether unknown to the Goths before the time of Ulphilas.
The language seems to have attained a high degree of artificial perfection
before it was employed by that prelate in the translation of the Scriptures.t
Still the Maeso-Gothic alphabet, of which the Greek is by far the principal
element, was generally adopted by the Goths. § It was universally disseminated
; it was perpetuated, until the extinction or absorption of the Gothic race in
* Philostorgius, ii. 5.
-j- Socrates,
ii. 41.
% The Gothic of Ulphilas is the link between the
East and Europe, the transition state from the Sanscrit to the modern Teutonic
languages. It is possible that the Goths, after their migration from the East
to the north of Germany, may have lost the art of writing, partly from the
want of materials. The German forests would afford no substitute for the
palm-leaves of the East; they may have been reduced to the barba
rous runes of
the other Heathen tribes. Compare Bopp., Conjugations System.
§ The Maeso-Gothic alphabet has twenty-five letters,
of which fifteen are evidently Greek, eight Latin. The two, th and hw, to which
the Greek and Latin have no corresponding sound, are derived from some other
quarter. They are most likely ancient characters. The th resembles closely the
runic letter, which expresses the same sound. See St. Martin, note on Le Beau,
iii. p. 120.
other tribes,
by the translation of the sacred writ- chap.
. . . . . VII.
mgs. This was
the work of Ulphilas, who, in his version of the Scriptures*, is reported to
have omitted, with a Christian, but vain, precaution, the books of Kings, lest,
being too congenial to the spirit of his countrymen, they should inflame their
warlike enthusiasm. Whether the genuine mildness of Christianity, or some
patriotic reverence for the Roman empire, from which he drew his descent,
influenced the pious bishop, the martial ardour of the Goths was not the less
fatal to the stability of the Roman empire. Christianity did not even mitigate
the violence of the shock with which, for the first time, a whole host of
Northern barbarians was thrown upon the empire, never again to be shaken off.
This Gothic invasion, which first established a Teutonic nation within the
frontier of the empire, wras conducted with all the ferocity,
provoked, indeed, on the part of the Romans by the basest treachery, of hostile
races with no bond of connection.t
* The greater part of the frag- ments, chiefly of the other Epis-
ments
of Ulphilas’s version of the ties of St.
Paul. Milan, 1819.
Scriptures
now extant is con- St. Martin, notes to
Le Beau, iii.
tained
in the celebrated Codex 100. On the
Gothic translation of
Argenteus,
now at Upsala. This the Scriptures.
See Socrat. iv.
splendid
MS., written in silver 33. Sozom.
vi. 37. Philostor-
letters,
on parchment of a purple gius, ii. 5.
Compare Theodoret,
ground,
contains almost the whole v. 30, 31.
four
Gospels. Knittel, in 1762, f It is
remarkable to find a
discovered
five chapters of St. Christian
priest employed as an
Paul’s
Epistle to the Homans, in ambassador
between the Goths
a
Palinpsest MS. at Wolfenbuttel. and the
Romans, and either the
The
best edition of the whole of willing
or undesigning instrument
this
is by J. Christ. Zahn. Weis- of that
stratagem of the Gothic
senfels,
1805. Since that time, general
which was so fatal to
M.
Mai has published, from Milan Valens.
Amm. Marc. xxxi. 12. Palinpsests, several other frag-
book The pacificatory effect of the general conversion
t nL , of the Goths to Christianity was impeded by the
form of faith which they embraced. The Gothic Arianism prelates, Ulphilas among
the rest, who visited the Goth°s. court of Constantinople, found the Arian
bishops in possession of the chief authority ; they were the recognised
prelates of the empire. Whether their less cultivated minds were unable to
comprehend, or their language to express, the fine and subtle distinctions of
the Trinitarian faith, or persuaded, as it was said, by the Arian bishops, that
it was mere verbal dispute, these doctrines were introduced among the Goths
before their passage of the Danube, or their settlement within the empire. The
whole nation received this form of Christianity ; from them it appears to have
spread, first embracing the other branch of the nation, the Ostrogoths, among
the Gepidse, the Vandals, and the Burgundians.* Among the barbaric conquerors
was the stronghold of Arianism ; while it was gradually repudiated by the
Romans both in the East and in the West, it raised its head, and obtained a
superiority which it had never before attained, in Italy and Spain. Whether
more congenial to the simplicity of the barbaric mind, or in some respects
cherished on one side by the conqueror as a proud distinction, more cordially
detested by the Roman population, as the creed of their barbarous masters,
Arianism
* Sic quoque Visigothi a Va- tiam evangelizantes, hujus perfidiae
lente Imperatore Ariani potius culturam
edocentes omnem ubique
quam Christiani effecti. De cas- linguae
hujus nationem ad cultu-
tero
tam Ostrogothis,quam Gcpidis ram
hujus sectae incitavere. Jor-
parentibus
suis per affectionis gra- nand. c. 25.
appeared
almost to make common cause with the Teutonic invaders, and only fell with the
Gothic monarchies in Italy and in Spain. While Gratian and Valentinian the
Second espoused the cause of Trinitarianism in the West(we shall hereafter
resume the Christian history of that division of the empire), by measures which
show that their sacerdotal advisers were men of greater energy and decision
than their civil ministers, it subsisted almost as a foreign and barbarous form
of Christianity.
BOOK
III.
CHAPTER VIII.
THEODOSIUS. ABOLITION OF PAGANISM.
The fate of Valens
summoned to the empire a sovereign not merely qualified to infuse a
conservative vigour into the civil and military administration of the empire,
but to compress into one uniform system the religion of the Roman world. It was
necessary that Christianity should acquire a complete predominance, and that
it should be consolidated into one vigorous and harmonious system. The relegation,
as it were, of Arianism among the Goths and other barbarous tribes, though it
might thereby gain a temporary accession of strength, did not permanently
impede the final triumph of Trinitarian- ism. While the imperial power was thus
lending its strongest aid for the complete triumph and concentration of
Christianity, from the peculiar character of the mind of Theodosius, the
sacerdotal order, on the strength and unity of which was to rest the permanent
influence of Christianity during the approaching centuries of darkness, assumed
new energy. A religious emperor, under certain circumstances, might have been
the most dangerous adversary of the priestly power; he would have asserted with
vigour, which could not at that time be resisted, the supremacy of the civil
authority. But
the
weaknesses, the vices, of the great Theodosius, chap.
bowed him down before the aspiring priesthood, , A H1‘ who,
in asserting and advancing their own authority, were asserting the cause of
humanity. The passionate tyrant, at the feet of the Christian prelate,
deploring the rash resentment which had condemned a whole city to massacre ;
the prelate exacting the severest penance for the outrage on justice and on
humanity, stand in extraordinary contrast with the older Caesars, without
remonstrance or without humiliation, glutting their lusts or their resentment
with the misery and blood of their subjects.
The accession
of Theodosius was hailed with a. d. 379. universal enthusiasm throughout the
empire. The pressing fears of barbaric invasion on every frontier silenced for
a time the jealousies of Christian and Pagan, of Arian and Trinitarian. On the
shore of each of the great rivers which bounded the empire, appeared a host of
menacing invaders. The Persians, the Armenians, the Iberians, were prepared to
pass the Euphrates or the eastern frontier ; the Danube had already afforded a
passage to the Goths ; behind them were the Huns in still more formidable and
multiplying swarms ; the Franks and the rest of the German nations were
crowding to the Rhine. Paganism, as well as Christianity, hastened to pay its
grateful homage to the deliverer of the empire ; the eloquent Themistius
addressed the Emperor in the name of the imperial city ; Libanius ventured to
call on the Christian Emperor to revenge the death of Julian, that crime for
which the gods were exacting
book just retribution ; Pagan poetry awoke from its
long IIL silence; the glory of Theodosius and his family inspired
its last noble effort in the verse of Clau- dian.
Theodosius
was a Spaniard. In that province Christianity had probably found less
resistance from the feeble provincial Paganism ; nor was there, as in Gaul, an
old national religion which lingered in the minds of the native population.
Christianity was early and permanently established in the Peninsula. To
Theodosius, who was but slightly tinged with the love of letters, or the tastes
of a more liberal education, the colossal temples of the East, or the more
graceful and harmonious fabrics of Europe, would probably create no feeling but
that of aversion from the shrines of idolatry. His Christianity was pure from
any of the old Pagan associations; unsoftened, it may, perhaps, be said, by any
feeling for art, and unawed by any reverence for the ancient religion of Rome :
he was a soldier, a provincial, an hereditary Christian of a simple and
unquestioning faith ; and he added to all this the consciousness of consummate
vigour and ability, and a choleric and vehement temperament.
Spain,
throughout the Trinitarian controversy, perhaps from the commanding influence
of Hosius, had firmly adhered to the Athanasian doctrines. The Manichean tenets,
for which Priscillian and his followers suffered (the first heretics condemned
to death for their opinions), were but recently introduced into the province.
Thus, by
character and education, deeply im-
pressed with
Christianity, and that of a severe and ciiap.
uncompromising orthodoxy, Theodosius undertook v V111‘
. the sacred obligation of extirpating Paganism, and restoring to Christianity
its severe and inviolable unity. Without tracing the succession of events
throughout his reign, we may survey the Christian Emperor in his acts ; first,
as commencing, if not completing, the forcible extermination of Paganism;
secondly, as confirming Christianity, and extending the authority of the
sacerdotal order ; and thirdly, as establishing the uniform orthodoxy of the
Western Roman church.
The laws of
Theodosius against the Pagan sacri- Hostiiityof fices grew insensibly more and
more severe. The Jpagau1.13 inspection of the entrails of
victims, and magic rites, lsm* were made a capital offence. In 391,
issued an edict prohibiting sacrifices, and even the entering into the temples.
In the same year, a rescript was addressed to the court and prsefect of Egypt,
fining the governors of provinces who should enter a temple, fifteen pounds of
gold, and giving a kind of authority to the subordinate officers to prevent
their superiors from committing such offences. The same year, all unlawful
sacrifices are prohibited by night or day, within or without the temples. In
392, all immolation is prohibited under the penalty of death, and all other
acts of idolatry under forfeiture of the house or land in which the offence
shall have been committed.*
The Pagan
temples, left standing in all their majesty, but desecrated, deserted,
overgrown, would
* Cod. Theod. xvi. 10.7.11, 12.
book have been the most splendid monument to the IIT*
, triumph of Christianity. If, with the disdain of conscious strength, she had
allowed them to remain without victim, without priest, without worshipper, but
uninjured, and only exposed to natural decay from time and neglect, posterity
would not merely have been grateful for the preservation of such stupendous and
graceful models of art, but would have been strongly impressed with admiration
of her magnanimity. But such magnanimity was neither to be expected from the
age or the state of the religion. The Christians believed in the existence of
the Heathen deities, with, perhaps, more undoubting faith than the Heathens
themselves. The daemons who inhabited the temples were spirits of malignant
and pernicious power, which it was no less the interest than the duty of the
Christian to expel from their proud and attractive mansions. # The
temples were the strongholds of the vigilant and active adversaries of
Christian truth and Christian purity, the enemies of God and man. The idols, it
is true, were but wood and stone, but the beings they represented were real;
they hovered, perhaps, in the air ; they were still present in the consecrated
spot, though rebuked and controlled by the mightier name of Christ, yet able to
surprise the careless Christian in his hour of supineness or negligent
adherence to his faith or his duty. When zeal inflamed the Christian populace
to aggression upon any of these ancient and
* Dii enim Gentium daemonia,
ut Scriptura docet. Ambros. Epist. Resp. ad Symmach. in init.
time-liallowed
buildings, 110 doubt some latent awe chap.
. . . VIII
lingered
within ; something of the suspense of t ‘ doubtful warfare watched
the issue of the strife. However they might have worked themselves up to the
conviction that their ancient gods were but of this inferior and hostile
nature, they would still be haunted by some apprehensions, lest they should not
be secure of the protection of Christ, or of the angels and saints in the new
tutelar hierarchy of Heaven. The old deities might not have been so completely
rebuked and controlled as not to retain some power of injuring their rebellious
votaries.
It was at
last, even to the faithful, a conflict between two unequal supernatural
agencies, unequal indeed, particularly where the faith of the Christian was
fervent and sincere, yet dependent for its event on the confidence of that
faith, which sometimes trembled at its own insufficiency, and feared lest it
should be abandoned by the divine support in the moment of strife.
Throughout
the East and West, the monks were the chief actors in this holy warfare. They
are constantly spoken of by the Heathen writers in terms of the bitterest
reproach and contempt.
The
most particular accounts of their proceedings relate to the East. Their
desultory attacks were chiefly confined to the country, where the numberless
shrines, images, and smaller temples were at the same time less protected, and
more dear to the feelings of the people. In the towns, the larger fanes, if
less guarded by the reverence of their worshippers, were under the protection
of the vol. in. l •
book municipal police.* Christianity was long almost 1H‘
, exclusively the religion of the towns ; and the term Paganism
(notwithstanding the difficulties which embarrass this explanation) appears to
owe its origin to this general distinction. The agricultural population,
liable to frequent vicissitudes, trembled to offend the gods, on whom depended
the plenty or the failure of the harvest. Habits are more intimately enwoven
with the whole being in the regular labours of husbandry, than in the more
various and changeable occupations of the city. The whole Heathen ritual was
bound up with the course of agriculture : this wTas the oldest part
both of the Grecian and Italian worship, and had experienced less change from
the spirit of the times. In every field, in every garden, stood a deity ;
shrines and lesser temples were erected in every grove, by every fountain. The
drought, the mildew, the murrain, the locusts, — whatever was destructive to
the harvest or to the herd, was in the power of these capricious deitiest; even
when converted to Christianity, the peasant trembled at the consequences of his
own apostasy; and it is probable, that not until the whole of this race of
tutelary deities had been gradually replaced by what we must call the inferior
divinities of Paganising Christianity, saints, martyrs, and angels, that
Christianity was extensively or permanently established in the rural districts,
t
* ToX/iarai
f.dv ovv kuv tcuq yvvaiKiov, Kai TtKVMV Kai /3otovy
Kai
7roXtGi,
to
7toXv tv to~iq
dypulg. Tf/g (TTTtipofi'tvi]Q yrjg Kai TrttyVTtv-
Liban. pro Templis. tutvijg.
Liban. cle Tempi.
■f Kat toiq ytiopyovaiv iv avrolg J This difference prevailed
a\ iXirideg, oaai 7repi Tt avSpiov Kai equally in the West.
Fleury gives
During the
reign of Constantine, that first sign chap.
?
. . . VIII
of a decaying
religion, the alienation of the pro- , ' , perty attached to its maintenance,
began to be dis- Alienation cerned. Some estates belonging to the temples
revenue of were seized by the first Christian Emperor, and ^stcm"
appropriated to the building of Constantinople.
The
favourites of his successor, as we have seen, were enriched by the donation of
other sacred estates, and even of the temples themselves.* Julian restored the
greater part of these prodigal gifts, but they were once more resumed under
Valentinian, and the estates escheated to the imperial revenue. Soon after the
accession of Theodosius, the Pagans, particularly in the East, saw the storm
gathering in the horizon. The monks, with perfect impunity, traversed the
rural districts, demolishing all the unprotected edifices. In vain did the
Pagans appeal to the episcopal authority ; the bishops declined to repress the
over-active, perhaps, but pious zeal of their adherents. Already much
destruction had taken place among the smaller rural shrines ; the temples in
Antioch, of Fortune, of Jove, of Athene, of Dionysus, were still standing ;
but the demolition of one stately temple, either at Edessa or Palmyra, and this
under the
an
account of the martyrdom of ing to
Libanius, with no more
three
missionaries by the rural respect
than a horse, a slave, a
population
of a district in the dog, or a golden
cup. The posi-
Tyrol,
who resented the abolition tion of the
slave between the horse
of
their deities and their religious and
the dog, as cheap gifts, is cu-
ceremonies.
Ilist. Eccles. v. G4. rious enough.
Liban. Op. v. ii,
* They were bestowed, accord- p. 185.
book pretext of the imperial authority, had awakened
all , IIL , the fears of the Pagans. Libanius addressed an ela-
Oration of borate oration to the Emperor, “For the Temples.”* Libamus. Ljta
Christianity under the Antonines, Paganism is now making its apology for its
public worship. Paganism is reduced to still lower humiliation ; one of its
modest arguments against the destruction of its temples, is an appeal to the
taste and love of splendour, in favour of buildings at least as ornamental to
the cities as the imperial palaces.t The orator even stoops to suggest that, if
alienated from religious uses, and let for profane purposes, they might be a
productive source of revenue. But the eloquence and arguments of Libanius were
wasted Syrian on deaf and unheeding ears. The war against the Sroyed temples
commenced in Syria ; but it was not conducted with complete success. In many
cities the inhabitants rose in defence of their sacred buildings, and, with the
Persian on the frontier, a religious war might have endangered the allegiance
of these provinces. The splendid temples, of which the ruins have recently been
discovered, at Petrat, were defended by the zealous worshippers; and in those,
as well as at Areopolis and Raphia, in Palestine, the Pagan ceremonial
continued without disturbance. In Gaza, the temple of the tutelar deity,
Marnas, the lord of men, was closed ; but the Christians did not venture to
violate it. The
* This oration was probably not of these buildings Roman archi-
delivered
in the presence of Thco- tecture of the
age of the An-
dosius. tonines is manifest, raised in gene-
-J-
Liban. pro Templis, p. 190. ralon
the enormous substructions
j
Laborde’s Journey. In most of much
earlier ages.
form of some
of the Syrian edifices allowed their transformation into Christian churches ;
they were enclosed, and made to admit sufficient light for the services of the
church. A temple at Damascus, and another at Heliopolis or Baalbec*, were consecrated
to the Christian worship. Marcellus of Apamea was the martyr in this holy
warfare. He had signalised himself by the destruction of the temples in his own
city, particularly that of Jupiter, whose solid foundations defied the
artificers and soldiery employed in the work of demolition, and required the
aid of miracle to undermine them. But, on an expedition into the district of
Apamea, called the Aulon, the rude inhabitants rose in defence of their sacred
edifice, seized Marcellus, and burned him alive. The synod of the province refused
to revenge on his barbarous enemies, a death so happy for Marcellus, and so
glorious for his family.t
The work of
demolition was not long content with these less famous edifices, these outworks
of Paganism ; it aspired to attack one of its strongest citadels, and, by the
public destruction of one of the most celebrated temples in the world, to announce
that Polytheism had for ever lost its hold upon the minds of men.
It was
considered the highest praise of the mag
* If this (as indeed is not like- of its
precincts. The sanctuary ly) was the vast Temple of the was usually taken for
this pur- Sun, the work of successive ages, pose.
it is probable that a Christian f Sozomen, vii. 15. Theodo- church was
enclosed in some part ret, v. 21.
L 3
book nificent temple in Edessa, of which the roof was
of IIL remarkable construction, and which contained in its
Temple of
secret sanctuary certain very celebrated statues of
AiexLn-81
wrought iron, and whose fall had excited the indig-
dria-
nant eloquence of Libanius, to compare it to the Serapion in Alexandria. The
Serapion, at that time, appeared secure in the superstition, which connected
its invoilable sanctity, and the honour of its god*, with the rise and fall of
the Nile, with the fertility and existence of Egypt, and, as Egypt was the
granary of the East, of Constantinople. The Pagans had little apprehension that
the Serapion itself, before many years, would be levelled to the ground.
a.d. 389, The
temple of Serapis, next to that of Jupiter in the Capitol, was the proudest
monument of Pagan religious architecture.t Like the more celebrated structures
of the East, and that of Jerusalem in its glory, it comprehended within its
precincts a vast mass of buildings, of which the temple itself formed the
centre. It was built on an artificial hill, in the old quarter of the city,
called Rhacotis, to which the ascent was by a hundred steps. All the substructure
was vaulted over; and in these dark chambers, which communicated with each
other, were supposed to be carried on the most fearful, and, to the Christian,
abominable mysteries. All around the spacious level platform were the habitations
of the priests, and the ascetics dedicated to
* Libanius expresses himself to nihil orbis terrarum ambitiosius
this
effect. ^ ^ cernat. Ammian. Marcell. xxii.
f Post Capitolium, quo se ve- 10. nerabilis Roma in atternum attollit
the worship
of the god. Within these outworks chap. of
this city, rather than temple, was a square, sur- t VIIL
. rounded on all sides with a magnificent portico.
In the centre
arose the temple, on pillars of enormous magnitude and beautiful proportion.
The work either of Alexander himself or of the first Ptolemy, aspired to unite
the colossal grandeur of Egyptian with the fine harmony of Grecian art.
The god
himself was the especial object of adoration throughout the whole country, and
throughout every part of the empire into which the Egyptian worship
hadpenetrated*, but more particularly in Alexandria; and the wise policy of the
Ptolemys had blended together, under this pliant and all-embracing religion,
the different races of their subjects. Egyptian Worship of and Greek met as
worshippers of Serapis. The Serapls* Serapis of Egypt was said to
have been worshipped for ages at Sinope ; he was transported from that city
with great pomp and splendour, to be reincorporated, as it were, and reidentified
with his ancient prototype. While the Egyptians worshipped in Serapis the great
vivific principle of the universe, the fecundating Nile, holding the Nilometer
for his sceptre, the Lord of Amen-ti, the President of the regions beyond the
grave ; the Greeks, at the same time, recognised the blended attributes of
their Dionysus, Helios, iEsculapius, and Hades.f
* In Egypt
alone he had forty- brated passage in
Tacitus. Corn-
two temples ; innumerable others pare De Guigniaut, Le Dieu Se-
in every part of the Roman em- rapis et son Origine, originally
pire. Aristid. Orat. in Canop. written as a note for Bournouf’s
f This appears to me the most Translation of Tacitus, natural interpretation of the cele-
L 4
book The colossal statue of Serapis embodied these t
1IL , various attributes.* It filled the sanctuary : its statue of
outstretched and all-embracing arms touched the walls ; the right the one, the
left the other. It was said to have been the work of Sesostris ; it was made of
all the metals fused together, gold, silver, copper, iron, lead, and tin ; it
was inlaid with all kinds of precious stones; the whole was polished, and
appeared of an azure colour. The measure or bushel, the emblem of
productiveness or plenty, crowned its head. By its side stood the symbolic
three-headed animal, one the forepart of a lion, one of a dog, one of a wolf.
In this the Greeks saw the type of their poetic Cerberus.t The serpent, the
symbol of eternity, wound round the whole, and returned resting its head on the
hand of the
god.
The more
completely the adoration of Serapis had absorbed the worship of the whole
Egyptian pantheon, the more eagerly Christianity desired to triumph over the
representative of Polytheism. However, in the time of Hadrian, the philosophic
party may have endeavoured to blend and harmonise the two faiths t, they stood
now in their old direct and irreconcileable opposition. The suppression of the
internal feuds between the opposite
* The statue is described by represented the past, the present,
Macrobius,
Saturn, i 20.; Cle- and the future ; the
rapacious
mens
Alexandrin. Exhortat. ad wolf the
past, the central lion the
Gent.
i. p. 42. ; Rufinus, E. II. intermediate
present, the fawning
xii.
23. dog the hopeful future.
f
According to the interpreta- % See the
Letter of Hadrian,
tion
of Macrobius, the three heads Vol. II. p.
155.
parties in
Alexandria, enabled Christianity to direct chap.
all its concentred force against Paganism. Thco- > Vin*
pliilus, the archbishop, was a man of boldness and The first activity, eager to
seize, and skilful to avail himself p^anism. of, every opportunity to inflame
the popular mind against the Heathens. A priest of Serapis was accused and
convicted of practising those licentious designs against the virtue of the
female worshippers, so frequently attributed to the priesthood of the Eastern
religions. The noblest and most beautiful women were persuaded to submit to the
embraces of the god, whose place, under the favourable darkness caused by the
sudden extinction of the lamps in the temple, was filled by the priest. These
inauspicious rumours prepared the inevitable collision. A neglected temple of
Osiris or Dionysus had been granted by Constantius to the Arians of Alexandria.
Theophilus obtained from the Emperor a grant of the vacant site, for a new
church, to accommodate the increasing numbers of the Catholic Christians. On
digging the foundation, there were discovered many of the obscene symbols, used
in the Bacchic or Osirian mysteries. Theophilus, with more regard to the
success of his cause than to decency, exposed these ludicrous or disgusting
objects, in the public market place, to the contempt and abhorrence of the
people. The Pagans, indignant at this treatment of their sacred symbols, and
maddened by the scorn and ridicule of the Christians, took up arms. The streets
ran with blood ; and many Christians who fell in this tumultuous fray received
the honours of martyr-
book dotn. A philosopher, named Olympus, placed t
111 , himself at the head of the Pagan party. Olympus Olympus had
foreseen and predicted the ruin of the external lQsophcr. worship of
Polytheism. He had endeavoured to implant a profound feeling in the hearts of
the Pagans which might survive the destruction of their ordinary objects of
worship. “ The statues of the gods are but perishable and material images ; the
eternal intelligences, which dwelt within them, have withdrawn to the heavens.”
# Yet Olympus hoped, and at first with his impassioned eloquence succeeded,
in rousing his Pagan compatriots to a bold defiance of the public authorities
in support of their religion ; faction and rivalry supplied what was wanting to
faith, and it appeared that Paganism would likewise boast its army of
martyrs,—martyrs, not indeed through patient submission to the persecutor, but
in heroic despair perishing with their gods.
War in The
Pagans at first were the aggressors ; they eaty‘ sallied from their
fortress, the Serapion, seized the unhappy Christians whom they met, forced
them to sacrifice on their altar, or slew them upon it, or threw them into the
deep trench defiled with the blood and offal of sacrifice. In vain Evagrius,
the prsefect of Egypt, and Roman us, the commander of the troops, appeared
before the gates of the Temple, remonstrated with the garrison, who appeared at
the windows, against their barbarities,
* "YXijv
<p6apr}}i> Kai IvSdXfiara fitig Tivctg IvotKtiaai avrolg, Kai Xkyiov
tivai ra aydXfiara, Kai Put tig ovpavov uTroTTri]vai. Sozom. tovto a<pavi(T[.i6v
inrofitvttv' dvvu- H. E. vii. 15.
and menaced
them with the just vengeance of the chap.
law. They were obliged to withdraw, baffled and t Vln‘
disregarded, and to await the orders of the Emperor. Olympus exhorted his
followers to the height of religious heroism. “ Having made a glorious sacrifice
of our enemies, let us immolate ourselves and perish with our gods.” But before
the rescript arrived, Olympus had disappeared : he had stolen Flight of
out of the Temple, and embarked for Italy. The Olympus. Christian writers do
honour to his sagacity, or to his prophetic powers, at the expense of his
courage and fidelity to his party. In the dead of night, when all was
slumbering around, and all the gates closed, he had heard the Christian
Alleluia pealing from a single voice through the silent Temple. He acknowledged
the sign, or the omen, and anticipated the unfavourable sentence of the
Emperor, the fate of his faction and of his gods.
The eastern
Pagans, it should seem, were little acquainted with the real character of
Theodosius.
When the
rescript arrived they laid down their arms, and assembled in peaceful array
before the Temple, as if they expected the sentence of the Emperor in their own
favour.* The officer began ; Rescript the first words of the rescript plainly
intimated the doshIs!°' abhorrence of Theodosius against idolatry. Cries of
triumph from the Christians interrupted the proceedings; the panic-stricken
Pagans, abandoning
* If the oration of Libanius, arguments not unlikely to meet
exhorting
the Emperor to revenge with success ; at
all events, he
the
death of Julian, was really appears
not to have the least
presented
to Theodosius, it be- notion that
Theodosius would not'
trays
something of the same ig- respect the
memory of the apos-
norance.
He seems to think his tate.
their temple
and their god, silently dispersed ; they sought out the most secret places of
refuge ; they fled their country. Two of the celebrated pontiffs, one of Amoun,
one of “ the Ape,” retired to Constantinople, where the one, Ammonius, taught
in a school, and continued to deplore the fall of Paganism ; Helladius, the
other, was known to boast the part he had taken in the sedition of Alexandria,
in which, with his own hand, he had slain nine Christians.*
The imperial
rescript at once went beyond and fell short of the fears of the Pagans. It
disdained to exact vengeance for the blood of the Christian martyrs, who had
been so happy as to lay down their lives for their Redeemer; but it commanded
the destruction of the idolatrous temples ; it confiscated all the ornaments,
and ordered the statues to be melted or broken up for the benefit of the poor.
Theophilus
hastened in his triumphant zeal to execute the ordinance of the Emperor.
Marching, with the prsefect at the head of the military, they ascended the
steps to the temple of Serapis. They surveyed the vacant chambers of the
priests and the ascetics ; they paused to pillage the library t ; they entered
the deserted sanctuary ; they stood in the presence of the god. The sight of
this co
* Socrat. Eccl. Hist. v. 16. and thirty
years after this trans- Helladius is mentioned in a law action.
of Theodosius
the younger, as a -f- Nos vidimus armaria libro- celebrated grammarian elevated
to rum; quibus direptis, exinanita certain honours. This law is, ea a nostris
hominibus, nostris however, dated 425 ; at least five temporibus memorant.
Oros. vi.15.
lossal image,
for centuries an object of worship, chap.
struck awe to the hearts of the Christians themselves. . * . They stood
silent, inactive, trembling. The arch- The statue, bishop alone maintained his
courage: he commanded a soldier to proceed to the assault. The soldier struck
the statue with his hatchet on the knee. The blow echoed through the breathless
hall, but no sound or sign of Divine vengeance ensued ; the roof of the Temple
fell not to crush the sacrilegious assailant, nor did the pavement heave and
quake beneath his feet. The emboldened soldier climbed up to the head and
struck it off; it rolled upon the ground. Serapis gave no sign of life, but a
large colony of rats, disturbed in their peaceful abode, ran about on all
sides. The passions of the multitude are always in extremes. From breathless
awe they passed at once to ungovernable mirth. The work of destruction went on
amid peals of laughter, coarse jests, and shouts of acclamation ; and as the
fragments of the huge body of Serapis were dragged through the streets, the
Pagans, with that revulsion of feeling common to the superstitious populace,
joined in the insult and mockery against their unresisting and self-abandoned
god.#
* They were said to have dis- Serapis; and
at the moment of covered several of the tricks by their meeting, the flashing
light which the priests of Serapis im- threw a smile on the lips of the posed
on the credulity of their Deity. There is another story of worshippers. An
aperture of the a magnet on the roof, which, as in wall was so contrived, that
the the fable about Mahomet’s coffin, light of the sun, at a particular raised
either a small statue of the time, fell on the face of Serapis. Deity, or the
sun in a car with The sun was then thought to visit four horses, to the roof,
and there
book The solid walls and deep foundations
of the hi. .
' , Temple
offered more unsurmountable resistance to
the baffled
zeal of the Christians; the work of demolition proceeded but slowly with the
massive architecture*; and some time after a church was erected in the
precincts, to look down upon the ruins of idolatry, which still frowned in
desolate grandeur upon their conquerors.t
Yet the
Christians, even after their complete triumph, were not without some lingering
terrors ; the Pagans not without hopes that a fearful vengeance would be
exacted from the land for this sacrilegious extirpation of their ancient
deities. Serapis was either the Nile, or the deity who presided over the
periodical inundations of the river. The Nilometer, which measured the rise of
the waters, was kept in the Temple. Would the indignant river refuse its
fertilising moisture ; keep sullenly within its banks, and leave the ungrateful
land blasted with perpetual drought and barrenness? As the time of the
inundation approached, all Egypt was in a state of trembling suspense. Long
beyond the accustomed day the waters remained at their usual level; there was
no sign of overflowing. The people began to murmur; the murmurs swelled into
indignant remonstrances ;
held it
suspended. A Christian withdrew the magnet, and the car fell, and was dashed to
pieces on the pavement.
* Compare Eunap. Vit. iEdesii, p. 44. edit.
Boissonade.
f The
Christians rejoiced in
discovering
the cross in various parts of the building; they were inclined to suppose it
miraculous or prophetic of their triumph. But, in fact, the crux ansata is a
common hieroglyphic, a symbol of life.
the usual
rites and sacrifices were demanded from ciiap.
the reluctant praefect, who despatched a hasty mes- t V1IL
senger to the Emperor for instructions. There was every appearance of a general
insurrection ; the Pagans triumphed in their turn ; but before the answer of
the Emperor arrived, which replied, in uncompromising faith, “ that if the
inundation of the river could only be obtained by magic and impious rites, let
it remain dry ; the fertility of Egypt must not be purchased by an act of infidelity
to God.* ” Suddenly, the waters began to swell, an inundation more full and
extensive than usual spread over the land, and the versatile Pagans had now no
course but to join again with the Chris- tains in mockeries against the impotence
of their gods.
But
Christianity was not content with the demolition of the Serapion ; its
predominance throughout Egypt may be estimated by the bitter complaint of the
Pagan writer : “ Whoever wore a black dress (the monks are designated by this
description) was invested in tyrannical power; philosophy and piety to the gods
were compelled to retire into secret places, and to dwell in contented poverty
and dignified meanness of appearance.
The temples
were turned into tombs for the adoration of the bones of the basest and most
depraved of men, who had suffered the penalty of the law,
* Improbable as it may seem, the malignant daemons worshipped
that
such an answer should be by the
idolaters, nor the efficacy
given
by a statesman like Theo- of enchantments,
to obtain their
dosius,
yet it is strongly charac- favour, and
to force from them
teristic
of the times. The Em- the retarded
overflow of the river, peror neither denies the power of
book whom they made their gods.”* Such was the f
* i light in which the martyr-worship of the Christians appeared to the Pagans.
The
demolition of the Serapion was a penalty inflicted on the Pagans of Alexandria
for their sedition and sanguinary violence ; but the example was too
encouraging, the hope of impunity under the present government too confident,
not to spread through other cities of Egypt. To Canopus, where the principle of
humidity was worshipped in the form of a vase, with a human head, Theophi- lus,
who considered Canopus within his diocese, marched at the head of his
triumphant party, demolished the temples, abolished the rites, which were
distinguished for their dissolute licence, and established monasteries in the
place. Canopus, from a city of revel and debauchery, became a city of monks.t
The persecution
extended throughout Egypt; but
• the vast buildings which even now subsist,
the successive works of the Pharaohs, the Ptolemies, and the Roman Emperors,
having triumphed alike over time, Christianity, and Mahommedanism, show either
some reverent reluctance to deprive the country of its most magnificent
ornaments, or the inefficiency of the instruments which they employed in
thework of devastation. For once it was less easy for men to destroy than to
preserve ; the power of
* Eunap. Vit. iEdesii, loc. cit. ciple of fire, the god of the Chal-
-j-
The Christians laughed at deans, had been
extinguished by
Canopus
being called “the con- the water
within the statue of
queror
of the gods.” The origin Canopus,
the principle of hu-
of
this name was, that the prin- midity.
\
demolition
was rebuked before the strength and solidity of these erections of primeval
art.
The war, as
we have seen, raged with the same partial and imperfect success in Syria; with
less, probably, in Asia Minor ; least of all in Greece. The demolition was no
where general or systematic. Wherever monastic Christianity was completely
predominant, there emulous zeal excited the laity to these aggressions on
Paganism. But in Greece the noblest buildings of antiquity, at Olympia,
Eleusis, Athens*, show in their decay the slower process of neglect and time,
of accident and the gradual encroachment of later barbarism, rather than the
iconoclastic destructiveness of early religious zeal.t
In the West,
the task of St. Martin of Tours, the great extirpator of idolatry in Gaul, was
comparatively easy, and his achievements by no means so much to be lamented,
as those of the destroyers of the purer models of architecture in the East. The
life of this saint, of which the comparatively polished and classical style
singularly contrasts with the strange and legendary incidents which it relates,
describes St. Martin as making regular campaigns into all the region,
destroying, wherever he could, the shrines and temples of the Heathen, and
replacing them by churches and monasteries.
* The
Parthenon, it is well *f* The council of Illiberis reknown, was entire, till
towards fused the honours of martyrdom
the close of the sixteenth century, to
those who were killed while Its roof was destroyed during the breaking idols. Can. lx. siege by the
Venetians. See Spon. and Wheler’s Travels.
book So completely was bis excited imagination full of
, JIL , his work, that he declared that Satan often assumed the
visible form of Jove, of Mercury, of Venus, or of Minerva, to divert him, no
doubt, from his holy design, and to protect their trembling fanes.#
Paganism But the power and the majesty of Paganism were ' still concentered at
Rome; the deities of the ancient faith found their last refuge in the capital
of the empire. To the stranger, Rome still offered the appearance of a Pagan
city : it contained one hundred and fifty-two temples, and one hundred and
eighty smaller chapels or shrines, still sacred to their tutelary God, and used
for public worship.t Christianity had neither ventured to usurp those few
buildings which might be converted to her use, still less had she the power to
destroy them. The religious edifices were under the protection of the praefect
of the city, and the praefect was usually a Pagan ; at all events, he would not
permit any breach of the public peace, or violation of public property. Above
all still towered the Capitol, in its unassailed and awful majesty, with its
fifty temples or shrines, bearing the most sacred names in the religious and
civil annals of Rome, those of Jove, of Mars, of Janus, of Romulus, of Caesar,
of Victory. Some years after the accession of
* Sulpic. Sever. Vit. B. Mar- tion du Paganisme en Occident,
tini,
p. 469. M.Beugnot has made out, on more
f
See the Descriptiones Urbis, or less
satisfactory evidence, a list
which
bear the names of Publicus of the
deities still worshipped in
Victor,
and Sextus llufus Festus. Italy, t. i.
1. viii. c. 9. St. Au-
These
works could not have been gustin, when
young, was present
written
before or long after the at the
rites of Cybele, about a. d.
reign of Valentinian. Compare 374.
Beugnot, Histoire de la Destruc-
Theodosius to
the Eastern empire, the. sacrifices chap.
were still performed as national rites at the public t ' ,
cost; the pontiffs made their offerings in the name of the whole human race.
The Pagan orator ventures to assert that the Emperor dared not to endanger
the safety of the empire by their abolition.*
The Emperor
still bore the title and insignia of the supreme Pontiff; the consuls before
they entered upon their functions, ascended the Capitol ; the religious
processions passed along the crowded streets ; and the people thronged to the
festivals and theatres, which still formed part of the Pagan worship.
But the
edifice had begun to tremble to its Gratian, foundations. The Emperor had
ceased to reside ^d.Ps67.- at Rome ; his mind, as well that of
Gratian, and ^alentmian the younger Valentinian, as of Theodosius,
was
P
> 1 1-1 i
11*1 n Theodosius,
free from
those early inculcated and daily renewed a. d. 379. impressions of the majesty
of the ancient Paganism which still enthralled the minds of the Roman
aristocracy. Of that aristocracy, the flower and the pride was Vettius Agorius
Praetextatus.f In him the wisdom of Pagan philosophy blended with the serious
piety of Pagan religion : he lived to witness the commencement of the last
fatal change, which he had no power to avert; he died, and his death was
deplored as a public calamity, in time to escape the final extinction, or
rather degradation, of Paganism. But eight years before the fatal ac- a.d. 37c.
* Liban. pro Templis. tolae, i. 40. 43. 45., ii. 7. 34-. 36.
f
See on Prsetextatus, Macrob. 53. 59.
Hieronym. Epistolae,
Saturn,
i. 2. Symmaclii Epis- xxiii.
cession of
Gratian, and the year of his own death, he had publicly consecrated twelve
statues, in the Capitol, with all becoming splendour, to the Dii curantes, the
great guardian deities of Rome.* It was not only the ancient religion of Rome
which still maintained some part of its dignity, all the other religions of the
empire, which still publicly celebrated their rites, and retained their
temples in the metropolis, concentred all their honours on Prse- textatus, and
took refuge, as it were, under the protection of his blameless and venerable
name. His titles in an extant inscription announce him as having attained,
besides the countless honours of Roman civil and religious dignity, the highest
rank in the Eleusinian, Phrygian, Syrian, and Mithriac mysteries, t His wife
boasted the same religious titles ; she was the priestess of the same
mysteries, with the addition of some peculiar to the female sex,$ She
celebrated the funeral, even the apotheosis, of her noble husband with the
utmost pomp : he was the last Pagan, probably, who received the honours of
deification. All Rome crowded, in sorrow and profound reverence, to the
ceremony. In the language of the vehement Jerom there is a singular mixture of
enforced respect and of aver
* This appears from an inscrip-
Tauroboliatus, Pater Patrum. tion recently discovered (a. d. Gruter, p. 1102. No. 2.
183.5), and
published in the Bui- J Sacratae apud Eleusinam letino of the Archaeological
So- Deo Baccho, Cereri, et Corae, apud ciety of Rome. Compare Bunsen, Lernam,
Deo Libero, et Cereri, et Roms Beschrcibung, vol. iii. p. 9. Corae, sacratae
apud iEginam Dea- -f Augur. Pontifex Vestae, Pon- bus ; Taurobolitae, Isiacae,
Hiero- tifex Solis, Quindecimvir, Curialis phantiae Deae Hecatae, sacratae
Herculis, sacratus Libero et Eleu- Deas Cereris. Gruter, 309. siniis,
Hierophanta, Neocorus,
sion ; he
describes (to moralise at the awful change) chap.
the former triumphant ascent of the Capitol by , ^ * . Prsetextatus amid
the acclamations of the wThole city ; he admits the popularity of
his life, but condemns him, without remorse, to eternal misery.*
Up to the
accession of Gratian, the Christian A. D. 367.
Emperor had assumed, as a matter of course, the Augustus, supremacy over the
religion, as well as the state, A-D- 378* of
Rome. He had been formally arrayed in the robes of the sovereign Pontiff. For
the first few years of his reign, Gratian maintained the inag- Gratian regressive
policy of his father.t But the masculine pontificate, mind of Ambrose obtained,
and indeed had deserved by his public services, the supremacy over the feeble
youth; and his influence began to reveal itself in a succession of acts, which
plainly showed that the fate of Paganism drew near. When Gratian was in Gaul,
the senate of Rome remembered that he had not been officially arrayed in the
dignity of the supreme Pontificate. A solemn deputation from Rome attended to
perform the customary ceremo- A. D. sss.
nial. The idolatrous honour was disdainfully rejected. The event was heard in
Rome with consternation ; it was the first overt act of separation between the
religious and the civil power of the
* O quanta rerum mutatio ! latio ut uxor mentitur infelix. sed
Ille quern ante paucos dies digni- in
sordentibus tenebris continetur.
tatum omnium culmina praecede- Hieronym.Epist.xxiii.vol.i.p.
135. bant, qui quasi de subjectis hos- -j* M. Beugnot considers that
tibus
triumpharet, Capitolinas as- Gratian was
tolerant of Paganism
cendit
arccs; quem plausu quodam from his
accession, a.d. 367 to
et tripudio populus Romanus exce- 382.
He
was sixteen when he
pit,ad
cujus intentum urbsuniversa ascended
the throne, and became
commota
est,—nunc desolatus et the first
Augustus on the death of
nudus, * * * non
in lacteo coeli pa- Valens, a. d. 378.
M 3
book empire.* The next hostile measure was still more
. ' . unexpected. Notwithstanding the manifest authority assumed by
Christianity, and by one of the Christian prelates, best qualified, by his own
determined character, to wield at his will the weak and irresolute Gratian ;
notwithstanding the long ill-suppressed murmurs, and now bold and authoritative
remonstrances, against all toleration, all connivance at Heathen idolatry, it
might have been thought that any other victim would have been chosen from the
synod of Gods ; that all other statues would have been thrown prostrate, all
other victory°f worship proscribed, before that of Victory. Constantius,
though he had calmly surveyed the other monuments of Roman superstition,
admired their majesty, read the inscriptions over the porticos of the temples,
had nevertheless given orders for the removal of this statue, and this
alone,—its removal, it may be suspected not without some superstitious
reverence, to the rival capital.t Victory had been restored by Julian to the
Senate-house at Rome, where she had so long presided over the counsels of the
conquering republic, and of the empire. She had maintained her place during the
reign of Valentinian. The decree, that the statue of Victory was to be
ignominiously dragged from its pedestal in the Senate-house, that the altar was
to be removed,
* Zosimus, iv. 30. The date and uncircumstantial), acting in
of
this transaction is conjectural, the
spirit of his father, who col-
The
opinion of La Bastie, Mem. lected a
great number of the best
des
Inscrip, xv. 141., is followed. statues
to adorn the new capital,
f
Constantius (the whole ac- perhaps
intended to transplant
count
of this transaction is vague Victory to
Constantinople.
and the act
of public worship, with which the Se- ciiap. nate had for centuries of
uninterrupted prosperity t M11’ and glory commenced and
hallowed its proceedings a, d. 382. discontinued,
fell, like a thunderbolt, among the partisans of the ancient worship. Surprise
yielded to indignation. By the advice of Prsetextatus, a solemn deputation was
sent to remonstrate with the Emperor. The Christian party in the Senate were
strong enough to forward, through the Bishop Damasus, a counter-petition,
declaring their resolution to abstain from attendance in the Senate so long as
it should be defiled by an idolatrous ceremonial. Gratian coldly dismissed the
deputation, though headed by the eloquent Symmachus, as not representing the
unanimous sentiments of the Senate.*
This first
open aggression on the Paganism of Rome was followed by a law which confiscated
at once all the property of the temples, and swept away the privileges and
immunities of the priesthood. The fate of the vestal virgins excited the
strongest commiseration. They now passed unhonoured through the streets. The
violence done to this institution, coeval with Rome itself, was aggravated by
the bitter mockery of the Christians at the importance attached to those few
and rare instances of chastity by the Pagans. They scoffed
* It is
very singular that, even were passed in
383 and 391,
at this very time, severe laws seem against those qui ex Christianis
to have been necessary to punish Pagani facti sunt; qui ad Pagunos
apostates from Christianity. In ritus cultusque migrarunt; qui
381, Theodosius deprived such venerabili religione neglecta ad
persons of the right of bequeath- aras et templa transierint. Cod.
ing their property. Similar laws Theodos. xvi. 7. 1, 2. 4, 5.
M 4*
book at the small
number of the sacred virgins ; at the 11L occasional delinquencies
(for it is singular that almost the last act of Pagan pontifical authority was
the capital punishment of an unchaste vestal) ; the privilege they possessed,
and sometimes claimed, of marriage, after a certain period of service, when, according
to the severer Christians, such unholy desires should have been long extinct. *
If the state is to reward virginity (said the vehement Ambrose), the claims of
the Christians would exhaust the treasury.
By this
confiscation of the sacerdotal property, which had hitherto maintained the
priesthood in opulence, the temples and the sacrificial rites in splendour, the
Pagan hierarchy became stipendiaries of the state, the immediate step to their
total dissolution. The public funds were still charged with a certain
expenditure t for the maintenance of the public ceremonies. This was not
abrogated till after Theodosius had again united the whole empire under his
conquering sway, and shared with Christianity the subjugated world.
In the
interval, Heathenism made perhaps more than one desperate though feeble
struggle for the ascendancy. Gratian was murdered in the year 383. Valentinian
II. succeeded to the sole empire of the West. The celebrated Symmachus became
* Prudentius, though he wrote later, expresses this
sentiment: — Nubit anus veterana, sacro perfuncta labore,
Desertisque focis, quibus est famulata
juventus,
Transfert invitas ad fulcra jugalia rugas,
Discit et in gelido nova nupta calescere
lecto.
Adv. Symin. lib. ii.
f This was called the Annona.
praefect of
Rome. Symmachus commanded the chap. respect, and even deserved the common attachment, t
V11L , of all his countrymen ; he ventured (a rare example in those
days) to interfere between the tyranny of the sovereign and the menaced welfare
of the people. An uncorrupt magistrate, he deprecated the increasing burdens of
unnecessary taxes, which weighed down the people; he dared to suggest that the
eager petitions for office should be at once rejected, and the worthiest chosen
out of the unpretending multitude. Symmachus inseparably connected, in his
Pagan patriotism, the ancient religion with the welfare of Rome. He mourned in
bitter humiliation over the acts of Gratian ; the removal of the statue of
Victory ; the abrogation of the immunities of the Pagan priesthood : he hoped
to obtain from the justice, or perhaps the fears, of the young Valentinian,
that which had been refused by Gratian. The senate met under his authority ;
a petition was drawn up and presented in the name of that venerable body to the
Emperor. In this composition Symmachus lavished all his eloquence. His oration
is written with vigour, with dignity, with elegance. It is in this respect,
perhaps, superior to the reply of Saint Ambrose. * But in Apology of the feeble
and apologetic tone, we perceive at once, chus.
* Heyne has
expressed himself mationem Ambrosii
compares,
strongly on the superiority of Censur. ingen. et mor. Q. A. Sym-
Symmachus. Argumentorum de- machi, in Heyne Opuscul.
lectu, vi, pondere, aculeis, non The relative position of the par-
minus admirabilis ilia est quam ties influenced, no doubt, the style,
prudentia, cautione, ac verecundia; and will, perhaps, the judgment’
quam tanto magis sentias si ver- of posterity on the merit of the’
bosam et inanem, interdum ca- compositions, lumniosam et vetcratoriam decla-
book that it is
the artful defence of an almost hopeless I1L , cause ; it is
cautious to timidity ; dexterous ; elaborately conciliatory; moderate from
fear of offending, rather than from tranquil dignity. Ambrose, on the other
hand, writes with all the fervid and careless energy of one confident in his
cause, and who knows that he is appealing to an audience already pledged by
their own passions to his side ; he has not to obviate objections, to reconcile
difficulties, to sue or to propitiate ; his contemptuous and criminating
language has only to inflame zeal, to quicken resentment and scorn. He is
flowing down on the full tide of human passion, and his impulse but accelerates
and strengthens the rapid current.
The
personification of Rome, in the address of Symmachus, is a bold stroke of
artificial rhetoric, but it is artificial; and Rome pleads instead of
commanding ; intreats for indulgence, rather than menaces for neglect. “ Most
excellent Princes, Fathers of your country, respect my years, and permit me
still to practise the religion of my ancestors, in which I have grown old.
Grant me but the liberty of living according to my ancient usage. This religion
has subdued the world to my dominion ; these rites repelled Hannibal from my
walls, the Gauls from the Capitol. Have I lived thus long, to be rebuked in my
old age for my religion. It is too late ; it would be discreditable to amend in
my old age. I intreat but peace for the gods of Rome, the tutelary gods of our
country.” Rome condescends to that plea, which a prosperous religion neither
uses nor admits, but to which a falling
faith always
clings with desperate energy. “ Heaven chap. is above us all; we cannot all follow
the same t V11L path ; there are many ways by which we
arrive at the great secret. But we presume not to contend, we are humble
suppliants ! ” The end of the third century had witnessed the persecutions of
Diocle- sian ; the fourth had not elapsed when this is the language of
Paganism, uttered in her strongest hold by the most earnest and eloquent of her
partisans. Symmachus remonstrates against the miserable economy of saving the
maintenance of the vestal virgins ; the disgrace of enriching the imperial
treasury by such gains ; he protests against the confiscation of all legacies
bequeathed to them by the piety of individuals. “ Slaves may inherit; the
vestal virgins alone, and the ministers of religion, are precluded from this
common privilege.”
The orator
concludes by appealing to the deified father of the Emperor, who looks down
with sorrow from the starry citadel, to see that toleration violated which he
had maintained with willing justice.
But Ambrose
was at hand to confront the elo- Reply of quent Pagan, and to prohibit the
fatal concession. m roSL‘ Far different is the tone and manner of
the Archbishop of Milan. He asserts, in plain terms, the unquestionable
obligation of a Christian sovereign to permit no part of the public revenue to
be devoted to the maintenance of idolatry. Their Roman ancestors were to be
treated with reverence; but in a question of religion, they were to consider
God alone. He who advises such grants as those demanded by the suppliants is
guilty of sacrifice.
book Gradually he
rises to still more imperious language, m' , and unveils all the
terrors of the sacerdotal authority. “ The Emperor who shall be guilty of such
concessions will find that the bishops will neither endure nor connive at his
sin. If he enters a church, he will find no priest, or one who will defy his
authority. The church will indignantly reject the gifts of him who has shared
them with Gentile temples. The altar disdains the offerings of him who has made
offerings to images. It is written,
* Man cannot serve two masters.’ ” Ambrose,
emboldened, as it were, by his success, ventures in his second letter to treat
the venerable and holy traditions of Roman glory with contempt. “ How long did
Hannibal insult the gods of Rome ? It was the goose and not the deity that
saved the Capitol. Did Jupiter speak in the goose ? Where were the gods in all
the defeats, some of them but recent, of the Pagan emperors? Was not the altar
of Victory then standing?” He insults the number, the weaknesses, the
marriages of the vestal virgins. “ If the same munificence were shown to
Christian virgins, the beggared treasury would be exhausted by the claims. Are
not the baths, the porticos, the streets, still crowded with images? Must they
still keep their place in the great council of the empire ? You compel to
worship, if you restore the altar. And who is this deity ? Victory is a gift,
and not a power ; she depends on the courage of the legions, not on the
influence of the religion, —a mighty deity, who is bestowed by the numbers of
an army, or the doubtful issue of a battle!”
Foiled
in argument, Paganism vainly grasped at chap. other arms, which she had as little
power to wield. ,
On the murder
of Valentinian, Arbogastes the Murder of Gaul, whose authority over the troops
was without nia„e,ntI" competitor, hesitated to
assume the purple, which A D*392* had never yet been
polluted by a barbarian. He placed Eugenius, a rhetorician, on the throne. The
elevation of Eucrenius was an act of military vio- Accession
.. 0 . J of Euge-
lence ; but
the Pagans of the West hailed his acces- nius. sionwith the most eager joy and
the fondest hopes.
The Christian
writers denounce the apostasy of Eugenius not without justice, if Eugenius ever
professed Christianity.* Throughout Italy the temples were re-opened ; the
smoke of sacrifice ascended from all quarters; the entrails of victims were
explored for the signs of victory. The frontiers were guarded by all the
terrors of the old religion. The statue of Jupiter the Thunderer, sanctified
by magic rites of the most awful significance, and placed on the fortifications
amid the Julian Alps, looked defiance on the advance of the Christian Emperor.
The images of the gods were unrolled on the banners, and Hercules was borne in
triumph at the head of the army. Ambrose fled from Milan, for the soldiery
boasted that they would stable their horses in the churches, and press the
clergy to fill their legions.
In Rome,
Eugenius consented, without reluctance, to the restoration of the altar of
Victory, but
* Compare the letter of Ambrose but one in the hands
of more to Eugenius. lie addresses Eu- powerful Pagans, genius apparently as a
Christian,
book he had the
wisdom to foresee the danger which
III* « • •
* , his cause might incur, by the resumption
of the temple estates, many of which had been granted away : he yielded with
undisguised unwillingness to the irresistible importunities of Arbogastes and
Flavianus.
While this
reaction was taking place in the West, perhaps irritated by the intelligence of
this formidable conspiracy of Paganism, with the usurpation of the throne,
Theodosius published in the East the last and most peremptory of those edicts
which, gradually rising in the sternness of their language, proclaimed the
ancient worship a treasonable and capital crime. In its minute and searching
phrases it seemed eagerly to pursue Paganism to its most secret and private
lurking-places. Thenceforth no man of any station, rank, or dignity, in any
place in any city, was to offer an innocent victim in sacrifice ; the more harmless
worship of the household gods, which lingered, probably, more deeply in the
hearts of the Pagans than any other part of their system, not merely by the
smoke of victims, but by lamps, incense, and garlands, was equally forbidden.
To sacrifice, or to consult the entrails of victims, was constituted high
treason, and thereby a capital offence, although with 110 treasonable intention of calculating the days of the Emperor.
It was a crime of sufficient magnitude, to infringe the laws of nature, to pry
into the secrets of futurity, or to inquire concerning the death of any one.
Whoever permitted any Heathen rite •— hanging a tree with chaplets, or raised
an altar of turf—forfeited
the estate on
which the offence was committed, chap. Any house profaned with the smoke of
incense , V1IL was confiscated to the imperial exchequer. Who- a. d. 394. ever
violated this prohibition, and offered sacrifice either in a public temple, or
on the estate of another, was amerced in a fine of twenty-five pounds of gold
(a thousand pounds of our money) ; and whoever connived at the offence was
liable to the same fine: the magistrate who neglected to enforce it, to a still
heavier penalty.* This law, stern and intolerant as it was, spoke, no doubt,
the dominant sentiment of the Christian world t; but its repetition by the
successors of Theodosius, and the employment of avowed Pagans in many of the
high offices of the state and army, may permit us charitably to doubt whether
the exchequer was mucli enriched by the forfeitures, or the sword of the
executioner stained with the blood of conscientious Pagans. Polytheism boasted
of no martyrs, and we may still hope that if called upon to carry its own decrees
into effect, its native clemency — though, unhappily, Christian bigotry had
already tasted of heretical blood—would have revolted from the sanguinary deed
t, and yet have seen the inconsistency of these acts (which it justified in
theory, on the
* Cod. Theod. xvi. 10. 12. supplicium est.” Epist. xciii. But
■f Gibbon has quoted from Le passages amiably inconsistent with
Clerc a fearful sentence of St. this fierce tone might be quoted on
Augustine, adressed to the Do- the other side. Compare Editor’s
natists. “ Quis nostrum, quis ves- note on Gibbon, v. p. 114.
trum non laudat leges ab Impera- J Quis eorum comprehensus
toribus datas adversus sacrificia est in sacrificio (cum his legibus
Paganorum ? Et certe longe ibi ista prohiberentur) et non negavit.
poena severior constituta est ; Augustin, in Psalm cxx., quoted
illius quippe impietatis capitale by Gibbon from Lardner.
book authority of
the Old Testament), with the vital 1IL , principles of the Gospel.
The victory
of Theodosius in the West dissipated at once the vain hopes of Paganism; the
pageant vanished away. Rome heard of the triumph, perhaps witnessed the
presence of the great conqueror, who, in the East, had already countenanced
the most destructive attacks against the temples of the gods. The Christian
poet describes a solemn debate of the Senate on the claims of Jupiter and of
Christ to the adoration of the Roman people. According to his account, Jupiter
was outvoted by a large number of suffrages ; the decision was followed by a
general desertion of their ancestral deities by the obsequious minority; the
old hereditary names, the Annii and the Probi, the Anicii and Olybii, the
Paulini and Bassi, the popular Gracchi, six hundred families, at once passed
over to the Christian cause. # The Pagan historian to a certain
degree confirms the fact of the deliberate discussion, but differs as to the
result. The senate, he states, firmly, but respectfully, adhered to their
ancient deities, t But the last argument of the Pagan advocates was fatal to their
cause. Theodosius refused any longer to assign funds from the public revenue
to maintain the charge of the idolatrous worship. The senate remonstrated,
that if
* Sexcentas
numerare domos de sanguine prisco Nobilium licet, ad Christi signacula versas,
Turpis ab idolii vasto emersisse profundo.
Prud. ad Symmaeh. Prudentius has probably amplified some considerable
desertion of the wavering and dubious believers, f Zosim. Hist. iv. 59.
they ceased
to be supported at the national cost, ciiap. they would cease to be national rites.
This argu- t VI1L ment was more likely to confirm than to
shake the determination of the Christian Emperor. From this time the temples
were deserted ; the priests and priestesses, deprived of their maintenance,
were scattered abroad. The public temples still stood, nor was it forbidden to
worship within them, without sacrifice ; the private, and family, or Gentile
deities, still preserved their influence. Theodosius died the year after the
defeat of Eugenius.
We pursue to
its close the history of Western a. n.
395. Paganism, which was buried at last in the ruins of the empire.
Gratian had dissevered the supremacy of the national religion from the imperial
dignity : he had confiscated the property of the temples ; Theodosius had refused
to defray the expense of public sacrifices from the public funds. Still, however,
the outward form of Paganism remained.
Some
priesthoods were still handed down in regular descent; the rites of various
deities, even of Mithra and Cybele, were celebrated without sacrifice, or with
sacrifice, furtively performed; the corporation of the aruspices was not
abolished.
There still
likewise remained a special provision for certain festivals and public
amusements. * The expense of the sacred banquets and of the games was defrayed
by the state : an early law of Hono- rius respected the common enjoyments of
the people, t
* It was
called the vectigal f Communis populi laelitia. templorum.
book The poem of
Prudentius * acknowledges that the t * , enactments of Theodosius
had been far from altogether successful + ; his bold assertion of the universal
adoption of Christianity by the whole senate is in some degree contradicted by
his admission that the old pestilence of idolatry had again broken out in
Rome.t It implies that the restoration of the statue of Victory had again been
urged, and by the indefatigable Symmachus, on the sons of Theodosius. § The
poem was written after the battle of Pollentia, as it triumphantly appeals to
the a. e. 403. glories of that day, against the argument that Rome was indebted
for the victories of former times to her ancient gods. It closes with an
earnest admonition to the son of Theodosius to fulfil the task which was
designedly left him by the piety of his father ||, to suppress at once the
vestal virgins, and,
* The
poem of Prudentius is it is original, and in some parts by no means a
recapitulation of very vigorous. •
the arguments of St. Ambrose;
■f- Inclitus ergo parens patriae, moderator et orbis,
Nil egit prohibendo, vagas ne pristinus error
Crederet esse Deum nigrante sub aere formas.
J Sed quoniam renovata lues turbare salutem Tentat Romulidum.
§ Armorum dominos, vernantes flore juventae,
Inter castra patris genitos, sub imagine avita
Eductos, exempla domi congesta tenentes,
Orator catus instigat. . .
Si vobis vel parta, viri, victoria cordi est,
Vel parienda dehinc, templum Dea virgo sacratum Obtineat, vobis
regnantibus.
The orator catus, is Symmachus; the parta victoria, that of Pollentia ;
the Dea virgo, Victory.
|| Quam tibi supplendam Deus, et genitoris
amica Servavit pietas : solus ne praemia tantae Virtutis caperet “ partem,
tibi, nate reservo,”
Dixit, et integrum decus intactumque reliquit.
Sub fin.
above all,
the gladiatorial shows, which they were chap.
. VIII.
accustomed to
countenance by their presence. t *
In the year
408 came forth the edict which Law of aimed at the direct and complete
abolition of Pa- Ilonorlus* ganism throughout the Western empire.
The whole of this reserved provision for festivals was swept away ; it was
devoted to the more useful purpose, the pay of the loyal soldiery. * The same
edict proceeded to actual violence, to invade and take possession of the
sanctuaries of religion. All images were to be thrown down ; the edifices, now
useless and deserted, to be occupied by the imperial officers, and
appropriated to useful purposes, f The government, wavering between demolition
and desecration, devised this plan for the preservation of these great
ornaments of the cities, which thus, taken under the protection of the
magistracy as public property, were secured from the destructive zeal of the
more fanatical Christians. All sacrilegious rites, festivals, and ceremonies
were prohibited. The bishops of the towns were invested with power to suppress
these forbidden usages, and the civil authorities, as though the government
mistrusted their zeal, were bound, under a heavy penalty, to obey the summons,
and to assist the prelates in the extirpation of idolatry. Another edict
excluded all enemies of the Christian faith from the great public offices in
the state and in the
* Expensis
devotissimorum mi- idolatry of the hearts
of the Ilea-
litum profutura. then,
and they will either them-
■f Augustine (though not en- selves invite us, or anticipate us
tirely consistent) disapproved of in the execution of this good
the forcible demolition of the tem- work.” Tom. v. p. 62. pies. “ Let us first
extirpate the
N 2
III.
look army, and
this, if fully carried into effect, would have transferred the whole power throughout
the empire into the hands of the Christians. But the times were not yet ripe
for this measure. Gene- rides, a Pagan, in a high command in the army, threw up
his commission. The edict was repealed.*
* Prudentius
ventures to ad- honours. He urges this argu- mire the tolerant impartiality of
mentum ad hominem against Theodosius, in admitting both Symmaehus: — parties
alike to eivil and military
Denique pro meritis terrestribus cequa
rependens Munera, saerieolis summos impertit honores Dux bonus, et certare
sinit cum laude suorum.
Ncc pago implieitos per debita culmina mundi
Ire vetat.
Ipse magistratum tibi consulis, ipse tribunal
Contulit.
In the East, the Pagan Themis- ments of his poems
have been tius had been appointed praefeet of discovered by the industry and
Constantinople by Theodosius. It sagacity of Niebuhr. In one pas- is eurious to
read his flatteries of sage, Merobaudes, in the genuine the orthodox Christian
Emperor ; Heathen spirit, attributes the ruin he praises his love of philosophy
of the empire to the abolition of in the most fervent language. Paganism, and almost renews the
The most remarkable instance of old accusation of Atheism against this
inconsistency, at a much later Christianity. He impersonates period, occurs in
the person of some deity, probably Discord, who Merobaudes, a general and a
poet, summons Bellona to take arms who flourished in the first half of the for
the destruction of llome; and, fifth century. A statue in honour in a strain of
fierce irony, reeom- of Merobaudes was placed in the mends to her, among other
fatal Forum of Trajan, of which the measures, to extirpate the gods of
inscription is still extant. Frag-
Rome :
Roma, ipsique tremant furialia murmura reges.
Jam superos terris, atque hospita numina pelle
:
Romanos populare J)eos, et nullus in aris
Vestae exoratae, fotus strue, palleat ignis.
His instrueta dolis palatia eelsa subibo,
Majorum mores, et peetora prisca fugabo
Funditus, atque siniul, nullo diserimine rerum,
Spernantur fortes, nec sit reverentia justis.
Attica negleeto pereat facundia Phcebo,
Indignis eontingat honos, ct pond era rerum.
Non virtus sed easus agat, tristisque eupido;
Pectoribus saevi demens furor aestuet aevi ;
Omniaque hccc sine mente Jovis, sine mimine
summo,
Merobaudes in Niebuhr’s edit, of the Byzantines.
Rome once
more beheld the shadow of a Pagan chap.
. VIII
Emperor,
Attains, while the Christian Emperor > < * . maintained his
court at Ravenna; and both stood trembling before the victorious Alaric. When
that triumphant Goth formed the siege of Rome, Paganism, as if grateful for
the fidelity of the imperial city, made one last desperate effort to avert the
common ruin. Pagan magic was the last refuge of conscious weakness. The
Etrurian soothsayers were called forth from their obscurity, with the
concurrence of the whole city (the Pope himself is said to have assented to the
idolatrous ceremony), to blast the barbaric invader with the lightnings of
Jupiter. The Christian historian saves the credit of his party, by asserting
that they kept away from the profane rite.* But it may be doubted, after all,
whether the ceremony really took place ; both parties had more confidence in
the power of a large sum of money, offered to arrest the career of the
triumphant barbarian.
The impartial
fury of Alaric fell alike on church Capture of and temple, on Christian and
Pagan. But the capture AL™ic.by of Rome consummated the ruin of
Paganism. The temples, indeed, were for the most part left standing, but their
worshippers had fled. The Roman aristocracy, in whom alone Paganism still
retained its most powerful adherents, abandoned the city, and, scattered in
the provinces of the empire, were absorbed in the rapidly Christianising
population. The deserted buildings had now neither public authority
* Zosimus,
v. Sozomen, ix. G.
N 3
111.
book nor private
zeal and munificence to maintain them against the encroachments of time or accident,
to support the tottering roof, or repair the broken column. There was neither
public fund, nor private contribution, for their preservation, till at length
the Christians, in many instances, took possession of the abandoned edifice,
converted it to their own use, and hallowed it by a new consecration.* Thus, in
many places, though marred and disfigured, the monuments of architecture
survived, with no great violation of the ground plan, distribution, or general
proportions, t
Paganism was,
in fact, left to die out by gradual dissolution, t The worship of the Heathen
deities lingered in many temples, till it was superseded by the new form of
Christianity, which, at least in its outward appearance, approximated to
Polytheism : the Virgin gradually supplanted many of the local deities. In
Sicily, which long remained obstinately wedded to the ancient faith, eight
celebrated temples were dedicated to the Mother of God.§ It
* There are
many churches in f In some cases, by a
more
Rome, which, like the Pantheon, destructive appropriation, they
are ancient temples ; thirty-nine converted the materials to their
built on the foundations of tem- own use, and worked them up
pies. Four retain Pagan names, into their own barbarous churchcs.
S. Maria sopra Minerva, S. Maria % The fifth council of Carthage
Aventina, S. Lorenzo in Matuta, (a.d.
398.), can. xv., petitioned
S. Stefano in Cacco. At Sienna, the most glorious Emperors to
the temple of Quirinus became the destroy the remains of idolatry,
church of S. Quirino. Beugnot, not merely “ in simulacris,” but in
ii. p. 266. See in Bingham, book other places, groves, and trees,
viii. s. 4., references to several § Beugnot, ii. 271.; from
churches in the East, converted Aprile, Chronologia Universale de
into temples. But this passage Sicilia, must be read with caution.
was not till
the seventh century, that the Pantheon chap.
was dedicated by Pope Boniface IV. to the Holy , A11L Virgin.
Of the public festivals, the last which clung with tenacious grasp to the
habits of the Homan people, was the Lupercalia. It was suppressed towards the
close of the fifth century by a. d. 493. Pope Gelasius. The rural districts
were not completely Christianised until the general introduction of
monasticism. Heathenism was still prevalent in many parts of Italy, especially
in the neighbourhood of Turin, in the middle of the fifth century. *
It was the
missionary from the convent who wandered through the villages, or who, from
his monastery, regularly discharged the duties of a village pastor. St.
Benedict of Nursia destroyed the worship of Apollo on Mount Casino.
Every where
the superstition survived the religion, and that which was unlawful under
Paganism, continued to be unlawfully practised under Christianity. The insatiable
propensity of men to enquire into futurity, and to deal with secret and
invisible agencies, which reason condemns, and often, while it condemns,
consults, retained its old formularies, some religious, some pretending to be
magical or theunnc. Divination and witchcraft
o o
have never
been extinct in Italy, or, perhaps, in any part of Europe. The descendants of
Canidia or Erictho, the seer and the magician, have still prac-
* See the
sermons of Maximus, bishop of Turin, quoted in Beug- not, ii. 253.
book tised their
arts, to which the ignorant, including at ‘ . times all mankind, have listened
with unabated credulity.
We must
resume our consideration of Paganising Christianity, as the parent of Christian
art and poetry, and, in fact, the ruler of the human mind for many ages.
CHAPTER IX.
THEODOSIUS. TRIUMPH OF TRINITARIANISM. THE GREAT PRELATES OF THE EAST.
But the unity, no
less than the triumph, of Orthodoxy Christianity occupied the vigorous mind of
Tlieo- sius. ie° ° dosius. He had been
anticipated in this design in the West by his feeble predecessors and
colleagues,
Gratian and
Valentinian the younger. The laws began to speak the language of the exclusive
establishment of Christianity, and of Christianity under one rigorous and
unaccommodating creed and disci-
^ Law
pline. Almost
the first act of Theodosius was the against edict for the universal acceptance
of the Catholic gS8'0 faith.* It appeared
under the name, and with the conjoint authority of the three Emperors, Gratian,
Valentinian II., and Theodosius. It was addressed to the inhabitants of
Constantinople. “ We, the three Emperors, z^Y/that all our subjects follow the
religion taught by St. Peter to the Romans, professed by those saintly
prelates, Damasus Pontiff of Rome, and Peter Bishop of Alexandria, that we
believe the one divinity of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, of majesty
coequal, in the Holy Trinity. We will that those who embrace this creed be
called Catholic Christians ; we brand all the senseless followers of other
religions by the
* Codex
Theodos. xvi. 1, 2.
BOOK
III.
All the more powerful ecclesiastical writers favourable to Trini-
tarianism.
infamous name
of heretics, and forbid their conventicles to assume the name of churches ; we
reserve their punishment to the vengeance of heaven, and to such measures as
divine inspiration shall dictate to us.” * Thus the religion of the whole Roman
world was enacted by two feeble boys, and a rude Spanish soldier.t The next
year witnessed the condemnation of all heretics, particularly the Photinians,
Arians, and Eunomians, and the expulsion of the Arians from the churches of
all the cities in the Eastt, and their surrender to the only lau'ful form of
Christianity. On the assembling of the council of Chalcedon, two severe laws
were issued against Apostates and Manicheans, prohibiting them from making
wills. During its sitting, the Emperor promulgated an edict, prohibiting the
Arians from building churches either in the cities or in the country, under
pain of the confiscation of the funds devoted to the purpose.§
The
circumstances of the times happily coincided with the design of Theodosius to
concentre the whole Christian world into one vigorous and consistent system of
argument and intellectual
The more
legitimate influence
and
religious
supe-
* Post
etiam motus nostri, quem ex coslesti arbitrio sumpse- rimus, ultione
plcctcndos. Gode- froy supposes these words not to mean “ cceleste oraculum,”
but, “ Dei arbitrium, regulam et formulam juris divini.”
tf Baronius, and even Godefroy, all this law a
golden, pious, and vholesome statute. Happily it was on the ridit side.
J On the accession of Theodosius, according to Sozomen, the Arians
possessed all the churches of the East, except Jerusalem, H. E. vii. 2.
$ Sozomen mentions these severe laws, but asserts that they were enacted
merely in terrorem, and with no design of carrying them into execution. H.
E.vii. 12.
riority
concurred with the stern mandates of the chap. civil power. All the great and
commanding minds , IX> of the age were on the same side, as to
the momentous and strongly agitated questions of the faith. The productive
energies of Arianism seemed, as it were, exhausted; its great defenders had
passed away, and left, apparently, no heirs to their virtues or abilities. It
was distracted with schisms, and had to bear the unpopularity of the sects,
which seemed to have sprung from it in the natural course, the Eunomians,
Macedonians, and a still multiplying progeny of heresies. Every where the
Trinitarian prelates rose to ascendancy, not merely from the support of the
government, but from their pre-eminent character or intellectual powers. Each
province seemed to have produced some individual adapted’to the particular
period and circumstances of the time, who devoted himself to the establishment
of the Athanasian opinions. The intractable Egypt, more particularly turbulent
Alexandria, was ruled by the strong arm of the bold and unprincipled
Theophilus. The dreamy mysticism of Syria found a congenial representative in
Ephrem. A more intellectual, yet still somewhat imaginative, Orientalism
animates the writings of St. Basil; in a less degree, those of Gregory of
Nazianzum ; still less, those of Gregory of Nyssa. The more powerful and
Grecian eloquence of Chrysostom swayed the popular mind in Constantinople.
Jerom, a link, as it were, between the East and the West, transplanted the
monastic spirit and opinions of Syria into Rome; and brought into the East much
of
book the severer
thought, and more prosaic reasoning, of , m‘ j the Latin world. In
Gaul, where Hilary of Poitiers had long maintained the cause of Trinitarianism,
on the borders of civilisation, St. Martin of Tours acted the part of abold and
enterprising missionary ; while in Milan, the court capital of the West, the
strong practical character of Ambrose, his sternly conscientious moral energy,
though hardening at times into rigid intolerance, with the masculine strength
of his style, confirmed the Latin church in that creed, to which Rome had
adhered with almost unshaken fidelity. If not the greatest, the most
permanently influential of all, Augustine, united the intense passion of the
African mind with the most comprehensive and systematic views, and intrepid
dogmatism on the darkest subjects. United in one common cause, acting in their
several quarters according to their peculiar temperaments and characters,
these strong-minded and influential ecclesiastics almost compelled the world
into a temporary peace, till first Pelagianism, and afterwards Nestorianism,
unsettled again the restless elements; the controversies, first concerning
grace, free-will, and predestination, then on the incarnation and two natures
of Christ, succeeded to the silenced and exhausted feud concerning the trinity
of persons in the Godhead.
JfhA°iexiluS
Theophilus of Alexandria* performed his part andria, in the complete subjection
of the world, by his from°385 to energy as a ruler, not by the slower and more
412.
* I have
not placed these wri- order, but according to the counters in their strict
chronological tries in which they lived.
legitimate
influence of moral persuasion through his preaching or his writings.* He suppressed
v Arianism by the same violent and coercive means with which he
extirpated Paganism. The tone of this prelate’s epistles is invariably harsh
and criminatory. He appears in the best light as opposing the vulgar
anthropomorphism of the monks in the neighbourhood of Alexandria, and insisting
on the pure spiritual nature of the Deity. Yet lie condescended to appease
these turbulent adversaries by an unmanly artifice. He consented to condemn the
doctrines of Origen, who, having reposed quietly in his tomb for many years, in
general respect, if not in the odour of sanctity, was exhumed, as it were, by
the zeal of later times, as a dangerous heresiarch. The Oriental doctrines with
which Origen had impregnated his system were unpopular, and perhaps not clearly
understood.t The notion that the reign of Christ was finite was rather an
inference from his writings, than a tenet of Origen. For if all bodies were to
be finally annihilated (according to his anti-materialist system), the
humanity of Christ, and consequently his personal reign, must cease. The
possibility that the devil might, after long purification, be saved, and the
corruptibility of the body after the resurrection, grew out of the same
Oriental cast of opinions. But the perfectly pure and immaterial nature of the
Deity was the tenet of Origen which was the most odious to the
* The
Trinitarian doctrines had f Socrates, vi. 10. Sozomen, been maintained in
Alexandria by viii. 13. the virtues and abilities of Didy- mus the Blind.
CHAP.
IX.
book monks ; and
Theophilus, by anathematising Origen- , 111‘ , ism in the mass,
while he himself held certainly the sublimest, but to his adversaries most
objectionable part of the system, adopted a low and undignified deception. The
persecution of Isidore, and the heads of the monasteries who befriended his
cause (the tall brethren, as they were called), from personal motives of
animosity, display the Alexandrian prelate in his ordinary character. We shall
again encounter Theophilus in the lamentable intrigues against the advancement
and influence of Chrysostom.
s. Ephrem,
The character of Ephrem *, the Syrian, was the d,iedS37,9.n, exact counterpart to that of the busy and worldly
Theophilus. A native of Nisibis, or rather of its neighbourhood, Ephrem passed
the greater part of his life at Edessa, and in the monastic establishments
which began to abound in Mesopotamia and Syria, as in Egypt. His genius was
that of the people in whose language he wrote his numerous compositions in
prose and verse.t In Ephrem something of the poetic mysticism of the Gnostic
was allied with the most rigid orthodoxy of doctrine. But with his imaginative
turn were mingled a depth and intensity of feeling, which gave him his peculiar
influence over the kindred minds of his countrymen. Tears were as natural to
him as perspiration ; day and night, in his devout seclusion, he wept
* See the Life
of Ephrem pre- pikT/c, Tovg re TroXvcrx^eXg
tojv
fixed to his works ; and in Tille- 'EWrjviov £o;\ey£e tt\dvovg, ical
mont. 7racTijg
ci'iptTiict)g KaKOTt\viag iyv-
t According to Theodoret, he f.ivo>ot r?}v daQkvtiav. The refuta-
wras unacquainted with Greek, tion of Greek heresy in Syriac
UcuMctg yap ov yeyevfdvog must have been
curious.
for the sins
of mankind and for his own ; his very chap.
writings,
it was said, weep ; there is a deep and ,________________
latent sorrow
even in his panegyrics or festival homilies.*
Ephrem was a
poet, and his hymns, poured forth in the prodigality of his zeal, succeeded at
length in entirely disenchanting the popular ear from the heretical strains of
Bardesanes, and his son Har- monius, which lingered after the general decay of
Gnosticism.t The hymns of Ephrem were sung on the festivals of the martyrs. His
psalms, the constant occupation which he enjoins upon his monkish companions,
were always of a sorrowful and contrite tone. Laughter was the source and the
indication of all wickedness, sorrow of all virtue.
During the
melancholy psalm, God was present with his angels, all more joyous strains
belonged to heathenism and idolatry.
The
monasticism as well as the Trinitarianism of Syria, received a strong impulse
from Ephrem, and in Syria monasticism began to run into its utmost
extravagance. There was one class of ascetics who, at certain periods, forsook
their cities, and retired to the mountains to browse on the herbage which they
found, as their only food. The writings of Ephrem were the occupation and
delight of all these gentle and irreproachable fanatics ; and, as Ephrem was
rigidly Trinitarian, he contributed to fix the doctrinal language of the
various ccenobitic
* See the two
treatises in his dicris rebus
abstinendum sit Chris-
works, vol. i. 104—107. Non esse tianis.
ridendum sed lugendum potius f Theodoret, iv. 29. atque plorandura ; and, Quod lu-
book institutions
and solitary hermitages. In fact, the I1L , quiescent intellect
probably rejoiced in being relieved from these severe and ungrateful enquiries
: and full freedom being left to the imagination, and ample scope to the
language, in the vague and fervent expressions of divine love, the Syrian mind
felt not the restriction of the rigorous creed, and passively surrendered
itself to ecclesiastical authority. Absorbed in its painful and melancholy
struggles with the internal passions and appetites, it desired not to provoke,
but rather to repress, the dangerous activity of the reason. The orthodoxy of
Ephrem himself savours perhaps of timidity and the disinclination to agitate
such awful and appalling questions. He would elude and escape them, and
abandon himself altogether to the more edifying emotions which it is the chief
object of his writings to excite and maintain. The dreamer must awake in order
to reason, and he prefers the passive tranquillity of the half-waking state.
Greece,
properly so called, contributed none of the more distinguished names in Eastern
Christianity. Even the Grecian part of Asia Minor was by no means fertile in
names which survive in the annals of the Church. In Athens philosophy still
lingered,and struggled to maintain its predominance. Many of the more eminent
ecclesiastics had visited its schools in their youth, to obtain those lessons
of rhetoric and profane knowledge which they were hereafter to dedicate to
their own sacred uses. But they were foreigners, and, in the old language of
Greece, would have been called barbarians.
The rude and
uncivilised Cappadocia gave birth chap. to Basil and the two Gregories. The
whole of t * the less dreamy, and still active and commercial, CaPPa-
part of Asia was influenced by Basil, on whose cha- docia* racter
and writings his own age lavished the most unbounded praise. The name of Basil
is constantly united with those of the two Gregories. One, Gregory of Nyssa,was
his brother ; the other, named from his native town of Nazianzum, of which his
father was bishop, was the intimate friend of his boyhood and of his later
years. The language, the eloquence, the opinions of these writers retain, in
different degrees, some tinge of Asiatic colouring. Far more intelligible and
practical than the mystic strains and passionate homilies of Ephrem, they
delight in agitating, though in a more modest spirit, the questions which had
inflamed the imagination of the Gnostics. But with them, likewise, enquiry
proceeds with cautious and reverent steps.
On these
subjects they are rigorously orthodox, and assert the exclusive doctrines of
Athanasius with the most distinct and uncompromising energy.
Basil
maintained the cause of Trinitarianism with unshaken fidelity during its days
of depression and adversity. His friend Gregory of Nazianzum lived to witness
and bear a great part in its triumph.
Both Basil
and Gregory were ardent admirers, and in themselves transcendant models of the
more monastic Christianity. The influence of Basil crowded that part of Asia
with coenobitic institutions : but in his monasteries labour and useful
VOL. III. o
book industry
prevailed to a greater extent than in the
. in'
, Syrian deserts.
s. Basil.
Basil was a native of the Cappadocian Caesarea.* He was an hereditary
Christian. His grandfather had retired during the Dioclesian persecution to a
mountain forest in Pontus. His father was a man of estimation as a lawyer,
possessed considerable property, and was remarkable for his personal beauty.
His mother, in person and character, was worthy of her husband. The son of such
parents received the best education which could be bestowed on a Christian
youth. Having exhausted the instruction to be obtained in his native city of
Caesarea, he went to Constantinople, where he is reputed to have studied the
art of rhetoric under the celebrated Libanius. But Athens was still the centre
of liberal education, and, with other promising youths from the Eastern
provinces, Basil and his friend Gregory resided for some time in that city. But
with all his taste for letters and eloquence (and Basil always spoke even of
profane learning with generous respect, far different from the tone of contempt
and animosity expressed by some writers), Christianity was too deeply rooted in
his heart to be endangered either by the studies or the society of Athens. On
his return to Caesarea, he embraced the ascetic faith of the times with more
than ordinary fervour. He abandoned his property, he practised such severe
austerities as to injure his health, and to reduce his bodily form to the
extreme
* Life of
Basil, prefixed to his works, and Tillemont, Vie de S. Basile.
of meaoTeness
and weakness. He was “ without chap.
• • . . IX
wife, without
property, without flesh, almost with- , ' ’ out blood.” He fled into the
desert; his fame collected, as it were, a city around him ; he built a
monastery, and monasteries sprang up 011 every side. Yet the opinions of Basil
concerning the monastic life were far more moderate and practical than the
wilder and more dreamy asceticism which prevailed in Egypt and in Syria. He
admired and persuaded his followers to ccenobitic, not to eremitical, life. It
was the life of the industrious religious community, not of the indolent and
solitary anchorite, which to Basil was the perfection of Christianity. All ties
of kindred were indeed to give place to that of spiritual association. He that
loves a brother in blood more than a brother in the religious community is
still a slave to his carnal nature.* The indiscriminate charity of these institutions,
was to receive orphans of all classes for education and maintenance, but other
children only with the consent, or at the request of parents, certified before
witnesses ; and vows of virginity were by no means to be enforced upon these
youthful pupils.t Slaves who fled to the monasteries were to be admonished, and
sent back to their owners.
There is one
reservation, that slaves were not bound to obey their master, if he should
order what is contrary to the laws of God. t Industry was to be the animating
principle of these settlements.
Prayer and
psalmody were to have their appointed
# Basil.
Opera, ii. 325. Sermo f Basil. Opera, ii. 355. Asceticus. j Basil. Opera, ii. 357.
o Q.
book hours ; but by no means to intrude upon those '
^' , devoted to useful labour. These labours were strictly defined, such as
were of real use to the community, not those which might contribute to vice or
luxury. Agriculture was especially recommended. The life was in no respect to
be absorbed in a perpetual mystic communion with the Deity. a. d. 36G. Basil
lived in his monastic retirement during a see ch.viii. great part of
the triumphant period of Arianism in the East; but during the reign of Valens,
he was recalled to Caesarea, to be the champion of a. d. 370. Trinitarianism
against the Emperor and his Arian partisans. The firmness of Basil, as we have
seen, commanded the respect even of his adversaries. In the midst of the raging
controversy, he was raised to the archepiscopal throne of Caesarea. He governed
the see with activity and diligence ; not only the influence of his writings,
but his actual authority (his pious ambition of usefulness induced him perhaps
to overstep the limits of his diocese) extended beyond Cappadocia, into Armenia
and parts of Asia Minor. He was the firm supporter of the Nicene
Trinitarianism, but did not live to a. d.
379. behold its final
triumph. His decease followed immediately upon the defeat and death of Valens.
The
style of Basil did no discredit to his Athenian education ; in purity and
perspicuity he surpasses most of the Heathen, as well as the Christian writers
of his age. •
Gregory of
Gregory of Nazianzum, as he shared the friend- Nazum- ship, so he
has constantly participated in the fame of Basil. He was born in a village,
Arianza, within the district of Nazianzum, his father was bishop
of that
city.* With Basil lie passed a part of his chap. youth at Athens, and predicted,
according to his . * ' , own account, the apostasy of Julian, from the observation
of his character, and even of his person.
Gregory is
his own biographer ; one or rather two poems, the first consisting of above two
thousand iambics, the second of hexameters, describe the whole course of his
early life. But Grecian poetry n,sp°ems was not to be
awakened from its long slumber by the voice of a Christian poet. It was
faithful to its ancient source of inspiration. Christian thoughts and images
will not blend with the language of Homer and the tragedians. Yet the
autobiographical poems of Gregory illustrate a remarkable peculiarity which
distinguishes modern and Christian from the older, more particularly the
Grecian, poetry. In the Grecian poetry, as in Grecian life, the public absorbed
the individual character. The person of the poet rarely appears, unless occasionally
as the poet, as the objective author or reciter, not as the subject of the
poem. The Elegiac C,!arac-
’ J / t3
teristic dif-
poets of
Greece, if we may judge from the few ferencebc- surviving fragments, and the
amatory writers of Greek and Rome, speak in their proper persons, utter their p0h^ry.an
individual thoughts, and embody their peculiar feelings. In the shrewd common
life view of Horace, and, indeed in some of his higher lyric poetry, the poet
is more prominent; and the fate
* Tillemont.
is grievously em- episcopate. He is
forced lo ac-
barrassed by the time of Gre- knowledge the laxity of ecclesias-
gory’s birth. The stubborn dates tical discipline on this head, at
insist upon his having been born this period of the church, after his father
had attained the
o 3
book of Ovid, one
day basking in the imperial favour,
, in*
, the next', for some mysterious offence, banished to the bleak shores of the
Euxine, seemed to give him the privilege of dwelling upon his own sorrows ;
his strange fate invested his life in peculiar interest. But by the Christian
scheme, the individual man has assumed a higher importance; his actions, his
opinions, the emotions of his mind, as connected with his immortal state, have
acquired a new and commanding interest, not only to himself but to others. The
poet profoundly scrutinises, and elaborately reveals, the depths of his moral
being. The psychological history of the man, in all Value of its minute
particulars, becomes the predominant Gregory’s. matter of the poem.
In this respect, these autobiographical poems of Gregory, loose as they are in
numbers, and spun out with a wearisome and garrulous mediocrity; and wanting
that depth and passion of religion which has made the Confessions of Augustine
one of the most permanently popular of Christian writings, possess nevertheless
some interest, as indicating the transition state in poetry, as well as
illustrating the thought and feeling prevalent among the Christian youth of
the period. The one great absorbing question was the comparative excellence of
the secular and the monastic life, the state of marriage or of virginity. The
enthusiasm of the East scarcely deigned to submit this point to discussion. In
one of Gregory’s poems, Marriage and Virginity each plead their cause; but
there can be 110 doubt, from the first, to which will be assigned the victory.
The Saviour gives
to Virginity
the place of honour on his right hand. chap. Gregory had never entangled himself
with marriage, » ’ that fatal tie which enthralls the soul in the bonds of
matter. For him silken robes, gorgeous banquets, splendid palaces, music and
perfumes, had no charm. He disregarded wealth, and feasted contentedly on bread
with a little salt, and water for his only drink. The desire of supporting the
declining age of his parents thwarted his holy ambition of withdrawing from
all worldly intercourse : but this became a snare. He was embarrassed by
refractory servants, by public and private business.
The death of
his brother involved him still more inextricably in affairs, arising out of his
contested property. But the faithless friendship of Basil, which he deplores in
the one touching passage of his whole poem#, still further
endangered his peace. In the zeal of Basil to fill the bishoprics ^shop'of of
his metropolitan diocese, calculating perhaps Sasima.. that Gregory, like
himself, would generously sacrifice the luxury of religious quietude for the
more useful duties of a difficult active position, he imposed upon his
reluctant friend the charge of the newly created see of Sasima. This was a
small and miserable town, at the meeting of three roads, in
* Gibbon’s selection of this pas- from Shakespeare, do great credit sage,
and his happy illustration to his poetical taste :
Tloyoi ko'ivoi Xoyaiv 'O/ioaTsyog re, tcctl avvianog
(3log,
TXovg eig tv ajupoiv * * * *
Ait(jick?a(TTat TrdvTct, Kgppi7TTai xafia'i,
Avpai <ptpovcn rag 7rctXaiag tX7ridag.
Is all the counsel that we two have shared,
The sisters’ vows, &c. Helena, in the Midsummer Night’s Dream. See
Gibbon, c. xxvii. vol. v. p. 18.
o 4
book a country at once arid, marshy, and unwholesome,
III*
, ^ ' , noisy
and dusty from the constant passage of travellers, the disputes with
extortionate custom-house officers, and all the tumult and drunkenness belonging
to a town inhabited by loose and passing strangers. With Basil, Gregory had
passed the tranquil days of his youth, the contemplative period of his manhood;
together they had studied at Athens, together they had twice retired to monastic
solitude; and this was the return for his long and tried attachment! Gregory,
in the bitterness of his remonstrance, at one time assumes the language of an
Indian faquir. Instead of rejoicing in the sphere opened to his activity, he
boldly asserts his supreme felicity to be total inaction.* He submitted with
the strongest repugnance to the office, and abandoned it, almost immediately,
on the first opposition. He afterwards administered the see of Nazianzum under
his father, and even after his father’s decease, without assuming the episcopal
title.
Gregory, But
Gregory was soon compelled by his own Constant- fame f°r
eloquence and for orthodoxy to move in nopie. a m0re arduous and
tumultuous sphere. For forty From a.d. years Arianism had been dominant in
Constanti- 33910379. nople. The Arians mocked at the small number which still
lingered in the single religious assemblage of the Athanasian party.t Gregory
is constrained to admit this humiliating fact, and indig
* ’Ejioi ce
fityicm] Trpafyg tanv they met iv
fUKpu) oikIgko). So- ?/ airpa^la. Epist. xxxiii. p. 797. crates, iv. J.
■f- In the reign of Valentinian,
nantly
inquires, whether the sands are more pre- chap. cious than the stars of heaven, or the
pebbles than t * ‘ pearls, because they are more numerous?* But the
accession of Theodosius opened a new aera to the Trinitarians. The religion of
the Emperor would 110 longer condescend to this humble and secondary station.
Gregory was invited to take charge of the small community which was still
faithful to the doctrines of Athanasius. Gregory was already bowed with age and
infirmity ; his bald head stooped to his bosom ; his countenance was worn by
his austerities and his inward spiritual conflicts, when he reluctantly
sacrified his peace for this great purpose, t The Catholics had no church; they
met in a small house, on the site of which afterwards arose the celebrated
church of St. Anastasia. The eloquence of Gregory wrought wonders in the busy
and versatile capital. The Arians themselves crowded to hear him. His adversaries
were reduced to violence ; the Anastasia was attacked; the Arian monks, and
even the virgins, mingled in the furious fray : many lives were lost, and
Gregory was accused as the cause of the tumult. His innocence, and the known
favour of the Emperor, secured his acquittal; his eloquence was seconded by the
imperial edicts.
The law had
been promulgated which denounced as heretics all who rejected the Nicene Creed.
The influence
of Gregory was thwarted, and his peace disturbed, by the strange intrigues of
one Maximus to possess himself of the episcopal throne
* Orat.
xxv. p. 431. f Tillemont, art. xlvi.
BOOK
III.
,
of
Constantinople. Maximus was called the Cynic, from his attempt to blend the
rude manners, the coarse white dress, his enemies added, the vices, of that
sect, with the profession of Christianity. His memory is loaded with every kind
of infamy ; yet by dexterous flattery and assiduous attendance on the sermons
of Gregory, he had stolen into his unsuspecting confidence, and received his
public commendations in a studied oration. * Constantinople and Gregory
himself were suddenly amazed with the intelligence that Maximus had been consecrated
the Catholic bishop of the city. This extraordinary measure had been taken by
seven Alexandrians of low birth and character t, with some bishops deputed by
Peter the orthodox Archbishop of Alexandria, t A number of mariners, probably belonging to the corn fleet,
had assisted at the ceremony and raised the customary acclamations. A great
tumult of all orders arose ; all rushed to the church, from which Maximus and
his party withdrew, and hastily completed a kind of tonsure (for the cynic
prided himself on his long hair) in the private dwelling of a flute-player.
Maximus seems to have been rejected with indignation by the Athanasians of
Constantinople, who
* The panegyric
on the philo- over Constantinople, and
so over
sopher Heron. the
East ? It is observable that
t Some of their names were in his law, Theodosius names as
whimsically connected with the the examples of doctrine, the
Egyptian mythology, Ammon, Bishop of Rome in the West,
Anubis, and Hermamibis. of Alexandria in the East. The
J The interference of the Egyp- intrigues of Theophilus against
tians is altogether remarkable. Chrysostom rather confirm this
Could there be a design to esta- notion of an attempt to erect an
blish the primacy of Alexandria Eastern papacy.
adhered with
unshaken fidelity to Gregory ; he fled chap. to the court of Theodosius, but the
earliest mea- IX’ sure adopted by the Emperor to restore strength to
the orthodox party, was the rejection of the intrusive prelate.
The first act
of Theodosius on his arrival at 24th Nov. Constantinople, was to issue an
edict, expelling A,D,380‘ the Arians from the churches, and
summoning Demophilus, the Arian bishop, to conform to the Nicene doctrine.
Demophilus refused. The Emperor commanded that those who would not unite to
establish Christian peace should retire from the houses of Christian prayer.
Demophilus assembled his followers, and quoting the words of the Gospel, “If
you are persecuted in one city, flee unto another,” retired before the
irresistible authority of the Emperor. The next step was the appointment of
the reluctant Gregory to the see, and his enthronisation, in the principal
church of the metropolis. Environed by the armed legionaries, in military pomp,
accompanied by the Emperor himself, Gregory, amazed and bewildered, and perhaps
sensible of the incongruity of the scene with the true Christian character,
headed the triumphal procession. All around he saw the sullen and menacing
faces of the Arian multitude, and his ear might catch their suppressed murmurs
; even the heavens, for the morning was bleak and cloudy, seemed to look down
with cold indifference on the scene. No sooner, however, had Gregory, with the
Emperor, passed the rails which divided the sanctuary from the nave of the
church, than the sun
BOOK
III.
burst forth
in his splendour, the clouds were dissi- , pated, and the glorious light came
streaming in upon the applauding congregation. At once a shout of acclamation
demanded the enthronisation of Gregory.
But Gregory,
commanding only in his eloquence from the pulpit, seems to have wanted the
firmness and vigour necessary for the prelate of a great metropolis. Theodosius
summoned the council of Constantinople; and Gregory, embarrassed by the
multiplicity of affairs; harassed by objections to the validity of his own
election; entangled in the feuds which arose out of the contested election to
the see of Antioch, entreated, and obtained, apparently the unreluctant, assent
of the bishops and the Emperor to abdicate his dignity, and to retire to his
beloved privacy. His retreat, in some degree disturbed by the interest which
he still took in the see of Nazianzum, gradually became more complete, till,
at length, he withdrew into solitude, and ended his days in that peace, which
perhaps was not less sincerely enjoyed from his experience of the cares and
vexations of worldly dignity. Arian- za, his native village,was the place of
his seclusion ; the gardens, the trees, the fountain, familiar to his youth,
welcomed his old age. But Gregory had not exhausted the fears, the dangers, or
the passions of life. The desires of youth still burned in his withered body,
and demanded the severest macerations. The sight or even the neighbourhood of
females afflicted his sensitive conscience ; and instead of allowing ease or
repose to his aged frame,
his bed was a
hard mat, his coverlid sackcloth, chap. his dress one thin tunic ; his feet
were bare ; he IX* allowed himself no fire, and here, in the company
of the wild-beasts, he prayed with bitter tears, he /asted, and devoted his
hours to the composition of poetry, which, from its extreme difficulty, he considered
as an act of penitence. His painful existence was protracted to the age of
ninety.
The complete
restoration of Constantinople to the orthodox communion demanded even more
powerful eloquence, and far more vigorous authority, than that of Gregory. If
it was not finally achieved, its success was secured, by the most splendid
orator who had ever adorned the Eastern church. Sixteen years after the
retirement of Gregory, the fame of Chrysostom designated him as the successor
to that important dignity.
Chrysostom
was the model of a preacher for a Chrysos- great capital.* Clear, rather than
profound, his dogmatic is essentially moulded up with his moral teaching. He is
the champion, not so exclusively of any system of doctrines, as of Christian
holiness against the vices, the dissolute manners, the engrossing love of
amusement, which prevailed in the new Rome of the East. His doctrines flow naturally
from his subject, or from the passage of Scripture under discussion ; his
illustrations are copious and happy ; his style free and fluent; while he is an
unrivalled master in that rapid and forcible ap-
* Compare
the several lives of works, and in Tillemont. I have Chrysostom by Palladius,
that in only the first volume of Neander’s the Benedictine edition of his
Joannes Chrysostomus.
BOOK
III.
* j
Life of Chrysostom.
plication of
incidental occurrences, which gives such life and reality to eloquence. He is,
at times, in the highest sense, dramatic in his manner.
Chrysostom,
like all the more ardent spirits of his age, was enamoured in his early youth
of mo- nasticism. But this he had gradually thrown off, even while he remained
at Antioch. Though by no means formally abandoning these principles, or
lowering his admiration of this imaginary perfection of religion, in his later
works he is more free, popular, and practical. His ambition is not so much to
elevate a few enthusiastic spirits to a high-toned and mystic piety, as to
impregnate the whole population of a great capital with Christian virtue and
self-denial.
John, who
obtained the name of Chrysostom, the golden-mouthed, was born at Antioch, about
the year 347* He was brought up by his mother in the Christian faith ; he
studied rhetoric under the celebrated Libanius, who used his utmost arts, and
displayed all that is captivating in Grecian poetry and philosophy, to enthral
the imagination of his promising pupil. Libanius, in an extant epistle,
rejoices at the success of Chrysostom at the bar in Antioch. He is said to have
lamented on his death-bed the sacrilegious seduction of the young orator by the
Christians; for to him he had intended to bequeath his school, and the office
of maintaining the dignity of Paganism.
But the
eloquence of Chrysostom was not to waste itself in the barren litigations of
the courts of justice in Antioch, or in the vain attempt to in
fuse new life
into the dead philosophy and religion of Greece. He felt himself summoned to a
nobler field. At the age of eighteen, Chrysostom began to study that one source
of eloquence, to which the human heart responded,^the sacred writings of the
Christians. The church was not slow in recognising the value of such a
proselyte. He received the strongest encouragement from Mele- tius, Bishop of
Antioch ; he was appointed a reader in the church. But the soul of Chrysostom
was not likely to embrace these stirring tenets with coolness or moderation. A
zealous friend inflamed, by precept and emulation, the fervour of his piety:
they proposed to retire to one of the most remote hermitages in Syria; and the
great Christian orator was almost self-doomed to silence, or to exhaust his
power of language in prayers and ejaculations, heard by no human ear. The
mother of Chrysostom saved the Christian church from this fatal loss. There is
something exquisitely touching in the traits of domestic affection which
sometimes gleam through the busy pages of history. His mother had become a
widow at the age of twenty ; to the general admiration, she had remained
faithful to the memory of her husband, and to her maternal duties. As soon as
she heard the determination of her son to retire to a distant region
(Chrysostom himself relates the incident), she took him by the hand, she led
him to her chamber, she made him sit by her on the bed, in which she had borne
him, and burst out into tears, and into language more sad than tears. She spoke
of the cares and troubles of
book
widowhood ; grievous as they had been, she had IIL ever one
consolation, the gazing on his face, and beholding in him the image of his
departed father. Before he could speak, he had thus been her comfort and her
joy. She reminded him of the fidelity with which she had administered the
paternal property. “ Think not that I would reproach you with these things. I
have but one favour to entreat — make me not a second time a widow ; awaken
not again my slumbering sorrows. Wait, at least, for my death ; perhaps I shall
depart before long. When you have laid me in the earth, and reunited my bones
to those of your father, then travel wherever thou wilt, even beyond the sea ;
but, as long as I live, endure to dwell in my house, and offend not God by
afflicting your mother, who is at least blameless towards thee.” #
Whether
released by the death of his mother, or hurried away by the irresistible
impulse which would not allow him to withhold himself from what he calls “the
true philosophy,” Chrysostom, some years afterwards, entered into one of the
monasteries in the neighbourhood of Antioch. He had hardly escaped the
episcopal dignity, which was almost forced upon him by the admirers of his
early piety. Whether he considered this gentle violence lawful to compel devout
Christians to assume awful dignity, he did not hesitate to practise a pious
fraud on his friend Basilius, with whom he promised to submit to consecration.
Basilius
* M.
Villemain, in his Essai out the exquisite simplicity and sur l’Eloquence
Chretienne dans tenderness of this passage. De le Quatrieme Siecle, has pointed
Sacerdotio, i.
found himself
a bishop, but looked in vain for his chap. treacherous friend, who had deceived
him into this , IX' momentous step, but deserted him at the
appointed hour.
But the voice
of Chrysostom was not doomed to silence even in his seclusion. The secession of
so many of the leading youths from the duties of civil life, from the municipal
offices and the service of the army, had awakened the jealousy of the government.
Valens issued his edict against those “ followers of idleness.” #
The monks were, in some instances, assailed by popular outrage; parents,
against whose approbation their children had deserted their homes and retired
into the desert, appealed to the imperial authority to maintain their own.
Chrysostom came forward as the zealous, the vehement, advocate of the “ true
philosophy.” +
He threatened
misery in this life, and all the pains of hell (of which he is prodigal in his
early writings) against the unnatural, the soul-slayingfathers, who forced
their sons to expose themselves to the guilt and danger of the world, and
forbade them to enter into the earthly society of angels; thus he describes the
monasteries near Antioch. He relates, with triumph, the clandestine conversion
of a noble youth, through the connivance of his mother, whom the father,
himself a soldier, had destined to serve in the armies of the empire.
But
Chrysostom himself, whether he considered that the deep devotion of the
monastery, for some
* Ignaviae
sectatores. -j- Adversus Oppugnatores
Vitae
Monasticae.
BOOK
III.
years, had
braced his soul to encounter the more perilous duties of the priesthood,
appeared again in Antioch. His return was hailed by Flavian us, the bishop, who
had succeeded to Meletius. He was ordained deacon, and then presbyter, and at
once took his station in that office, which was sometimes reserved for the
Bishop, as the principal preacher in that voluptuous and effeminate city.
The fervid
imagination and glowing eloquence of Chrysostom, which had been lavished on the
angelic immunity of the coenobite or the hermit from the passions, ambition,
and avarice inseparable from a secular life, now arrayed his new office in a
dignity and saintly perfection, which might awake the purest ambition of the
Christian. Chrysostom has the most exalted notion of the majesty, at the same
time of the severity, of the sacerdotal character. His views of the office, of
its mission and authority, are the most sublime ; his demands upon their
purity, blamelessness, and superiority to the rest of mankind, proportionably
rigorous.
Nor, in the
loftiness of his tone as a preacher, or his sanctity as a man, did he fall
below his own standard of the Christian priesthood. His preaching already took
its peculiar character. It was not so much addressed to the opinions as to the
conscience of man. He threw aside the subtleties of speculative theology, and
repudiated, in general, the fine-drawn allegory in which the interpreters of
Scripture had displayed their ingenuity, and amazed and fruitlessly wearied
their unimproved audience. His scope was plain, severe, practical. Rigidly
orthodox in his doctrine, he seemed to
dwell more on
the fruits of a pure theology (though chap. at times he could not keep aloof from
controversy) , IX‘ than on theology itself.
If, in her
ordinary course of voluptuous amusement, of constant theatrical excitement,
Antioch could not but listen to the commanding voice of the Christian orator,
it is no wonder that in her hour of danger, possibly of impending ruin, the
whole city stood trembling and awestruck beneath his pulpit.
Soon after he
assumed the sacerdotal office, Chrysostom was placed in an extraordinary
position as the representative of the bishop.
In one of
those sudden tumultuous insurrections a. d. 387. which take place among the populace of large cities, Antioch
had resisted the exorbitant demands of a new taxation, maltreated the imperial
officers, and thrown down and dragged about, with every kind of insult, the
statues of Theodosius, his empress, and their two sons.* The stupor of fear
succeeded to this momentary outbreak of mutiny, which had been quelled by a single
troop of archers.
For days the
whole people awaited in shuddering agitation the sentence of the Emperor. The
anger of Theodosius was terrible; he had not yet, it is true, ordered the
massacre of the whole population of Thessalonica, but his stern and relentless
charac-
* It is
curious to observe the e^ovXofxrjv.
This is a sentence of
similarity between the Pagan and Libanius (ad Theodos. iv. p. 638.),
Christian accounts of this inci- not of Chrysostom. Flavian exdent which
we have the good horts Theodosius to
pardon An- fortune to possess. Both ascribe tioch,
in order that lie may dis- the guilt to a few strangers, under appoint the malice of the devils, the
instigation of diabolic agency, to
whom he ascribes the guilt.
TotovToig\ v-mipiTaig 6 Kaicbg %pw- Chrys. Horn. xvi. ad Antioch.
/iti'og i‘aifiiov, tTrpa^iv, u omirdv
p 2
book ter was too
well known. Dark rumours spread 1IL , abroad that he had threatened
to burn Antioch, to exterminate its inhabitants, and to pass the ploughshare
over its ruins. Multitudes fled destitute from the city ; others remained shut
up in their houses, for fear of being seized. Instead of the forum crowded with
thousands, one or two persons were seen timidly wandering about. The gay and
busy Antioch had the appearance of a captured and depopulated city. The
theatres, the circus, were closed; no marriage song was heard; even the schools
were shut up.* In the meantime the government resumed its unlimited and
unresisted authority, which it administered with the sternest severity, and
rigorous inquisition into the guilt of individuals. The prisons were thronged
with criminals of every rank and station ; confiscation swept away their
wealth, punishments of every degree were inflicted on their persons. Citizens
of the highest rank were ignominiously scourged ; those who confessed their
guilt were put to the sword, burned alive, or thrown to the wild beasts.t
Chrysostom’s description of the agony of those days is in the highest style of
dramatic oratory. Women of the highest rank, brought up with the utmost
delicacy, and accustomed to every luxury, were seen crowding around the gates,
or in the outer judgment hall, unattended, repelled by the rude soldiery, but
still clinging to the doors or prostrate on the ground, listening to the clash
of
* Liban. ad
Theod. in fin. against God. Kni oi
fiiv
"t Chrysostom asserts this in a oi Ss rrvpi, oi Se Sijpioig ttapado-
fine passage, in which he reminds Oivrtg (xttmKovto.
Horn. iii. 6.
his hearers of their greater offences p. 45.
the scourges,
the shrieks of the tortured victims, chap.
. . IX
and the
shouts of the executioners ; one minute t ' * , supposing that they
recognised the familiar voices of fathers, husbands, or brothers; or trembling
lest those who were undergoing torture should denounce their relatives and
friends. Chrysostom passes from this scene, by a bold but natural transition,
to the terrors of the final judgment, and the greater agony of that day.
Now was the
time to put to the test the power of Christianity, and to ascertain whether the
orthodox opinions of Theodosius were altogether independent of that humanity
which is the essence of the Gospel. Would the Christian Emperor listen to the
persuasive supplications of the Christian prelate — that prelate for whose
character he had expressed the highest respect?
While
Flavianus, the aged and feeble bishop, Flavianus quitting the bedside of his
dying sister, set forth on to intercedo his pious mission to the West, on
Chrysostom de- fornicrc^ volved the duty of assuaging the fears, of
administering consolation, and of profiting by this state of stupor and
dejection to correct the vices and enforce serious thoughts upon the light and
dissolute people. Day after day he ascended the pulpit; the whole population,
deserting the forum, forgetting the theatre and the circus, thronged the
churches. There was even an attendance (an unusual circumstance) after the
hour of dinner. The whole city became a church. There is wonderful skill and
judgment in the art with which the orator employs the circumstances of the time
for his pur-
p 3
book pose ; in the
manner in which he allays the terror,
, 1IL
, without too highly encouraging the hopes, of the people : “ The clemency of
the Emperor may forgive their guilt, but the Christians ought to be superior
to the fear of death ; they cannot be secure of pardon in this world, but they
may be secure of immortality in the world to come.”
Sentence Long
before the success of the bishop’s inter- dosius!°" cession
could be known, the delegates of the Emperor, Hellabichus and Cassarius,
arrived with the sentence of Theodosius, which was merciful, if compared
with what they had feared, — the destruction of the city, and the massacre of
its inhabitants. But it was fatal to the pleasures, the comforts, the pride of
Antioch. The theatres and the circus were to be closed; Antioch was no longer
to enjoy theatrical representations of any kind \ the baths, in an Eastern city
not objects of luxury alone, but of cleanliness and health, were to be shut;
and Antioch was degraded from the rank of a metropolitan city, to a town under
the jurisdiction of Laodicea.
The city was
in the deepest depression, but Chrysostom maintained his lofty tone of consolation.
Antioch ought to rejoice at the prohibition of those scenes of vice and
dissipation, which disgraced the theatres : the baths tended to effeminacy
and luxury ; they were disdained by true philosophy — the monastic system ; the
dignity of the city did not depend on its rank in the empire, but on the virtue
of its citizens; it might be a heavenly, if no longer an earthly, metropolis.
The
inquisition into the guilt of those who had chap. actually assisted, or had looked on in
treasonable , 1X* indifference, while the statues of the Emperor and
his family were treated with such unseemly contumely, had commenced under the
regular authorities ; it was now carried on with stern and indiscriminate
impartiality. The prisoners were crowded together in a great open enclosure, in
one close and agonising troop, which comprehended the whole senate of the city.
The third day of the inquiry was to witness the execution of the guilty, and no
one, not the relatives or kindred of the wealthiest, the noblest, or the
highest in station, knew whether the doom had not fallen on their fathers or
husbands.
But
Hellabichus and Csesarius were men of humanity, and ventured to suspend the
execution of the sentence. They listened to the supplications of the people.
One mother, especially, seized and clung to the reins of the horse of
Hellabichus.
The monks
who, while the philosophers, as Chrysostom asserts, had fled the city, had
poured down from their mountain solitudes, and during the whole time had
endeavoured to assuage the fear of the people, and to awaken the compassion of
the government, renewed, not without effect, their pious exertions.* They
crowded round the tribunal, and one, named Macedonius, was so courageous as
boldly to remonstrate against the crime of avenging the destruction of a few
images of brass by the destruction of the image of God in so many hu-
* Chrysostom,
Horn. xvii. vol. ii. p. 172.
p 4
book man beings.
Caesarius himself undertook a journey t , to Constantinople for
farther instructions.
At length
Chrysostom had the satisfaction to announce to the people the return of the
bishop with an act of unlimited amnesty. He described issue of the the
interview of Flavianus with the Emperor ; his
interview #
of Fiavi- silence, his shame, his tears, when Theodosius gen- the Em!h
tly reminded him of his benefactions to the city, peror. which enhanced their
heinous ingratitude. The reply of Flavianus, though the orator professes to
relate it on the authority of one present at the interview, is no doubt
coloured by the eloquence of Chrysostom. The Bishop acknowledged the guilt of
the city in the most humiliating language. But he urged, that the greater that
guilt, the greater would be the magnanimity of the Emperor if he should pardon
it. He would raise statues, not of perishable materials, in the hearts of all
mankind. It is not the glory of Theodosius, he proceeded, but Christianity
itself, which is put to the test before the world. The Jews and Greeks, even
the most remote barbarians, are anxiously watching whether this sentence will
be that of Christian clemency. How will they all glorify the Christian’s God if
he shall restrain the wrath of the master of the world, and subdue him to that
humanity which would be magnanimous even in a private man. Inexorable
punishment might awe other cities into obedience, but mercy would attach
mankind by the stronger bonds of love. It would bean imperishable example of
clemency, and all future acts of other sovereigns would be but the fruit of
this, and would
reflect their
glory on Theodosius. What glory to chap. concede that to a single aged priest,
from the fear t IX‘ . of God, which he had refused to all
other suppliants. For himself, Flavianus could never bear to return to his
native city \ he would remain an exile, until that city was reconciled with the
Emperor. Theodosius, it is said, called to mind the prayer of the Saviour for
his enemies, and satisfied his wounded pride, that in his mercy he imitated his
Redeemer. He was even anxious that Flavianus should return to announce the
full pardon before the festival of Easter. “ Let the Gentiles,” exclaims the
ardent preacher, “ be confounded, or rather, let them be instructed by this
unexampled instance of imperial clemency and episcopal influence.” *
Theodosius
had ceased to reign many years be- a.
n. 39s." fore Chrysostom was summoned to the pontifical bishop 0f
throne of Constantinople. The East was governed unopie"" by women and
eunuchs. In assuming the episcopal throne of the metropolis, to which he is
said to have been transported almost by force, Chrysostom, who could not but be
conscious of his power over the minds of men, might entertain visions of the
noblest and purest ambition. His views of the dignity of the sacerdotal
character were as lofty as those of his cotemporaries in the West; while he
asserted their authority, which set them apart and far above the rest of
mankind, he demanded a moral superiority, and entire devotion to their calling,
which could not but
* Chrysostom
had ventured to assert—"Xirtp ovhvl trepy, tovtcl Xapitirai Toig itpevai. Horn. xxi. 3.
BOOK
III.
1 1
Difference of the sacerdotal power in Rome and Constantinople
rivet their
authority upon the minds of men. The clergy, such as his glowing imagination
conceived them, would unite the strongest corporate spirit with the highest
individual zeal and purity. The influence of the bishop in Antioch, the
deference which Theodosius had shown to the intercession of Fla- vianus, might
encourage Chrysostom in the fallacious hope of restoring peace, virtue, and
piety, as well as orthodoxy, in the imperial city.
But in the
East, more particularly in the metropolis, the sacerdotal character never
assumed the unassailable sanctity, the awful inviolability, which it attained
in the West. The religion of Constantinople was that of the Emperor. Instead
of growing up, like the Bishop of Rome, first to independence, afterwards to
sovereignty, the presence of the imperial government overawed and obscured the
religious supremacy. In Rome, the Pope was subject at times to the rebellious
control of the aristocracy, or exposed to the irreverent fury of the populace;
but he constantly emerged from his transient obscurity, and resumed his power.
In Constantinople, a voluptuous court, a savage populace, at this period
multitudes of concealed Arians, and heretics of countless shades and hues at
all periods, thwarted the plans, debased the dignity, and desecrated the
person of the Patriarch of Constantinople.
In some
respects, Chrysostom’s character wanted the peculiar, and perhaps inconsistent
qualifications requisite for his position. He was the preacher, but not the man
of the world. A great capital is
apt to demand
that magnificence in its prelate at chap which it murmurs. It will not respect
less than t 1X splendid state and the show of authority,
while at the same time it would have the severest austerity and the strongest
display of humility,—the pomp of the Pontiff with the poverty and lowliness of
the Apostle. Chrysostom carried the asceticism of the monk not merely into his
private chamber, but into his palace and his hall. The great prelates of the
West, when it was expedient, could throw off the monk and appear as statesmen
or as nobles in their public transactions ; though this, indeed, was much less
necessary than in Constantinople. But Chrysostom cherished all these habits
with zealous, perhaps with ostentatious, fidelity. Instead of munificent
hospitality, he took his scanty meal in his solitary chamber.
His rigid
economy endured none of that episcopal sumptuousness with which his predecessor
Nec- tarius had dazzled the public eye: he proscribed all the carpets, all
silken dresses; he sold the costly furniture and the rich vessels of his
residence; he was said even to have retrenched from the church some of its
gorgeous plate, and to have sold some rich marbles and furniture designed for
the Anastasia. Pie was lavish, on the other hand, in his expenditure on the
hospitals and charitable institutions. But even the use to which they were applied,
did not justify to the general feeling the alienation of those ornaments from
the service of the church. The populace, who, no doubt, in their hours of
discontent, had contrasted the magnificence of Nectarius with apostolical
poverty, were
BOOK
III.
Political difficulties of Chrysostom.
Interference of the clergy in secular affairs.
now offended
by the apostolical poverty of Chrysostom, which seemed unworthy of his lofty
station.
But the
Bishop of Constantinople had even a more difficult task in prescribing to
himself the limits of his interference with secular affairs. It is easy to
imagine, in the clergy, a high and serene indifference to the political
tumults of society. This is perpetually demanded by those who find the sacerdotal
influence adverse to their own views ; but to the calm inquirer, this simple
question becomes the most difficult and intricate problem in religious history.
If religion consisted solely in the intercourse between man and his Creator;
if the Christian minister were merely the officiating functionary in the
ceremonial of the church, — the human mediator between the devotion of man and
the providence of God, — the voice which expresses the common adoration, —
the herald who announces the
general
message of revelation to mankind,
■nothing
could be more
clear than the line which might exclude him from all political, or even all
worldly affairs. But Christianity is likewise a moral power; and as that moral
power or guide, religion, and the minister of religion, cannot refrain from
interposing in all questions of human conduct; as the interpreter of the
divine law to the perplexed and doubting conscience, it cannot but spread its
dominion over the whole field of human action. In this character, religion
embraced the whole life of man, public as well as private. How was the minister
of that religion to pause and discriminate as to the extent of his powers,
particularly since the public acts
of the most
eminent in station possessed such unlimited influence over the happiness of
society, and even the eternal welfare of the whole community ? What public
misconduct was not at the same time an unchristian act? Were the clergy, by
connivance, to become accomplices in vices which they did not endeavour to
counteract ? Christianity on the throne, as in the cottage, was equally bound
to submit on every point in which religious motive or principle ought'"to
operate, in every act, therefore, of life, to the admitted restraints of the
Gospel ; and the general feeling of Christianity at this period had invested
the clergy with the right, or rather the duty, of enforcing the precepts of the
Gospel on every professed believer. How, then, were the clergy to distinguish
between the individual and political capacity of the man ; to respect the
prince, yet to advise the Christian ; to look with indifference on one set of
actions as secular, to admonish on the danger of another as affairs of
conscience ?
Nor at this
early period of it$ still aggressive, still consciously beneficial influence,
could the hierarchy be expected to anticipate with coldly prophetic prudence
the fatal consequence of some of its own encroachments on worldly authority.
The bishop of a great capital was the conductor, the representative, of the
moral power of the Gospel, which was perpetually striving to obtain its
ascendancy over brute force, violence, and vice; and of necessity, perhaps, was
not always cautious or discreet in the means to which it resorted. It became
contami-
book nated in the
incessant strife, and forgot its end, or „ IIL , rather sought for
the mastery, as its end, rather than as the legitimate means of promoting its
beneficial objects. Under the full, and no doubt, at first, warrantable
persuasion, that it was advancing the happiness and virtue of mankind, where
should it arrest its own course, or set limits to its own humanising and
improving interpositions ? Thus, under the constant temptation of assuming, as
far as possible, the management of affairs which were notoriously mismanaged
through the vices of public men, the administration even of public matters by
the clergy might seem, to them at least, to insure justice, disinterestedness,
and clemency: till tried by the possession of power, they would be the last to
discern the danger of being invested in that power.
Eutropius The
first signal interposition of Chrysostom in ‘ the political affairs of
Constantinople was an act not merely of humanity but of gratitude. Eutropius
the eunuch, minister of the feeble Arcadius, is condemned to immortal infamy by
the vigorous satire of Claudian. Among his few good deeds, had been the
advancement of Chrysostom to the see of Constantinople. Eutropius had found it
necessary to restrict the right of asylum, which began to be generally claimed
by all the Christian churches, little foreseeing that to the bold assertion of
that right he would owe his life.
Right of There is something sublime in the first
notion asylum. rjg]lt
0f aSyium# it is one of those institu
tions based
in the universal religious sentiment of
man ; it is
found in almost all religions. In the chap. Greek, as in the Jewish, man took
refuge from the t 1X’
vengeance,
often from the injustice, of his fellow men, in the presence of the gods. Not
merely private revenge, but the retributive severity of the law, stands rebuked
before the dignity of the divine court, in which the criminal has lodged his
appeal. The lustrations in the older religions, the rites of expiation and
reconciliation performed in many of the temples, the appellations of certain
deities, as the reconcilers or pacifiers of man *, were enwoven with their
mythology, and embodied in their poetry. But Christianity, in a still higher
and more universal sense, might assume to take under its protection, in order
to amend and purify, the outcast of society, whom human justice followed with
relentless vengeance. As the representative of the God of mercy, it excluded no
human being from the pale of repentance, and would protect them, when disposed
to that salutary change, if it could possibly be made consistent with the
public peace and safety. The merciful intervention of the clergy between the
criminal and his sentence, at a period when the laws were so implacable and
sanguinary, was at once consistent with Christian charity, and tended to some
mitigation of the ferocious manners of the age. It gave time at least for
exasperated justice to reconsider its sentence, and checked that vindictive impulse,
which if it did not outrun the law, turned it into instantaneous and
irrevocable execution.t But
* The
d.7rorpo7raioi, or averrun- Greek, there is an elaborate argu- catores. ment, that if the right of asylum
t In a law which is extant in had been granted by the Heathen
book that which
commenced in pure benevolence had
III • *
t *
, already, it should seem, begun to degenerate into a source of power. The
course of justice was impeded, but not by a wise discrimination between the
more or less heinous delinquents, or a salutary penitential system, which might
reclaim the guilty, and safely restore him to society. a. d. 399. Like other favourites of arbitrary sovereigns, Eu- tropius
was suddenly precipitated from the height of power; the army forced the
sentence of his dismissal from the timid Emperor, and the furious populace, as
usual, thirsted for the blood of him to whose unbounded sway they had so long
submitted in humble obedience. Eutropius fled in haste to that asylum, the
sanctity of which had been limited by his own decree; and the courage and
influence of Chrysostom protected that most forlorn of human beings, the
discarded favourite of a despot. The armed soldiery and the raging populace
were met at the door of the church by the defenceless ecclesiastic ; his
demeanour and the sanctity of the place arrested the blind fury of the Chrysostom assailants; Chrysostom
before the Emperor pleaded lTfTof16 ^ie cause °f
Eutropius with the same fearless free- Eutropius.
dom, and for once the life of a fallen minister was
to their altars, and to the statues profane the holy building itself
of the Emperors, it ought to be- by eating or sleeping within it.
long to the temples of God. “ Quibus si perfuga non
adnuit,
See the laws which defined neque consentit, prasferenda hu-
the right of asylum, Cod. Theo- manitati religio est.” There was a
dos. ix. 45. 3. et seqq. The sacred strong prohibition against intro-
space extended to the outer gates ducing arms into the churches ;
of the church. But those who a prohibition which the Emperors
took refuge in the church were themselves did not scruple to vio-
011 no account to be permitted to late on more than one occasion.
spared, his
sentence was commuted for banishment, chap. His fate indeed was only delayed, he
was after- t IX' , wards brought back from Cyprus, his
place of exile, and beheaded at Chalcedon.
But with all
his courage, his eloquence, his moral dignity, Chrysostom, instead of establishing
a firm and permanent authority over Constantinople, became himself the victim
of intrigue and jealousy.
Besides his
personal habits and manners, the character of Chrysostom, firm 011 great
occasions, and eminently persuasive when making a general address to the
multitude, was less commanding and authoritative in his constant daily
intercourse with the various orders : calm and self-possessed as an orator, he
was accused of being passionate and overbearing in ordinary business: the
irritability of feeble health may have caused some part of this infirmity. Men,
whose minds, like that of Chrysostom, are centered on one engrossing object,
are apt to abandon the details of business to others, who thus become necessary
to them, and at length, if artful and dextrous, rule them with inextricable
sway: they have much know- * ledge of mankind, little practical acquaintance
with individual men. Thus, Chrysostom was com- Chrysostom pletely governed by
his deacon Serapion, who by^iT^ managed his affairs, and like all men of
address in teaco"
° # # > Serapion.
such
stations, while he exercised all the power, and secured the solid advantages,
left the odium and responsibility upon his master. On the whole, the character
of Chrysostom retained something of the unworldly monastic enthusiasm, and
wanted
VOL. III. Q
book decisive
practical wisdom, when compared, for in- IIT' , stance, with Ambrose
in the West, and thus his character powerfully contributed to his fall.*
But the
circumstances of his situation might have embarrassed even Ambrose himself. All
orders and interests conspired against him. The court would not endure the
grave and severe censor ; the clergy rebelled against the rigour of the
prelate’s discipline ; the populace, though when under the spell of his
eloquence, fondly attached to his person, no doubt, in general resented his
implacable condemnation of their amusements. The Arians, to whom, in his
uncompromising zeal, he had persuaded the Emperor to refuse a single church,
though demanded by the most powerful subject of the empire, Gainas the Goth,
were still no doubt secretly powerful. A Pagan prsefect, Optatus, seized the
opportunity of wreaking his animosity towards Christianity itself, upon its
powerful advocate. Some wealthy females are named as resenting the severe
condemnation of their dress and manners.t
Of all these
adversaries, the most dangerous, the most persevering, and the most implacable,
were those of his own order and his own rank.t The sacerdotal authority in the
East was undermined by its own divisions. The imperial power, which, in the
* The
unfavourable view of f Tillemont, p. 180. Chrysostom’s character is brought J
The good Tillemont confesses out perhaps with more than im- this humiliating
truth with shame partiality by the ecclesiastical his- and reluctance. Vie de
Chrysos- torian Sozomen, who wrote at tome, p. 181.
Constantinople, and may have preserved much of the hostile tradition
relating to him.
hands of a
violent, and not irreproachable woman, chap. the Empress Eudoxia, might, perhaps,
have quailed t lx‘ i before the energy of a
blameless and courageous prelate, allied itself with one section of the church,
and so secured its triumph over the whole. The more Chrysostom endeavoured to
carry out by episcopal authority those exalted notions of the sacerdotal
character, which he had developed in his work upon the priesthood, the more he
estranged many of his natural supporters. He visited the whole of Asia Minor ;
degraded bishops ; exposed with unsparing indignation the vices and venality
of the clergy; and involved them all in one indiscriminate charge of simony and
licentiousness. The assumption of this authority was somewhat questionable ;
the severity with which it was exercised did not reconcile the reluctant
province to submission.
Among the
malcontent clergy, four bishops took the lead ; but the head of this
unrelenting faction was Theophilus, the violent and unscrupulous Pre-
Theophiius late of Alexandria. The apparently trivial causes andria*' which
inflamed the hostility of Theophilus confirm a suspicion, previously suggested,
that the rivalry of the two principal sees in the East mingled with the
personal animosity of Theophilus against the Bishop of Constantinople.
Chrysostom had been accused of extending his jurisdiction beyond its legitimate
bounds. Certain monks of Nitria had fled from the persecutions of Theophilus,
and taken refuge in Constantinople; and Chrysostom had extended his
countenance, if not his protection, to these revolted subjects of the Alexandrian
prelate;
book but lie had
declined to take legal cognisance of
v ^, the dispute as a superior prelate, or
as the head of
a council;
partly, he states*, out of respect for Theophilus, partly because he was
unwilling to interfere in the affairs of another province. But Theophilus was
not so scrupulous ; he revenged himself for the supposed invasion of his own
province by a most daring inroad on that of his rival. He assumed for the
Patriarch of Alexandria the right of presiding over the Eastern bishops, and of
summoning the Bishop of Constantinople before this irregular tribunal.
Theophilus, with the sanction, if not by the invitation, of the Empress,
landed at Constantinople. He was accompanied by a band of Alexandrian mariners,
as a protection against the populace of the city.
Council of The council was held, notin Constantinople, but the Oak. atap]ace
called the Oak, in the suburbs of Chalce- don. It consisted for the most part
of Egyptian bishops, under the direct influence of Theophilus, and of Asiatic
prelates, the personal enemies of Chrysostom.t For fourteen days it held its
sessions, and received informations, which gradually grew into twenty-nine
grave and specific charges. Four times was Chrysostom summoned to appear before
this self-appointed tribunal, of which it was impossible for him to recognise
the legal authority. In the meantime, he was not inactive in his peculiar
sphere — the pulpit. Unfortunately, the authenticity of the sermon ascribed to
him at this period
* Epist. ad Innocentium Pa- f It is contested
whether there pam, vol. iii. p. 510. were
thirty or forty-six bishops.
is not
altogether certain, nor the time at which some extant discourses, if genuine,
were delivered, conclusively settled. One, however, bears strong indications of
the manner and sentiments of Chrysostom ; and it is generally acknowledged
that he either did boldly use, or was accused of using, language full of
contumelious allusion to the Empress.
This sermon,
therefore, if not an accurate report of his expressions, may convey the sense
of what he actually uttered, or which was attributed to him by his
adversaries.* “ The billows,” said the energetic prelate, “are mighty, and the
storm furious ; but we fear not to be wrecked, for we are founded on a rock.
What can I fear ? Death ? To me to live is Christy and to die is gain. Exile?
The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof. Confiscation ?
JVe brought nothing into this world, and it is certain
we can carry nothing out of it. I scorn the terrors, and smile at the
advantages, of life. I fear not death. I desire to live only for your profit.
The church
against which you strive, dashes away your assaults into idle foam. It is fixed
by God,
* It is
singularly characteristic have clone
this, Anathema upon
of the Christianity of the times me, may I be no longer counted
to observe the charges against among bishops, nor be admitted
which Chrysostom protests with among the angels accepted of
the greatest vehemence; and this God.” He was said to have ad-
part of the oration in question is ministered the sacrament to those
confirmed by one of his letters to who had in like manner broken
Cyriacus. Against that of per- their fast. “ If I have done so,
sonal impurity with a female, he may I be rejected of Christ.” lie
calmly offers the most unquestion- then justifies himself, even if guilty,
able evidence. But he was like- by the example of Paul, and even
wise accused of having adininis- of” Christ himself, but still seems
tered baptism after he had eaten, to look on this breach of dis-
On this he breaks out : — “If I cipline with the utmost horror.
book who shall revoke it? f The church is stronger than
III *
t '
, Heaven itself! Heaven and earth
shall pass away, but my words shall not pass away.\* * #
But you know, my brethren, the true cause of my ruin. Because I have not strewn
rich carpets on my floors, nor clothed myself in silken robes ; because I have
discountenanced the sensuality of certain persons. The seed of the serpent is
still alive, but grace is still on the side of Elijah.” Then follows in obscure
and embarrassed language, as though, if genuine, the preacher were startled at
his own boldness, an allusion to the fate of John the Baptist, and to the
hostility of Herodias : ■— “ It is a time of wailing — lo, all things
tend to disgrace; but
time judgeth all things.” The fatal word, “ disgrace,” (aSogta) was supposed to
be an allusion to Eudoxia, the Empress.
Condemn- There was a secret understanding between
the ciTrysoL court and the council. The court urged the protom-
ceedings of the council, and the council pronounced the sentence of deposition,
but left to the court to take cognisance of the darker charge of high treason,
of which they asserted Chrysostom to be guilty, but which was beyond their
jurisdiction. The alleged treason was the personal insult to the Empress
Eudoxia, which was construed into exciting the people to rebellion. But the
execution of this sentence embarrassed the council and the irresolute
government. Chrysostom now again ruled the popular mind with unbounded sway.
It would have been dangerous to have seized him in the church, environed, as he
constantly was, by crowds of ad-
miring
hearers, whom a few fervent words might chap.
• • • T V
have
maddened into insurrection. t
' .
Chrysostom,
however, shrunk, whether from Chrysostom . timidity or Christian peacefulness
of disposition, Itamfnopie’ from being the cause, even innocently, of tumult
and bloodshed. He had neither the ambition, the desperate recklessness, nor
perhaps the resolution, of a demagogue. He would not be the Christian tribune
of the people. He seized the first opportunity of the absence of his hearers
quietly to surrender himself to the imperial officers. He was cautiously
transported by night, though the jealous populace crowded the streets, in order
to release their prelate from the hands of his enemies, to the opposite side of
the Bosphorus, and confined in a villa on the Bithynian shore.
The triumph
of Chrysostom’s enemies was complete. Theophilus entered the city, and
proceeded to wreak his vengeance on the partisans of his adversary; the
Empress rejoiced in the conscious assurance of her power ; the people were
overawed into gloomy and sullen silence.
The night of
the following day, strange and aw- Earthful sounds were heard throughout the
city. The quake# palace, the whole of Constantinople, shook with an
earthquake. The Empress, as superstitious as she was violent, when she felt her
chamber rock beneath her, shuddering at the manifest wrath of Heaven, fell on
her knees, and entreated the Emperor to revoke the fatal sentence. She wrote a
hasty letter, disclaiming all hostility to the banished prelate, and protesting
that she was “ innocent of his blood.”
q 4
book The next day,
the palace was surrounded by cla- t 11L , morons
multitudes, impatiently demanding his recall. The voice of the people and the
voice of God seemed to join in the vindication of Chrysos- Retum of tom. The
edict of recall was issued; the Bos- tom. phorus swarmed with barks, eager to
communicate the first intelligence, and to obtain the honour of bringing back
the guardian and the pride of the city. He was met on his arrival by the whole
population, men, women, and children ; all who could, bore torches in their
hands, and hymns of thanksgiving, composed for the occasion, were chaunted before
him, as he proceeded to the great church. His enemies fled on all sides. Soon
after, Theophilus, on the demand of a free council, left Constantinople, at
the dead of night, and embarked for Alexandria.
There is
again some doubt as to the authenticity of the first discourse delivered by
Chrysostom on this occasion, — none of the second. But the first was an
extemporaneous address, to which the extant speech appears to correspond. “
What shall I say ? Blessed be God! These were my last words on my departure,
these the first on my return. Blessed be God! because he permitted the storm
to rage ; Blessed be God ! because he has allayed it. Let my enemies behold how
their conspiracy has advanced my peace, and redounded to my glory. Before, the
church alone was crowded, now, the whole forum is become a church. The games
are celebrating in the circus, but the whole people pour like a torrent to the
church. Your
prayers in my
behalf are more glorious than a dia- chap. dem, — the prayers both of men and
women ; for t ' in Christ there is neither male nor female ”
In the second
oration he draws an elaborate comparison between the situation of Abraham in
Egypt and his own. The barbarous Egyptian (this struck, no doubt, at
Theophilus) had endeavoured to defile his Sarah, the church of Constantinople
; but the faithful church had remained, by the power of God, uncontaminated by
this rebuked Abimelech. He dwelt with pardonable pride on the faithful
attachment of his followers. They had conquered ; but how ? by prayer and
submission.
The enemy had
brought arms into the sanctuary, they had prayed ; like a spider’s web the
enemy had been scattered, they remained firm as a rock.
The Empress
herself had joined the triumphal procession, when the sea became, as the city,
covered with all ranks, all ages, and both sexes.*
But the peace
and triumph of Chrysostom were not lasting. As the fears of the Empress were
allayed, the old feeling of hatred to the Bishop, embittered by the shame of
defeat, and the constant suspicion that either the preacher or his audience
pointed at her his most vigorous declamation, rankled in the mind of Eudoxia.
It had become a strife for ascendancy, and neither could recede with safety and
honour. Opportunities could not but occur to enrage and exasperate ; nor would
ill-
* Chrysostom,
in both these stantinople took great interest in discourses, states a curious
cir- his cause, cumstance, that the Jews of Con-
book disposed
persons be wanting to inflame the passions , in‘ , of the Empress,
by misrepresenting and personally applying the bold and indignant language of
the prelate.
statue of A statue of the Empress was about to be erected ; press. and on
these occasions of public festival the people were wont to be indulged in
dances, pantomimes, and every kind of theatrical amusement. The zeal of
Chrysostom was always especially directed against these idolatrous amusements,
which often, he confesses, drained the church of his hearers. This, now
ill-timed, zeal was especially awakened, because the statue was to be erected,
and the rejoicings to take place, in front of the entrance to the great church,
the St. Sophia. His denunciations were construed into personal insults to the
Empress ; she threatened a new council. The prelate threw off the remaining restraints
of prudence ; repeated more explicitly the allusion which he had before but
covertly hinted. He thundered out a homily, with the memorable exordium, “ He-
rodias is maddening, Herodias is dancing, Herodias demands the head of John.”
If Chrysostom could even be suspected of such daring outrage against the
temporal sovereign ; if he ventured on language approaching to such unmeasured
hostility; it was manifest that either the imperial authority must quail and
submit to the sacerdotal domination, or employ, without scruple, its power to
crush the bold usurpation.
Second con- An edict of the Emperor suspended the prelate of chrysos-
from his functions. Though forty-two bishops
adhered, with
inflexible fidelity, to his cause, he was chap. condemned by a second hostile council,
not on any , IX‘ new charge, but for contumacy, in resisting the
decrees of the former assembly, and for a breach of the ecclesiastical laws, in
resuming his authority while under the condemnation of a council.
The soldiers
of the Emperor were more danger- n. 404. ous enemies than the prelates. In the
midst of the inTe S solemn celebration of Good Friday, in the great church-
church of Santa Sophia, the military forced their way, not merely into the
nave, but up to the altar, on which were placed the consecrated elements.
Many were
trodden under foot; many wounded by the swords of the soldiers; the clergy were
dragged to prison ; some females, who were about to be baptized, were obliged
to fly with their disordered apparel : the waters of the font were stained
with blood ; the soldiers pressed up to the altar; seized the sacred vessels as
their plunder: the sacred elements were scattered about; their garments were
bedewed with the blood of the Redeemer. * Constantinople for several days had
the appearance of a city which had been stormed. Wherever the partisans of
Chrysostom were assembled, they were assaulted and dispersed by the soldiery;
females were exposed to insult, and one frantic attempt was made to assassinate
the prelate, t
Chrysostom at
length withdrew from the contest;
* Chrysostom,
Epist. ad Inno- rage, but attributes it
to the
eentium, c. iii. v. iii. p.
519. hostile bishops.
Chrysostom exempts the Em- f See Letter to Olympias,
peror from all share in this out- p. 548.
B?i?K
escaPed from the friendly custody of his adv t .
herents, and surrendered himself to the imperial Chrysostom officers. He was
immediately conveyed by night ” to the Asiatic shore. At the instant of his
departure, another fearful calamity agitated the public mind. The church which
he left, burst into flames, and the conflagration, said to have first broken
out in the episcopal throne, readied the roof of the building, and spread from
thence to the senate- house. These two magnificent edifices, the latter of
which contained some noble specimens of ancient art, became in a few hours a
mass of ruins. The partisans of Chrysostom, and Chrysostom himself, were, of
course, accused of this act, the author of which was never discovered, and in
which 110 life was lost. But the bishop was charged with the horrible design of
destroying his enemies in the church ; his followers were charged with the
guilt of incendiarism with a less atrocious object, that no bishop after
Chrysostom might be seated in his pontifical throne.*
The prelate
was not permitted to choose his place of exile. The peaceful spots which might
have been found in the more genial climate of Bithynia, or the adjacent
provinces, would have been too near the capital. He was transported to Cucusus,
a small town in the mountainous and
* There
are three laws in the “ qui sacrilego
animo auctorita-
Theodosian Code against unlaw- tem nostri numinis ausi fuerint
ful and seditious meetings (con- expugnare.” The deity is the
venticula), directed against the usual term, but the deity of the
followers of Chrysostom, — the feeble Arcadius, and the passion-
Joannitae, as they were called, ate Eudoxia, reads strangely.
savage
district of Armenia. On his journey thither of several days, he suffered much
from fever and disquiet of mind, and from the cruelty of the officer who
commanded the guard.
Yet his
influence was not extinguished by his absence. The Eastern Church was almost
governed from the solitary cell of Chrysostom. He corresponded with all
quarters ; women of rank and opulence sought his solitude in disguise. The
bishops of many distant sees sent him assistance, and coveted his advice. The
Bishop of Rome received his letters with respect, and wrote back ardent
commendations of his patience. The exile of Cucusus exercised perhaps more
extensive authority than the Patriarch of Constantinople.*
He was not,
however, permitted to remain in peace in this miserable seclusion : sometimes
his life was endangered by the invasions of the Isaurian marauders ; and he was
obliged to take refuge in a neighbouring fortress, named Ardissa. He encouraged
his ardent disciples with the hope, the assurance, of his speedy return ; but
he miscalculated the obstinate and implacable resentment of his persecutors.
At length an order came to remove
* Among
his letters may be never been
contaminated by mar-
remarked those written to the ce- riage. She was the friend of all
lebrated Olympias. This wealthy the distinguished and orthodox
widow, who had refused the soli- clergy,— of Gregory of Nazianzum,
citations or commands of Theo- and of Chrysostom. Chrysostom
dosius to marry one of his fa- records to her praise, that by her
vourites, had almost washed away, austerities, she had brought on
by her austerities and virtues, the painful diseases, which baffled the
stain of her nuptials, and might art of medicine. Chrysost. Epist.
rank in Christian estimation with viii. p. 540. those unsullied virgins who had
CHAP.
IX.
His
retreat.
book him to Pity
us, on the Euxine, a still more savage t 11L , place on
the verge of the empire. He died on the journey, near Comana, in Pontus.
His re- Some years afterwards, the remains of Chrysostom
were
transported to Constantinople with the Constan- utmost reverence, and received
with solemn pomp.
tinople. . ... .
Constantinople,
and the imperial family, submitted with eager zeal to worship as a saint him
whom they would not endure as a prelate.
The
remarkable part in the whole of this persecution of Chrysostom is that it
arose not out of difference of doctrine, or polemic hostility. No charge of
heresy darkened the pure fame of the great Christian orator. His persecution
had not the dignity of conscientious bigotry ; it was a struggle for power
between the temporal and ecclesiastical supremacy ; but the passions and the
personal animosities of ecclesiastics, the ambition, and perhaps the jealousy
of the Alexandrian Patriarch, as to jurisdiction, lent themselves to the
degradation of the episcopal authority in Constantinople, from which it never
rose. No doubt the choleric temper, the overstrained severity, the monastic
habits, the ambition to extend his authority, perhaps beyond its legitimate
bounds, and the indiscreet zeal of Chrysostom, laid him open to his adversaries
; but in any other station, in the episcopate of any other city, these
infirmities wrould have been lost in the splendour of his talents
and his virtues. Though he might not have weaned the general mass of the people
from their vices, or their amusements, which he proscribed with equal
severity, yet
he would have commanded general chap. respect; and nothing less than a
schism, arising out t 1X' of religious difference, would
have shaken or impaired his authority.
At all
events, the fall of Chrysostom was an inauspicious omen, and a warning which
might repress the energy of future prelates ; and, doubtless, the issue of this
conflict materially tended to degrade the office of the chief bishop in the
Eastern empire. It may be questioned whether the proximity of the court, and
such a court as that of the East, would, under any circumstances, have allowed
the episcopate to assume its legitimate power, far less to have encroached on
the temporal sovereignty.
But after
this time, the Bishop of Constantinople almost sank into a high officer of
state ; appointed by the influence, if not directly nominated by the Emperor,
his gratitude was bound to reverence, or his prudence to dread, that arbitrary
power which had raised him from nothing, and might dismiss him to his former
insignificance. Except on some rare occasions, he bowed with the rest of the empire
before the capricious will of the sovereign or the ruling favourite ; he was
content if the Emperor respected the outward ceremonial of the church, and did
not openly espouse any heretical doctrine.
Christianity
thus remained, in some respects, an antagonist principle, counteracting by its
perpetual remonstrance, and rivalling by its attractive ceremonial, the vices
and licentious diversions of the capital; but its moral authority was not allied
with
BOOK III. t -»
power ; it
quailed under the universal despotism, and was entirely inefficient as a
corrective of imperial tyranny. It thus escaped the evils inseparable from
the undue elevation of the sacerdotal character, and the temptations to
encroach beyond its proper limits on the civil power; but it likewise
gradually sank far below that uncompromising independence, that venerable
majesty, which might impose some restraint on the worst excesses of violence,
and infuse justice and humanity into the manners of the court and of the
people.
C11A P.
X.
CHAP. X.
THE GREAT PRELATES OF THE WEST.
The character and
the fate of Ambrose offer the Ambrose strongest contrast with that of
Chrysostom. Am- ^ilinan^ brose was no dreaming solitary brought up in the
seclusion of the desert, or among a fraternity of religious husbandmen. He had
been versed in civil business from his youth ; he had already obtained a high
station in the Imperial service.
His eloquence
had little of the richness, imaginative variety, or dramatic power of the
Grecian orator ; hard but vigorous, it was Roman, forensic, practical — we mean
where it related to affairs of business, or addressed men in general; it has,
as we shall hereafter observe, a very different character in some of his
theological writings.
In Ambrose
the sacerdotal character assumed a dignity and an influence as yet unknown ; it
first began to confront the throne, not only on terms of equality, but of
superior authority, and to exercise a spiritual dictatorship over the supreme
magistrate.
The
resistance of Athanasius to the Imperial authority had been firm but
deferential, passive rather than aggressive. In his jmblic addresses he had
respected the majesty of the empire; at all events, the hierarchy of that period
only questioned the authority of the sovereign in matters of faith.
But in
Ambrose the episcopal power acknowledged
VOL. III. R
book 110 limits to its moral dominion, and admitted
on
^
distinction of persons. While the bishops of Rome
were
comparatively without authority, and still partially obscured by the
concentration of Paganism in the aristocracy of the Capitol, the Archbishop of
Milan began to develop papal power and papal imperiousness. Ambrose was the
spiritual ancestor of the Hildebrands and the Innocents. Like Chrysostom,
Ambrose had to strive against the passionate animosity of an empress, not
merely exasperated against him by his suspected disrespect and disobedience,
but by the bitterness of religious difference. Yet how opposite the result! And
Ambrose had to assert his religious authority, not against the feeble Arcadius,
but against his father, the great Theodosius. We cannot indeed but recognise
something of the undegraded Roman of the West in Ambrose; Chrysostom has something
of the feebleness and degeneracy of the Byzantine.
Youth of The father of Ambrose, who bore the same
Ambiose. name>
jia(j administered the
province of Gaul, as praetorian prefect. The younger Ambrose, while pursuing
his studies at Rome, had attracted the notice of Probus, praetorian prefect of
Italy. Ambrose, through his influence, was appointed to the administration of
the provinces of iEmilia and Liguria. * Probus was a Christian, and his
parting admonition to the young civilian was couched in these prophetic words —
“ Rule the province,
* Chiefly
from the life of Am- edition of his works ; the Life by brose affixed to the
Benedictine Paulinus; and Tillemont.
not as a
judge, but as a bishop.” # Milan was ciiap. within the department assigned to Ambrose.
This , y city had now begun almost to rival or eclipse Rome, as the capital of
the Occidental empire, and from the celebrity of its schools it was called the
Athens of the West. The Church of Milan was rent with divisions. On a vacancy
caused by the death of Auxentius, the celebrated Arian, the two parties, the
Arian and the Athanasian, violently contested the appointment of the bishop.
Ambrose
appeared in his civil character to allay Ambrose the tumult, by the awe of his
presence, and by the A. n. 374. persuasive force of his eloquence.
He spoke so wisely, and in such a Christian spirit, that a general acclamation
suddenly broke forth, “ Ambrose, be bishop —Ambrose, be bishop.” Ambrose was
yet only a catechumen ; he attempted in every way, by assuming a severe
character as a magistrate, and by flight, to elude the unexpected honour.t The
ardour of the people, and the approbation of the Emperor t, compelled him to
assume the office. Ambrose cast off at once the pomp and majesty of his civil
state ; but that which was in some degree disadvantageous to Chrysostom, his
severe simplicity of life, only increased the admiration and attachment of the
less luxurious, or at least less effeminate, West, to their pious prelate : for
Ambrose assumed only the austerity, nothing of the inactive and contemplative
seclusion of the monas
* Pauli.
Vit. Ambros. 8. J Compare the account
of Va- ■f De Offic.; Vita S. Ambros. lentinian’s conduct in Theodoret, p.
xxxiv. ; Epist. xxi. p. 8G5.; iv. 7.
Epist. lxiii.
book tic system.
The only Eastern influence which fet- t * , terecl his strong mind
was his earnest admiration of Ambrose celibacy; in all other respects he was a
Roman cei'ibacy^ ° statesman, not a meditative Oriental, or rhetorical Greek.
The strong contrast of this doctrine with the dissolute manners of Rome, which
no doubt extended to Milan, made it the more impressive : it was received with
all the ardour of novelty, and the impetuosity of the Italian character ; it
captivated all ranks and all orders. Mothers shut up their daughters, lest they
should be exposed to the chaste seduction of the bishop’s eloquence; and,
binding themselves by rash vows of virginity, forfeit the hope of becoming
Roman matrons. Ambrose, immediately on his appointment, under Valentinian I.,
asserted that ecclesiastical power which he confirmed under the feeble reign
of Gratian and Valentinian II.* ; he maintained it when he was confronted by a
nobler antagonist, the great Theodosius. He assumed the office of director of
the royal conscience, and he administered it with all the uncompromising moral
dignity which had no indulgence for unchristian vices, for injustice, or
cruelty, even in an emperor, and with all the stern and conscientious intolerance
of one, with whom hatred of paganism and of heresy were articles of his creed.
The Old and the New Testament met in the person of Ambrose— the implacable
hostility to idolatry, the abhorrence of every deviation from the established
formulary of belief; the wise and courageous benevolence, the
* Theodoret,
iv. 7.
generous and
unselfish devotion to the great inter- ciiap.
. x
ests
of humanity. t ' ' ,
If
Christianity assumed a haughtier and more rigid tone in the conduct and
writings of Ambrose, it was by no means forgetful of its gentler duties, in
allaying human misery, and extending its beneficent care to the utmost bounds
of society. With Ambrose it began its high office of mitigating the horrors of
slavery, which now that war raged in turn on every frontier, might seem to threaten
individually the whole free population of the empire. Rome, who had drawn new
supplies of slaves from almost every frontier of her dominions, now suffered
fearful reprisals; her free citizens were sent into captivity and sold in the
markets by the barbarians, whose ancestors had been bought and bartered by her
insatiable slave trade. The Redemp- splendid offerings of piety, the ornaments,
even the captives by consecrated vessels of the churches, were prodigally Ambrose*
expended by the Bishop of Milan, in the redemption of captives.* “ The church
possesses gold, not to treasure up, but to distribute it for the welfare and
happiness of men. We are ransoming the souls of men from eternal perdition. It
is not merely the lives of men, and the honour of women, which are endangered
in captivity, but the faith of their children. The blood of redemption which
has gleamed in those golden cups has sanctified them, not for the service
alone, but for the redemption of man.” t
* Numerent
quos redemcrint heathen orator. Ambros. Epist. ii., templa eaptivos. So Ambrose ap- in Symmachum. peals, in excusable pride, to the f Ofiic.
c. 15. c. 28.
book These
arguments may be considered as a generous t 11L ,
repudiation of the ecclesiastical spirit for the nobler ends of beneficence ;
and, no doubt, in that mediation of the church between mankind and the miseries
of slavery, which was one of her most constant and useful ministrations during
the darker period of human society, the example and authority of Ambrose
perpetually encouraged the generosity of the more liberal, and repressed the
narrow view of those who considered the consecrated treasures of the church
inviolable, even for these more sacred objects.*
The
ecclesiastical zeal of Ambrose, like that of Chrysostom, scorned the limits of
his own diocese. The see of Sirmium was vacant; Ambrose appeared in that city
to prevent the election of an Arian, and to secure the appointment of an
orthodox a. d. 379. bishop. The strength of the opposite
party lay in the zeal and influence of the Empress Justina. Ambrose defied
both, and made himself a powerful and irreconcilable enemy. a. d. 383.
But, for a time, Justina was constrained to suppress her resentment. In a few
years, Ambrose appears in a new position for a Christian bishop, as the
mediator between rival competitors for the empire. The ambassador sent to
Maximus (who had assumed the purple in Gaul, and, after the murder of Gratian,
might be reasonably suspected of hostile designs on Italy), was no
distinguished warrior, or influential civilian ; the difficult nego-
* Even
Fleury argues that these could not be consecrated vessels.
ciation was
forced upon the bishop of Milan. The ciiap. character and weight of Ambrose
appeared the best t " ' , protection of the young Valentinian.
Ambrose is a. «. 375. said to have refused to communicate with Maximus, the
murderer of his sovereign. The interests of his earthly monarch or of the
empire would not induce him to sacrifice for an instant those of his heavenly
Master; he would have no fellowship with the man of blood.* Yet so completely,
either by his ability as a negociator, or his dignity and sanctity as a
prelate, did he overawe the usurper, as to avert the evils of war, and to
arrest the hostile invasion of his diocese and of Italy. He succeeded in
establishing peace.
But the
gratitude of Justina for this essential Dispute service could not avert the
collision of hostile Empress religious creeds. The Empress demanded one of Just,na-
the churches in Milan for the celebration of the Arian service. The first and
more modest request named the Porcian Basilica without the gates, but these
demands rose to the new and largest edifice within the walls.t The answer of
Ambrose was firm and distinct; it asserted the inviolability of all property in
the possession of the church—“ A bishop cannot alienate that which is dedicated
to God.” After some fruitless negociation, the officers of the Emperor
proceeded to take possession of the Porcian Basilica. Where these buildings had
belonged to the state, the Emperor might still, perhaps, assert the right of
property. Tumults
* The
seventeenth Epistle of f Paul.Vit. Ambrose. Ambros.
Ambrose relates the whole trans- Epist. xx. action, p. 852.
book arose: an
Arian priest was severely handled, and
* , only rescued from the hands of the
populace by the influence of Ambrose Many wealthy persons were thrown into
prison by the government, and heavy fines exacted on account of these
seditions. But the inflexible Ambrose persisted in his refusal to acknowledge
the imperial authority over things dedicated to God. When he was commanded to
allay the populace, “it is in my power,” he answered, “ to refrain from
exciting their violence, but it is for God to appease it when excited.* The
soldiers surrounded the building; they threatened to violate the sanctity of
the church, in which Ambrose was performing the usual solemnities. The bishop
calmly continued his functions, and his undisturbed countenance seemed as if
his whole mind was absorbed in its devotion. The soldiers entered the church ;
the affrighted females began to fly; but the rude and armed men fell on their
knees and assured Ambrose that they came to pray and not to fight.t Ambrose
ascended the pulpit; his sermon was on the Book of Job; he enlarged on the
conduct of the wife of the patriarch, who commanded him to blaspheme God; he
compared the Empress with this example of impiety; he went on to compare her
with Eve, with Jezebel, with Herodias. “ The Emperor demands a church — what
* Referebam in meo jure esse, of Alexandria and Constantinople,
ut non excitarem, in Dei manu, uti and here at Milan. Were the one
mitigaret. raised
from the vicious population
■f It would be curious if we of the
Eastern cities, the other
could ascertain the different con- partly composed of barbarians?
stitution of the troops employed in How much is justly to be attributed
the irreverent scenes in the churches to the character of the prelate?
has the
Emperor to do with the adulteress, the church of the heretics?” Intelligence
arrived that the populace were tearing down the hangings of the church, on
which was the sacred image of the sovereign, and which had been suspended in
the Porcian Basilica, as a sign that the church had been taken into the
possession of the Emperor. Ambrose sent some of his priests to allay the
tumult, but went not himself. He looked triumphantly around on his armed
devotees : “ The Gentiles have entered into the inheritance of the Lord, but
the armed Gentiles have become Christians, and coheirs of God. My enemies are
now my defenders.” A confidential secretary of the Emperor appeared, not to
expel or degrade the refractory prelate, but to deprecate his tyranny. “ Why do
ye hesitate to strike down the tyrant,” replied Ambrose, “ my only defence is
in my power of exposing my life for the honour of God.” He proceeded with proud
humility, “ Under the ancient law, priests have bestowed, they have not
condescended to assume empire; kings have desired the priesthood, rather than
priests the royal power.” He appealed to his influence over Maximus, which had
averted the invasion of Italy. The imperial authority quailed before the
resolute prelate; the soldiers were withdrawn, the prisoners released, and the
fines annulled.* When the Emperor himself was urged to confront Ambrose in the
church, the timid or
CIIAP.
X.
v V '
The Emperor yields to Ambrose.
* Certatim
hoc nuntiare milites, ceived that God had stricken Lu- irrucntes in altaria,
osculis signi- cifer, the great Dragon (vermem ficare pacis insigne. Ambrose
per- antelucanum).
book prudent youth
replied, “ His eloquence would ' , compel yourselves to lay me bound hand and
foot before his throne.” To such a height had the sacerdotal power attained
in the West, when wielded by a man of the energy and determination of Ambrose.*
But the
pertinacious animosity of the Empress was not yet exhausted. A law was passed
authorising the assemblies of the Arians. A second struggle took place ; a new
triumph for Ambrose ; a new defeat for the Imperial power. From his inviolable
citadel, his church, Ambrose uttered in courageous security his defiance. An
emphatic sentence expressed the prelate’s notion of the relation of the civil
and religious power, and proclaimed the subordination of the Emperor within
the mysterious circle of sacerdotal authority—“ The Emperor is of the church,
and in the church, but not above the church.”
Was it to be
supposed that the remonstrances of expiring Paganism would make any impression
upon a court thus under subjection to one, who, by exercising the office of
protector in the time of peril, assumed the right to dictate on subjects which
appeared more completely within his sphere of jurisdiction? If Arianism in the
person of the
* Ambrose
relates that one of off thy head.”
Ambrose replied,
the officers of the court, more “ God grant that thou mayest fulfil
daring than the rest, presumed to thy menace. I shall suffer the fate
resent this outrage, as he consi- of a bishop; thou wilt do the act of
dered it,on the Emperor. “While an eunuch” (tu fades, quod spa-
I live, dost thou thus treat Valen- dones). tinian with contempt? I will strike
X.
Empress was
compelled to bow, Paganism could chap. scarcely hope to obtain even a patient
hearing.
We have already
related the contest between expiring Polytheism and ascendant Christianity in
the persons of Symmachus and of Ambrose. The more polished periods and the
gentle dignity of Symmachus might delight the old aristocracy of Rome.
But the full
flow of the more vehement eloquence of Ambrose, falling into the current of
popular opinion at Milan, swept all before it.* By this time the Old Testament
language and sentiment with regard to idolatry were completely incorporated
with the Christian feeling; and when Ambrose enforced on a Christian Emperor
the sacred duty of intolerance against opinions and practices, which scarcely a
century before had been the established religion of the Empire, his zeal was
supported almost by the unanimous applause of the Christian world.
Ambrose did
not rely on his eloquence alone, or on the awful ness of his sacerdotal
character, to control the public mind. The champion of the
* The most
curious fact relating the fantastic
analogies and recondite
to Ambrose, is the extraordinary significations which he perceives in •
contrast between his vigorous, prae- almost every word, with the vain
tical, and statesmanlike character ingenuity of Ambrose: every word
as a man, as well as that of such or number reminds him of every
among his writings, as may be other place in the Scripture in
called public and popular, and the which the same word or number
mystic subtlety which fills most of occurs; and stringing them together
his theological works. He treats with this loose connection, he works
the Scripture as one vast allegory, out some latent mystic signification,
and propounds his own fanciful which he would suppose to have
interpretation, or corollaries, with been within the intention of the
as much authority as if they were the inspired writer. See particularly
plain sense of the sacred writer, the Hexaemeron.
No retired schoolman follows out
III.
book Church was
invested by popular belief, perhaps by his own ardent faith, with miraculous
power, and the high state of religious excitement was maintained in Milan by
the increasing dignity and splendour of the ceremonial, and by the pompous
installation of the relics of saints within the principal church.
It cannot
escape the observation of a calm inquirer into the history of man, or be
disguised by an admirer of a rational, pious, and instructive Christian
ministry, that whenever, from this period, the clergy possessed a full and
dominant power, the claim to supernatural power is more frequently and
ostentatiously made, while where they possess a less complete ascendancy,
miracles cease. While Ambrose was at least availing himself of, if not encouraging,
this religious credulity, Chrysostom, partly, no doubt, from his own good
sense, partly from respect for the colder and more inquisitive character of his
audience, not merely distinctly disavows miraculous powers in his own person,
but asserts that long ago they had come to an end.* But in Milan the archbishop
asserts his own belief in,
* Aid tovto
Trapu fiev t?)v cipxrjv of Julian and of Maximin. Buthe Kai avaKtoig
xapiVjuam IHSoto’ xPtl~ gives the
death of Julian as one of ctv yap tlx* to 7ra\aibi'yT}]g Tricrrtoig those miracles. Kai yap Kai cka 'iviKO, Tavrijg
riig (3ot)9tiag' vvv tk tovto, Kai
<Y tripov ra aijfitia tiravatv ovSi ii&oig SidoTat. In Act. vol. iii. o Gtog, in Matt. vii. 375. Compare G5. M>)
Toivw to p.i) ytvtcOai vvv also vol. i. p.
411. xi. 397. in Coloss. atjfitla, TtK[it)piov 7roiov tov fit) yf- on Psalm cxlii. vol. v. p. 455. Mid- ytvijoQai
tots, Kai yap di) toti xPV* dleton has
dwelt at length on this ai/iiog iyiviTo, Kai vvv xp^aifnaQ ov subject. Works, vol. i. p. 103. yiverai.
See the whole passage Augustine denies the continu- in Cor. Horn. vi. xi. 45. On Psalm ance of miracles with equal dis- cx.,
indeed, vol. v. p. 271., he seems tinctness.
Cum enim Ecclesia Cato assert the continuance of mi- tholica per totum orbem diffusa at- racles, particularly during the
reign que fundata sit, nec miracula ilia
and the eager
enthusiasm of the people did not hesi- chap. tate to embrace as unquestionable
truth, the public , * display of preternatural power in the streets of the
city. A dream revealed to the pious prelate the spot, where rested the relics
of the martyrs, St. Gervaise and Protadius. As they approached the spot, a man
possessed by a demon was seized with a paroxysm, which betrayed his trembling
consciousness of the presence of the holy remains. The bones of two men of
great stature were found, with much blood.* The bodies were disinterred, and
conveyed in solemn pomp to the Ambrosian Church.
They were
reinterred under the altar; they became the tutelary Saints of the spot.t A
blind butcher, named Sever us, recovered his eyesight by the application of a
handkerchief, which had touched the relics, and this was but one of many
wonders which were universally supposed to have been
in nostra tempora durare permissa sunt, lie
animus semper visibilia quasreret, et eorum eonsuetudine frigesceret genus
humanum, quorum novitate flagravit. De
Vera Relig. c. 47. Oper. i. 765. Yet Fleury appeals, and not without ground, to
the repeated testimony of St. Augustine, as eye-witness of this miracle; and
the reader of St. Augustine’s works, even his noblest (see lib. xx. e. 8.), the
City of God, cannot but call to mind perpetual instances of miraculous
occurrences related with unhesitating faith. It is singular how often we hear
at one time the strong intellect of Augustine, at another the age of
Augustine, .speaking in his works.
* The
Arians denied this miracle,
Ambrose, Epist. xxii. Invenimus mirae
magnitudinis viros duos, ut prisca cstas fercbat. Did Ambrose suppose that the race of men had degenerated in the last two
or three centuries ? or that the heroes of the faith had been gifted with
heroic stature ? The sermon of Ambrose is a strange rhapsody, which would only
suit an highly excited audience. He acknowledges that these martyrs were
unknown, and that the church of Milan was before barren of relics.
-J- “ Succedunt victimje triumph- ales in locum ubi Christus natus est;
sed ille super altare qui pro omnibus passus est; isti sub altari qui illius
reveriti sunt passionem but Ambrose calls them the guardians and defenders of
the Church.
B?nK
wrouS^t by the smallest article of dress, which had i ,
imbibed the miraculous virtue of these sacred bones.
The
awe-struck mind was never permitted to repose ; more legitimate means were
employed to maintain the ardent belief, thus enforced upon the multitude. The
whole ceremonial of the church was conducted by Ambrose with unrivalled solemnity
and magnificence. Music was cultivated with the utmost care; some of the
noblest hymns of the Latin Church are attributed to Ambrose himself, and the
Ambrosian service for a long period distinguished the Church of Milan by the
grave dignity and simple fullness of its harmony.*
But the
sacerdotal dignity of Ambrose might command a feeble boy : he had now to
confront the imperial majesty in the person of one of the greatest men who had
ever worn the Roman purple. Even in the midst of his irreconcilable feud with
the heretical Empress, Ambrose had been again entreated to spread the shield
of his protection over the youth - Second ful Emperor. He had undertaken a
second embassy Maximus!5 to the usurper Maximus. Maximus, as if he
feared the awful influence of Ambrose over his mind, refused to admit the
priestly ambassador, except to a public audience. Ambrose was considered as
condescending from his dignity, in approaching the throne of the Emperor. The
usurper reproached him for his former interference, by which he had been
arrested in his invasion of Italy, and had lost the opportunity of becoming
master of the unresisting province. Ambrose answered with
* This subject will recur at a later part of this
volume.
pardonable
pride, that he accepted the honourable CI£AP* accusation
of having saved the orphan Emperor, v—y_j He then arrayed himself,
as it were, in his priestly inviolability, reproached Maximus with the murder
of Gratian, and demanded his remains. He again refused all spiritual communion
with one guilty of innocent blood, for which as yet he had submitted to no
ecclesiastical penance. Maximus, as might have been expected, drove from his
court the daring prelate, who had thus stretched to the utmost the sanctity of
person attributed to an ambassador and a bishop. Ambrose, however, returned
not merely safe, but without insult or outrage, to his Italian diocese.*
The arms of
Theodosius decided the contest, Accession and secured the trembling throne of
Valentinian sLThe°d°’ the younger. But the accession of Theodosius,
A> D- 388, instead of obscuring the rival pretensions
of the Church to power and influence, seemed to confirm and strengthen them.
That such a mind as that of Theodosius should submit with humility to ecclesiastical
remonstrance and discipline tended no doubt, beyond all other events, to
overawe mankind. Everywhere else throughout the Roman world, the state, and
even the Church, bowed at the feet of Theodosius ; in Milan alone, in the
height of his power, he was confronted and subdued by the more commanding mind
and religious majesty of Ambrose. His justice as well as his dignity quailed
beneath the ascendancy of the prelate. A synagogue of the Jews at Callinicum,
in
Bm.K
Osroene> had been burned by the Christians, it v—Y—»
was said, at the instigation, if not under the actual synagogue sanctioil>
of the Bishop. The church of the Valen- destroyed. tinian Gnostics had likewise
been destroyed and plundered by the zeal of some monks. Theodosius commanded
the restoration of the synagogue at the expense of the Christians, and a fair
compensation to the heretical Valentinians for their losses.
The pious
indignation of Ambrose was not restrained either by the remoteness of these
transactions from the scene of his own labours, or by the undeniable violence
of the Christian party. Ambrose.0 He stood forward, designated, it
might seem, by his situation and character, as the acknowledged champion of the
whole of Christianity; the sacerdotal power was embodied in his person. In a
letter to the Emperor, he boldly vindicated the Bishop ; he declared himself,
as far as his approbation could make him so, an accomplice in the glorious and
holy crime. If martyrdom was the consequence, he claimed the honour of that
martyrdom ; he declared it to be utterly irreconcilable with Christianity,
that it should in any way contribute to the restoration of Jewish or heretical
worship.* If the Bishop should comply with the
* Hac
proposita conditione, pu- beres. Quid
mandas in absentes
to
dicturum episcopum, quod ipse judicium? Habes praesentem, ha-
ignes sparserit, turbas compulerit, bes confitentem reum. Proclamo,
populos concluserit, lie amittat oc- quod ego synagogam incenderim,
casionem martyrii, ut pro invalidis certe quod ego illis mandaverim,
subjiciat validiorem. O beatum ne esset locus, in quo Christus ne-
mendacium quo adquiritur sibi ali- garetur. Si objiciatur mihi, cur hie
orum absolutio, sui gratia. Hoc non incenderim ? Divinojam ccepit
est, Imperator, quod poposci et crernari judicio ; meum cessavit
ego, ut in me magis vindicares, et opus. Epist. xxiv. p. 561. hoc si crimen
putares mihi adscri-
mandate, he
would be an apostate, and the Em- C”AP* peror would be
answerable for his apostasy. This *— Y act was but a slight and
insufficient retaliation for the deeds of plunder and destruction perpetrated
by the Jews and heretics against orthodox Christians. The letter of Ambrose
did not produce the desired effect; but the bishop renewed his address in
public in the church, and at length extorted from the Emperor the impunity of
the offenders.
Then, and not
till then, he condescended to approach the altar, and to proceed with the
service of God.
Ambrose felt
his strength ; he feared not to assert that superiority of the altar over the
throne which was a fundamental maxim of his Christianity.
There is no
reason to ascribe to ostentation, or to sacerdotal ambition, rather than to the
profound conviction of his mind, the dignity which he vindicated for the
priesthood, the authority supreme and without appeal in all things which
related to the ceremonial of religion. Theodosius endured, and the people
applauded, his public exclusion of ' the Emperor from within the impassable
rails, which fenced off the officiating priesthood from the profane laity. An
exemption had usually been made for the sacred person of the Emperor, and,
according to this usage, Theodosius ventured within the forbidden precincts.
Ambrose, with lofty courtesy, pointed to the seat or throne reserved for the
Emperor, at the head of the laity. Theodosius submitted to the rebuke, and
withdrew to the lowlier station.
book But if these
acts of Ambrose mio-ht to some
III • •
t ^
’ , appear unwise or unwarrantable aggressions on the dignity of the civil
magistrate ; or if to the prophetic sagacity of others they might foreshow
th'e growth of an enormous and irresponsible authority, and awaken
well-grounded apprehension or jealousy, the Roman world could not withhold its
admiration from another act of the Milanese prelate : it could not but hail the
appearance of a new moral power, enlisted on the side of humanity and justice;
a power which could bow the loftiest, as well as the meanest, under its
dominion. For the first time since the establishment of the imperial
despotism, the voice of a subject was heard in deliberate, public, and
authoritative condemnation of a deed of atrocious tyranny, and sanguinary
vengeance ; for the first time, an Emperor of Rome trembled before public
opinion, and humbled himself to a contrite confession of guilt and cruelty. Massacre
of With all his wisdom and virtue, Theodosius was lonica. liable to paroxysms
of furious and ungovernable a. d. 390. anger. A dispute had arisen in Thessalonica about a
favourite charioteer in the circus ; out of the dispute, a sedition, in which
some lives were lost. The imperial officers, who interfered to suppress the
fray, were wounded or slain, and Botheric, the representative of the Emperor,
treated with indignity. Notwithstanding every attempt on the part of the
clergy to allay the furious resentment of Theodosius, the counsels of the more
violent advisers prevailed. Secret orders were issued ; the circus, filled with
the whole population of the city,
was
surrounded by troops, and a general and in- chap.
discriminate
massacre of all ages and sexes, the ,_________________
guilty and
the innocent, revenged the insult 011 the imperial dignity. Seven thousand
lives were sacrificed in this remorseless carnage.
On the first
intelligence of this atrocity, Ambrose, with prudent self-command, kept aloof
from the exasperated Emperor. He retired into the country, and a letter from
his own hand was delivered to the sovereign. The letter expressed the horror of
Ambrose and his brother bishops at this inhuman deed, in which he should
consider himself an accomplice if he could refrain from expressing his
detestation of its guilt; if he should not refuse to communicate with a man
stained with the innocent blood, not of one, but of thousands. He exhorts him
to penitence ; he promises his prayers in his behalf. He acted up to his declaration
; the Emperor of the world found the doors of the church closed against him.
For eight months he endured this ignominious exclusion. Even on the sacred day
of the Nativity, he implored in vain to be admitted within those precincts
which were open to the slave and to the beggar ; those precincts which were the
vestibule to heaven, for through the church alone was heaven to be approached.
Submission and remonstrance were alike in vain ; to an urgent minister of the
sovereign, Ambrose calmly replied, that the Emperor might kill him, and pass
over his body into the sanctuary.
At length
Ambrose consented to admit the Emperor to an audience ; with difficulty he was
s
2 *
persuaded to
permit him to enter, not into the church itself, but into the outer porch, the
place of the public penitents. At length the interdict was removed on two
conditions; that the Emperor should issue an edict prohibiting the execution of
capital punishments for thirty days after conviction, and that he should submit
to public penance. Stripped of his imperial ornaments, prostrate on the
pavement, beating his breast, tearing his hair, watering the ground with his
tears, the master of the Roman empire, the conqueror in so many victories, the
legislator of the world, at length received the hard wrung absolution.
This was the
culminating point of pure Christian influence. Christianity appeared before the
world as the champion and vindicator of outraged humanity; as having founded a
tribunal of justice, which extended its protective authority over the meanest,
and suspended its retributive penalties over the mightiest of mankind,
Nearly at the
same time (about four years before) _ had been revealed the latent danger from
this new unlimited sovereignty over the human mind. The first blood teas
judicially shed for religious opinion. Far however from apprehending the fatal
consequences which might arise out of their own exclusive and intolerant
sentiments, or foreseeing that the sacerdotal authority, which they fondly and
sincerely supposed they were strengthening for the unalloyed welfare of
mankind, would seize and wield the sword of persecution with such remorseless
and unscrupulous severity, this first fatal libation of Christian blood, which
was the act of an
usurping
Emperor, and a few foreign bishops, was ciiap. solemnly disclaimed by all the
more influential v * ' , dignitaries of the Western Church.
Priscillian, a Pi -iscillian noble and eloquent Spaniard, had embraced some
fowe«! °" Manichean or rather Gnostic opinions. The same contradictory
accusations of the severest asceticism and of licentious habits, which were so
perpetually adduced against the Manicheans, formed the chief charge against
Priscillian and his followers. The leaders of the sect had taken refuge, from
the persecutions of their countrymen, in Gaul, and propagated their opinions to
some extent in Aquitaine. They were pursued with unwearied animosity by the
Spanish Bishops Ithacius and Idacius. Maximus, the usurping Emperor of Gaul,
who then resided at Treves, took cognisance of the case. In vain the celebrated
Martin of Tours, whose life Martin of was almost an unwearied campaign against
idolatry, Tours' and whose unrelenting hand had demolished every
religious edifice within his reach ; a prelate whose dread of heresy was almost
as sensitive as of Paganism, urged his protest against these proceedings with
all the vehemence of his character. During his absence, a capital sentence was
extorted from the Emperor ; Priscillian and some of his followers were put to
death by the civil authority for the crime of religious error. The fatal
precedent was disowned by the general voice of Christianity. It required
another considerable period of ignorance and bigotry to deaden the fine moral
sense of Christianity to the total abandonment of its spirit of love. When
Ambrose reproached the usurper Conduct of
_ Ambrose.
s 3
1300 K III.
a. ». 392.
Death of Valonti- nian. a. d. 393.
Death of Theodosius.
a.
i). 395.
Death of Ambrose. a. a. 397.
with the
murder of his sovereign, Gratian, he reminded him likewise of the unjust
execution of the Priscillianists ; he refused to communicate with the bishops
who had any concern in that sanguinary and unchristian transaction.*
Ambrose
witnessed and lamented the death of the young Valentinian, over whom he
pronounced a funeral oration. On the usurpation of the Pagan Eugenius, he fled
from Milan, but returned to behold and to applaud the triumph of Theodosius.
The conquering Emperor gave a new proof of his homage to Christianity and to its
representative. Under the influence of Ambrose, he refrained for a time from
communicating in the Christian mysteries, because his hands were stained with
blood, though that blood had been shed in a just and necessary war.t To Ambrose
the dying Emperor commended his sons, and the Bishop of Milan pronounced the
funeral oration over the last great Emperor of the world.
He did not
long survive his imperial friend. It is related that, when Ambrose was on his
deathbed, Stilicho, apprehending the loss of such a man to Italy and to
Christendom, urged the principal inhabitants of Milan to entreat the effective
prayers of the bishop for his own recovery. “ I have not so lived among you,”
replied Ambrose, “ as to be ashamed to live; I have so good a Master, that I am
not afraid to die.” Ambrose expired in the attitude and in the act of prayer.
* Ambros.
Epist. xxiv. The f Oratio de Obitu Theodos. 31. whole transaction in Snlpicius
Sever. E. H. and Life of St. Martin.
While Ambrose
was thus assuming an unpre- cii^ap. cedented supremacy over his own age, and i t *
, deepening and strengthening the foundation of the ecclesiastical power,
Augustine was beginning gradually to consummate that total change in human
opinion which was to influence the Christianity of the remotest ages.
Of all
Christian writers since the Apostles, Au- Augustine, gustine has maintained the
most permanent and extensive influence. That influence, indeed, was unfelt, or
scarcely felt, in the East; but as the East gradually became more estranged,
till it was little more than a blank in Christian history, the dominion of
Augustine over the opinions of the Western world was eventually over the whole
of Christendom. Basil and Chrysostom spoke a language foreign or dead to the
greater part of the Christian world. The Greek empire, after the reign of Justinian,
gradually contracting its limits and sinking into abject superstition, forgot
its own great writers on the more momentous subjects of religion and morality,
for new controversialists 011 frivolous and insignificant points of difference.
The more important feuds, as of Nestorianism, made little progress in the
West; the West repudiated almost with one voice the iconoclastic opinions ;
and at length Mohammedanism swept away its fairest provinces, and limited the
Greek church to a still narrowing circle. The Latin language thus became almost
that of Christianity; Latin writers the sole authority to which men appealed,
or from which they imperceptibly imbibed the tone of
s 4
rook religious doctrine or sentiment. Of these, Au- t
1H‘ , gustine was the most universal, the most com manding, the most
influential.
The earliest
Christian writers had not been able or willing altogether to decline some of
the more obvious and prominent points of the Augustinian theology ; but in his
works they were first wrought up into a regular system. Abstruse topics, which
had been but slightly touched, or dimly hinted in the Apostolic writings, and
of which the older creeds had been entirely silent, became the prominent and
unavoidable tenets of Christian doctrine. Augustinianism has constantly
revived, in all its strongest and most peremptory statements, in every period
of religious excitement. In later days, it formed much of the doctrinal system
of Luther; it was worked up into a still more rigid and uncompromising system
by the severe intellect of Calvin ; it was remoulded into the Roman Catholic
doctrine by Jansenius ; the popular theology of most of the Protestant sects is
but a modified Augustinianism/ Augus- Christianity had now accomplished its
divine
tinian . . _ . .
theology, mission, so far as impregnating the Homan world with its first
principles, the unity of God, the immortality of the soul, and future
retribution. These vital questions between the old Paganism and the new
religion had been decided by their almost general adoption into the common
sentiments of mankind. And now questions naturally and necessarily arising
out of the providential government of that Supreme Deity, out of that conscious
immortality, and out of that acknowledged retribution,
liacl begun
profoundly to agitate the human heart. The nature of man had been stirred in
its inmost depths. The hopes and fears, now centered on another state of being,
were ever restlessly hovering over the abyss into which they were forced to
gaze. As men were not merely convinced, but deeply penetrated, with the belief
that they had souls to be saved, the means, the process, the degree of
attainable assurance concerning salvation, became subjects of anxious inquiry.
Every kind of information on these momentous topics was demanded with
importunity, and hailed with eagerness. With the ancient philosophy, the moral
condition of man was a much simpler and calmer subject of consideration. It
could coldly analyse every emotion, trace the workings of every passion, and
present its results ; if in eloquent language, kindling the mind of the hearer,
rather by that language, than by the excitement of the inquiry. It was the
attractive form of the philosophy, the adventitious emotion produced by bold
paradox, happy invention, acute dialectics, which amused and partially
enlightened the inquisitive mind. But now mingled up with religion, every
sensation, every feeling, every propensity, every thought, had become not
merely a symptom of the moral condition, but an element in that state of
spiritual advancement or deterioration which was to be weighed and examined in
the day of judgment. The ultimate and avowed object of philosophy, the summum
bonum, the greatest attainable happiness, shrunk into an unimportant
consideration. These
were
questions of spiritual life and death, and the solution was therefore embraced
rather by the will and the passions, than by the cool and sober reason. The
solution of these difficulties was the more acceptable in proportion as it was
peremptory and dogmatic; any thing could be endured rather than uncertainty,
and Augustine himself was, doubtless, urged more by the desire of peace to his
own anxious spirit than by the ambition of dictating1 to
Christianity on these abstruse topics. The influence of Augustine thus concentered
the Christian mind on subjects to which Christianity led, but did not answer
with fulness or precision. The Gospels and Apostolic writings paused within the
border of attainable human knowledge ; Augustine fearlessly rushed forward, or
was driven by his antagonists ; and partly from the reasonings of a new
religious philosophy, partly by general inferences from limited and particular
phrases in the sacred writings, framed a complete, it must be acknowledged, and
as far as its own consistency, an harmonious system ; but of which it was the
inevitable tendency to give an overpowering importance to problems on which
Christianity, wisely measuring, it should seem, the capacity of the human mind,
had declined to utter any final or authoritative decrees. Almost up to this
period in Christian history*, on these mysterious topics, all was unquestioned
and undefined ; and though they could not but cross the path of Christian
reasoning,
* In the
Historia Pelagiana of earlier Fathers on many of these Vossius may he found
quotations points, expressive of the sentiments of the
— could not but be incidentally noticed, they
had, as yet, undergone no full or direct investigation. Nothing but the calmest
and firmest philosophy could have avoided or eluded these points, on which,
though the human mind could not attain to knowledge, it was impatient of
ignorance. The immediate or more remote, the direct or indirect, the sensible
or the imperceptible, influence of the divine agency (grace) on the human soul,
with the inseparable consequences of necessity and free-will, thus became the
absorbing and agitating points of Christian doctrine. From many causes, these
inevitable questions had forced themselves, at this period, on the general
attention ; Manicheism on one hand, Pelagianism on the other, stirred up their
darkest depths. The Christian mind demanded on all these topics at once
excitement and rest. Nothing could be more acceptable than the unhesitating
and peremptory decisions of Augustine; and his profound piety ministered
perpetual emotion ; his glowing and perspicuous language, his confident
dogmatism, and the apparent completeness of his system, offered repose.
But the
primary principle of the Augustinian theology was already deeply rooted in the
awestruck piety of the Christian world. In this state of the general mind,
that which brought the Deity more directly and more perpetually in contact with
the soul, at once enlisted all minds which were under the shadow of religious
fears, or softened by any milder religious feeling. It was not a remote
supremacy, a government through unseen and
book un traceable influences, a general reverential
trust
iii. ... .
- i - in the divine protection,
which gave satisfaction to the agitated spirit; but an actually felt and immediate
presence, operating on each particular and most minute part of the creation ;
not a regular and unvarying emanation of the divine will, but a special and
peculiar intervention in each separate case. The whole course of human events,
and the moral condition of each individual, were alike under the acknowledged,
or conscious and direct, operation of the Deity. But the more distinct and
unquestioned this principle, the more the problem which in a different form had
agitated the Eastern world, — the origin of evil, — forced itself on the
consideration. There it had taken a kind of speculative or theogonical turn,
and allied itself with physical notions ; here it became a moral and practical,
and almost every-day question, involving the prescience of God and the freedom
of the human soul. Augustine had rejected Manicheism ; the antagonist and
equally conflicting powers of that system had offended his high conception of
the supremacy of God. Still his earlier Manicheism lent an unconscious
colouring to his maturer opinions. In another form, he divided the world into
regions of cloudless light and total darkness. But he did not mingle the Deity
in anyway in the darkness which enveloped the whole of mankind, a chosen
portion of which alone were rescued, by the gracious intervention of the
Redeemer and the Holy Spirit. The rest were separated by an insuperable
barrier, that of hereditary evil ; they bore within, the fatal
y . . .
and
inevitable proscription. Within the pale of Election was the world of Light,
without, the world of Perdition ; and the human soul was so reduced to a
subordinate agent before the mysterious and inscrutable power, which, by the
infusion of faith, rescued it from its inveterate hereditary propensity, as to
become entirely passive, altogether annihilated, in overleaping the profound
though narrow gulph, which divided the two kingdoms of Grace and of Perdition.
Thus that
system which assigned the most unbounded and universal influence to the Deity
was seized upon by devout piety as the truth which it would be an impious
limitation of Omnipotence to question. Man offered his free agency on the altar
of his religion, and forgot that he thereby degraded the most wonderful work of
Omnipotence, a being endowed with free agency. While the internal
consciousness was not received as sufficient evidence of the freedom of the
will, it was considered as unquestionable testimony to the operations of divine
grace.
At all
events, these questions now became unavoidable articles of the Christian faith
; from this time the simpler Apostolic Creed, and the splendid amplifications
of the divine attributes of the Trinity, were enlarged, if not by stern definitions,
by dictatorial axioms on original sin, on grace, predestination, the total
depravity of mankind, election to everlasting life, and final reprobation. To
the appellations which awoke what was considered righteous and legitimate
hatred in all true believers,
CIIAI’.
X.
BOOK
III.
Arianism and
Manicheism, was now added as a
term of equal
obloquy, — Pelagianism.
* The
doctrines of Pelagius have been represented as arising out of the monastic
spirit, or at least out of one form of its influence. The high ideal of moral
perfection which the monk set before himself, the conscious strength of will
which was necessary to aspire to that height, the proud impatience and disdain
of the ordinary excuse for infirmity, the inherited weakness and depravity of human
nature, induced the colder and more severe Pelagius to embrace his peculiar
tenets ; the rejection of original sin ; the assertion of the entire freedom
of the will; the denial or limitation of the influence of divine grace. Of the
personal history of Pelagius little is known, except that he was a British or
French monk (his name is said, in one tradition, to have been Morgan), but
neither he nor his colleague Caelestius appears to have been a secluded
ascetic; they dwelt in Rome for some time, where the}' propagated their doctrines.
Of his character perhaps still less is known, unless from his tenets, and some
fragments of his writings, preserved by his adversaries ; excepting that the
blamelessness of his manners is admitted by his adversaries (the term egregie
Christianus is the expression of St. Augustine) : and even the violent Jerome
bears testimony to his innocence of life.
But the tenets of Augustine appear to flow more directly from the
monastic system. His doctrines (in his controversy with Pelagius, for in his
other writings he holds another tone) are tinged with the Encratite or
Manichean notion, that there was a 'physical transmission of sin in the propaga
tion of children, even in lawful marriage. (See, among other writers,
Jer. Taylor’s Vindication of hisDeus Justificatus.) Even this concupis- centia
carnis peccatum est, quia inest illi inobedientia contra domi- natum mentis. De
Pecc. Remis. i. 3. This is the old doctrine of the inherent evil of matter. We
are astonished that Augustine, who had been a father, and a fond father, though
of an illegitimate son, could be driven by the stern logic of polemics to the
damnation of unbaptized infants, a milder damnation, it is true, to eternal
fire. This was the more genuine doctrine of men in whose hearts all the sweet
charities of life had been long seared up by monastic discipline; men like
Fulgentius, to whose name the title of saint is prefixed, and who la}rs
down this benignant and Christian axiom : “Firmissime tene et nullatenus dubites,
parvulos, sive in uteris matrum vivere incipi- unt, et ibi moriuntur, sive cum
de matribus nati, sine sacramento sancto baptismatis de hoe seculo transeunt,
ignis ceterm sempiterno supplicio puniendos.” Fulgentius de Fide, quoted in
Vossius, Hist. Pelag. p. 257.
The assertion of the entire freedom of the will, and the restricted
sense in which Pelagius appears to have received the doctrine of divine grace,
confining it to the influences of the divine revelation, appear to arise out of
philosophical reasonings, rather than out of the monastic spirit. The severe
monastic discipline was more likely to infuse the sense of the slavery of the
will; and the brooding over bodily and mental emotions, the general cause and
result of the monastic spirit,
Augustine, by
the extraordinary adaptation of his genius to his own age, the comprehensive
grandeur of his views, the intense earnestness of his character, his
inexhaustible activity, the vigour, warmth, and perspicuity of his style, had a
right to command the homage of Western Christendom. He was at once the first
universal, and the purest and most powerful of the Latin Christian writers. It
is singular that almost all the earlier Christian authors in the West were
provincials, chiefly of Africa. But the works of Tertullian were, in general,
brief treatises on temporary subjects of controversy; if enlivened by the
natural vehemence and strength of the man, disfigured by the worst barbarisms
of style. The writings of Cyprian were chiefly short epistles or treatises on
subjects of immediate or local interest. Augustine retained the fervour and
energy of the African style with much purer and more perspicuous Latinity. His
ardent imagination was tempered by reasoning powers which boldly grappled with
every subject. He possessed and was unembarrassed by the possession of all the
knowledge which had been accumulated in the Roman world. He commanded the
whole range of Latin literature, and perhaps his influence over his own
hemisphere was not
would tend to exaggerate rather have disposed him to his system ;
than to question or limit the ac- as the more vehement character,
tual, and even sensible workings and agitated religious life of Au-
of the divine spirit within the soul, gustine, to his vindication, founded
The calmer temperament, indeed, on his internal experience of the
and probably more peaceful religi- constant divine agency upon the
ous developement of Pelagius,may heart and the soul.
diminished by
his ignorance, or at best imperfect and late-acquired acquaintance with Greek.*
But all his knowledge and all his acquirements fell into the train of his
absorbing religious sentiments or passions. On the subjects with which he was
conversant, a calm and dispassionate philosophy would have been indignantly
repudiated by the Christian mind, and Augustine’s temperament was too much in
harmony with that of the time to offend by deficiency in fervour. It was
profound religious agitation, not cold and abstract truth, which the age
required; the emotions of piety, rather than the convictions of severe logical
inquiry; and in Augustine, the depth or abstruseness of the matter never
extinguished or allayed the passion, or in one sense, the popularity, of his
style. At different periods of his life, Augustine aspired to and succeeded in
enthralling all the various powers and faculties of the human mind. That life
was the type of his theology; and as it passed through its various changes of
age, of circumstance, and of opinion, it left its own impressions strongly and
permanently stamped upon the whole Latin Christianity. The gentleness of his
childhood, the passions of his youth, the studies of his adolescence, the
wilder dreams of his immature Christianity, the Manicheism, the intermediate
stage of Platonism, through which he passed into orthodoxy, the fervour with
which he embraced, the vigour with which he developed, the unhesitating
confidence
* On St. Augustine’s knowledge by the common people in
the of Greek, compare Tillemont, in his neighbourhood of Carthage.
Life, p. 7. Punic was still spoken
with which he
enforced his final creed—all af- chap.
fected
more or less the general mind. Ilis Con- v________________ J
fessions
became the manual of all those who were forced by their temperament or inclined
by their disposition to brood over the inward sensations of their own minds ;
to trace within themselves all the trepidations, the misgivings, the agonies,
the exultations, of the religious conscience; the gradual formation of opinions
till they harden into dogmas, or warm into objects of ardent passion. Since
Augustine, this internal autobiography of the soul lias always had the deepest
interest for those of strong religious convictions ; it was what multitudes
had felt, but no one had yet embodied in words ; it was the appalling yet attractive
manner in which men beheld all the conflicts and adventures of their own
spiritual life reflected with bold and speaking truth. Men shrunk from the
divine and unapproachable image of Christian perfection in the life of the
Redeemer, to the more earthly, more familiar picture of the development of the
Christian character, crossed with the light and shade of human weakness and
human passion.
The religious
was more eventful than the civil life of St. Augustine. He was born a. d. 354, in Tagasta, an episcopal city
of Numidia. His parents were Christians of respectable rank. In his childhood,
he was attacked by a dangerous illness; he entreated to be baptized ; his
mother Monica took the alarm ; all was prepared for that solemn ceremony ; but
on his recovery, it was deferred, and Augustine remained for some years in the
VOL.
III. T
book humbler rank of catechumen. He received the
, best education, in grammar and
rhetoric, which the
d. 371. neighbouring city of Madaura could afford. At seventeen, lie was
sent to Carthage to finish his studies. Augustine has, perhaps, highly coloured
both the idleness of his period of study in Madaura, and the licentious habits
to which he abandoned himself in the dissolute city of Carthage. His ardent
mind plunged into the intoxicating enjoyments of the theatre, and his excited
passions demanded every kind of gratification. He had a natural son, called by
the somewhat inappropriate name A-deo-datus. He was first arrested in his sensual
course, not by the solemn voice of religion, but by the gentler remonstrances
of Pagan literature. He learned from Cicero, not from the Gospel, the higher
dignity of intellectual attainments. From his brilliant success in his
studies, it is clear that his life, if yielding at times to the temptations of
youth, was not a course of indolence or total abandonment to pleasure. It was
the Hor- tensius of Cicero which awoke his mind to nobler aspirations, and the
contempt of worldly enjoyments.
But
philosophy could not satisfy the lofty desires which it had awakened : he
panted for some better hopes, and more satisfactory objects of study. He turned
to the religion of his parents, but his mind was not subdued to a feeling for
the inimitable beauty of the New Testament. Its simplicity of style appeared
rude, after the stately march of C ully’s
eloquence. But Manicheism seized at once upon his kindled imagination. For nine
years,
from the age
of nineteen to twenty-eight, the mind chap.
of Augustine wandered among the vague and fan- t * , tastic
reveries of Oriental theology. The virtuous and holy Monica, with the anxious
apprehensions and prescient hopes of a mother’s heart, watched over the
irregular development of his powerful mind. Her distress at his Manichean
errors was consoled by an aged bishop, who had himself been involved in the
same opinions. “ Be of good cheer, the child of so many tears cannot perish.”
The step against which she remonstrated most strongly, led to that result which
she scarcely dared to hope. Augustine grew discontented with the wild Manichean
doctrines, which neither satisfied the religious yearnings of his heart, nor
the philosophical demands of his understanding. He was in danger of falling
into a desperate Pyrrhonism, or at best the proud indifference of an Academic. He
determined to seek a more distinguished sphere for his talents as a teacher of
rhetoric; and, notwithstanding his mother’s tears, he left Carthage for Borne.
The fame of his talents obtained him an invitation to teach at Milan. He was
there within the magic circle of the great ecclesiastic of the West. But we
cannot a. r>. 385. pause to trace the throes and pangs of his final
conversion. The writings of St. Paul accomplished what the eloquence of Ambrose
had begun. In one of the paroxysms of his religious agony, he seemed to hear a
voice from heaven,—“Take and read, take and read.” Till now he had rejected the
writings of the Apostle; he opened on the passage which contains the awful
denunciations of Paul against
t 2
book the
dissolute morals of the Heathen. The conscience t 11L ,
of Augustine recognised “ in the chambering and wantonness ” the fearful
picture of his own life; for though lie had abandoned the looser indulgences of
his youth (he had lived in strict fidelity, not to a lawful wife indeed, but to
a concubine) even his mother was anxious to disengage him, by an honourable
marriage, from the bonds of a less legitimate connection. But he burst at once
his thraldom ; shook his old nature from his heart; renounced for ever all,
even lawful indulgences, of the carnal desires ; forswore the world, and
withdrew himself, though without exciting any unnecessary astonishment among
his hearers, from his profaner function as teacher of rhetoric. His mother, who
had fol- Bapiism of lowed him to Milan, lived to witness his baptism as A.Ung387ne* a Catholic
Christian, by the hands of Ambrose ;
and in all
the serene happiness of her accomplished hopes and prayers, expired in his arms
before his return to Africa. His son, Adeodatus, who died a few years
afterwards, was baptized at the same time.
To return to
the writings of St. Augustine, or rather to his life in his writings. In his
con- Controver- troversial treatises against the Manicheans and smiwrmngs against
pelagius, Augustine had the power of seemingly at least, bringing
down those abstruse subjects to popular comprehension. His vehement and
intrepid dogmatism hurried along the unresisting mind, which was allowed no
pause , for the sober examination of difficulties, or was awed into
acquiescence by the still suspended charge of impiety. The imagination was at
the same time
kept awake by
a rich vein of allegoric interpretation, dictated by the same bold decision,
and enforced as necessary conclusions from the sacred writings, or latent
truths intentionally wrapped up in those mysterious phrases.
The City of
God was unquestionably the noblest work, both in its original design and in the
fulness of its elaborate execution, which the genius of man had as yet
contributed to the support of Christianity. Hitherto the Apologies had been
framed to meet particular exigences: they were either brief and pregnant
statements of the Christian doctrines; refutations of prevalent calumnies; invectives
against the follies and crimes of Paganism ; or confutations of anti-Christian
works, like those of Celsus, Porphyry, or Julian, closely following their
course of argument, and rarely expanding into general and comprehensive views
of the great conflict. The City of God, in the first place, indeed, was
designed to decide for ever the one great question, which alone kept in
suspense the balance between Paganism and Christianity, the connection between
the fall of the empire and the miseries under which the whole Roman society was
groaning, with the desertion of the ancient religion of Rome. Even this part of
his theme led Augustine into a full, and, if not impartial, yet far more
comprehensive survey of the whole religion and philosophy of antiquity, than
had been yet displayed in any Christian work. It has preserved more on some
branches of these subjects than the whole surviving Latin literature. The City
of
t 3
C1I A P.
X.
City of / God.
book God was
not merely a defence, it was likewise an t 11L ,
exposition of Christian doctrine. The last twelve books developed the whole
system with a regularity and copiousness, as far as we know, never before
attempted by any Christian writer. It was the first complete Christian
theology. a. d.
4io. The immediate occasion of this important work of Augustine was
worthy of this powerful concen- Occashn tration of his talents and knowledge.
The capture positionm" of Rome by the Goths had appalled the
whole empire. So long as the barbarians only broke through the frontiers, or
severed province after province from the dominion of the Emperor, men could
close their eyes to the gradual declension and decay of the Roman supremacy ;
and in the rapid alternations of power, the empire, under some new Ceesar or
Constantine, might again throw back the barbaric inroads ; or where the
barbarians were settled within the frontiers, awe them into peaceful subjects,
or array them as valiant defenders of their dominions. As long as both Romes,
more especially the ancient city of the West, remained inviolate, so long the
fabric of the Roman greatness seemed unbroken, and she might still assert her
title as Mistress of the World. The capture of Rome dissipated for ever these
proud illusions ; it struck the Roman world to the heart; and in the mortal
agony of the old social system, men wildly grasped at every cause which could
account for this unexpected, this inexplicable, phenomenon. They were as much
overwhelmed with dread and wonder as if there had been no previous omens of
decay, no
slow and progressive approach to the chap. sacred walls ; as if the fate of the
city had not been . . already twice suspended by the venality, the mercy, or
the prudence of the conqueror. Murmurs were again heard impeaching the new
religion as the cause of this disastrous consummation : the deserted gods had
deserted in their turn the apostate city.*
There seems
no doubt that Pagan ceremonies took place in the hour of peril, to avert, if
possible, the imminent ruin. The respect paid by the barbarians to the
churches might, in the zealous or even the wavering votaries of Paganism,
strengthen the feeling of some remote connection between the destroyer of the
civil power and the destroyer of the ancient religions. The Roman aristocracy,
which fled to different parts of the world, more particularly to the yet
peaceful and uninvaded province of Africa; and among whom the feelings of
attachment to the institutions and to the gods of Rome were still the
strongest, were not likely to suppress the language of indignation and sorrow,
or to refrain from the extenuation of their own cowardice and effeminacy, by
ascribing the fate of the city to the irresistible power of the alienated
deities.
Augustine
dedicated thirteen years to the com- A-n*
1
. ° D . . , J
„ . 413 to 426
pletion of
this work, which was for ever to de-
* Orosius
attempted the same observed on this work
of Orosius,—
theme: the Pagans, he asserts, Excitaverat Augustini vibrantis ar-
“ praesentia tantum tempora, veluti ma exemplum Orosium, discipu-
malis extra solitum infestissima, ob lum, ut et ipse arma sumerct, etsi
hoc solum, quod creditur Christus, imbellibus manibus. Opuscula, vi.
et colitur, idola autcm minus co- p. 130. luntur, infamant.” Heyne has well
T 4
book termine this
solemn question, and to silence the IIL , last murmurs of expiring
Paganism. The City of I God
is at .once the funeral oration of the ancient society, the gratulatory
panegyric on the birth of the new. It acknowledged, it triumphed in the
irrevocable fall of the Babylon of the West, the shrine of idolatry; it hailed
at the same time the universal dominion which awaited the new theocratic
polity. The earthly city had undergone its predestined fate; it had passed away
with all its vices and superstitions, with all its virtues and its glories (for
the soul of Augustine was not dead to the noble reminiscences of Roman
greatness), with its false gods and its Heathen sacrifices: its doom was
sealed, and for ever. But in its place had arisen the City of God, the Church
of Christ; a new social system had emerged from the ashes of the old ; that
system was founded by God, was ruled by divine laws, and had the divine promise
of perpetuity.
The first ten
books are devoted to the question of the connection between the prosperity and
the religion of Rome; five to the influence of Paganism in this world ; five in
that in the world to come. Augustine appeals in the five first to the mercy
shown by the conqueror, as the triumph of Christianity. Had the Pagan Rada-
gaisus taken Rome, not a life would have been spared, no place would have been
sacred. The Christian Alaric had been checked and overawed by the sanctity of
the Christian character, and his respect for his Christian brethren. He denies
that
worldly
prosperity is an unerring sign of the divine chap. favour ; he denies the exemption of the
older t Romans from disgrace and distress, and recapitulates the
crimes and the calamities of their history during their worship of their
ancient gods. He ascribes their former glory to their valour, their frugality,
their contempt of wealth, their fortitude, and their domestic virtues ; he
assigns their vices, their frightful profligacy of manners, their pride, their
luxury, their effeminacy, as the proximate ' causes of their ruin. Even in
their ruin they could not forget their dissolute amusements ; the theatres of
Carthage were crowded with the fugitives from Rome. In the five following books
he examines the pretensions of Heathenism to secure felicity in the world to
come; he dismisses with contempt the old popular religion, but seems to
consider the philosophic Theism, the mystic Platonism of the later period, a
worthier antagonist. He puts forth all his subtlety and power in refutation of
these tenets.
The last
twelve books place in contrast the origin, the pretensions, the fate, of the
new city, that of God : he enters at large into the evidences of Christianity ;
he describes the sanctifying effects of the faith ; but pours forth all the
riches of his imagination and eloquence on the destinies of the church at the
Resurrection, Augustine had no vision of the worldly power of the new city ; he
foresaw not the spiritual empire of Rome which would replace the new fallen
Rome of Heathenism. With him the triumph of Christianity is not complete till
the world itself, not merely its outward framework of society and
book the
constitution of its kingdoms, has experienced a t m* ,
total change. In the description of the final kingdom of Christ, he treads his
way with great dexterity and address between the grosser notions of the
Millenarians, with their kingdom of earthly wealth, and power, and luxury (this
he repudiates with devout abhorrence); and that finer and subtler spiritualism,
which is ever approaching to Pantheism, and by the rejection of the bodily
resurrection, renders the existence of the disembodied spirit too fine and
impalpable for the general apprehension. Life of The uneventful personal life
of St. Augustine, Augustine. ^ jeas^ towards its close, contrasts
with that of Ambrose and Chrysostom. After the first throes and travail of his
religious life, described with such dramatic fidelity in his Confessions, he
subsided into a peaceful bishop in a remote and rather inconsiderable town.#
He had not, like Ambrose, to interpose between rival Emperors, or to rule the
conscience of the universal sovereign ; or like Chrysostom, to enter into a
perilous conflict with the vices of a capital and the intrigues of a court.
Forced by the devout admiration of the people to assume the episcopate in the
city of Hippo, he was faithful to his first bride, his earliest, though humble
see. Not that his life was that of contemplative inactivity, or tranquil
literary exertion ; his personal conferences with the leaders of the
Donatists, the Manicheans, the Arians, and Pelagians, and his presence in the
councils of Carthage, displayed
* He was
thirty-five before he he was chosen coadjutor to the was ordained presbyter, a.
d. 389: Bishop of Hippo, a. d. 395.
his power of
dealing with men. His letter to ciiap. Count Boniface showed that lie was not
uncoil- . x' cerned with the public affairs, and his former
connection with Boniface, who at one time had expressed his determination to
embrace the monastic life, might warrant his remonstrance against the fatal
revolt, which involved Boniface and Africa in ruin.
At the close
of his comparatively peaceful life, Augustine was exposed to the trial of his
severe and lofty principles; his faith and his superiority to the world were
brought to the test in the fearful calamities which desolated the whole African
province. No part of the empire had so long escaped ; no part was so fearfully
visited, as Africa by the invasion of the Vandals. The once prosperous and
fruitful region presented to the view only ruined cities, burning villages, a
population thinned by the sword, bowed to slavery, and exposed to every kind of
torture and mutilation. With these fierce barbarians, the awful presence of
Christianity imposed no respect. The churches were not exempt from the general
ruin, the bishops and clergy from cruelty and death, the dedicated virgins from
worse than death. In many places the services of religion entirely ceased from
the extermination of the worshippers, or the flight of the priests. To
Augustine, as the supreme authority in matters of faith or conduct, was
submitted the grave question of the course to be pursued by the clergy ;
whether they were to seek their own security, or to confront the sword of the
ravager. The
book advice of
Augustine was at once lofty and discreet. t ^' , Where the flock
remained, it was cowardice, it was impiety, in the clergy to desert them, and
to deprive them in those disastrous times of the consolatory offices of
religion, their children of baptism, themselves of the holy Eucharist. But
where the priest was an especial object of persecution, and his place might be
supplied by another ; where the flock was massacred or dispersed, or had
abandoned their homes, the clergy might follow them, and if possible provide
for their own security.
Augustine did
not fall below his own high notions of Christian, of episcopal duty. When the
Vandal army gathered around Hippo, one of the few cities which still afforded a
refuge for the persecuted provincials, he refused, though more than seventy
years old, to abandon his post. a. v.
430. In the third month of the siege he was released by death, and
escaped the horrors of the capture, the cruelties of the conqueror, and the
desolation of his church.#
* In the
life of Augustine, 1 with the passages in his Confessions have chiefly
consulted that pre- and Epistles, fixed to his works, and Tillemont,
CHAP.
XI.
CHAP. XI.
JEROME. THE
MONASTIC SYSTEM.
Though not so directly or magisterially dominant Jerome, over the Christianity
of the West, the influence of Jerome has been of scarcely less importance than
that of Augustine. Jerome was the connecting link between the East and the
West; through him, as it were, passed over into the Latin hemisphere of
Christendom that which was still necessary for its permanence and independence
during the succeeding ages. The time of separation approached, when the
Eastern and Western empires, the Latin and the Greek languages, were to divide
the world. Western Christianity was to form an entirely separate system ; the
different nations and kingdoms which were to arise out of the wreck of the
Roman empire were to maintain, each its national church, but there was to be a
permanent centre of unity in that of Rome, considered as the common parent and
federal head of Western Christendom. But before this vast and silent revolution
took place, certain preparations, in which Jerome was chiefly instrumental,
gave strength, and harmony, and vitality to the religion of the West, from
which the precious inheritance has been secured to modern Europe.
The two
leading transactions in which Jerome took the effective part, were— 1st, the
introduction, or at least the general reception, of Mo-
book nachism in
the West; 2d, the establishment of
* , an authoritative and universally
recognised version of the sacred writings into the Latin language. For both
these important services, Jerome qualified himself by his visits to the East;
he was probably the first occidental (though born in Dalmatia, he may be almost
considered a Roman, having passed all his youth in that city) who became
completely naturalised and domiciliated in Judaea; and his example, though it
did not originate, strengthened to an extraordinary degree the passion for
pilgrimages to the Holy Land ; a sentiment in later times productive of such
vast and unexpected results. In the earlier period, the repeated devastations
of that devoted country, and still more its occupation by the Jews, had
overpowered the natural veneration of the Christians for the scene of the life
and sufferings of the Redeemer. It was an accursed rather than a holy region,
desecrated by the presence of the murderers of the Lord, rather than endeared
by the reminiscences of his personal ministry and expiatory death. The total
ruin of the Jews, and their expulsion from Jerusalem by Hadrian; their
dispersion into other lands, with the simultaneous progress of Christianity in
Palestine, and their settlement in .ZElia, the Roman Jerusalem, notwithstanding
the profanation of that city by idolatrous emblems, allowed those more gentle
and sacred feelings to grow up in strength and silence.*
* Augustineassertsthatthe
w//ofe him, were undertaken to Arabia
to
world flocked to Bethlehem to see see thedung-heap on which Job sate,
the place of Christ’s nativity, t. i. t.ii. p. 59. For 180 years, accord-
p,5Gl. Pilgrimages, according to ingto Jerome,from Hadrian to Con-
Already,
before the time of Jerome, pilgrims had CH^VIP*
flowed from all quarters of the world ; and during , t ‘ his life,
whoever had attained to any proficiency in religion, in Gaul, or in the
secluded island of Britain, was eager to obtain a personal knowledge of these
hallowed places. They were met by strangers from Armenia, Persia, India (the
Southern Arabia), ^Ethiopia, the countless monks of Egypt, and from the whole
of Western Asia.* Yet Jerome was, no doubt, the most influential pilgrim to the
Holy Land ; .the increasing and general desire to visit the soil printed, as it
were, with the footsteps, and moist with the redeeming blood of the Saviour,
may be traced to his writings, which opened as it were a constant and easy
communication, and established an intercourse, more or less regularly
maintained, between Western Europe and Palestine.t
stantine, the statue of Jupiter occupied the place of the resurrection,
and a statue of Venus was worshipped on the rod- of Calvary. But as the object
of Hadrian was to insult the Jewish, not the Christian, religion, it seems not
very credible that these two sites should be chosen for the Heathen temples.
Hiero- nym. Oper. Epist. xlix. p. 505.
* Quicunque
in Gallia fuerat primus hue properat. Divisus ab orbe nostro Britannus, si in religione
processerit, occiduo sole dimisso, qucerit locum fama sibi tantum, et
^cripturarum relatione cognitum. Quid referamus Armenios, quid Persas, quid
Indiae, quid /Ethiopia? populos, ipsamque juxta iEgyptum, fertilem monachorum,
Pontum et Cappadociam, Syriam, Cretam, et Mesopotamiam cunctaque orientis
examina. This is the letter of a Roman female, Paula. Ilieronym. Oper.
Epist. xliv. p. 551.
\ See the glowing description of all the religious
wonders in the Holy Land in the Epitaphium Pau- lae. An epistle, howrever,
of Gregory of Nyssen strongly remonstrates against pilgrimages to the Holy Land,
even from Cappadocia. He urges the dangers and suspicions to which pious
recluses, especially women, would be subject with male attendants, either
strangers or friends, on a lonely road ; the dissolute words and sights wrhich
may be unavoidable in the inns; the dangers of robbery and violence in the Holy
Land itself, of the moral state of which he draws a fearful picture. lie
asserts the religious superiority of Cappadocia,
book But besides
this subordinate, if indeed subordi- ‘ , nate, effect of Jerome’s peculiar
position between the East and West, he was thence both incited and enabled to
accomplish his more immediately influential undertakings. In Palestine and in
Egypt, Jerome became himself deeply imbued with the spirit of Monachism, and
laboured with all his zeal to awaken the more tardy West to rival Egypt and
Syria in displaying this sublime perfection of Christianity. By his letters,
descriptive of the purity, the sanctity, the total estrangement from the deceitful
world in these blessed retirements, he kindled the holy emulation, especially
of the females, in Rome. Matrons and virgins of patrician families embraced
with contagious fervour, the monastic life ; and though the populous districts
in the neighbourhood of the metropolis were not equally favourable for retreat,
yet they attempted to practise the rigid observances of the desert in the
midst of the busy metropolis.
For the
second of his great achievements, the version of the sacred Scriptures, Jerome
derived inestimable advantages, and acquired unprecedented authority, by his
intercourse with the East. His residence in Palestine familiarised him with the
language and peculiar habits of the sacred writers.
which had more churches than any The authenticity of this epistle
part of the world; and inquires, in is indeed contested by lloman Ca-
plain terms, whether a man will tholic writers; but I can see no
believe the virgin birth of Christ internal evidence against its ge-
the more by seeing Bethlehem, or nuineness. Jerome’s more sober
liis resurrection by visiting his tomb, letter to Paulinus, Epist. xxix.
or his ascension by standing on the vol.iv. p. 563., should also be com-
Mount of Olives. Greg. Nyss. de pared, eunt. Hieros.
He was the
first Christian writer of note who chap. thought it worth while to study Hebrew.
Nor XJL was it the language alone; the customs, the topography, the
traditions, of Palestine were carefully collected, and applied by Jerome, if
not always with the soundest judgment, yet occasionally with great felicity and
success to the illustration of the sacred writings.
The influence
of Monachism upon the manners, Monach- opinions, and general character of
Christianity, as lsm' well as that of the Vulgate translation of the
Bible, not only on the religion, but on the literature of Europe, appear to
demand a more extensive investigation ; and as Jerome, if not the
representative, was the great propagator of Monachism in the West, and as about
this time this form of Christianity overshadowed and dominated throughout the
whole of Christendom, it will be a fit occasion, although we have in former
parts of this work not been able altogether to avoid it, to develope more fully
its origin and principles,
It is
singular to see this oriental influence successively enslaving two religions
in their origin and in their genius so totally opposite to Monachism as
Christianity and the religion of Mohammed. Both gradually and unreluctantly
yield to the slow and inevitable change. Christianity, with very slight
authority from the precepts, and none from the practice of the Author and first
teachers, admitted this without inquiry as the perfection and consummation of
its own theory. Its advocates and their willing auditors equally forgot that
VOL. III. u
book if Christ and
his apostles had retired into the de- IIL , sert, Christianity would
never have spread beyond the wilderness of Judaea. The transformation which
afterwards took place of the fierce Arab marauder, or the proselyte to the
martial creed of the Koran, into a dreamy dervish, was hardly more violent and
complete, than that of the disciple of the great example of Christian virtue,
or of the active and popular Paul, into a solitary anchorite, cenobit- Still
that which might appear most adverse to the universal dissemination of
Christianity eventually tended to its entire and permanent incorporation with
the whole of society. When Eremitism gave place to Ccenobitism; when the
hermitage grew up into a convent, the establishment of these religious
fraternities in the wildest solitudes gathered round them a Christian
community, or spread, as it were, a gradually increasing belt of Christian
worship, which was maintained by the spiritual services of the monks, who,
though not generally ordained as ecclesiastics, furnished a constant supply for
ordination. In this manner, the rural districts, which, in most parts, long
after Christianity had gained the predominance in the towns, remained attached
by undisturbed habit to the ancient superstition, were slowly brought within
the pale of the religion. The monastic communities commenced, in the more
remote and less populous districts of the Roman world, that ameliorating change
which, at later times, they carried on beyond the frontiers. As afterwards they
introduced civilisation and
Christianity
among the barbarous tribes of North ciiap. Germany or Poland, so now they
continued in all v parts a quiet but successful aggression on the
lurking Paganism.
Monachism was
the natural result of the incor- Origin of poration of Christianity with the
prevalent opi- ism. " nions of mankind, and in part of the state of
profound excitement into which it had thrown the human mind. We have traced the
universal predominance of the great principle, the inherent evil of matter.
This primary tenet, as well of the Eastern religions as of the Platonism of the
West, coincided with the somewhat ambiguous use of the term world in the sacred
writings. Both were alike the irreclaimable domain of the Adversary of good.
The importance assumed by the soul, now through Christianity become profoundly
conscious of its immortality, tended to the same end. The deep and serious
solicitude for the fate of that everlasting part of our being, the concentration
of all its energies on its own individual welfare, withdrew it entirely within
itself. A kind of sublime selfishness excluded all subordinate considerations.*
The only security against the corruption which environed it on all sides seemed
* It is
remarkable how rarely, if ever (I cannot call to mind an instance), in the
discussions on the comparative merits of marriage and celibacy, the social
advantages appear to have occurred to the mind; the benefit to mankind of
raising up a race born from Christian parents and brought up in Christian
principles. It is always argued with relation to the interests and the
perfection of the individual soul; and even with regard to that, the writers
seem almost unconscious of the softening and humanising effect of the natural
affections, the beauty of parental tenderness and filial love.
book entire alienation from the contagion of matter
; the m .
i ^' .
constant mortification, the extinction, if possible,
of those
senses which were necessarily keeping up a dangerous and treasonable
correspondence with the external universe. On the other hand, entire
estrangement from the rest of mankind, included in the proscribed and
infectious world, appeared no less indispensable. Communion with God alone was
at once the sole refuge and perfection of the abstracted spirit; prayer the sole
unendangered occupation, alternating only with that coarse industry which
might give employment to the refractory members, and provide that scanty sustenance
required by the inalienable infirmity of corporeal existence. The fears and the
hopes were equally wrought upon — the fear of defilement and consequently of
eternal perdition ; the hope of attaining the serene enjoyment of the divine
presence in the life to come. If any thought of love to mankind, as an
unquestionable duty entailed by Christian brotherhood, intruded on the isolated
being, thus labouring on the single object, his own spiritual perfection, it
found a vent in prayer for their happiness, which excused all more active or
effective benevolence.
Celibacy. On both principles, of course, marriage was inexorably
condemned.* Some expressions in the writings of St. Pault, and emulation of the
Gnostic
* There is a
sensible and judi- fully into the
origin and conse-
cious book, entitled “ Die Ent- quences of celibacy in the whole
fiihrung der Erzwungenen Ehelo- church.
sigkeit bei dem Christlichen und f I agree with
Theiner (p. 24.)
ihreFolge,” von J.A. und Aug.Thei- in considering these precepts local
ner, Altenburg, 1828, which enters and temporary, relating to the es-
sects,
combining with these general sentiments, chap. had very early raised celibacy into the
highest of t XL Christian virtues : marriage was a
necessary evil, an inevitable infirmity of the weaker brethren.
With the more
rational and earlier writers, Cyprian, Athanasius, and even in occasional
passages in Ambrose or Augustine, it had its own high and peculiar excellence ;
but even with them, virginity, the absolute estrangement from all sensual indulgence,
was the transcendant virtue, the preassumption of the angelic state, the
approximation to the beatified existence.*
Every thing
conspired to promote, nothing remained to counteract, this powerful impulse.
In the
pecial circumstances of those whom St. Paul addressed.
* The
general tone was that of the vehement Jerome. There must not only be vessels of
gold and silver, but of wood and earthenware. This contemptuous admission of
the necessity of the married life distinguished the orthodox from the
Manichean, the Montanist, and the Encratite. Jerom. adv. Jovin. p. 146.
The sentiments of the Fathers on marriage and virginity may be thus
briefly stated. I am not speaking with reference to the marriage of the
clergy, which will be considered hereafter.
The earlier writers, when they are contending with the Gnostics, though
they elevate virginity above marriage, speak very strongly on the folly, and
even the impiety, of prohibiting or disparaging lawful wedlock. They
acknowledge and urge the admitted fact that several of the Apostles were
married. This
is the tone of Ignatius (Cotel. Pat. Apost. ii. 77.), of Tertullian (H-
cebat et Apostolis nubere et uxores circumducere. De Exhort. Castit.), above
all, of Clement of Alexandria.
In the time of Cyprian, vows of virginity were not irrevocable. Si autem perse verare nolunt,vel non possunt.
melius est ut nubant, quam in ignem delictis suis ca- dant. Epist. 62. And his general language, more
particularly his tract de Habitu Virginum, implies that strong discipline was
necessary to restrain the dedicated virgins from the vanities of the world.
But in the fourth century the eloquent Fathers vie with each other in
exalting the transcendant, holy, angelic virtue of virginity. Every one of the
more distinguished writers, — Basil, the two Gregories, Ambrose, Augustine, Chrysostom,
has a treatise or treatises upon virginity, on which he expands with all the
glowing language which he can command. It bpfnmS
book East this
seclusion from the world was by no means
III
' ' ,
uncommon. Even among the busy and restless Causes Greeks, some of the
philosophers had asserted the tended to privilege of wisdom to stand aloof from
the rest Sionach- mankind ; the question of the superior ex- ism.
cellence of the active or the contemplative life had been agitated on equal
terms. But in some regions of the East, the sultry and oppressive heats, the
general relaxation of the physical system, dispose constitutions of a certain
temperament to a dreamy inertness. The indolence and prostration of the body
produce a kind of activity in the mind, if that may properly be called activity
which is merely giving loose to the imagination and the emotions, as they
follow out a wild train of incoherent thought, or are agitated by impulses of
spontaneous and ungoverned feeling. Ascetic Christianity ministered new aliment
to this common propensity; it gave an object both vague and determinate enough
to stimulate, yet never to satisfy or exhaust. The regularity of stated hours
of prayer, and of a kind of idle industry, weaving
a common doctrine that sexual intercourse was the sign and the consequence
of the Fall; they forgot that the command to “ increase and multiply ” is
placed in the Book of Genesis (i. 28.) before the Fall.
We have before (p. 199.) quoted passages from Greg, of Nazian- zum.
Gregory of Nyssa says,— tjdovf] St cnrctTtjg iyyivofitvt] rr)g tK- 7rrwcr£w£
i'jpZaro—tv avofiiaig torlv rj vvWrj-ftig, tv afxcipriatg t) Kvijoigi.
Greg. Nyss. de Virgin, c. 12. c. 13.
But Jerome is the most vehement of all:—Nuptiae terrain replent,virgini-
tas Paradisum. The unclean beasts went by pairs into the ark, the clean by
seven. Though there is another mystery in the pairs, even the unclean beasts
were not to be allowed a second marriage: — Ne in bestiis quidem et immundis
avibus diga- mia comprobata sit. Adv. Jovin. vol. iv. p. 160. Laudo
nuptias,laudo conjugium, sed quia mihi virgines generat. Ad Eustoch. p. 36.
mats, or
plaiting baskets, alternated with periods of morbid reflection on the moral
state of the soul, and of mystic communion with the Deity.* It cannot, indeed,
be wondered that the new revelation, as it were, of the Deity ; this profound
and rational certainty of his existence; this infelt consciousness of his
perpetual presence; these yet unknown impressions of his infinity, his power,
and his love, should give a higher character to this eremitical enthusiasm, and
attract men of loftier and more vigorous minds within its sphere. It was not
meiely the pusillanimous dread of encountering the trials of life which urged
the humbler spirits to seek the safe retirement, or the natural love of peace,
and the weariness and satiety of life, which commended this seclusion to those
who were too gentle to mingle in, or who were exhausted with, the unprofitable
turmoil of the world. Nor was it always the anxiety to mortify the rebellious
and refractory body with more advantage; the one absorbing idea of the majesty
of the Godhead almost seemed to swallow up all other considerations ; the
transcendant nature of the Triune Deity, the relation of the different persons
in the Godhead to each other, seemed the only worthy objects of man’s
contemplative faculties. If the soul never aspired to that Pantheistic union
with
* Nam
pariter exercentes cor- velut quandam
tenacem atque im-
pons ammfcque virtutes, extenoris mobilem anchoram nrafiLntcs
hommisstipendia cum emolument cm volubilitas ac perv^tio cordfe
intcrioris exjequant, lubncis moti- innexa intra cells claSstra velut
bus cordis, et fluctuation, cogita- in portu fidissimo yaleat
con.
tionum mstabili, operum pondera, tineri. Cassian. Instit. ii. 13.
u 4
book the spiritual
essence of being which is the supreme ln' , ambition of the higher
Indian mysticism, their theory seemed to promise a sublime estrangement from
all sublunary things, an occupation for the spirit, already, as it were,
disembodied and imma- terialised by its complete concentration on the Deity.
In Syria and
in Egypt, as well as in the remoter East, the example had already been set both
of solitary retirement and of religious communities. The Jews had both their
hermitages and their ccenobitic institutions. Anchorites swarmed in the deserts
near the Dead Sea*; and the Essenes, in the same district, and the Egyptian
Therapeutae, were strictly analogous to the Christian monastic establishments.
In the neighbourhood of .many of the Eastern cities were dreary and dismal
wastes, incapable of, or unimproved by, cultivation, which seemed to allure the
enthusiast to abandon the haunts of men and the vices of society. Egypt
especially, where every thing excessive and extravagant found its birth or
ripened with unexampled vigour, seemed formed for the encouragement of the
wildest anchoritism, It is a long narrow valley, closed in on each side by
craggy or by sandy, deserts. The rocks were pierced either with natural
caverns, or hollowed out by the hand of man into long subterranean cells and
galleries for various uses, either of life, or of superstition, or of
sepulture. The Christian, sometimes driven out by persecution (for persecution
no doubt greatly
* Josephi
Vita.
contributed
to people these solitudes*), or prompted by religious feelings, to fly from the
face of man, found himself, with no violent effort, in a dead and voiceless
wilderness, under a climate which required 110 other shelter than the cciling
of the rock-hewn cave, and where actual sustenance might be obtained with
little difficulty.
St. Antony is
sometimes described as the founder of the monastic life; it is clear, however,
that he only imitated and excelled the example of less famous anchorites. But
he may fairly be considered as its representative.
Antonyt was
born of Christian parents, bred up in the faith, and before he was twenty years
old, found himself master of considerable wealth, and charged with the care of
a younger sister. He was a youth of ardent imagination, vehement impulses, and
so imperfectly educated as to be acquainted with no language but his native
Egyptian.} A constant attendant on Christian worship, he had long looked back
with admiration on those primitive times when the Christians laid all their
worldly goods at the feet of the Apostles. One day he heard the sentence, “Go,
sell all thou hast, and give to the poor, * * and come, and follow me.” It
seemed personally addressed to himself by the voice of God. He returned home,
distributed his
•* I’®,11!.’ the first Christian her- being the
first hermit for Paul, in ’ fled from persecution. Hiero- the time of Decius or
Valerian
V (Vit.Paul.
p.68.); but the whole
\ The fact that the great Atha- life of Paul, and the visit of An-
nas.us paused in his polemic war- tony to him, read like religious ro-
fiare to write the life of Antony, mance , and, from the prcfaee of
may show the genera admiration Jerome to the Life of Hilarion did
towards the monastic life. „ot find implicit credit in his own
J Jerome claims the honour of day.
book lands among
his neighbours, sold his furniture and I1L , other effects, except a
small sum reserved for his sister, whom he placed under the care of some pious
Christian virgins. Another text, “ Take no thought for the morrow,”
transpierced his heart, and sent him forth for ever from the society of men. He
found an aged solitary, who dwelt without the city. He was seized with pious
emulation, and from that time devoted himself to the severest asceticism. There
was still, however, something gentle and humane about the asceticism of Antony.
His retreat (if we may trust the romantic life of St. Hilarion, in the works of
St. Jerome), was by no means of the horrid and savage character affected by
some other recluses : it was at the foot of a high and rocky mountain, from
which welled forth a stream of limpid water, bordered by palms, which afforded
an agreeable shade. Antony had planted this pleasant spot with vines and
shrubs; there was an enclosure for fruit trees and vegetables, and a tank from
which the labour of Antony irrigated his garden. His conduct and character
seemed to partake of this less stern and gloomy tendency.* He visited the most
distinguished anchorites, but only to observe, that he might imitate the
peculiar virtue of each ; the gentle disposition of one; the constancy of
prayer in another ; the kindness, the patience, the industry, the vigils, the
macerations, the love of study, the passionate contemplation of the Deity, the
charity towards mankind. It was his devout ambition to equal or transcend each
in his particular austerity, or distinctive excellence.
* Vita St.
Hilarion. p. 85.
But man does
not violate nature with impunityj chap. the
solitary state had its passions, its infirmities, , XI' its perils.
The hermit could fly from his fellow D*mo„. men, but not from
himself. The vehement and ology' fervid temperament which drove him
into the desert was not subdued; it found new ways of giving loose to its
suppressed impulses. The selfcentred imagination began to people the desert
with worse enemies than mankind. Daemonology, in all its multiplied forms, was
now an established part of the Christian creed, and embraced with the greatest
ardour by men in such a state of religious excitement, as to turn hermits. The
trials, the temptations, the agonies, were felt and described as personal
conflicts with hosts of impure, malignant, furious, fiends. In the desert,
these beings took visible form and substance; in the day-dreams of profound
religious meditation, in the visions of the agitated and exhausted spirit, they
were undiscern- ible from reality.* It is impossible, in the wild legends which
became an essential part of Christian literature, to decide how much is the
disordered imagination of the saint, the self-deception of the credulous, or
the fiction of the zealous writer. The very effort to suppress certain feelings
has a natural tendency to awaken and stiengthen them. The horror of carnal
indulgence would not permit the sensual desires to die away into apathy. Men
are apt to find what they seek in theii own hearts, and by anxiously searching
for
* Compare
Jerome’s Life of St. Ililarion, p. 76.
book the guilt of
lurking lust, or desire of worldly wealth I1L , or enjoyment, the
conscience, as it were, struck forcibly upon the chord which it wished to
deaden, and made it vibrate with a kind of morbid, but more than ordinary,
energy. Nothing was so licentious or so terrible as not to find its way to the
cell of the recluse. Beautiful women danced around him ; wild beasts of every
shape, and monsters with 110 shape at all, howled and yelled and shrieked about
him, while he knelt in prayer, or snatched his broken slumbers. “ Oh how often
in the desert,” says Jerome, “ in that'vast solitude, which, parched by the
sultry sun, affords a dwelling to the monks, did I fancy myself in the midst of
the luxuries of Rome. I sate alone, for I was full of bitterness. My misshapen
limbs were rough with sackloth ; and my skin was so squalid that I might have
been taken for a negro. Tears and groans were my occupation every day, and all
day : if sleep surprised me unawares, my naked bones, which scarcely held
together, clashed on the earth. I will say nothing of my food or beverage :
even the rich have nothing but cold water ; any warm drink is a luxury. Yet
even I, who for the fear of hell had condemned myself to this dungeon, the companion
only of scorpions and wild beasts, was in the midst of girls dancing. My face
was pale with fasting, but the mind in my cold body burned with desires; the
fires of lust boiled up in the body, which was already dead. Destitute of all
succour, I cast myself at the feet of Jesus, washed them with my tears, dried
them with my hair, and
subdued the
rebellious flesh by a whole week’s fasting.” After describing the wild scenes
into which he fled, the deep glens and shaggy precipices, — “ The Lord is my
witness,” he concludes ; “sometimes I appeared to be present among the angelic
hosts, and sang, 4 We will haste after thee for the sweet savour of
thy ointments/ ” * For at times, on the other hand, gentle and more than human
voices were heard consoling the constant and devout recluse; and sometimes the
baffled daemon would humbly acknowledge himself to be rebuked before him. But
this was in general after a fearful struggle. Desperate diseases require
desperate remedies. The severest pain could alone subdue or distract the
refractory desires, or the preoccupied mind. Human invention was exhausted in
self-inflicted torments. The Indian faquir was rivalled in the variety of
distorted postures and of agonising exercises. Some lived in clefts and caves;
some in huts, into which the light of day could not penetrate; some hung huge
weights to their arms, necks, or loins ; some confined themselves in cages ;
some on the tops of mountains, exposed to the sun and weather. The most
celebrated hermit at length for life condemned himself to stand in a fiery climate,
on the narrow top of a pillar.t Nor were
* Song of
Solomon. Hieronym. self from all earthly
things, and
Epist. xxii. doing
violence to nature, which
•j* The language of Evagrius always has a downward tendency,
(H. E. i. 13.) about Simeon vividly he aspired after that which is on
expresses the effect which he made high; and standing midway between
on his own age. “ Rivalling, earth and heaven, he had commu-
while yet in the flesh, the conver- nion with God, and glorified God
sation"of angels, he withdrew him- with the angels; from the earth
CHAP.
XI.
Self
torture.
book these always
rude or uneducated fanatics. St. Ar- IIL , senius had filled, and
with universal respect, the dignified post of tutor to the Emperor Arcadius.
But Arsenius became an hermit; and, among other things, it is related of him,
that, employing himself in the common occupation of the Egyptian monks, weaving
baskets of palm leaves, he changed only once a year the water in which the
leaves were moistened. The smell of the fetid water was a just penalty for the
perfumes which he had inhaled during his worldly life. Even sleep was a sin ;
an hour’s unbroken slumber was sufficient for a monk. On Saturday evening,
Arsenius laid down with his back to the setting sun, and continued awake, in
fervent prayer, till the rising sun shone on his eyes * ; so far had
Christianity departed from its humane and benevolent and social simplicity.
It may be a
curious question how far enthusiasm repays its votaries as far as the
individual is concerned; in what degree these self-inflicted tortures added to
or diminished the real happiness of man ; how far these privations and bodily
sufferings, which to the cool and unexcited reason appear intolerable, either
themselves produced a callous insensibility, or were met by apathy arising out
of the strong counter-excitement of the mind ; to what
offering supplications (7rp£o€aici£ in the air (jravayiov kciI aeptov fiap-
7rpody(x)v) as an ambassador to rvpog) on political affairs, lies be-
God ; bringing down from heaven yond the range of the present his-
to men the divine blessing.” The tory.
influence of the most holy martyr * Compare Fleury, xx. 1.2.
extent, if
still felt in unmitigated anguish, they were compensated by inward complacency
from the conscious fulfilment of religious duty; the stern satisfaction of the
will at its triumph over nature ; the elevation of mind from the consciousness
of the great object in view, or the ecstatic pre-enjoyment of certain reward.
In some instances, they might derive some recompense from the respect,
veneration, almost adoration, of men. Emperors visited the cells of these
ignorant, perhaps superstitious, fanatics, revered them as oracles, and
conducted the affairs of empire by their advice. The great Theodosius is said
to have consulted John the Solitary on the issue of the war with Eugenius.* His
feeble successors followed faithfully the example of his superstition.
Antony
appeared at the juncture most favourable for the acceptance of his monastic
tenets.t His fame and his example tended still further to disseminate the
spreading contagion. In every part the desert began to swarm with anchorites,
who found it difficult to remain alone. Some sought out the most retired
chambers of the ancient cemeteries; some those narrow spots which remained
above water during the inundations, and saw with pleasure the tide arise which
was to render them unapproachable to their fellow-creatures. But in all parts
the determined solitary found himself constantly obliged to recede farther and
farther; he could scarcely find a retreat so dismal, a cavern so
ciiap.
XI. i •
Influence of Antony.
* Evagr.
Vit. St. Paul. c. 1. f Hujus vitae auctor Paulus Theodoret, v. 24. See
Flechicr, illustrator Antonius. Jerom. p. 46. Vie de Theodose, iv. 43.
; book profound, a rock so inaccessible,
but that he would iii. .
, ' i be
pressed upon by some zealous competitor, or
invaded by
the humble veneration of some disciple.
It is
extraordinary to observe this infringement on the social system of
Christianity, this disconnecting principle, which, pushed to excess, might
appear fatal to that organisation in which so much of the strength of
Christianity consisted, gradually self-expanding into a new source of power and
energy, so wonderfully adapted to the age. The desire of the anchorite to
isolate himself in unendangered seclusion was constantly balanced and
corrected by the holy zeal or involuntary tendency to proselytism. The farther
the saint retired from the habitations of men, the brighter and more attractive
became the light of his sanctity ; the more he concealed himself, the more was
he sought out by a multitude of admiring and emulous followers. Each built or
occupied his cell in the hallowed neighbourhood. A monastery was thus imperceptibly
formed around the hermitage ; and nothing was requisite to the incorporation of
a regular community, but the formation of rules for common intercourse, stated
meetings for worship, and something of uniformity in dress, food, and daily
occupations. Some monastic establishments were no doubt formed at once, in
imitation of the Jewish Therapeutae ; but many of the more celebrated Egyptian
establishments gathered, as it were, around the central cell of an Antony or
Pachomius.*
* Pachomius
was, strictly speak- establishments in Egypt; Eusta- ing, the founder of the
coenobitic thius in Armenia ; Basil in Asia.
Something
like an uniformity of usage appears to chap.
have prevailed in the Egyptian monasteries. The t XI*
brothers were dressed, after the fashion of the conn- Ccenobitic try, in long
linen tunics, with a woollen girdle, a cloak, and over it a sheep-skin. They
usually went barefooted, but at certain very cold or very parching seasons,
they wore a kind of sandal. They did not wear the hair-cloth.# Their
food was bread and water; their luxuries, occasionally a little oil or salt, a
few olives, peas, or a single fig : they ate in perfect silence, each decury by
itself. They were bound to strict obedience to their superiors ; they were
divided into decuries and centenaries, over whom the decurions and centurions
presided : each had his separate cell.t The furniture of their cells was a mat
of palm leaves and a bundle of the papyrus, which served for a pillow by night
and a seat by day. Every evening and every night they were summoned to prayer
by the sound of a horn.
At each meeting
were sung twelve psalms, pointed out, it was believed, by an angel. On certain
occasions, lessons were read from the Old or New Testament. The assembly
preserved total silence ; nothing was heard but the voice of the chanter or
reader. No one dared even to look at another.
Pachomius had 1400 monks in his to think it often a sign of pride. *
establishment; 7000 acknowledged Instit.
i. 3. his jurisdiction. -f The
accounts of Jerome (in
* Jerome speaks
of the cilicium Eustochium, p. 45.) and of
Casas common among the Syrian sian are
blended. There is some monks, with whom he lived. Epist. difference as to the hours of meet- i. Horrent sacco membra deformi. ing for prayers, but probably the Even women
assumed it. Epitaph, ccenobitic institutes
differed as to Paulae, p. C78. Cassian is inclined that and on some points of diet.
book The tears of the audience alone, or if he spoke
iii • .
* , of the joys of eternal beatitude, a
gentle murmur of hope, was the only sound which broke the stillness of the
auditory. At the close of each psalm, the whole assembly prostrated itself in
mute adoration.* In every part of Egypt, from the Cataracts to the Delta, the
whole land was bordered by these communities; there were 5000 coenobites in the
desert of Nitria alone t; the total number of male anchorites and monks was
estimated at 76,000 ; the females at 27,700. Parts of Syria were, perhaps,
scarcely less densely peopled with ascetics. Cappadocia and the provinces
bordering on Persia boasted of numerous communities, as well as Asia Minor and
the eastern parts of Europe. Though the monastic spirit was in its full power,
the establishment of regular communities in Italy must be reserved for Benedict
of Nursia, and lies beyond the bounds of our present history. The enthusiasm
pervaded all orders. Men of rank, of family, of wealth, of education, suddenly
changed the luxurious palace for the howling wilderness, the flatteries of men
for the total silence of the desert. They voluntarily abandoned their estates,
their connections, their worldly prospects. The
* Tan turn a
cunctis praebetur efFugerit,quaequeinsensibilitcrcordi
silentium, ut cum in unum tam obrepserit, immoderato scilicet at-
numerosa fratrum multitudo con- que intolerabili spiritus fervore
veniat,praeterillum, qui consurgens succenso, dum ea quce ignita mens
psalmum decantat in medio, nul- in semetipsa non pracvalet conti-
lus hominum penitus adesse nere, per ineffabilem quendamgemi-
credatur. No one was heard to turn pectoris sui conclavibus eva-
spit, to sneeze, to cough, or to porare conatur. Cassian. Instit.
yawn — there was not even a sigh ii. 10.
or a groan — nisi forte haec quae -J- Jerom. ad Eustoch. p. 44. per excessum
mentis clausfra oris
desire of
fame, of power, of influence, which might ch ap. now swell the ranks of the
ecclesiastics, had no t ’ , concern in their sacrifice. Multitudes
must have perished without the least knowledge of their virtues or their fate
transpiring in the world. Few could obtain or hope to obtain the honour of
canonisation, or that celebrity which Jerome promises to his friend Blesilla,
to live not merely in heaven, but in the memory of man ; to be consecrated to
immortality by his writings. *
But the
ccenobitic establishments had their dan- d
angers of gers no less than the cell of the solitary hermit. ca,nolnt)sm*
Besides those consequences of seclusion from the world, the natural results of
confinement in this close separation from mankind and this austere discharge of
stated duties, were too often found to be the proscription of human knowledge
and the extinction of human sympathies. Christian wisdom and Christian humanity
could find no place in their unsocial system. A morose, and sullen, and
contemptuous ignorance could not but grow up where there was no communication with
the rest of mankind, and the human understanding was rigidly confined to
certain topics. The want of objects of natural affection could not but harden
the heart; and those who, in their stern religious austerity are merciless to
themselves, are apt to be merciless to others t: their callous and insensible
hearts have
* Quod cum
Christo vivit in coelis, abbot, Mucius,
in Cassian. Mucius
in hominum quoque ore victura entreated admission into a monas-
est. * * Nunquam in meis moritura tery. He had one little boy with
est libris. Epibt. xxiii. p. 60. him of eight years old. They were
t There is a cruel history of an placed in separate cells, lest the
rook no sense of
the exquisitely delicate and poignant t 11L , feelings
which arise out of the domestic affections.
Bigotry has
always found its readiest and sternest executioners among those who have never
known the charities of life.
These fatal
effects seem inherent consequences of Monasticism ; its votaries could not but
degenerate from their lofty and sanctifying purposes. That which in one
generation was sublime enthusiasm, in the next became sullen bigotry, or
sometimes wrought the same individual into a stern forgetfulness, not only of
the vices and follies, but of all the Fanati- more generous and sacred feelings
of humanity. In tism- the ccenobitic institutes was added a strong
corporate spirit, and a blind attachment to their own opinions, which were
identified with religion and the glory of God. The monks of Nitria, from simple
and harmless enthusiasts, became ferocious bands of partisans; instead of
remaining aloof in jealous seclusion from the factions of the rest of the
world, they rushed down armed into Alexandria: what they consi-
father’s heart should be softened and indisposed to total renunciation
of ail earthly joys, by the sight of his child. That he might still farther
prove his Christian obedience !! and self-denial, the child was systematically
neglected, dressed in rags, and so dirty, as to be disgusting to the father; he
was frequently beaten, to try whether it would force tears down the parent’s
squalid cheeks. “ Nevertheless, for the love of Christ!!! and from the virtue
of obedience, the heart of the father remained hard and un
moved,” thinking little of his child’s tears, only of his own humility
and perfection. He at length was urged to show the last mark of his submission
by throwing the child into the river. As if this was a commandment of God, he
seized the child, and “ the work of faith and obedience ” would have been
accomplished, if the brethren had not interposed, “ and, as it were, rescued
the child from the waters.” And Cassian relates this as an act of the highest
religious heroism ! Lib. iv. 27.
dered a
sacred cause inflamed and warranted a CI^P- ferocity not
surpassed by the turbulent and blood- i t / thirsty rabble of that
city. In support of a favourite doctrine, or in defence of a popular prelate,
they did not consider that they were violating their own first principles, in
yielding to all the savage passions, and mingling in the bloody strife of that
world which they had abandoned.
Total
seclusion from mankind is as dangerous to enlightened religion as to Christian
charity. We might have expected to find among those who separated themselves
from the world, to contemplate, undisturbed, the nature and perfections of the
Deity, fgnorance. in general, the purest and most spiritual notions of the
Godhead. Those whose primary principle was dread of a corruption of matter
would be the last coarsely to materialise their divinity. But those who could
elevate their thoughts, or could maintain them at this height, were but a small
part of the vast numbers, whom the many mingled motives of zeal, superstition,
piety, pride, emulation, or distaste for the world, led into the desert; they
required something more gross and palpable than the fine and subtle conception
of a spiritual being. Superstition, not content with crowding the brain with
imaginary figments, spread its darkening mists over the Deity himself.
It was among
the monks of Egypt that anthropomorphism assumed its most vulgar and obstinate
form. They would not be persuaded that the expressions in the sacred writings
which ascribe human acts, and faculties, and passions to the Deity were to
x 3
be understood
as a condescension to the weakness of our nature ; they seemed disposed to
compensate to themselves for the loss of human society by degrading the Deity,
whom they professed to be their sole companion, to the likeness of man. Imagination
could not maintain its flight, and they could not summon reason, which they
surrendered with the rest of their dangerous freedom, to supply its place ; and
generally superstition demanded and received the same implicit and resolute
obedience as religion itself. Once having humanised the Deity, they could not
be weaned from the object of their worship. The great cause of quarrel between
Theophilus, the Archbishop of Alexandria, and the monks of the adjacent
establishments, was his vain attempt to enlighten them on those points to which
they obstinately adhered, as the vital and essential part of their faith.
Pride,
moreover, is almost the necessary result of such distinctions as the monks drew
between themselves and the rest of mankind; and prejudice and obstinacy are
the natural fruits of pride. Once having embraced opinions, however, as in this
instance, contrary to their primary principles, small communities are with the
utmost difficulty induced to surrender those tenets in which they support and
strengthen each other by the general concurrence. The anthropomorphism of the
Egyptian monks resisted alike argument and authority. The bitter and desperate
remonstrance of the aged Serapion, when he was forced to surrender his anthropomorphic
notions of the Deity, —“You have
deprived me
of my God*,” shows not merely the degraded intellectual state of the monks of
Egypt, but the incapacity of the mass of mankind to keep up such high-wrought
and imaginative conceptions. Enthusiasm of any particular kind wastes itself as
soon as its votaries become numerous ; it may hand down its lamp from
individual to individual for many generations ; but when it would include a
whole section of society, it substitutes some new incentive, strong party or
corporate feeling, habit, advantage, or the pride of exclusiveness, for its
original disinterested zeal; and can never for a long period adhere to its
original principles.
The effect of
Monachism on Christianity, and on society at large, was of very mingled
character. Its actual influence on the population of the empire was probably
not considerable, and would scarcely counterbalance the increase arising out of
the superior morality, as regards sexual intercourse, introduced by the
Christian religion.t Some apprehensions, indeed, were betrayed on this point,
and when the opponents of Monachism urged,
General effects of jNIonach- ism cn Christianity.
* Cassian
Collat. x. 1.
■[ There is a curious passage of St. Ambrose
on this point. “ Si quis igitur putat, conservatione virginum minui genus
humanum, consicleret, quia, ubi pauetc virgi- nes, ibi etiam pauciores homines
: ubi virginitatis studia crebriora, ibi numerum quoque hominum esse majorem. Dicite, quantas Alex- andiina, totiusque
Orientis, et Afrieana eeclesia, quotannis sa- crare consueverint. Pauciores hie homines prodeunt,quam illic virgines
consecrantur.” We should wish to know whether there was any statistical
ground for this singular assertion, that, in those regions in which j celibacy
was most practised, the population increased — or whether Egypt, the East, and
Africa, were generally more prolific than Italy, The assertion that the vows of
virginity in those countries exceeded the births in the latter is, most
probably, to be set down to antithesis.
book that if such
principles were universally admitted,
, * , the
human race would come to an end, its resolute advocates replied, that the
Almighty, if necessary, would appoint new means for the propagation of
mankind.
On poiiti- The withdrawal of so much ardour, talent, and cai at airs. vjrj.ue
-n£0 sec]asionj which, however
elevating to
the
individual, became altogether unprofitable to society, might be considered a
more serious objection. The barren world could ill spare any active or
inventive mind. Public affairs, at this disastrous period, demanded the best
energies which could be combined from the whole Roman world for their
administration. This dereliction of their social duties by so many, could not
but leave the competition more open to the base and unworthy, particularly as
the actual abandonment of the world, and the capability of ardent enthusiasm,
in men of high station, or of commanding intellect, displayed a force and
independence of character which might, it should seem, have rendered important
active service to mankind. If barbarians were admitted by a perilous, yet
inevitable policy, into the chief military commands, was not this measure at
least hastened, not merely by the general influence of Christianity, which
reluctantly permitted its votaries to enter into the army, but still more by
Monachism, which withdrew them altogether into religious inactivity ? The
civil and fiscal departments, and especially that of public education conducted
by salaried professors, might also be deprived of some of the most eligible and
useful candidates for employment. At a time of such acknowledged deficiency, it
may have appeared
little less
than a treasonable indifference to the ciiap. public welfare, to break all
connection with man- , XI' kind, and to dwell in unsocial seclusion
entirely on individual interests. Such might have been the remonstrance of a
sober and dispassionate Pagan*, and in part of those few more rational
Christians, who could not consider the rigid monastic Christianity as the
original religion of its divine founder.
If, indeed,
this peaceful enthusiasm had counteracted any general outburst of patriotism,
or left vacant or abandoned to worthless candidates posts in the public service
which could be commanded by great talents and honourable integrity, Monachism
might fairly be charged with weakening the energies and deadening the
resistance of the Roman empire to its gathering and multiplying adversaries.
But the state of public affairs probably tended more to the growth of
Monachism than Monachism to the disorder and disorganisation of public affairs.
The partial and unjust distribution of the rewards of public service ; the
uncertainty of distinction in any career, which entirely depended on the
favouritism and intrigue within the narrow circle of the court; the difficulty
of emerging to eminence under a despotism by fair and honourable means ;
disgust and disappointment at slighted pretensions and baffled hopes; the general
and apparently hopeless oppression which weighed down all mankind ; the total
extinction of the generous feelings of freedom; the conscious decrepitude of
the human mind; the inevitable conviction that its productive energies in
knowledge,
* Compare
the law of Valens, de Monachis, quoted above,
cook literature, and arts, were extinct and effete, and
that , ' , every path was preoccupied, — all these concurrent motives might
naturally, in a large proportion of the most vigorous and useful minds,
generate a distaste and weariness of the world. Religion, then almost
universally dominant, would seize on this feeling, and enlist it in her service
: it would avail itself of, not produce, the despondent determination to
abandon Some of its an
ungrateful world; it would ennoble and exalt the ‘ D ’ preconceived
motives for seclusion ; give a kind of conscious grandeur to inactivity, and
substitute a dreamy but elevating love for the Deity for contemptuous
misanthropy, as the justification for the total desertion of social duty.
Monachism, in short, instead of precipitating the fall of the Roman empire, by
enfeebling in any great degree its powers of resistance, enabled some portion
of mankind to escape from the feeling of shame and misery. Amid the
irremediable evils and the wretchedness that could not be averted, it was
almost a social benefit to raise some part of mankind to a state of serene
indifference, to render some at least superior to the general calamities.
Monachism, indeed, directly secured many in their isolation from all domestic
ties, from that worst suffering inflicted by barbarous warfare, the sight of
beloved females outraged, and innocent children butchered. In those times, the man
was happiest who had least to lose, and who exposed the fewest vulnerable
points of feeling or sympathy: the natural affections, in which, in ordinary
times, consists the best happiness of man, were in those days such perilous
indulgences,
that he who was entirely detached ciiap. from
them embraced, perhaps, considering tern- t ’ poral views alone, the
most prudent course. The solitary could but suffer in his own person ; and
though by no means secure in his sanctity from insult, or even death, his self-inflicted
privations hardened him against the former, his high-wrought enthusiasm enabled
him to meet the latter with calm resignation: he had none to leave whom he had
to lament, none to lament him after his departure. The spoiler who found his
way to his secret cell was baffled by his poverty; and the sword which cut
short his days but shortened his painful pilgrimage on earth, and removed him
at once to an anticipated heaven. With what different feelings would he
behold, in his poor, and naked, and solitary cell, the approach of the bloodthirsty
barbarians, from the father of a family, in his splendid palace, or his more
modest and comfortable private dwelling, with a wife in his arms, whose death
he would desire to see rather than that worse than death to which she might
first be doomed in his presence; with helpless children clinging around his
knees : the blessings which he had enjoyed, the wealth or comfort of his house,
the beauty of his wife, of his daughters, or even of his sons, being the strongest
attraction to the spoiler, and irritating more violently his merciless and unsparing
passions. If to some the monastic state offered a refuge for the sad remainder
of their bereaved life, others may have taken warning in time, and with
deliberate forethought refused to
book implicate
themselves in tender connections, which l ' , were threatened with such
deplorable end. Those, who secluded themselves from domestic relations, from
other motives, at all events were secured from such miseries, and might be
envied by those who had played the game of life with a higher stake, and
ventured on its purest pleasures, with the danger of incurring all its
bitterest reverses. Effect on Monachism tended powerfully to keep up the vital
tenanceof enthusiasm of Christianity. Allusion has been made Christian. £0
^ close connection with the conversion both of the Roman and the Barbarian ;
and to the manner in which, from its settlement in some retired Pagan district,
it gradually disseminated the faith, and sometimes the industrious, always the
moral, influence of Christianity through the neighbourhood in a gradually
expanding circle. Its peaceful colonies, within the frontier of Barbarism,
slowly but uninterruptedly subdued the fierce or indolent savages to the
religion of Christ and the manners and habits of civilisation. But its internal
influence was not less visible, immediate, and inexhaustible. The more
extensive dissemination of Christianity naturally weakened its authority. When
the small primitive assembly of the Christians grew into an universal church ;
when the village, the town, the city, the province, the empire, became in
outward form and profession Christian, the practical Heathenism only retired
to work more silently and imperceptibly into the Christian system. The wider
the circle, the fainter the line of distinction from the surrounding waters.
Small societies have
a kind of
self-acting principle of conservation within. Mutual inspection generates
mutual awe; the generous rivalry in religious attainment keeps up regularity in
attendance on the sacred institutions, and at least propriety of demeanour.
Such small communities may be disturbed by religious faction, but are long
before they degenerate into unchristian licentiousness, or languish into religious
apathy. But when a large proportion of Christians received the faith as an
inheritance from their fathers rather than from personal conviction ; when
hosts of deserters from Paganism passed over into the opposite camp, not
because it was the best, but because it was the most flourishing cause; it
became inexpedient, as well as impossible, to maintain the severer discipline
of former times. But Monachism was constantly reorganising small societies, in
which the bond of aggregation was the common religious fervour, in which
emulation continually kept up the excitement, and mutual vigilance exercised
unresisted authority. The exaggeration of their religious sentiments was at
once the tenure of their existence, and the guarantee for their perpetuity.
Men would never be wanting to enrol themselves in their ranks, and their
constitution prevented them from growing to an unmanageable size; when one
establishment or institution wore out, another was sure to spring up. The
republics of Monachism were constantly reverting to their first principles,
and undergoing a vigorous and thorough reformation. Thus, throughout the whole
of Christian history, until, or even
book after, the Reformation, within the church of
Rome, 1U‘ , we find either new monastic orders rising, or the old
remodelled and regulated by the zeal of some ardent enthusiast; the associatory
principle, that great political and religious engine which is either the
conservative or the destructive power in every period of society, was constantly
embracing a certain number of persons devoted to a common end ; and the new
sect, distinguished by some peculiar badge of dress, of habit, or of monastic
rule, re-embodied some of the fervour of primitive Christianity, and awakened
the growing lethargy, by the example of unusual austerities, or rare and
exemplary activity in the dissemination of the faith.
The
beneficial tendency of this constant formation of young and vigorous societies
in the bosom of Christianity was of more importance in the times of desolation
and confusion which impended over the Roman empire. In this respect, likewise,
their lofty pretensions insured their utility. Where reason itself was about to
be in abeyance, rational religion would have had but little chance : it would
have commanded no respect. Christianity, in its primitive simple and unassuming
form, might have imparted its holiness, and peace, and happiness, to retired
families, whether in the city or the province, but its modest and retiring
dignity would have made no impression on the general tone and character of
society. There was something in the seclusion of religious men from mankind, in
their standing aloof from the rest of the world, calcu-
lated to
impress barbarous minds with a feeling of chap. their peculiar sanctity. The less they
were like t * to ordinary men, the more, in the ordinary estimation,
they were approximated to the divinity. At all events, this apparently broad
and manifest evidence of their religious sincerity would be more impressive to
unreasoning minds than the habits of the clergy, which approached more nearly
to those of the common laity.*
The influence
of this continual rivalry of an- influence
. J on
the
other sacred,
though not decidedly sacerdotal class, clergy, upon the secular clergy, led to
important results.
We may
perhaps ascribe to the constant presence of Monachism the continuance and the
final recognition of the celibacy of the clergy, the vital principle of the
ecclesiastical power in the middle ages. Without the powerful direct support
which they received from the monastic orders; without the indirect authority
over the minds of men which flowed from their example, and inseparably
connected, in the popular mincl, superior sanctity with the renunciation of
marriage, the ambitious popes would never have been able, particularly in the
north, to part the clergy by this strong line of demarcation from the profane
laity. As it was, it required the most vigorous and continued effort
* The monks
were originally tion of their
followers. Theiner
laymen (Cassian, v. 2G.); grailu- has collected with considerable
ally churches were attached to the labour a long list of the more cele-
monastcrios, but these were served brated prelates of the church who
by regularly ordained clergy.— had been monks, p. 106. Ita
(Pallad.IIist. Lausiaca.): but their ergo age et vive in monasterio, ut
reputation for sanctity constantly clericus esse inerearis. Hieron.
exposed them to be seized and Epist. ad Rustic. 95. consecrated by the ardent admira-
book to establish,
by ecclesiastical regulation and papal t.. t i power, that which was
no longer in accordance inpromot- with the religious sentiments of the clergy
them- bacy. selvres. The general practice of marriage, or of a kind
of legalised concubinage, among the northern clergy, showed the tendency, if it
had not been thus counteracted by the rival order, and by the dominant
ecclesiastical policy of the Church.* But it is impossible to calculate the
effect of that complete blending up of the clergy with the rest of the
community which would probably have ensued from the gradual abrogation of this
single distinction at this juncture. The interests of their order, in men
connected with the community by the ordinary social ties, would have been
secondary to their own personal advancement, or that of their families. They
would have ceased to be a peculiar and separate caste, and sunk down into the
common penury, rudeness, and ignorance. Their influence would be closely
connected with their wealth and dignity, which, of course, on the other hand,
would tend to augment their influence \ but that corporate ambition which
induced them to consider the cause of their order as their own ; that desire of
riches, which wore the honourable appearance of personal disinterestedness, and
zeal for the splendour of re- ligon, could not have existed but in a class completely
insulated from the common feelings and interests of the community. Individual
members of the clergy might have become wealthy, and ob-
* The
general question of the celibacy of the clergy will be subsequently examined.
tained
authority over the ignorant herd, but there chap. would have been no opulent and powerful
Church, XI* acting with vigorous unity, and arranged in simultaneous
hostility against Barbarism and Paganism.
Our history
must hereafter trace the connection of the independence and separate existence
of the clergy with the maintenance and the authority of Christianity. But even
as conservators of the lingering remains of science, arts, and letters, as the
sole order to which some kind of intellectual education was necessary, when
knowledge was a distinction which alone commanded respect, the clergy were, not
without advantage, secured by their celibacy from the cares and toils of social
life.
In this
respect, Monachism acted in two ways; as itself the most efficient guardian of
what was most worth preserving in the older civilisation, and as preventing,
partly by emulation, partly by this enforcement of celibacy, the secular clergy
from degenerating universally into that state of total ignorance which
prevailed among them in some quarters.
It is
impossible to survey Monachism in its general influence, from the earliest
period of its interworking into Christianity, without being astonished and perplexed
with its diametrically opposite effects. Here, it is the undoubted parent of
the blindest ignorance and the most ferocious bigotry, sometimes of the most
debasing licentiousness; there, the guardian of learning, the author of
civilisation, the propagator of humble
VOL. III. Y
book and peaceful
religion. To the dominant spirit I1L , of Monachism may be ascribed
some part at least of the gross superstition and moral inefficiency of the
church in the Byzantine empire; to the same spirit much of the salutary
authority of Western Christianity, its constant aggressions on barbarism, and
its connection with the Latin literature. Yet neither will the different genius
of the East and West account for this contradictory operation of the monastic
spirit in the two divisions of the Roman empire. If human nature was degraded
by the filth and fanatic self-torture, the callous apathy, and the occasional
sanguinary violence, of the Egyptian or Syrian monk, yet the monastic retreat
sent forth its Basils and Chrysostoms, who seemed to have braced their strong
intellects by the air of the desert. Their intrepid and disinterested devotion
to their great cause, the complete concentration of their whole faculties on
the advancement of Christianity, seemed strengthened by this entire detachment
from mankind.
Nothing can
be conceived more apparently opposed to the designs of the God of nature, and
to the mild and beneficent spirit of Christianity; nothing more hostile to the
dignity, the interests, the happiness, and the intellectual and moral
perfection of man, than the monk afflicting himself with unnecessary pain, and
thrilling his soul with causeless fears ; confined to a dull routine of
religious duties, jealously watching, and proscribing every emotion of pleasure
as a sin against the benevolent Deity; dreading
knowledge
as an impious departure from the be- chap. coming humility of man. t '
On the other
hand, what generous or lofty mind can refuse to acknowledge the grandeur of
that superiority to all the cares and passions of mortality ; the felicity of
that state which is removed far above the fears or the necessities of life ;
that sole passion of admiration and love of the Deity, which no doubt was
attained by some of the purer and more imaginative enthusiasts of the cell or
the cloister.
Who still
more will dare to depreciate that heroism of Christian benevolence, which
underwent this selfdenial of the lawful enjoyments and domestic charities of
which it had neither extinguished the desire, nor subdued the regret, not from
the slavish fear of displeasing the Deity, or the selfish ambition of personal
perfection ; but from the genuine desire of advancing the temporal and eternal
improvement of mankind ; of imparting the moral amelioration and spiritual
hopes of Christianity to the wretched and the barbarous ; of being the
messengers of Christian faith, and the ministers of Christian charity, to the
Heathen, whether in creed or in character.
We return
from this long, but not unnecessary Life of digression, to the life of Jerome,
the great advocate Jcrome- of Monachism in the West. Jerome began
and closed his career as a monk of Palestine : he attained, he aspired to, no
dignity in the church. Though ordained a presbyter against his will, he escaped
the episcopal dignity which was forced upon his distinguished contemporaries.
He left to
y 2
book Ambrose, to
Chrysostom, and to Augustine, the t m‘ , authority of
office, and was content with the lower, but not less extensive, influence of
personal communication, or the effect of his writings. After having passed his
youth in literary studies in Rome, and travelling throughout the West, he
visited Palestine. During his voyage to the East, he surveyed some great
cities, and consulted their libraries ; he was received in Cyprus by the Bishop
Epiphanius. In Syria, he plunged at once into the severest austerities of
asceticism. We have already inserted the lively description of the inward
struggles and agonies which tried him during his first retreat in the Arabian
desert.
Trials of But Jerome had other trials peculiar to himself,
his retreat. It was not so much the indulgence of the coarser passions, the
lusts and ambition of the world, which distressed his religious sensibilities*,
it was the nobler and more intellectual part of his being which was endangered
by the fond reminiscences of his former days. He began to question the
lawfulness of those literary studies which had been the delight of his youth.
He had brought with him, his sole companions, besides the sacred books of his
religion, the great masters of poetry and philosophy, of Greek and Latin style
; and the magic of Plato’s and Cicero’s language, to his refined and
fastidious ear, made the sacred writings of Christianity, on which he was
intently fixed,
* Jerome
says, — “ Prima est vir- ingenuously confesses that he could ginitas a
nativitate; secunda vir- only boast of the second. Epist. ginitas a secunda
nativitate ; ” he xxv. iv. p. 242. j Oper. iv. p. 459.
appeal lude
and barbarous. In bis retreat in Beth- ciiap.
lehem he had undertaken the study of Hebrew*, as X1' a severe
occupation to withdraw him from those iiiscbs- impure and worldly thoughts
which his austerities *;cujies, had not
entirely subdued; and in the weary hours when he was disgusted with his difficult
task, he could not refrain from recun ing, as a solace, to his favourite
authors. But even this indulgence alarmed his jealous conscience; though he
fasted before he opened his Cicero, his mind dwelt with too intense delight on
the language of the orator; and the distaste with which he passed from the
musical periods of Plato to the verses of the Prophets, of which his ear had
not yet perceived the harmony, and his Roman taste had not perhaps imbibed the
full sublimity, appeared to him as an impious offence against his religion.t
The inward struggles of his mind threw him into a fever, he was thought to be
dead, and in the lethargic dream of his distempered imagination, he thought
that he beheld himself before the throne of the great Judge, before the
brightness of which he dared notliftuphis eyes. “ Who art thou ?” demanded the
awful voice.
“ A Christian,” answered the trembling Jerome.t
* His
description of Hebrew, as f Si quando in memet reversus,
compared with Latin, is curious Prophetas legere ccepissem, sermo
“ Ad quam edomandam, cuidem horrebat incultus. Epist. xviii. ad
fratri, qui ex Hebraeis crediderat, Eustoch. iv. p. 42. me in disciplinam dedi ut
post ^ Interim parantur exequiae, et
Quintiliani acumina, gravitatemque vitalis animae calor, toto frigescente
Frontonis, et levitatem Plinii, al- jam corpore, in solo tantum tepente
phabetum discerem et stridentia an- pulvisculo, ])alpitabat; quum sub-
helaque verba meditarer—quid ibi ito raptus in spiritu, ad tribunal
laboris insumserim ? ” Epist. xcv. judicis pertrahor; ubi tantum lu-
ad llusticum, p. / 74. minis, et tantum erat ex circum*
Y 3
book “ *Tis
false/’ sternly replied the voice, “thou art m* no Christian, thou
art a Ciceronian. Where the treasure is, there is the heart also.” Yet, however
the scrupulous conscience of Jerome might tremble at this profane admixture of
sacred and heathen studies, he was probably qualified in a high degree by this
very discordant collision of opposite tastes for one of the great services
which he was to render to Christianity. No writer, without that complete
mastery over the Latin language, which could only be attained by constant
familiarity with its best models, could so have harmonised its genius with the
foreign elements which were to be mingled with it, as to produce the vivid and
glowing style of the Vulgate Bible. That this is far removed from the purity of
Tully, no one will question : we shall hereafter consider more at length its
genius and its influence; but we may conjecture what would have been the harsh,
jarring, and inharmonious discord of the opposing elements, if the translator
had only been conversant with the African Latinity of Tertullian, or the
elaborate obscurity of writers like Ammianus Marcellinus.
Return to
Jerome could not, in the depths of his retreat, or in the absorbing occupation
of his studies, escape being involved in those controversies which distracted
the Eastern churches, and penetrated to the cell of the remotest anchorite. He
returned
stantium claritate fulgoris, ut pro- tuls ait, Ciceronianus cs, non Chris-
jectus in terrain, sursum aspicere tianus; ubi enim thesaurus tavs, ibi et
non auderem. Interrogatus de con- cortuum. Ad Eustoch. Epist. xviii.
ditione, Christianum me esse re- iv. p. 42. spondi. Et ille qui prassidebat
mor-
to the West
to avoid the restless polemics of his chap. brother monks. On his return to Rome,
the fame i ' . of his piety and talents commended him to the confidence of the
Pope Damasus by whom he was employed in the most important affairs of the
Roman see. But either the influence or the opinions of Mora,ity°f
T *11*1 ^11^1 tl,e
K°man
Jerome,
excited the jealousy or the Roman clergy, clergy, whose vices Jerome paints in
no softened colours.
We almost, in
this contest, behold a kind of prophetic prelude to the perpetual strife,
which has existed in almost all ages, between the secular and regular clergy,
the hierarchical and monastic spirit.
Though the
monastic opinions and practices were by no means unprecedented in Italy (they
had been first introduced by Athanasius in his flight from Egypt) ; though they
were maintained by Ambrose, and practised by some recluses; yet the pomp, the
wealth, and the authority of the Roman ecclesiastics, which is described by
the concurrent testimony of the Heathen historian t and the Christian Jerome,
would not humbly brook the greater popularity of these severer doctrines, nor
patiently submit to the estrangement of some of their more opulent and
distinguished proselytes, particularly among the females. Jerome admits,
indeed, with specious, but doubtful humility, the inferiority of the unordained
monk to the ordained priest. The clergy were the succesors of the Apostles ;
their lips could make the body of Christ; they had the keys of
* Epist.
xii. p. 744. Tillemont, Vie de Jerome. %
■j* Aminianus Marcellinus. See Postea.
Y 4
eook: heaven,
until the clay of judgment: they were the i ( > shepherds, the
monks only part of the flock. Yet the clergy, no doubt, had the sagacity to
foresee the dangerous rival, as to influence and authority, which was rising up
in Christian society. The great object of contention now was the command over
the high-born and wealthy females of Rome. Jerome, in his advice to the clergy,
cautiously warns overUfe-Ce them against the
danger of female intimacy.* He, males of however, either considered himself
secure, or under some peculiar privilege, or justified by the prospect of
greater utility, to suspend his laws on his own behalf. He became a kind of
confessor, he directed the sacred studies, he overlooked the religious conduct,
of more than one of these pious ladies. The ardour and vehemence with which his
ascetic opinions were embraced, and the more than usually familiar intercourse
with matrons and virgins of rank, may perhaps have offended the pride, if not
the propriety, of Roman manners. The more temperate and rational of the
clergy, in their turn, may have thought the zeal with which these female
converts of Jerome were prepared to follow their teacher to the Holy Land, by
no means a safe precedent; they may have taken alarm at the yet unusual fervour
of language with which female ascetics were celebrated as united, by the
nuptial tie, to Christt, and exhorted, in the glowing ima-* Epist. ad Heliodorum,p. 10. feeling, would
seem strange inde- f See the Epistle ad Eusto- licacy if not immodesty,
with still chium. The whole of this letter stranger liberty with the language
is a singular union of religious ear- of Scripture. He seems to say nestness
and what, to" modern that Eustochium was the first noble
gery of the
Song of Solomon, to devote themselves chap. to their spiritual spouse. They were
the brides of t XL Christ; — Christ, worshipped by angels
in heaven, ought to have angels to worship him on earth.*
With regard
to Jerome and his high-born friends, their suspicions were, doubtless, unjust.
It is
singular, indeed, to contrast the different Character descriptions of the
female aristocracy of llome, at
females.
the various
periods of her history ; the secluded and dignified matron, employed in
household duties, and educating with severe discipline, for the military and
civil service of the state, her future consuls and dictators ; the gorgeous
luxury, the almost incredible profligacy, of the later days of the republic and
of the empire, the Julias and Mes- salinas, so darkly coloured by the satirists
of the times; the active charity and the stern austerities of the Paulas and
Eustochiums of the present period.
It was not,
in general, the severe and lofty Roman matron of the age of Roman virtue whom
Christianity induced to abandon her domestic duties, and that highest of all
duties to her country, the bringing up of noble and virtuous citizens; it was
the
Homan maiden who embraced virginity:—“ Quae * * prima Romano? urbis
virgo nobilis esse coepisti.” He says, however, of Marcella,— “ Nulla eo
tempore nobilium fce- minarum noverat Romae propo- situm monacharum, nee
audebat propter rei novitatcm, ignomini- osum, ut tunc putabatur, et vile in
populis, nomen assumere.” Mar- cellae Epitaph, p. 780.
* In
Jerome’s larger interpreta- 1 ion of Solomon’s Song (adv. Jovin. p. 171.) is a
very curious and whimsical passage, alluding to the Saviour as the spouse.
There is one sentence, however, in the letter to Eustochium, so blasphemously
indecent that it must not be quoted even in Latin, p. 38.
book soft, and at
the same time, the savage female, who
III • *
t ^
‘ , united the incongruous, but too frequently reconciled, vices of sensuality
and cruelty; the female, whom the facility of divorce, if she abstained from
less lawful indulgence, enabled to gratify in a more decent manner her
inconstant passions ; who had been inured from her most tender age, not merely
to theatrical shows of questionable modesty, but to the bloody scenes of the
arena, giving the signal perhaps with her own delicate hand for the mortal blow
to the exhausted gladiator. We behold with wonder, not unmixed with admiration,
women of the same race and city either forswearing from their earliest youth all
intercourse with men, or preserving the state of widowhood with irreproachable
dignity; devoting their wealth to the foundation of hospitals, and their time
to religious duties and active benevolence. These monastic sentiments were
carried to that excess which seemed inseparable from the Roman character. At
twelve years old, the young Asella devoted herself to God ; from that time she
had never conversed with a man ; her Paula. knees were as hard as a camel’s, by
constant genuflexion and prayer.* Paula, the fervent disciple of Jerome, after
devoting the wealth of an ancient and opulent house to charitable uses t, to
the
* Hieronym.
Epist. xxi. quos nunqunm viclerat,
evagantem.
f Jerome thus describes the Quis inopum moriens, non illius
charity of Paula:—Quid ego re- vestimentis obvolutus est? Quis
feram, amplae et nobilis domus, clinicorum non ejus facukatibus
et quondam opulentissimae, omnes sustentatus est? Quos curiosissime
pasne divitias in pauperes erogatas. tota urbe perquirens, damnum pu-
Quid in cunctos clcmentissinmm tabat, si quis debilis et esuriens cibo
animum, et bonitatem etiam in eos sustentaretur alterius. Spoliabat
impoverishing
of her own children, deserted her chap. family. Her infant son and her
marriageable daugh- t XL , ter watched, with entreating
looks, her departure; she did not even turn her head away to hide her maternal
tears, but lifted up her unmoistened eyes to heaven, and continued her
pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Jerome celebrates this sacrifice of the holiest
charities of life as the height of female religious heroism.*
The vehement
and haughty temper of Jerome was controvert not softened by his monastic
austerities, nor humbled jers0°n^e.
by the severe proscription of the gentler affections.
His life, in
the capital and the desert, was one long warfare. After the death of his friend
and protector, Damasus, the growing hostility of the clergy, notwithstanding
the attachment of his disciples, ren-
Jilios, et inter objurgantes pro- carbasa tendebantur, et remorum
pinquos, majorem se eis haeredi- ductu navis in altum protraheba-
tatem, Christi misericordiam dimit- tur. Parvus Toxotius supplices
tere loquebatur. Epitaph. Paula?, manns tendebat in
littora. Rufina,
p. 671. At her death, Jerome re- jam nubilis, ut suas expectaret
lates, with great pride, that she did nuptias, tacens fletibus obsecnibat,
not leave a penny to her daughter, et tamen ilia siccos ad ccelum
but a load of debts (magnum aes oculos, pietatem in filios, pietate in
alienum). Deuni
superans nesciebat se raa-
* It is a
passage of considerable trem ut
Christi probaret ancillam.
beauty : — Descendit ad portum, * * Hoc contra jura naturae plena
fratre, cognatis, affinibus, et (quod fides patiebatur, imo gaudens ani-
his majus est) liberis prosequen- mus appetebat. Epitaph. Paulae
tibus, et clementissimam matrem G72.
pietate vincere cupientibus. Jam This was her epitaph : —
Aspicis angustum precisa rupe sepulcrum ?
Hospitium Paulae est, ccelestia regna
tenentis.
Fratrem, cognatos, Romam, patriamque relinquens,
Divitias, sobolem, Bethlehemite conditur
antro.
Hie praesepe tuum, Christe, atque hie mystica
Magi Munera portantes, hominique, Deoque dedere.
book dered
his residence in Rome disagreeable. Nor iii ... .
t ‘
, was the peace of the monastic life his reward for his
Retreat to zealous exertions in its cause. He
retired to Pales- iaiestme. wjiere
]ie passed the rest of his days in re
ligious
studies, and in polemic disputes. Wherever any dissentient from the doctrine or
the practice of the dominant Christianity ventured to express his opinions,
Jerome launched the thunders of his interdict from his cell at Bethlehem. No
one was more perpetually involved in controversy, or opposed with greater
rancour of personal hostility, than this earnest advocate of unworldly
religious seclusion. He was engaged in a vehement dispute with St, Augustine,
on the difference between St. Peter and St. Paul. But his repose was most
embittered by the acrimonious and obstinate contest with Ru- finus, which was
rather a personal than a polemic strife. In one controversy, Christendom
acknow- Jovinian ledged and hailed him as her champion. Jovinian lantius^1”
and Vigilantius are involved in the dark list of heretics ; but
their error appears to have been that of unwisely attempting to stem the
current of popular ' Christian opinion, rather than any departure from the
important doctrines of Christianity. They were premature Protestants; they
endeavoured, with vain and ill-timed efforts, to arrest the encroaching spirit
of Monachism, which had now enslaved the whole of Christianity*; they
questioned the superior merit of celibacy ; they protested against the growing
worship of relics.t Their effect upon the
* Hieronym.
adv. Vigilantium, f The observation of Fleury p. 281. shows how mistimed was the at-
dominant
sentiment of the times may be estimated ciiap.
by the language of wrath, bitterness, contempt, and . ‘ * abhorrence,
with which Jerome assails these bold men, who thus presumed to encounter the
spirit of their age. The four points of Jovinian’s heresy, were, —1 st, that
virgins had no higher merit, unless superior in theirgood works, than widowsand
married women ; 2d, that there was no distinction of meats;
3d, that
those who had been baptized in full faith, would not be overcome by the Devil;
and 4th, that those who had preserved the grace of baptism would meet with an
equal reward in heaven. This last clause was perhaps a corollary from the
first, as the panegyrists of virginity uniformly claimed a higher place in
heaven for the immaculate than for those who had been polluted by marriage. To
those doctrines Vigilantius added, if possible, more hated tenets. He condemned
the respect paid to the martyrs and their relics ; he questioned the miracles
performed at their tombs ; he condemned the lighting lamps before them as a
Pagan superstition ; he rejected the intercession of the saints ; he blamed
the custom of sending alms to Jerusalem, and the selling all property to give
it to the poor;
tempt of Vigilantius to return to the simpler
Christianity of former days : — “On ne voit pas que 1’he- resie (de Vigilance),
ait eu de suite; ni qu’on ait eu besoin d’aucun concile pour la cond.imner tant
elle etoit contraire a la tradition de l’Eglise Universellc.” Tom. v. p. 278.
I have purposely, lest I should overstrain the Protestantism of these
remarkable men, taken this view of their tenets from Fleury, perhaps the
fairest and most dispassionate writer of his church. Tom. iv. p. G02.; tom. v.
p. 275.
book he asserted
that it was better to keep it and distri-
) bute its revenues in
charity ; he protested against
the whole
monastic life, as interfering with the duty of a Christian to his neighbour.
These doctrines were not without their followers; the resentment of Jerome was
embittered by their effect on some of the noble ladies of Rome, who began to
fall off to marriage. Even some bishops embraced the doctrines of Vigilantius,
and asserting that the high professions of continence led the way to debauchery,
refused to ordain unmarried deacons.
The tone of
Jerome’s indignant writings against those new heretics is that of a man
suddenly arrested in his triumphant career by some utterly unexpected
opposition ; his resentment at being thus crossed is mingled with a kind of
wonder that men should exist who could entertain sucli strange and daring
tenets. The length, it might be said the prolixity, to which he draws out his
answer to Jovinian, seems rather the outpouring of his wrath and his learning,
than as if he considered it necessary to refute such obvious errors.
Throughout it is the master condescending to teach, not the adversary to argue.
He fairly overwhelms him with a mass of scripture, and of classical learning :
at one time he pours out a flood of allegorical interpretations of the scripture
; he then confounds him with a clever passage from Theophrastus on the
miseries of marriage. Even the friends of Jerome, the zealous Pammachius
himself, were offended by the fierceness of his first invective
against
Jovinian*, and his contemptuous disparage- ciiap.
mentof marriage. The injustice of his personal , XL charges
are refuted by the more temperate statements of Augustine and by his own
admissions.!
He was
obliged, in his apology, to mitigate his vehemence, and reluctantly to fall
into a milder strain ; but even the Apology has something of the severe and
contemptuous tone of an orator who is speaking on the popular side, with his
audience already in his favour.
But his
language to Jovinian is sober, dispas- vigi- sionate, and argumentative, in
comparison with lantius* that to Vigilantius. He describes all the
monsters ever invented by poetic imagination, the centaurs, the leviathan, the
Nernean lion, Cacus, Geryon.
Gaul, by her
one monster, Vigilantiust, had sur-
* Indignamini
mihi, quod Jovi- nianum non docuerim, sed vicerim. Imo indignantur mihi qui
ilium anathematizatum dolent. Apolog. p. 236.
f Jerome admits that Jovinian did not assert the privilege which he
vindicated; he remained a monk, though Jerome highly colours his luxurious habits.
After his coarse tunic and bare feet, and food of bread and water, he has
betaken himself to white garments, sweetened wine, and highly dressed meats :
to the sauces of an Apicius 01* a Paxamus, to baths, and sham- pooings
(fricticulae,—the Benedictines translate this fritter shops), and cooks’
shops, it is manifest that he prefers earth to heaven, vice to virtue, his
belly to Christ, and thinks his rubicund colour (purpuram co- loris ejus) the
kingdom of heaven.
Yet this handsome, this corpulent, smooth monk, always goes in white like
a bridegroom: let him marry a wife to prove the equal value of virginity and
marriage ; but if he will not take a wife, though he is against us in his
words, his actions are for us. He afterwards says,— Ille Romanae ecclesiae
auctoritate damnatus inter fluvialcs aves, et carnes suillas, non tam emisit
ani- mam quam eructavit. p. 183.
J His brief sketch of the enormities of Vigilantius is as follows: — Qui
immundo spiritu pugnat contra Christi spiritum, et mar- tyrum negat sepulcra
esse vene- randa ; damnandas dicit esse vi- gilias; nunquam nisi in Pascha
Alleluia cantandum : continentiam hajresim, pudicitiam libidinis semi narium.
BOOK
III.
passed all
the pernicious and portentous horrors of other regions. “ Why do I fly to the
desert?—That I may not see or hear thee ; that I may no longer be moved by thy
madness, nor be provoked to war by thee; lest the eye of a harlot should captivate
me, and a beautiful form seduce me to unlawful love.” But his great and
conclusive argument in favour of reverence for the dust of martyrs (that
little dust which, covered with a precious veil, Vigilantius presumed to think
but dust) is universal authority. “ Was the Emperor Constantine sacrilegious,
who transported the relics of Andrew, Luke, and Timothy to Constantinople, at
whose presence the devils (such devils as inhabit the wretched Vigilantius)
roar, and are confounded ? or the Emperor Arcadius, who translated the bones
of the holy Samuel to Thrace? Are all the bishops sacrilegious who enshrined
these precious remains in silk, as a vessel of gold; and all the people who
met them, and received them as it were the living prophet ? Is the Bishop of
Rome, who offers sacrifice 011 the altar under which are the venerable bones (the
vile dust, would Vigilantius say?) of Peter and Paul; and not the bishop of one
city alone, but the bishops of all the cities in the world who reverence these
relics, around which the souls of the martyrs are constantly hovering to hear
the prayers of the supplicant?”
The great
work of Jerome, the authoritative Latin version of the scriptures, will demand
our attention, as one of the primary elements of Christian
literature, a
subject which must form one most important branch of our inquiry into the extent
and nature of the general revolution in the history of mankind, brought about
by the complete establishment of Christianity.
BOOK IV.
CHAP.
CHAPTER I.
THE ROMAN EMPIRE UNDER CHRISTIANITY.
The period is now
arrived when we may survey General the total change in the habits and manners,
as well of^ as in the sentiments and opinions, of mankind, ef- ^“cn=ed
fected by the dominance of the new faith., Chris- christi. tianity is now the
mistress of the Roman world ; on an,ty’ every side the struggles of
Paganism become more feeble ; it seems resigned to its fate, or rather only
hopes, by a feigned allegiance, and a simulation of the forms and language of
Christianity, to be permitted to drag on a precarious and inglorious existence.
The Christians are now no longer a separate people, founding and maintaining
their small independent republics, fenced in by marked peculiarities of habits
and manners from the rest of society ; they have become to all outward appearance
the people ; the general manners of the world may be contemplated as the
manners of Christendom. The monks, and in some respects the clergy, have, as
it were, taken the place of the Christians as a separate and distinct body of
men ; the latter in a great degree, the former altogether, differing from the
prevalent usages in their modes of life, and abstaining from the common
pursuits and avocations of society. The Christian writers, there-
z 3
book fore, become
our leading, almost our only, authori- A IV’ , ties for
the general habits and manners of mankind Sources of (for the notice of such
matters in the Heathen writers tioruma" are few
and casual), except the Theodosian code. Theodo- This indeed is of great
value as a record of manners, sian code. as we]j as a
history of legislation ; for that which demands the prohibition of the law% or
is in any way of sufficient importance to require the notice of the
legislature, may be considered as a prevalent custom : particularly as the
Theodosian code is not a system of abstract and general law, but the register
of the successive edicts of the Emperors, who were continually supplying, by
their arbitrary acts, the deficiencies of the existing statutes, or as new
cases arose, adapting those statutes to temporary exigences.
Christian But
the Christian preachers are the great painters of Roman manners; Chrysostom of
the East, more particularly of Constantinople ; Jerome, and though much less
copiously, Ambrose and Augustine, of Roman Christendom. Considerable allowance
must, of course, be made in all these statements for oratorical vehemence ;
much more for the ascetic habits of the writers, particularly of Chrysostom,
who maintained, and would have exacted, the rigid austerity of the desert in
the midst of a luxurious capital. Nor must the general morality of the times be
estimated from their writings without considerable discretion. It is the office
of the preacher, though with a different design, yet with something of the
manner of the satirist, to select the vices of mankind for his animadversion,
and to dwell
with far less
force 011 the silent and unpretending chap. virtues. There might be, and probably
was, an , * under-current of quiet Christian piety and gentleness, and
domestic happiness, which would not arrest the notice of the preacher, who was
denouncing the common pride and luxury ; or if kindling into accents of
praise, enlarging on the austere self-denial of the anchorite, or the more
shining virtues of the saint.
Christianity
disturbed not the actual relations of society, it interfered in no way with the
existing gradations of rank ; though, as we shall see, it introduced a new
order of functionaries, — what may be considered from the estimation in which
they were held, a new aristocracy, — it left all the old official dignitaries
in possession of their distinctions.
With the
great vital distinction between the freeman slavery, and the slave, as yet it
made no difference.* It broke down none of the barriers which separated this
race of men from the common rights of human kind; and in no degree legally
brought up this Pariah caste of antiquity to the common level of the human
race.
In the new
relation established between mankind and the Supreme Being, the slave was fully
participant ; he shared in the redemption through Christ, he might receive all
the spiritual blessings, and enjoy all the immortalising hopes of the believer;
he might be dismissed from his death-bed to heaven by the absolving voice of
the priest; and besides this
* The laws
of Justinian, it must be remembered, are beyond this period.
Z
book inestimable consolation in misery and
degradation,
* , this religions equality, at least with
the religious part of the community, could not fail to elevate his condition,
and to strengthen that claim to the sympathies of mankind which were enforced
by Christian humanity. The axiom of Clement of Alexandria that by the common
law of Christian charity, we were to act to them as we would be acted by,
because they were men*, though perhaps it might have been uttered with equal
strength of language by some of the better philosophers, spoke with far more
general acceptance to the human heart. The manumission, which was permitted by
Constantine to take place in the Church, must likewise have tended indirectly
to connect freedom with Christianity.t
Still, down
to the time of Justinian, the inexorable law, which, as to their treatment,
had already been wisely tempered by the Heathen Emperors, as to their ?ights,
pronounced the same harsh and imperious sentence. It beheld them as an inferior
class of human beings; their life was placed but partially under the protection
of the law. If they died under a punishment of extraordinary cruelty, the
master was guilty of homicide ; if under more moderate application of the scourge,
or any other infliction, the master was not accountable for their death.! While
it refused to protect, the law inflicted on the slave punishments
disproportionate to those of the freeman. If he accused his master for
* Clemens A
lex. Paedagog. iii. f See Blair on Slavery, p. 288. 12. j Cod. Theodos. ix. 12. 1.
any crime,
except high treason, he was to be chap. burned * ; if free women married
slaves, they sank , , to the abject state of their husbands, and forfeited
their rights as free women f; if a free woman intrigued with a slave, she was
capitally punished, the slave was burned.t
The
possession of slaves was in no degree limited by law. It was condemned as a
mark of inordinate luxury, but by no means as in itself contrary to Christian
justice or equity.§
On the pomp
and magnificence of the court, Manners of Christianity either did not aspire,
or despaired of the court’ enforcing moderation or respect for the
common dignity of mankind. The manners of the East, as the Emperor took up his
residence in Constantinople, were too strong for the religion. With the first
Christian Emperor commenced that Oriental ceremonial, which it might almost
seem, that, rebuked by the old liberties of Rome, the imperial despot would not
assume till he had founded another capital ; or at least, if the first
groundwork of this Eastern pomp was laid by Dioclesian, Rome had already been
deserted, and was not insulted by the open degradation of the first men in the
empire to the language, attitudes, and titles of servitude.
The eunuchs,
who, however admitted in solitary Govcm- instances to the confidence or favour
of the earlier ^'011°/
nuclis.
* Cod. Thcodos. ix. 6. 2. f Ibid. iv. 9. 1. 2. 3.
passage of Clement with the beautiful essay of Seneca. See likewise
Chrysostom almost passim. Some 
x. Paedagog. iii. had 2000 or 3000. t. vii.
p. G33. 12. It is curious to compare this
Emperors, had
never formed a party, or handed down to each other the successive
administrations, now ruled in almost uncontested sovereignty, and except in
some rare instances, seemed determined not to incur, without deserving, the
antipathy and contempt of mankind. The luxury and prodigality of the court
equalled its pomp and its servility. The parsimonious reformation introduced
by Julian may exaggerate in its contemptuous expressions, the thousand cooks,
the thousand barbers, and more than a thousand cupbearers, with the host of
eunuchs and drones of every description who lived at the charge of the Emperor
Constan- tius.# The character of Theodosius gave an imposing
dignity to his resumption of that magnificence, of which Julian, not without
affectation, had displayed his disdain. The Heathen writers, perhaps with the
design of contrasting Theodosius with the severer Julian, who are the
representatives, or at least, each the pride of the opposing parties, describe
the former as immoderately indulging in the pleasures of the table, and of
re-enlisting in the imperial service a countless multitude of cooks and other
attendants on the splendour and indulgence of the court.t That which in
Theodosius was the relaxation or the reward for military services, and the
cares and agitations of an active administration, degenerated with his feeble
sons into indolent and effeminate luxury. The head of the empire became a
secluded Asiatic despot. When, on rare occasions, Arcadius condescended to
reveal to the
* Libanius,
Epitaph. Julian, p. 565. f Zosimus, iv.
28.
public the
majesty of the sovereign, he was preceded by a vast multitude of attendants,
dukes, tribunes, civil and military officers, their horses glittering with
golden ornaments, with shields of gold, set with precious stones, and golden
lances. They proclaimed the coming of the Emperor, and commanded the ignoble
crowd to clear the streets before him.* The Emperor stood or reclined on a
gorgeous chariot surrounded by his immediate attendants distinguished by
shields with golden bosses set round with golden eyes, and drawn by white mules
with gilded trappings; the chariot was set with precious stones, and golden
fans vibrated with the movement, and cooled the air. The multitude contemplated
at a distance the snow-white cushions, the silken carpets with dragons enwoven
upon them in rich colours, Those w7ho were fortunate enough to catch
a glimpse of the Emperor beheld his ears loaded with golden rings, his arms
with golden chains, his diadem set with gems of all hues, his purple robes,
which with the diadem, were reserved for the Emperor, in all their sutures
embroidered with precious stones. The wrondering people, on their
return to their homes, could talk of nothing
J O
but the
splendour of the spectacle, the robes, the mules, the carpets, the size and
splendour of the jewels. On his return to the palace, the Emperor walked on
gold ; ships were employed with the ex
* Montfaucon,
in an essay in in his treatise de Genio, Moribus, the last volume of the works
of et Luxu JEvi Theodosiani, have Chrysostom, and in the twelfth collected the
principal features of vol. of the Memoirs of the Aca- this picture, chiefly
from Chry- demy of Inscriptions; and Muller, sostom.
BOOK
IV.
1’
The aristocracy.
press purpose
of bringing gold dust* from remote provinces, which was strewn by the officious
care of a host of attendants, so that the Emperor rarely set his foot on the
bare pavement.
The official
aristocracy, which had succeeded to the hereditary patriciate of Rome,
reflected in more moderate splendour, and less unapproachable seclusion, the
manners of the court. The chief civil offices were filled by men of ignoble
birth, often eunuchs, who, by the prodigal display of their ill- acquired
wealth, insulted the people, who admired, envied, and hated their arrogant
state. The military officers, in the splendour of their trappings and
accoutrements, vied with the gorgeousness of the court favourites ; and even
the barbarians, who began to force their way by their valour to these posts,
in the capital, caught the infection of luxury and pomp. As in all despotisms,
especially in the East, there was a rapid rise and fall of unworthy favourites,
whose vices, exactions, and oppressions, were unsparingly laid open by hostile
writers, directly they had lost the protecting favour of the court. Men then
found out that the enormous wealth, the splendour, the voluptuousness, in which
an Eutropius or a Rufinus had indulged, had been obtained by the sale of
appointments, by vast bribes from provincial governors, by confiscations, and
every abuse of inordinate power.t
* XpvciTiv.
See IMuller, p. 10.
f Hie Asiam villa pactus regit; ille redemit
Conjugis ornatu Syriam ; dolet ille paterna Bithynos mutasse tlomo. Suffixa patenti Yestibulo pretiis clistinguit regula
gentes.
Claud, in Eutrop. i. 199.
Christianity
had not the power to elevate de- chap. spotism into a wise and beneficent
rule, nor to dig- i t j nify its inseparable consequence, court
favouritism ; yet after all, feeble and contemptible as are many of the
Christian Emperors, pusillanimous even in their vices; odious as was the
tyranny of their ministers ; they may bear 110 unfavourable comparison with
the Heathen Emperors of Rome. Human nature is not so outraged; our belief in
the possible depravity of man is not so severely tried, as by the monstrous
vices and cruelties of a Tiberius, a Caligula, or a Nero. Theodora, even, if we
credit the malignant satire of Procopius, maintained some decency upon the
throne. The superstitions of the Emperors debased Christianity ; the Christian
bishop was degraded by being obliged at times to owe his promotion to an eunuch
or a favourite ; yet even the most servile and intriguing of the hierarchy
could not be entirely forgetful of their high mission ; there was still a kind
of moral repugnance, inseparable from the character they bore, which kept them
above the general debasement.
The
aristocratical life, at this period, seems to Manners of have been
characterised by gorgeous magnificence ^acy™*0" without
grandeur, inordinate luxury without refinement, the pomp and prodigality of a
high state
clientes
Fallit, et ambitos a principe vendit honores.
* * * *
Congestai cumulantur opes, orbisque rapinas
Accipit una domus. Populi scrvire coacti
Plenaque privato succumbunt oppida regno.
In llufin. i. 179—193.
book of
civilisation with none of its ennobling or human-
IV" ;
ising effects. The walls of the palaces were lined
with marbles
of all colours, crowded with statues of inferior workmanship, mosaics, of which
the merit consisted in the arrangement of the stones; the cost, rather than the
beauty or elegance, was the test of excellence, and the object of admiration.
They were surrounded with hosts of parasites or servants. e< You
reckon up,” Chrysostom thus addresses a patrician, “so many acres of land, ten
or twenty palaces, as many baths, a thousand or two thousand slaves, chariots
plated with silver or overlaid with gold.”*
Their
banquets were merely sumptuous, without Females, social grace or elegance. The
dress of the females, the fondness for false hair, sometimes wrought up to an
enormous height, and especially affecting the golden dye, and for paint, from
which irresistible propensities they were not to be estranged even by religion,
excite the stern animadversion of the ascetic Christian teacher. “ What
business have rouge and paint on a Christian cheek ? Who can weep for her sins
when her tears wash her face bare and mark furrows on her skin ? With what
trust can faces be lifted up towards heaven, which the Maker cannot recognise
as his workmanship ?” + Their necks, heads, arms, and fingers, were loaded with
golden chains and rings; their persons breathed precious odours, their dresses
were of gold stuff and silk ; and in this attire they ventured to enter
* T. vii. p. 533.
f Hieronym. Epist. 54. Compare Epist. 19. vol. i. p. 284.
the church.
Some of the wealthier Christian ciiap. matrons
gave a religious air to their vanity, while * f the more profane
wore their thin silken dresses embroidered with hunting-pieces, wild beasts, or
any other fanciful device ; the more pious had the miracles of Christ, the
marriage in Cana of Galilee, or the paralytic carrying his bed. In vain the
preachers urged that it would be better to emulate these acts of charity and
love, than to wear them on their garments.*
It might
indeed be supposed that Christianity, by the extinction of that feeling for the
beauty, grandeur, and harmony of outward form, which was a part of the religion
of Greece, and was enforced by her purer and loftier philosophy, may have
contributed to this total depravation of the taste.
Those who had
lost the finer feeling for the pure and noble in art and in social life, would
throw themselves into the gorgeous, the sumptuous, and the extravagant. But it
was rather the Roman character than the influence of Christianity which was
thus fatal to the refinements of life. The degeneracy of taste was almost
complete before the predominance of the new religion. The manners of ancient
Rome had descended from the earlier empiret, and the manners of Constantinople
were in .most respects an elaborate imitation of those of Rome.
* Muller,
p. 112. There are f Compare the description of several statutes prohibiting the
use the manners and habits of the of
gold brocade or dresses of silk Roman
nobles in Ammianus Marin the Theodosian Code. x. tit. 20. cellinus, so well transferred into Other
statutes regulate the dress English in
the 31st chapter of in Rome. xiv. 10. 1. Gibbon,
vol. v. p. 258—268.
The
provincial cities, according to the national character, imitated the old and
new Rome; and in all, no doubt the nobility, or the higher order, were of the
same character and habits.
On the
appointment to the provincial governments, and the high civil offices of the
empire, Christianity at this time exercised by no means a commanding, certainly
no exclusive, influence. Either superior merit, or court intrigue, or favour,
bestowed civil offices with impartial hand on Christian and Pagan. The Rufinus
or the Eutro- pius cared little whether the bribe was offered by a worshipper
in the church or in the temple. The Heathen Themistius was appointed prefect of
Constantinople by the intolerant Theodosius ; Praetex- tatus and Symmachus
held the highest civil functions in Rome. The prefect who was so obstinate an
enemy to Chrysostom was Optatus, a Pagan. At a later period, as we have
observed, a statue was raised to the Heathen poet Merobaudes.
But, besides
the officers of the imperial government, of the provinces and the
municipalities, there now appeared a new order of functionaries, with
recognised, if undefined powers, the religious magistrates of the religious
community. In this magisterial character, the new hierarchy differed from the
ancient priesthoods, at-least of Greece and Rome. In Greece, they were merely
the officiating dignitaries in the religious ceremonial; in Rome, the
pontifical was attached to, and in effect merged in, the important civil function.
But
Christianity
had its own distinct and separate aris- chap. tocracy, which not merely officiated in
the church, h but ruled the public mind, and mingled
itself with the various affairs of life, far beyond this narrow sphere of
religious ministration.
The Christian
hierarchy was completely organised and established in the minds of men before
the great revolutions which, under Constantine, legalised Christianity, and,
under Theodosius and his successors, identified the Church and State.
The strength
of the sacerdotal power was consolidated before it came into inevitable
collision, or had to dispute its indefinable limits with the civil authority.
Mankind was now submitted to a double dominion, the civil supremacy of the
Emperor and his subordinate magistrates, and that of the Bishop with his
inferior priesthood.
Up to the
establishment of Christianity, the cle- Gradual rical order had been the sole
magistracy of the ment°of " new communities. But it is not alone from the the1I”’eii-
arclucal
scantiness of
authentic documents concerning the p°wer- earliest Christian
history, but from the inevitable nature of things, that the developement of the
hierarchical power, as has already been partially shown*, was gradual and
untraceable. In the infant Christian community, we have seen that the chief
teacher and the ruler, almost immediately, if not immediately, became the same
person. It was not so much that he was formally invested in
* Book ii.
ch. 4. A A
book authority, as
that his advice, his guidance, his con- - t i trol, were sought on
all occasions with timid diffidence, and obeyed with unhesitating submission.
In the Christian, if it may be so said, the civil was merged in the religious
being; he abandoned willingly his rights as a citizen, almost as a man, his
independence of thought and action, in order to be taught conformity to the new
doctrines which he had embraced, and the new rule of life to which he had
submitted himself. Community of sentiment, rather than any strict federal
compact, was the primary bond of the Christian republic; and this general
sentiment, even prior, perhaps, to any formal nomination or ordination,
designated the heads and the subordinate rulers, the Bishops, the Presbyters,
and the Deacons ; and therefore, where all agreed, there was no question in
whom resided the right of conferring the title.*
The simple
ceremonial of “ laying on of hands,” which dedicated the individual for his
especial function, ratified and gave its religious character to this popular
election which took place by a kind of silent acclamation ; and without this
sacred commission by the bishop, no one, from the earliest times of which we
have any record, presumed, it should seem, to invest himself in the sacred
office.t The civil and
* The growth of
the Christian der Christlich-Kirchlichen
Verfas-
hierarehy, and the general consti- sung. Hanover, 1803.
tution of the Church, are developed f Gradually the admission to
with learning, candour, and mode- orders became a subject not merely
ration, by Planck, in his Geschichte of ecclesiastical, but of civil regu-
religious
power of the hierarchy grew up side by chap. side, or intertwined with each other,
by the same , ' spontaneous vital energy. Every thing in the primary formation
of the communities tended to increase the power of their ecclesiastical
superiors.
The
investiture of the blended teacher and ruler in a sacred, and at length in a
sacerdotal character, the rigid separation of this sacred order from the mass
of the believers, could not but arise out of the unavoidable developement of
the religion. It was not their pride or ambition that withdrew them, but the
reverence of the. people which enshrined them in a separate sphere: they did
not usurp or even assume their power and authority ; it was heaped upon them by
the undoubting and prodigal confidence of the community. The hopes and fears
of men would have forced this honour upon them, had they been humbly reluctant
to accept it. Man, in his state of religious excitement, imperiously required
some authorised interpreters of those mysterious revelations from heaven which
he could read himself but imperfectly and obscurely ; he felt the pressing
necessity of a spiritual guide. The
lation. It has been observed that the decurion was prohibited from taking
orders in order to obtain exemption from the duties of his station. Cod. Theod.
xii. 1. 49. No slave, curialis, officer of the court, public debtor,
procurator, or collector of the purple dye (murile- gulus), or one involved in
business, might be ordained, or, if ordained,
might be reclaimed to his former state. Cod. Theod. ix.45. 3. This was a
law of the close of the fourth century, a.
d. 398. The Council of Illiberis had made a restriction that no
freedman, whose patron was a Gentile, could be ordained; he was still too much
under control. Can. lxxx.
book privileges
and distinctions of the clergy, so far n‘ , from being aggressions
on his religious independence, were solemn responsibilities undertaken for the
general benefit. The Christian commonalty, according to the general sentiment,
could not have existed without them, nor could such necessary but grave
functions be entrusted to casual or common hands. No individual felt himself
safe, except under their superintendence. Their sole right of entering the
sanctuary arose as much out of the awe of the people as their own self-invested
holiness of character. The trembling veneration for the mysteries of the
sacrament must by no means be considered as an artifice to exalt themselves as
the sole guardians and depositaries of these blessings; it was the genuine
expression of their own pro- foundest feelings. If they had not assumed the
keys of heaven and hell; if they had not appeared legitimately to possess the
power of pronouncing the eternal destiny of man, to suspend or excommunicate
from those Christian privileges which were inseparably connected in Christian
belief with the eternal sentence, or to absolve and readmit into the pale of
the Church and of salvation,—among the mass of believers, the uncertainty, the
terror, the agony of minds fully impressed with the conviction of their
immortality, and yearning by every means to obtain the assurance of pardon and
peace, with heaven and hell constantly before their eyes, and agitating their
inmost being, would have been almost insupportable. However they might exag-
gerate their
powers, they could not extend them chap. beyond the ready acquiescence of the
people. They , ’ could not possess the power of absolving without that of
condemning; and men were content to brave the terrors of the gloomier award,
for the indescribable consolations and confidence in their brighter and more
ennobling promises.
The change in
the relative position of Christianity to the rest of the world tended to the
advancement of the hierarchy. At first there was 110 necessity to guard the
admission into the society with rigid or suspicious jealousy, since the profession
of Christianity in the face of a hostile world was in itself almost a
sufficient test of sincerity. Expulsion from the society, or a temporary exclusion
from its privileges, which afterwards grew into the awful forms of interdict or
excommunication, must have been extremely rare or unnecessary *, since he who
could not endure the discipline, or who doubted again the doctrines of
Christianity, had nothing to do but to abandon a despised sect and revert to
the freedom of the world. The older and more numerous the community, severer
regulations were requisite for the admission of members, the maintenance of
order, of unity in doctrine,
* The case
in St. Paul’s Epistle ted, to return into
the bosom of
to the Corinthians (1 Cor. v. 5.), the Jewish community, which they
which seems to have been the first had abandoned, and, if expelled
of forcible expulsion, was obviously from the Christian Church, would
an act of Apostolic authority. This, be complete outcasts. Not so the
it is probable, was a Jewish con- Ilcathen apostate, who might one
vert; and these persons stood in a day leave, and the next return, to
peculiar position j they would be his old religion, with all its advan-
ashamed, or would not be permit- tages.
A A 3
or cwom- nmnwAVft.
pook and propriety of conduct, as well as for the
ejection
of unworthy disciples. As men began to be
Chris-
KvpnWwn
tians. not from personal conviction, but from hereditary descent, as children
of Christian parents ; as the Church was rilled with doubtful converts, some
from the love of novelty, others, when they incurred less danger and obloquy,
from less sincere riiith ; >onu\ no doubt, of the base and proriigate, from
the desire of partaking in the well-known charity of the Christians to their
poorer brethren ; many would become Christians, having just strength of mind
enough to embrace its tenets, but not to act up to its duties : a more severe
investigation, therefore, became necessary for admission into the society, a
more summary authority for the expulsion of improper members.* These powers
naturally devolved 011 the heads ot the community, who had either originally possessed,
and transmitted by regularly appointed descent, or held by general consent, the
exclusive administration of the religions rites, the sacraments, which were
the federal bonds of the community. Their strictly civil func- tionsbecame
likewise more extensive and important.
* It is
e.triotts to find that both nu"l
and void. Cod. Theod. xvi. ecclesiastical and eivi laws against 7. 1 A law of Valentinian apostasy 'were
constancy neces- II. i i?icts the same
penalty ^onl\ sary. The Councl of Elvira re- with
some limitation') on apostate? admits an apostate to communion, to Ju«kssm or Manieheism. The who has no:
worshipped idol>, a^ of Arcadhis aud
Valentinian after ten years' penance, The laws III.
prove, by the severity of their of Grarian and Theodosius, and prohibition?, not only that cases of even of
Arcadius and Valentinian apostasy took
place, but that sail 1„ speak a more menacing an- crinees were still frequently offered, ruape: the Christian who h_? Cod. Theodos. xvi. tit. de Apos- beoome a Paean
forfeits the rkrht tat is. of
bequeathing by will — his wiu
is
All legal
disputes had, from the first, been submitted chap.
to
the religious magistracy, not as interpreters of the ____ "_ ,
laws of the
empire, but as best acquainted with the incrwein higher principles of natural
justice and Christian equity. The religious heads of the communities were the
supreme and universally recognised arbiters in all the transactions of life.
When the magistrate became likewise a Christian, and the two communities were blended
into one, considerable difficulty could not but arise, as we shall hereafter
see, in the limits of their respective jurisdictions.
But the
magisterial or ruling part of the ecclesiastical function became thus more and
more relatively important; government gradually became an affair of asserted
superiority on one hand, of exacted submission on the other; but still the
general voice would long be in favour of the constituted authorities. The
episcopal power would be a mild, a constitutional, an unoppresssive, and
therefore unquestioned and unlimited sovereignty ; for, in truth, in the
earlier period, what was the bishop, and in a subordinate degree, the
presbyter, or even the deacon ? — He was the religious superior, elected by
general acclamation, or at least, bv general consent, as commanding that
station bv his unrivalled religious qualifications; he was solemnly invested in
his office by a religious ceremony ; he was the supreme arbiter in such civil
matter^ as occurred amonj? the members of the body, and thus the conservator of
peace; he was the censor of morals, the minister in holy rites,
A A V
book the
instructor in the doctrines of the faith, the ‘ , adviser in all scruples, the
consoler in all sorrows; The bishop he was the champion of the truth, in the
hour of commu3^ trial the first victim of persecution, the
designated nity- martyr. Of a being so sanctified, so
ennobled to the thought, what jealous suspicion would arise, what power would
be withholden from one whose commission would seem ratified by the Holy Spirit
of God. Power might generate ambition, distinction might be attended by pride,
but the transition would not be perceived by the dazzled sight of respect, of
reverence, of veneration, and of love.
Dissensions
Above all, diversities of religious opinion would Church tend to increase the
influence and the power of increase"of those who held the religious
supremacy. It has sacerdotal been said not without some
authority, that the
power. # # , * # #
establishment
of episcopacy in the Apostolic times arose for the control of the differences
with the Judaising converts.* The multitude of believers ‘ would take refuge
under authority from the doubts and perplexities thus cast among them ; they
would be grateful to men who would think for them, and in whom their confidence
might seem to be justified by their station ; a formulary of faith for such
persons would be the most acceptable boon to the Christian society. This would
be more particularly the case when, as in the Asiatic communities, they were
not merely slight and unimportant, but vital points of difference. The
* No doubt
this kind of constant have materially tended to strengthen and of natural
appeal to the su- and confirm this power. See vol. preme religious functionary
must ii. page 70. and note.
Gnosticism,
which the bishops of Asia Minor and _ chap. of Syria had to combat, was not a
Christian sect or i t heresy, but another religion, although
speaking in
The
justifiable
some degree
Christian language, alarm of these dangerous encroachments would
and governors
to assume
induce the
teachers loftier and more dictatorial tone; those untainted by the new opinions
would vindicate and applaud their acknowledged champions and defenders. Hence
we account for the strong language in the Epistles of Ignatius, which appears
to claim the extraordinary rank of actual representatives, not merely of the
Apostles, but of Christ himself, for the bishops, precisely in this character,
as main- tainers of the true Christian doctrine.* In the
* My own
impression is decidedly in favour of the genuineness of these Epistles,—the
shorter ones I mean — which are vindicated by Pearson; nor do I suspect that
these passages, which are too frequent, and too much in the style and spirit
of the whole, are later interpolations. Certainly the fact of the existence of
two different copies of these Epistles throws doubt on the genuineness of both
; but I receive them partly j'om an historical argument, which I have
suggested, vol. ii. p. 151., partly from internal evidence. Some of their
expressions, e. g., <# Be ye subject to the bishop as to Jesus
Christ” (ad Trail, c. 2.) ; “ Follow your bishop as Jesus Christ the Father,
the presbytery as the Apostles; reverence the deacons as the ordinance of God
” (ad Smyrn. e. 8.); taken as detached sentences, and without regard to the
figurative style and ardent manner of the
writer, would seem so extraordinary a transition from the tone of the
Apostles, as to throw still further doubts on the authenticity at least of these
sentences. But it may be observed that in these strong expressions the object
of the writer does not seem to be to raise the sacerdotal power, but rather to
enforce Christian unity, with direct reference to these fatal differences of
doctrine. In another passage he says, “ Be ye subject to the bishop and to each
other (ttp tTTKTKOTTOJ KCtl d\\t]\oig), aS JCSUS Christ to the Father, and the
Apostles to Christ, to the Father and to the Spirit. ”
I cannot
indeed understand the inference that all the language or tenets of Christians
who may have heard the Apostles are to be considered of Apostolic authority.
Ignatius was a vehement and strongly figurative writer, very different in his
tone, accor-
book pseudo-Apostolic
Constitutions, which belong pro* . bably to the latter end of the third
century, this more than Apostolic authority is sternly and unhesitatingly
asserted. # Thus, the separation between the clergy and laity
continually widened ; the teacher or ruler of the community became the dictator
of doctrine, the successor, not of the bishop appointed by Apostolic authority
t, or according to Apostolic usage, but the Apostle; and at length took on
himself a sacerdotal name and dignity. A strong corporate spirit, which arises
out of associations formed for the noblest as well as for the most unworthy
objects, could not but actuate the hierarchical college which was formed in
each diocese or each city by the bishop and more or less numerous presbyters
and deacons. The control on the autocracy of the bishop, which was exercised
by this senate of presbyters, without whom he rarely acted, tended to
strengthen, rather
ding to my judgment, to the Apostolic writings. His eager desire for
martyrdom, his deprecating the interference of the Roman Christians in his
behalf, is remarkably at variance with the sober dignity with which the
Apostles did not seek, but submitted to death. That which may have been high-
wrought metaphor in Ignatius, is repeated by the author of the Apostolic
Constitutions, without reserve or limitation. This, I think, may be fairly
taken as indicative of the language prevalent at the end of the third or
beginning of the fourth century, — vfilv u TTiGKOTrog tig Qedv rtrifjujoQw. The
bishop is to be honoured as God. ii. 30. The language of Psalm lxxxi. “Ye
are Gods,” is applied to them : — they are as much greater than the king as the
soul is superior to the body,—artpytiv 6<pti\trttog TTarkpa,— (po€ti<r9ai
tog fiaoiXtct.
* Ovrog v/iiv t7rlytiog Qtog fitra
Otov. Lib. ii. c. 26.
f The full Apostolic authority was claimed forthe bishops, I think, first
distinctly, at a later period. See the letter from Firmilianus in Cyprian’s
works, Epist. lxxv. Potestas pcccatorum remittendo- rum Apostolis data est * *
et episcopis qui eis vicaria ordina- tione successerunt.
than to
invalidate, the authority of the general ciiap. body, in which all particular and
adverse interests , L . were absorbed in that of the clerical order.
#
The language
of the Old Testament, which was Lfa"fgU5}£cd
received perhaps with greater readiness, from the Testament, contemptuous
aversion in which it was held by the Gnostics, on this as on other subjects,
gradually found its way into the Church, t But the strong ciergyand and marked
line between the ministerial or magis- lalty' terial order (the
clergy) and the inferior Christians, the people (the laity), had been drawn
before the bishop became a pontiff (for the Heathen names were likewise used),
the presbyters, the sacerdotal order, and the deacons, a class of men who
shared in the indelible sanctity of the new priesthood. The common priesthood
of all Christians, as distinguishing them by their innocent and dedicated
character from the profane Heathen, asserted in the Epistle of St. Peter, was
the only notion of the sacerdotal character at first admitted into the popular
sentiment, t The appellation of the sacerdotal order began to be
metaphorically applied
* Even
Cyprian enforces his own authority by that of his concurrent College of
Presbyters : — Quando a primordio episcopates mei statuerem, nihil sine
consilio vestro, et cum consensu plebis, mea privatim sententia gcrere. Epist.
v. In other passages he says, Cui rei non potui me solum judicem dare. He had
acted, therefore, cum collegis meis,et cum plcbeipsa uni- versa. Epist. xxviii.
j- It is universally adopted in the Apostolic Constitutions. The
crime of Korah is significantly adduced ; tithes are mentioned, I
believe, for the first time, ii. 25. Compare vi. 2.
J See the well known passage of Tertullian :—Nonne et laici sacerdotes
sumus ? * * Differen- tiam inter ordinem et plebem con- stituit ecclesiae
auctoritas. Tertullian evidently Montanises in this treatise, de Exhort.
Castit. c. 7., yet seems to deliver these as maxims generally acknowledged.
book to the Christian clergy*, but soon became real IV‘
titles ; and by the close of the third century, they were invested in the names
and claimed the rights of the Levitical priesthood in the Jewish theocracy, t
The Epistle of Cyprian to Cornelius, Bishop of Rome, shows the height to which
the episcopal power had aspired before the religion of Christ had become that
of the Roman empire. The passages of the Old Testament, and even of the New, in
which honour or deference are paid to the Hebrew pontificate, are recited in
profuse detail; implicit obedience is demanded for the priest of God, who is
the sole infallible judge or delegate of Christ, t
Even if it
had been possible that, in their state of high-wrought attachment and reverence
for the teachers and guardians of their religion, any mistrust could have
arisen in the more sagacious and far-sighted minds of the vast system of
sacerdotal domination, of which they were thus laying the deep foundations in
the Roman world, there was no recollection or tradition of any priestly tyranny
from which they could take warning or imbibe
* We find
the first appearance the legitimate
bishop and the
of this in the figurative Ignatius, sacerdos of the law, the irregu-
Tertullian uses the term summi larly elected and Corah, Dathan,
Sacerdotes. andAbiram:—Neque
enim aliun-
f The passage in the Epistle of de haereses obortae sunt, aut nata
Clemens (ad Roman, c. 40.), in sunt schismata, quam inde quod
which the analogy of the ministe- sacerdoti Dei non obtemperatur,
rial offices of the Church with the nec unus in ecclesia ad tempus
priestly functions of the Jewish sacerdos, et ad tempus Jude.r, vice
temple is distinctly developed, is C/iristi cogitatus : cui si secundum
rejected as an interpolation by all magisteria divina obtemperarct fra-
judicious and impartial scholars. ternitas universa, nemo adversum
J See his 68th Epistle, in which sacerdotium collegium quicquaiu
he draws the analogy between moverat. Ad Cornel., Epist. lv.
caution.
These sacerdotal castes were obsolete or ciiat. Oriental; the only one within their
sphere of t * knowledge was that of the Magians in the hostile
kingdom of Persia. In Greece, the priesthood had sunk into the neglected
ministers of the deserted temples; their highest dignity was to preside over
the amusements of the people. The Emperor had now at length disdainfully cast
off the supreme pontificate of the Heathen world, which had long been a title,
and nothing more. Even among the Jews, the rabbinical hierarchy, which had
gained considerable strength, even during our Saviour’s time, but after the
fall of the temple, and the publication of the Talmuds, had assumed a complete
despotism over the Jewish mind, was not a priesthood; the rabbins came
promiscuously from all the tribes; their claims rested on learning and on
knowledge of the traditions of the Fathers, not 011 Levitical descent.
Nor indeed
could any danger be apparent, so long as the free voice of the community,
guided by fervent piety, and rarely perverted by less worthy motives, summoned
the wisest and the holiest to these important functions. The nomination to the
sacred office experienced the same, more gradual, perhaps, but not less
inevitable, change from the popular to the self-electing form.
The
acclamation of the united, and seldom, if ever, discordant voices of the
presbyters and the people might be trusted with the appointment to the headship
of a poor and devout community, whose utmost desire was to worship God, and to
book fulfil their Christian duties in uninterrupted
ob-
IV • *
t ‘
, scurity. But as the episcopate became an object change in of ambition or
interest, the disturbing forces which election.6°f
operate on the justice and wisdom of popular elections could not but be called
forth ; and slowly the clergy, by example, by influence, by recommendation, by
dictation, by usurpation, identified their acknowledged right of consecration
for a particular office with that of appointment to it. This was one of their
last triumphs. In the days of Cyprian, and towards the close of the third
century, the people had the right of electing, or at least of rejecting,
candidates for the priesthood.* In the latter half of the fourth century, the
streets of Rome ran with blood in the contest of Damasus and Ursicinus, for the
bishopric of Rome; both factions arrayed against each other the priests and the
people who were their respective partisans.t Thus the clergy had become a
distinct and recognised class in society, consecrated by a solemn ceremony,
the imposition of hands, which, however, does not yet seem to have been
indelible.t But
* Plebs ipsa
maxime habeat po- % A canon
of the Council of
testatem vel eligendi dignos sa- Chalcedon (can. 7.) prohibits the
cerdotes, vel indignos recusandi. return of a spiritual person to the
Epist. Ixvii. Cornelius was testi- laity, and his assumption of lay
monio cleri, ac suffragio populi offices in the state. See also Cone,
electus. Compare Apostol. Con- Turon. i. c. 5. The laws of Justi-
stit. viii. 4. The Council of Lao- nian confiscate to the Church the
dicea(at the beginning of the fourth property of any priest who has for-
century) ordains that bishops are saken his orders. Cod. Just. i.
to be appointed by the metropo- tit. iii. 53. ; Nov. v. 4. 125. c. 15.
litans, and that the multitude, oi This seems to imply that the prac-
oX><o(, are not to designate persons tice
was not uncommon even at
for the priesthood. that
late period. Compare Planck,
f Ammianus Marcell, xxvii. 3. vol. i. 399.
Hierom. in Chron. Compare Gibbon, vol. iv. 259.
each church
was still a separate and independent chap. community ; the bishop as its
sovereign, the presby- . * ters, and sometimes the deacons, as a kind of religious
senate, conducted all its internal concerns.
Great
deference was paid from the first to the bishops of the more important sees :
the number and wealth of the congregations would give them weight and dignity;
and in general those prelates would be men of the highest character and attainments
, yet promotion to a wealthier or more distinguished see was looked upon as
betraying worldly ambition. The enemies of Eusebius, the Arian, »■ >i
or semi-Arian, bishop of Constantinople, bitterly urr„ taunted him
with his elevation from the less important see of Nicomedia to the episcopate
of the Eastern metropolis. This translation was prohibited by some councils.*
The level of
ecclesiastical or episcopal dignity Metro- gradually broke up ; some bishops
emerged into a bi°shops. higher rank; the single community over which the
bishop originally presided grew into the aggregation of several communities,
and formed a diocese ; the metropolitan rose above the ordinary bishop, the
patriarch assumed a rank above the metropolitan, till at length, in the
regularly graduated scale, the primacy of Rome was asserted, and submitted to
by the humble and obsequious West.
The diocese
grew up in two ways, — 1. In the Formation larger cities, the rapid increase of
the Christians list*'0' led necessarily to the formation of
separate congre-
* Synod.
Nic. can. 15. ; Cone. Sard, c. 2. ; Cone. Arel. 21.
book gations,
which, to a certain extent, required each , ^ * ; its proper organisation, yet
invariably remained subordinate to the single bishop. In Rome, towards the
beginning of the fourth century, there were above forty churches, rendering
allegiance to the prelate of the metropolis.
2.
Christianity was first established in the towns and cities, and from each
centre diffused itself with chorepis. more or less success into the adjacent
country. In some of these country congregations, bishops appear to have been
established, yet these chorepiscopi, or rural bishops, maintained some
subordination to the head of the mother church # ; or where the
converts were fewer, the rural Christians remained members of the mother church
in the city.t In Africa, from the immense number of bishops, each community
seems to have had its own superior ; but this was peculiar to the province. In
general, the churches adjacent to the towns or cities, either originally were,
or became, the diocese of the city bishop ; for as soon as Christianity became
the religion of the state, the powers of the rural bishops were restricted, and
the office at length was either abolished or fell into disuse.t
The rank of
the metropolitan bishop, who presided over a certain number of inferior
bishops, and the convocation of ecclesiastical or episcopal
* See in
Bingham, Ant. b. ii. avrb ovvkXsvoiQ
ylvsrat. Apolog.
c. 14., the controversy about the i. 67.
chorepiscopi or rural bishops. J Concil. Antioch, can. 10.;
f Justin Martyr speaks of the Concil. Ancyr. c. 13.; Cone. Laod.
country converts : 7ravrm> kutu c.
57.
7roXeig i] aypoi'g fievovriov, tiri rd
synods, grew
up apparently at the same time and chap. from
the same causes. The earliest authentic t ' , synods seem to have
arisen out of the disputes about the time of observing Easter*; but before the
middle of the third century, these occasional and extraordinary meetings of the
clergy in certain districts took the form of provincial synods. These began in
the Grecian provincest, but extended throughout the Christian world. In some
cases they seem to have been assemblies of bishops alone, in others of the
whole clergy. They met once or twice in the year; they were summoned by the
metropolitan bishop, who presided in the meeting, and derived from, or
confirmed his metropolitan dignity, by this presidency.t
As
the metropolitans rose above the bishops, so Arch, ii*i • i i i bishops and
the
archbishops or patriarchs rose above the metro- patriarchs, politans. These
ecclesiastical dignities seem to have been formed according to the civil
divisions of the empire. § The patriarchs of Antioch, Jerusalem, Alexandria,
Rome, and by a formal decree of the Council of Chalcedon, Constantinople, assumed
even a higher dignity. They asserted the
* See the list
of earlier synods disponenda ea, quae
eurae nostra)
chiefly on this subject, Labbe, commissa sunt. Finn, ad Cyprian.
Concilia, vol. i. p. 595. 650., edit. Ep. 75.
Paris, 1671. §
Bingham names thirteen or
f See the remarkable passage in fourteen patriarchs. Alexandria,
Tertullian, de Jejunio, with the in- Antioch, Caesarea, Jerusalem,
genious commentary of Mosheim, Ephesus, Constantinople, Thessa-
De Reb. Christ, ante Const. M. lonica,
Sirmium, Rome, Carthage,
pp. 264. 268. Milan,
Lyons, Toledo, York. But
J Necessario apud nos fit, ut their respective claims do not ap-
per singulos annos seniores et pra>- pear to have been equally recog-
positi in unum conveniamus, ad nised, or at the same period.
book right, in some cases,, of appointing, in others
of
v ‘ , deposing, even metropolitan bishops.*
While
Antioch, Alexandria, and Constantinople contested the supremacy of the East,
the two former as more ancient and Apostolic churches, the latter as the
imperial city, Rome stood alone, as in every respect the most eminent church in
the West. While other churches might boast their foundation by a single apostle
(and those churches were always held in peculiar respect), Rome asserted that
she had been founded by, and preserved the ashes of two, and those the most
distinguished of the Apostolic body. Before the end of the third century, the
lineal descent of her bishops from St. Peter was unhesitatingly claimed, and
obsequiously admitted by the Christian world.t The Rome. name of Rome was
still imposing and majestic, particularly in the West; the wealth of the Roman
bishop probably far surpassed that of other prelates, for Rome was still the
place of general concourse and resort; and the pious strangers who visited the
capital would not withhold their oblations to the metropolitan church. Within
the city, he presided over above forty churches, besides the sub
* Chrysostom
deposed Gerontius, which would not have been ad- metropolkan of Nicomedia.
Sozo- mitted by the older Asiatic sees; men, viii. 6. still more, if it did not assert what
■j- The passage of Irenaeus (lib. is manifestly untrue, the found -
ii. c. 3.),
as is well known, is the ation of the Church of Home by first distinct
assertion of any pri- St. Peter and St. Paul (see vol. ii. macy in Peter, and
derived from p. 44.); and, finally, if Irenaeus him to the see of Home. This
could be conclusive authority on passage would be better authority such a
subject. Planck justly ob- if it existed in the original language, serves, that
the potior principalitas not in an indifferent translation; of the city of Pome
was the pri- ifit were thelanguage of an Eastern, mary reason why a potior
princi- not a Western, prelate, who might palitas was recognised in the see
acknowledge a supremacy in Rome, of Rome.
urbicarian
districts. The whole clerical establishment at Rome amounted to forty-six
presbyters, seven deacons, seven sub-deacons, forty-two aco- lyths, fifty-two
exorcists, readers, and doorkeepers. It comprehended fifteen hundred widows and
poor brethren, with a countless multitude of the higher orders and of the
people. No wonder that the name, the importance, the wealth, the accredited
Apostolic foundation of Rome, arrayed her in preeminent dignity. Still, in his
correspondence with the Bishop of Rome, the general tone of Cyprian, the great
advocate of Christian unity, is that of an equal ; though he shows great
respect to the Church of Rome, it is to the faithful guardian of an
uninterrupted tradition, not as invested with superior authority.*
As the
hierarchical pyramid tended to a point, its base spread out into greater width.
The greater pomp of the services, the more intricate administration of
affairs, the greater variety of regulations required by the increasing and now
strictly separated classes of votaries, imposed the necessity for new
functionaries, besides the bishops, priests, and deacons. These were the
archdeacon and the five
* While I
deliver my own assumpsit, ut diceret se
primatum
conclusions, without fear or com- tenere, et obtemperari a novellis
promise, I would avoid all con- et posteris sibi potius oportcre.”
troversy on this as well as on other Epist. lxxi. Hoc erant utiquc
subjects. It is but right, therefore, caeteri Apostoli, quod fuit Petrus,
for me to give the two apparently pari consortio praediti et honoris et
conflicting passages in Cyprian on potestatis ; sed exordium ab uni-
the primacy of St. Peter : — Nam tate proficiscitur, et primatus Petro
ncc Petrus quern primum Dominus datur, ut una Christi eccleshi, et
elegit, et super quern aedificavit cathedra una monstretur. De
Ecclesiam suam * * vindicavit sibi Unit. Eccles. aliquid insolenter aut
arroganter
B B Q
book subordinate officiating ministers, who received a
, lv‘ , kind of ordination. J. The sub-deacon, who, in New sacred
the Eastern church, collected the alms of the laity and laid them upon the
altar ; and, in the Western, acted as a messenger, or bearer of despatches. 2.
The reader, who had the custody of the sacred books, and, as the name implies,
read them during the service. 3. The acolvth, who was an attendant on the
bishop, carried the lamp before him, or bore the eucharist to the sick. 4. The
exorcist, who read the solemn forms over those possessed by daemons, the
energoumenoi, and'sometimes at baptisms. 5. The ostiarius or doorkeeper, who
assigned his proper place in the church to each member, and guarded against the
intrusion of improper persons.
As
Christianity assumed a more manifest civil existence, the closer correspondence,
the more intimate sympathy between its remote and scattered members, became
indispensable to its strength and consistency. Its uniformity of developement
in all parts of the world arose out of, and tended to promote, this unity. It
led to that concentration of the governing power in a few, which terminated at
length in the West in the unrestricted power of one.
The internal
unity of the Church, or universally disseminated body of Christians, had been
maintained by the general similarity of doctrine, of sen-, timent, of its
first simple usages and institutions, and the common dangers winch it had
endured in all parts of the world. It possessed its conso- ciating principles
in the occasional correspond-
ence between
its remote members, in those recommendatory letters with which the Christian
who travelled was furnished to his brethren in other parts of the empire; above
all, in the common literature, which, including the sacred writings, seems to
have spread with more or less regularity
through the
various communities.
Nothing how-
CIIAP.
I.
Unity of the Church.
ever tended
so much, although they might appear to exacerbate and perpetuate diversities of
opinion, to the maintenance of this unity, as the assemblage and recognition of
general Councils as the representatives of universal Christendom.* The bold
General
Councils.
* The
earliest councils (not cecumenic) were those of Rome (1st and 2d) and the seven
held at Carthage, concerning the lapsi, the schism of Novatianus, and the re-
baptizingof heretics. The seventh in Routh, Reliquiae Sacrae (Labbe, Concilia
III.), is the first of which we have anything like a report; and from this
time, either from the canons which they issue, or the opinions delivered by the
bishops, the councils prove important authorities, not merely for the decrees
of the Church, but for the dominant tone of sentiment, and even of manners.
Abhorrence of heresy is the prevailing feeling in this council, which decided
the validity of heretical baptism. “ Christ,” says one bishop, “founded the
Church, the Devil heresy. How can the synagogue of Satan administer the baptism
of the Church ? ” Another subjoins, “ He who yields or betrays the baptism of
the Church to heretics, what is he but a Judas of the spouse of Christ.” The
Synod or Council of Antioch (a. d. 209)
condemned Paul of Samosata. The Council of Illiberis (Elvira, or
B 1'
Granada), a. d. 303, affords
some curious notices of the state of Christianity in that remote province.
Some of the Heathen fla- mines appear to have attempted to reconcile the
performances of some of their religious duties, at least their presiding at the
games, with Christianity. There are many moral regulations which do not give a
high idea of Spanish virtue. The bishops and clergy were not to be itinerant
traders; they might trade within the province (can. xviii.), but were on no
account to take upon usury. The Jews were probably settled in great numbers in
Spain: the taking food with them is interdicted, as also to permit them to
reap the harvest. Gambling is forbidden. The councils of Rome and of Arles were
held to settle the Donatist controversy; but of the latter there are twenty-two
canons chiefly of ecclesiastical regulations. The Council of Ancyra
principally relates to the conduct of persons during the time of persecution.
The Council of Laodicea has some curious general canons. The first cecumenic
council was
3
impersonation,
the Church, seemed now to assume a more imposing visible existence. Its vital
principle was no longer that unseen and hidden harmony which had united the
Christians in all parts of the world with their Saviour and with each other. By
the assistance of the orthodox Emperors, and the commanding abilities of its
great defenders, one dominant form of doctrine had obtained the ascendancy ;
Gnosticism, Donatism, Arianism, Ma- nicheism, had been thrown aside ; and the
Church stood, as it were, individualised, or idealised, by the side of the
other social impersonation, the State. The Emperor was the sole ruler of the
latter, and at this period the aristocracy of the superior clergy, at a later
the autocracy of the Pope, at least as the representative of the Western
Church, became the supreme authority of the former. The hierarchical power,
from exemplary, persuasive, amiable, had become authoritative, commanding,
awful. When Christianity became the most powerful religion, when it became the
religion of the many, of the Emperor, of the State, the convert, or the
hereditary Christian had no strong Pagan party to receive him back into its
bosom
that of Nice. See book iii. ii. 559. The first of Constan- c. iv. It was followed by the
long tinople was the second
cecumenic succession of Arian, and anti- council
(a.d. 381). It re-established
Arian councils, at Tyre, Antioch, Trinitarianism
as the doctrine of Home, Milan, Sardica, Rimini, &c. the East; it elevated the bishop- The Arian Council of
Antioch is ric of Constantinople
into a patri- very strict in its regulations for the archate, to rank after Rome. The residence of the bishops and
the two other of the cecumenic counclergy,
and their restriction of their eils are
beyond the bounds of the labours to their own dioceses or present history, cures (a.d. 341). Apud
Labbe,vol.
when outcast
from the Church. If he ceased to chai\ believe, he no longer dared cease to
obey. No t T‘ , course remained but prostrate submission,
or the endurance of any penitential duty which might be enforced upon him ; and
on the penitential system, and the power of excommunication, to which we shall
revert, rested the unshaken hierarchical authority over the human soul.
With their
power increased both those other Incr<*sein
. .
. pomp.
sources of
influence, pomp and wealth. Distinctions in station and in authority naturally
lead to distinctions in manners, and those adventitious circumstances of
dress, carriage, and habits, which designate different ranks. Confederating
upon equal terms, the superior authorities in the church and state began to
assume an equal rank. In the Christian city, the bishop became a personage of
the highest importance ; and the clergy, as a kind of subordinate religious
magistracy, claimed, if a different kind, yet an equal share of reverence, with
the civil authority ; where the civil magistrate had his insignia of office,
the natural respect of the people, and the desire of maintaining his official
dignity, would invest the religious functionary likewise with some peculiar
symbol of his character. With their increased rank and estimation, the clergy
could not but assume a more imposing demeanour ; and that majesty in which they
were arrayed during the public ceremonial could not be entirely thrown off
when they returned to ordinary life. The reverence of man exacts dignity from
those who are its objects. The
13 13 h
book primitive Apostolic meanness of appearance and IV'
, habit was altogether unsuited to their altered position, as equal in rank,
more than equal in real influence and public veneration, to the civil officers
of the empire or municipality. The consciousness of power will affect the best
disciplined minds, and the unavoidable knowledge that salutary authority is
maintained over a large mass of mankind by imposing manners, dress, and mode of
living, would reconcile many to that which otherwise might appear incongruous
to their sacred character. There was in fact, and always has been, among the
more pious clergy, a perpetual conflict between a conscientious sense of the
importance of external dignity and a desire, as conscientious, of retaining
something of outward humility. The monkish and ascetic waged implacable war
against that secular distinction which, if in some cases eagerly assumed by
pride and ambition, was forced upon others by the deference, the admiration,
the trembling subservience of mankind. The prelate who looked the most
imperious, and spoke most sternly, on his throne, fasted and underwent the most
humiliating privations in his chamber or his cell. Some prelates supposed,
that as ambassadors of the Most High, as supreme governors in that which was of
greater dignity than the secular empire, the earthly kingdom of Christ, they
ought to array themselves in something of imposing dignity. The bishops of Rome
early affected state and magnificence, Chrysostom, on the other hand, in
Constantinople, differing from his predecessors, considered poverty of
dress,
humility of demeanour, and the most severe ciiap. austerity of life, as more
becoming a Christian prelate, who was to set the example of the virtues which
he inculcated, and to show contempt for those worldly distinctions which
properly belonged to the civil power. Others, among whom was Ambrose of Milan,
while in their own persons and in private they were the plainest, simplest, and
most austere of men, nevertheless threw into the service of the Church all that
was solemn and magr\ificent; and as officiating functionaries, put on for the
time the majesty of manner, the state of attendance, the splendour of attire,
which seemed to be authorised by the gorgeousness of dress and ceremonial pomp
in the Old Testament.*
With the
greater reverence, indeed, peculiar sanctity was exacted, and no doubt, in
general, observed by the clergy. They were imperatively required to surpass
the general body of Christians in
* The
clergy were long without umilta faceva
una certa pompa cle
any distinction of dress, except on abjezione e de poverta. Cicognara,
ceremonial occasions. At the end Storiade Scultura,t.i. p. 27. Count
of the fourth century, it was the Cicognara gives a curious account
custom for them in some churches of the elate and origin of the dif-
to wear black. Socr. H. E. vi.22. ferent parts of the clerical dress.
Jerome, however, recommends that The mitre is of the eighth century,
they should neither be distin- the tiara of the tenth, guished by too bright
or too sombre The fourth Council of Carthage
colours. Ad Nepot. The proper (a. d.39SJ has
some restrictions
habits were probably introduced at ou dress. The clericus was not to
the end of the fifth century, as they wear long hair or beard (nec comam
are recognised by councils in the habeat nec barbam. Can- xliv.); he
sixth. Cone. Matisc. a.
d. 581, was to approve his
professon by
can. 1. 5.; Trull, c. 27. The ton- his dress and walk, and not to study
sure began in the fourth century, the beauty of his dress or sam'als.
Prima del iv. secolo i semplici preti He might obtain his sustenance by
non avevano alcun abito distinto working as an artisan, or in agri-
dagli altri o Pagani o Cristiani, se culture, provided he did not neg-
non in quanto la professata loro lect his duty. Can. Ii. Iii.
BOOK
IV.
Wealth of the clergy.
Uses to which it was applied.
purity of
morals, and, perhaps even more, in all religious performances. As the outward
ceremonial, fasting, public prayer during almost every part of the day, and the
rest of the ritual service, were more completely incorporated with
Christianity, they were expected to maintain the public devotion by their
example, and to encourage self-denial by their more rigid austerity.
Wealth as well
as pomp followed in the train of power. The desire to command wealth (we must
not yet use the ignoble term covetousness) not merely stole imperceptibly into
intimate connection with religion, but appeared almost a part of religion
itself. The individual was content to be disinterested in his own person; the
interest which he felt in the opulence of the Church, or even of his own order,
appeared not merely excusable, but a sacred duty. In the hands of the Christian
clergy, wealth, which appeared at that period to be lavished on the basest of
mankind, and squandered on the most criminal and ignominious objects, might
seem to be hallowed to the noblest purposes. It enabled Christianity to vie
with Paganism in erecting splendid edifices for the worship of God, to provide
an imposing ceremonial, lamps for midnight service, silver or golden vessels
for the altar, veils, hangings, and priestly dresses; it provided for the
wants of the poor, whom misgovern- ment, war, and taxation, independent of the
ordinary calamities of human life, were grinding to the earth. To each church
were attached numbers of widows and other destitute persons; the redemp
tion of
slaves was an object on which the riches of the Church were freely lavished:
the sick in the hospitals and prisons, and destitute strangers were under their
especial care. “ How many captives has the wealth of the Pagan establishment
released from bondage?” This is among the triumphant questions of the advocates
of Christianity.* The maintenance of children exposed by their parents, and
taken up and educated by the Christians, was another source of generous
expenditure. When, then, at first the munificence of the Emperor, and
afterwards the gratitude and superstitious fears of the people, heaped up their
costly offerings at the feet of the clergy, it would have appeared not merely
ingratitude and folly, but impiety and uncharitableness to their brethren, to
have rejected them. The clergy, as soon as they were set apart from the
ordinary business of life, were maintained by the voluntary offerings of their
brethren. The piety which embraced Christianity never failed in liberality. The
payments seem chiefly to have been made in kind, rather than in money, though
on extraordinary occasions large sums were raised for some sacred or charitable
object. One of the earliest acts of Constantine was to make munificent grants
to the despoiled and destitute Church.t A certain portion of the public stores
of corn and other produce, which was received in kind by the officers of the
revenue, was assigned to the Church and clergy.t This was withdrawn by Julian,
and
CIIAP.
i.
* Ambros.
contra Syminaclium. t Sozomen, II. E. v. 5. f Euseb. II. E, x. G.
book when
regranted by the Christian Emperors, was
, n‘
, diminished one third.
Law
of The law of Constantine which empowered
the
tineem" c]ergy of the Church to
receive testamentary be-
the'cimrch quests> and to hold
land, was a gift which would
to
receive scarcely have been exceeded if he
had granted
bequests.
. . n • T i
them two provinces
ot the empire.* It became almost a sin to die without some bequest to pious
uses; and before a century had elapsed, the mass of property which had passed
over to the Church was so enormous, that the most pious of the Emperors were
obliged to issue a restrictive law, which the most ardent of the Fathers were
constrained to approve, Jerome acknowledges, with the bitterness of shame, the
necessity of this check on ecclesiasti- Restrictive cal avarice.t “ I complain
not of the law, but that Valenti- we have deserved such a law.” The ascetic
father and the Pagan historian describe the pomp and avarice of the Roman
clergy in the fourth century. Ammianus, while he describes the sanguinary feud
Pope Da- which took place for the prelacy between Damasus and Ursicinus,
intimates that the magnificence of the prize may account for the obstinacy and
ferocity with which it was contested. He dwells on
* This is
the observation of avaritia.
Ambrose(l.ii.adv. Symm.)
Planck. . admits the necessity of the law.
f Valentinian II. deEpisc. Solis Augustine, while he loftily dis-
clericis et monachis hac lege pro- claims all participation in such
hibetur, et prohibetur non a perse- abuses, acknowledges their fre-
cutoribus sed a principibus Christi- quency. Quicunque vult, exhae-
anis; nec de lege conqueror, sed redato filio hasredem faeere eccle-
doleo cur meruerimus hanc legem, siam, quaerat alterum qui suscipiat,
Hieronym. ad Nepot. He speaks non Augustinum, immo, Deo pro-
also of the provida severaque legis pitio, inveniat neminem. Serm.
cautio, et tamcn non sic refrasnatur 49.
the prodigal
offerings of the Roman matrons to ciiap. their bishop ; his pomp, when in
elaborate and ele- , * gant attire he was borne in his chariot through the
admiring streets ; the costly luxury of his almost imperial banquets. But the
just historian contrasts this pride and luxury of the Roman pontiff with the
more temperate life and dignified humility of the provincial bishops. Jerome
goes on sternly to charge the whole Roman clergy with the old vice of the
Heathen aristocracy, haeredipety or legacy hunting, and asserts that they used
the holy and venerable name of the Church to extort for their own personal
emolument, the wealth of timid or expiring devotees. The law of Valentinian
justly withheld from the clergy and the monks alone that privilege of receiving
bequests which was permitted to the “ lowest of mankind, Heathen priests,
actors, charioteers and harlots.”
Large parts
of the ecclesiastical revenues, however, arose from more honourable sources.
Some of the estates of the Heathen temples, though in general confiscated to
the imperial treasury, were alienated to the Christian churches. The Church of
Alexandria obtained the revenue of the Temple of Serapis.*
These various
estates and properties belonged
* Sozomen,
v. 7. The Church of and the diseased, who
sat down, as
Antioch possessed lands, houses, it were before the Christian altar,
rents, carriages, mules, anil other and received food and raiment, be-
kindsof property. It undertook the sides many other accidental claims
daily sustenance of 3000 widows on their benevolence. Chrysos-
and virgins, besides prisoners, the tom, Oper. Montfaucon in his dis-
sick in the hospitals, the maimed, sertation, gives the references.
book to the Church in its corporate capacity, not to the IV*
clergy. They were charged with the maintenance
Application
of the fabric of the church, and the various chari- weahhof table purposes,
including the sustenance of their the Church. own dependent poor.
Strong enactments were made to prevent their alienation from those hallowed
purposes*, the clergy were even restrained from bequeathing by will what they
had obtained from the property of the Church. The estates of the Church were
liable to the ordinary taxes, the land and capitation tax, but exempt from what
were called sordid and extraordinary charges, and from the quartering of
troops.t
The bishops
gradually obtained almost the exclusive management of this property. In some
churches, a steward (ceconomus) presided over this department, but he would, in
general, be virtually under the control of the bishop. In most churches, the
triple division began to be observed; one third of the revenue to the bishop,
one to the clergy, the other to the fabric and the poor ; the Church of Rome
added a fourth, a separate portion for the fabric.t
The clergy
had become a separate community; they had their own laws of internal
government,
* Cone.
Carth.iii. 40.; Antioch, any monk, who
died intestate, and
24. Constit. Apost. 40. Cod. without legal heirs, fell, not to the
Thcodos. de Episc. et Clericis, treasury, as in ordinary cases, but
t. 33. to
the church or monastery to
-J* Planck, P. iii. c. vi. 3. which he belonged. The same pri-
% By a law of Theodosius and vilege was granted to the Corpora-
Valens, a. d. 434,
the property of tion of Decurions.
Codex Theo-
any bishop, presbyter, deacon, dos. v. iii. 1. deaconess, sub-deacon,
&c., or of
their own
special regulations, or recognised proprieties of life and conduct. Their
social delinquencies were not as yet withdrawn from the civil jurisdiction ;
but besides this, they were amenable to the severe judgments of ecclesiastical
censure*; the lowest were liable to corporeal chastisement. Flagellation, which
was administered in the synagogue, and was so common in Roman society, was by
no means so disgraceful as to exempt the persons at least of the inferior
clergy from its infliction. But the more serious punishment was degradation
into the vulgar class of worshippers. To them it was the most fearful
condemnation to be ejected from the inner sanctuary and thrust down from their
elevated station, t
As yet they
were not entirely estranged from Celibacy of
the clergy.
society, they
had not become a caste by the legal enforcement or general practice of celibacy.
Clement, of Alexandria asserts and vindicates the marriage of some of the
Apostles, t
* Sozomen
states that Constan- the change, and that
only in a li-
tine gave his clergy the privilege of mited manner, rejecting the jurisdiction of the
f The decrees of the fourth
civil tribunal, and bringing their council of Carthage show the strict
causes to the bishop. P. M. i. 9. morals and humble subordination
But these were probably disputes demanded of the clergy at the
between clergyman and clergyman, close of the fourth century.
All others were cases of arbi- J nH kcu rovg ’A7to<tt6Xov(;
aTrodo-
tration, by mutual agreement; Kifid^ovai ;ULrpog fih> ydp Kai ^IXi--
but the civil power was to ra- 7roc tTtaiSoTroiIjvavTo. inXnnrog ct
tify their decree. In a Novella Kalrag Svyartpag dvdpdciv i%k$ujKtv,
of Valentinian, a.d. 752, it is ex- Kal oye ITavXog ovk okvsZ tv
tip 1
pressly said, — Quoniam constat turicroXi) t))v avrbv Trpoaayoptveiv
episcopos et presbyteros forum le- cvZvyov, ijv ov TrtpitKofu^tv Iid ro
gibus non habere * * nec de aliis rfig v—^ptalag evc-aXtg. — Strom,
causis praeter religionem posse cog- 1. iii. c. 6. On the question of the
noscere. Compare Planck, p. 300. marriage of the Apostles and their
The clericus was bound to appear, immediate followers, almost every
if summoned by a layman, before thing is collected in a note of Co-
the ordinary judge. Justinian made tetanus, Patres Apostolici, ii. 241.
book The
discreet remonstrance of the old Egyptian ' , bishop perhaps prevented the
Council of Nice from imposing that heavy burden on the reluctant clergy. The
aged Paphnutius, himself unmarried, boldly asserted that the conjugal union was
chastity.* But that, which, in the third century is asserted to be free to all
mankind, clergy as well as laity, in Egyptt, in the fourth, according to
Jerome, was prohibited or limited by vows of continence. It has been assertedt,
and without refutation, that there was no ecclesiastical law or regulation
which compelled the celibacy of the clergy for the first three centuries.
Clement of Alexandria, as we see, argues against enforced celibacy from the
example of the Apostles. Married bishops and presbyters frequently occur in the
history of Eusebius. The martyrdom of Numidicus was shared and not dishonoured
by the companionship of his wife.§ It was a sight of joy and consolation to the
husband to see her perishing in the same flames. The wives of the clergy are
recognised, not merely in the older writings, but also in the public documents
of the Church. || Council after council, in the East, introduced regulations,
which, though intended to
* Gelasii.
Histor. Cone. Nic. § Numidieus presbyter uxorera
c. xxxii. Socrat. i. 11. Sozomen, adhaerentem
lateri suo, concrema-
i. 23. Baronius insists upon this tarn cum eaeteris, vel conservatam
being Greek fable. potius
dixerim, laetus aspexit. Cy-
-j- Nrti yn)v Kai tov
tT]q fiiagyvvat- prian, p. 525.
See in Basnage,
Kog dvdpa rravv inroStxeTcti Kavjrpia- Dissertatio Septima, a list of mar-
€vrepog tj, k$v
SictKovog, k$v XaiKog, ried prelaes.
«j'£7ri\//7rra>£ ydpitj xpwms»'oc. 2ho9t]- |J Cone. Gang. c. 4. Cone.
GErai 5s 5td T^g TtKvoyoviag. Strom. Ancyr. c. 10. This law allows any
iii. 12. 9. deacon to marry,
J By Bingham, book iv. „
restrict,
recognise the legality of these ties.* chap. Highly as they exalt the angelic
state of celibacy, i- r neither Basil in the East, nor Augustine in
the West, positively prohibits the marriage of the clergy.t But in the fourth
century, particularly in the latter half, the concurrent influence of the
higher honours attributed to virginity by all the great Christian writers; of
the hierarchical spirit, which, even at that time, saw how much of its
corporate strength depended on this entire detachment from worldly ties; of the
monastic system, which worked into the clerical, partly by the frequent
selection of monks for ordination, and for consecration to ecclesiastical
dignities, partly by the emulation of the clergy, who could not safely allow
themselves to be outdone in austerity by these rivals for popular estimation;
all these various influences introduced various restrictions and regulations on
the marriage of the clergy, which darkened at length into the solemn
ecclesiastical interdict. First, the general sentiment repudiated a second
marriage as a monstrous act of incontinence, an infirmity or a sin which ought
to prevent the Christian from ever aspiring to any ecclesiastical office, t The
next offence
* In the West,
the Council of On Augustine, compare
Theiner,
Elvira commands the clergy to ab- p. 154.
stain from connubial intercourse J Athenagoras laid down the ge- and the
procreation of children, neral principle,
6 yap otvrtpog (yd- Can. xxxiii. This was frequently /.ioq) tvirptTn)g ean fioixua. De Rere-enacted. Among others, Cone. surr. Carn. Compare Orig. contr.
Carthag. v. 2. Labbe, ii. 1216. Cels, vii., and Horn, vi., in Num.
f Basil speaks of a presbyter who xviii.,in Luc.xviii.,inMatt. Tcrtull.
had contumaciously contractcd an ad Uxor. 1—5. This was almost an
unlawful marriage. Can. ii. c. 27. universal moral axiom. Epiphanius
book against
the general feeling was marriage with a
J j widow; then followed the restriction of
marriage
after
entering into holy orders ; the married priest retained his wife, but to
condescend to such carnal ties after ordination, was revolting to the general
sentiment, and was considered to imply a total want of feeling for the dignity
of their high calling. Then was generally introduced a demand of abstinence
from sexual connection from those who retained their wives: this was
imperatively required from the higher orders of the clergy. It was considered
to render unclean, and to disqualify even from prayer for the people, as the
priest’s life was to be a perpetual prayer.* Not that there was as yet any
uniform practice. The bishops assembled at the Council of Gangrat condemned
the followers of Eustathius, who refused to receive the sacraments from any but
unmarried priests. The heresy of Jovinian, on the other hand, probably
said, that since the coming of Christ no digamous clergyman had ever been
ordained. Barbeyrac has collected the passages of the Fathers expressive of
their abhorrence of second marriages. Morale des Peres, p. 1. 29. 34. 37.
&c. The Council of Neo-Caesarea forbade clergymen to be present at a second
marriage — 7r(oeaGvrepov tig yujiovg diya/xovvrojv pi) lanaaOai.
Can. vii.
* Such is
the distinct language of Jerome. Si laicus et quicunque fidelis orare non
potest nisi carent officio conjugali, sacerdoti, cui semper pro populo
offerenda sunt sacri-
ficia semper orandum est. Si semper orandum
est, semper carendum ma- trimonio. Adv.
Jovin. p. 175.
-j- The Council of Gangra, in the preamble and in the first canon do not
appear to refer necessarily to the wives of the clergy. They anathematise
certain teachers (the Eustathians) who had blamed marriage, and said that a
faithful and pious woman who slept with her husband could not enter into the
kingdom of heaven. A sacred virgin is prohibited from vaunting over a married
woman, canon x. Women are forbidden to abandon their husbands and children.
called forth
the severe regulations of Pope Siricius.* This sort of encyclical letter
positively prohibited all clergy of the higher orders from any intercourse with
their wives. A man who lived to the age of thirty, the husband of one wife,
that wife, when married, a virgin, might be an acolyth or subdeacon; after five
years of strict continence, he might be promoted to a priest; after ten years
more of the same severe ordeal, a bishop. A clerk, any one in holy orders, even
of the lowest degree, who married a widow, or a second wife, was instantly
deprived : no woman was to live in the house of a clerk.
The Council
of Carthage, reciting the canon of a former council, commands the clergy to abstain
from all connection with their wives. The enactment is perpetually repeated,
and in one extended to subdeacons.t The Council of Toledo prohibited the
promotion of ecclesiastics who had children. The Council of Arles prohibited
the ordination of a married priest!, unless he made a promise of divorce from
the married state. Jerome distinctly asserts that it was the universal
regulation of the East, of Egypt, and of Rome § to ordain only
* The
letter of Siricius in Mansi aut
continentes ; aut si uxores ha-
Concil. iii. 635., a.d.385. buerint, inaritiessedesistunt. Adv.
■f These councils of Carthage Vigilantium, p.281. Jerome appeals
are dated a.d.
390, 418, and 419. to Jovinian
himself: —“ Certe con-
11: Assumi aliquem ad sacerdotium fiteris non posse esse episcopum
non posse in vinculo sacerdotii qui in episcopatu filios {faciat,
constitutum, nisi primum fuerit pro- alioqui si deprehensus fuerit, non
missa conversio. a.d. 452. quasivirtenebitur,
sedquasi adulter
£ QuidfacientOrientisEcclesiae? damnabitur. Adv. Jovin. 175.
quid iEgypti, et sedis Apostolicae, Compare Epiphanius, Haeres. liv. 4. quae aut
virgines clericos accipiunt
C C 2
CHAP.
I.
book those
who were unmarried, or who ceased to be
IV
t ^ ’ ,
husbands. But even in the fourth, and the beginning of the fifth centuries,
the practice rebelled Married against this severe theory. Married clergymen,
and clergy, even married bishops, and with children, occur in the
ecclesiastical annals. Athanasius, in his letter to Draconlius, admits and
allows the full right of the bishop to marriage.* Gregory of Nazienzen was born
after his father was bishop, and had a younger brother named Caesarius.t
Gregory of Nyssa, and Hilary of Poictiers, were married. Less distinguished
names frequently occur: those of Spy- ridon t and Eustathius. § Synesius, whose character enabled him to
accept episcopacy on his own terms, positively repudiated these unnatural
restrictions on the freedom and holiness of the conjugal state. “God and the
law, and the holy hand of Theophilus bestowed on me my wife. I declare, therefore,
solemnly, and call you to witness, that I will not be plucked from her, nor lie
with her in secret, like an adulterer. But I hope and pray that we may have
many and virtuous children.” ||
The
Council of Trulla only demanded this high test of spirituality, absolute
celibacy, from bishops, and left the inferior clergy to their freedom. But the
earlier Western Council of Toledo only ad
* Athanasii
Epistola ad Dra- f Gregory makes his father thus contium. address him: —
Ov7Tio Torrovrov iKH£f.UTprjKag (3iov "Oa-og
Sitj\0s Srvauov e/xoi xp°v°Q' De Vita Sua, v. 512.
i Sozom. i. 11. Socrat. i. 12. || Synesii Epist. 105.
£ Socrat. ii. 43. .
mittecl the
deacon, and that under restrictions, to ciiap. connubial intercourse; the
presbyter who had chil- t L . dren after his ordination could not be a bishop.*
This
overstrained demand on the virtue, not of in- Moral individuals in
a high state of enthusiasm, but of a whole scqucnces' class of men ;
this strife with nature, in that which, in its irregular and lawless
indulgence, is the source of so many evils and of so much misery, in its more
moderate and legal form is the parent of the purest affections, and the holiest
charities; this isolation from those social ties which, if at times they might
withdraw them from total dedication to their sacred duties, in general, would,
by their tending to soften and humanise, be the best school for the gentle and
affectionate discharge of those duties— the enforcement of the celibacy of the
clergy, though not yet by law, by dominant opinion, was not slow in producing
its inevitable evils. Simul- Muiieres taneously with the sterner condemnation
of mar- duct**0" riage, or at least the exaggerated praises of
chastity, we hear the solemn denunciations of the law, the deepening
remonstrances of the more influential writers, against those secret evasions by
which the clergy endeavoured to obtain the fame without the practice of
celibacy, to enjoy some of the pleasures and advantages without the crime of
marriage.
From the
middle of the third century, in which the growing aversion to the marriage of
the clergy begins to appear, we find the “ sub-introduced ”
* Cone.
Tolet. a. d. 400, can.i.
C C 3
BOOK
IV.
females
constantly proscribed.* The intimate union of the priest with a young, often a
beautiful female, who still passed to the world under the name of a virgin, and
was called by the priest by the unsuspected name of sister, seems from the
strong and reiterated language of Jerome t, Gregory Na- zianzen, Chrysostom,
and others, to have been almost general. It was interdicted by an imperial
law.t Thus, in every city, in almost every town and every village of the Roman
empire, had established itself a new permanent magistracy, in
* They are
mentioned in the letter of the bishops of Antioch, against Paul of Samosata.
The Council ofIlliberis (incautiously) allowed a sister, or a virgin, dedicated
to God, to reside with a bishop or presbyter, not a stranger.
■f- Unde sine nuptiis aliud nomen uxorum?
Imo unde novum con- cubinarum genus ? Plus inferam. Unde meretrices univirae ?
Eadem domo, uno cubiculo, saepe uno te- nentur et lectulo. Et suspiciosos nos
vocant, si aliquid existimamus. Frater sororem virginem deserit: caelibem
spernit virgo germanum : fratrem quaerit extraneum, et cum in eodem proposito
esse se simulent quaerunt alienorum spiritale solatium, ut domi habeant
carnale com- mercium. Hieronym.
Epist. xxii. ad Eustochium. If the vehemence of Jerome’s language betrays his
own ardent charactcr, and his monkish hostility to the clergy, the general
charge is amply borne out by other writers. Many quotations may be found in
Gothofred’s Note on the Law of Honorius. Gregory of Na- zianzen says,—*Aptrava
ttcivt d\k- eive, ovveicrciKTOv re fiaXuTTa. The
language of Cyprian, however, even in the third century, is the
strongest: — Certe ipse concubitus, ipse am- plexus, ipsa confabulatio, et
inos- culatio, et conjacentium duorum turpis et fceda dormitio quantum
dedecoris et criminis confitetur. Cyprian justly observes, that such intimacy
would induce a jealous husband to take to his sword. Epist. lxii. ad Pomponium.
But the canon of the Council of Nice, which prohibits the usage, and
forbids the priest to have a subintroducta mulier, unless a mother, sister, or
aunt, the only relationships beyond suspicion; and the still stronger tone of
the law, show the frequency, as well as the evil, of the practice. Unhappily
they were blind to its real cause.
J Eum qui probabilem saeculo disciplinam agit decolorari consor- tio
sororiae appellationis non decet. But this law of Honorius, a. d. 420, allowed the clergy to retain
their wives, if they had been married before entering into orders. See the
third and fourth canons of the Council of Carthage, a. d. 348.
a certain
sense independent of the government, chap. with considerable inalienable
endowments, and t ^ , filled by men of a peculiar and sacred
character, and recognised by the state. Their authority extended far beyond
their jurisdiction ; their influence far beyond their authority. The internal
organisation was complete. The three great patriarchs in the East, throughout
the West the Bishop of Rome, exercised a supreme and, in some points* an
appellant jurisdiction. Great ecclesiastical causes could be removed to their
tribunal.
Under them,
the metropolitans, and in the next rank the bishops, governed their dioceses,
and ruled the subordinate clergy, who now began to form parishes, separate
districts to which their labours were to be confined. In the superior clergy
had gradually become vested, not the ordination only, but the appointment, of
the inferior; they could not quit the diocese without letters from the bishop,
or be received or exercise their functions in another without permission.
On the incorporation
of the Church with the Union of ' State,
the co-ordinate civil and religious magistracy statl.chand
maintained each its separate powers. On one side, as far as the actual
celebration of the ecclesiastical ceremonial, and in their own internal affairs
in general; on the other, in the administration of the military, judicial, and
fiscal affairs of the state, the bounds of their respective authority were
clear and distinct. As a citizen and subject, the Christian, the priest, and
the bishop, were amenable to the
c c 4
book laws of the empire and to the imperial decrees, and t n
‘ , liable to taxation, unless specially exempted, for the service of the
state.* The Christian statesman, on the other hand, of the highest rank, was
amenable to the ecclesiastical censures, and was bound to submit to the canons
of the Church in matters of faith and discipline, and was entirely dependent on
their judgment for his admission or rejection from the privileges and hopes of
the Christian.
So far the
theory was distinct and perfect; each had his separate and exclusive sphere;
yet there could not but appear a debateable ground on which the two authorities
came into collision, and neither could altogether refrain from invading the
territory of his ally or antagonist.
Union of The treaty between the contracting parties
was, lnd^heUrch formed with such haste and precipitancy,
State*
that the rights of neither party could be defined or secured ; eager for
immediate union, and impatient of delay, they framed no deed of settlement, by
which, when their mutual interests should be less identified, and jealousy and
estrangement should arise, they might assert their respective rights, and
enforce their several duties.
* The law of
Constantius which Theod. xvi. 2.12.,
with Gothofred’s
appears to withdraw the bishops note. Valens admitted the eecle-
entirely from the civil jurisdiction, siastical courts to settle religious
and to crive the privilege of being difficulties and slight offences,
tried upon all charges by a tribunal xvi. 2. 23. The same is the scope
of bishops, is justly considered by of the more explicit law of Hono-
Gothofred as a local or temporary rius. xvi. 2. 201. The immunity of
act, probably connected with the the clergy from the civil courts was
feuds concerning Arianism. Cod. of very much later date.
In
ecclesiastical affairs, strictly so called, the su- ciiap. premacy of the
Christian magistracy, it has been , ‘ said, was admitted. They were the
legislators of discipline, order, and doctrine. The festivals, the fasts, the
usages and canons of the Church, the government of the clergy, were in their
exclusive power ; the decrees of particular synods and councils possessed
undisputed authority, as far as their sphere extended ; general councils were
held binding on the whole Church. But it was far more easy to define that
which did belong to the province of the Church than that which did not.
Religion asserts its authority, and endeavours to extend its influence over the
whole sphere of moral action, which is, in fact* over the whole of human life,
its habits, manners, conduct. Christianity, as the most profound moral
religion, exacted the most complete and universal obedience ; and as the acknowledged
teachers and guardians of Christianity, the clergy, continued to draw within
their sphere every part of human life in which man is actuated by moral or
religious motives, the moral authority, therefore, of the religion, and
consequently of the clergy, might appear legitimately to extend over every
transaction of life, from the legislature of the sovereign, which ought, in a
Christian king, to be guided by Christian motives, to the domestic duties of
the peasant, which ought to be fulfilled on the principle of Christian love.
But, on the
other hand, the State was supreme over all its subjects, even over the clergy,
in their.
character of
citizens. The whole tenure of property, to what use soever dedicated (except
in such cases as itself might legalise on its first principles, and guarantee,
when bestowed, as by gift or bequest), was under its absolute control ; the
immunities which it conferred, it might revoke ; and it would assert the equal
authority of the constitutional laws over every one who enjoyed the protection
of those laws. Thus, though in extreme cases, these separate bounds of
jurisdiction were clear, the tribunals of ecclesiastical and civil law could
not but, in process of time, interfere with and obstruct each other.
But there was
another prolific source of difference. The clergy, in one sense, from being
the representative body, had begun to consider themselves the Church ; but in
another and more legitimate sense, the State, when Christian, as comprehending
all the Christians of the empire, became the Church. Which was the legislative
body,—the whole community of Christians or the Christian aristocracy, who were
in one sense the admitted rulers? And who was to appoint these rulers ? It is
quite clear that, from the first, though the consecration to the religious
office was in the bishop and clergy, the laity had a voice in the ratification,
if notin the appointment. Did not the State fairly succeed to all the rights of
the laity, more particularly when privileges and endowments, attached to the
ecclesiastical offices, were conferred or guaranteed by the State, and
therefore might appear
in
justice revocable, or liable to be regulated by chap. the civil power ? ( Im
This vital
question at this time was still farther embarrassed by the rash eagerness with
which the dominant Church called upon the State to rid it of its internal
adversaries. When once the civil power was recognised as cognisant of
ecclesiastical offences, where was that power to end?
The Emperor,
who commanded his subjects to be of one religion, might command them, by the
same title, to adopt another. The despotic head of the State might assert his
despotism as head of the Church. It must be acknowledged that no theory, which
has satisfactorily harmonised the relations of these two, at once, in one sense
separate, in another identical, communities, has satisfied the reasoning and
dispassionate mind ; while the separation of the two communities, the total
dissociation, as it were, of the Christian and the citizen, is an experiment
apparently not likely to advance or perpetuate the influence of Christianity.
At all
events, the hasty and unsettled compact of this period left room for constant
jealousy and strife. As each was the stronger, it encroached upon, and extended
its dominion into the territory of the other. In general, though with very
various fortunes, in different parts of the world, and at different periods,
the Church was in the ascendant, and for many centuries confronted the State,
at least on equal terms.
The first
aggression, as it were, which the Church Marriage
’ ’ brought
BOOK
IV.
under ecclesiastical discipline.
made on the
State, was in assuming the cognisance over all questions and causes relating to
marriage. In sanctifying this solemn contract, it could scarcely be considered
as transgressing its proper limits, as guardian of this primary element of
social virtue and happiness. In the early Church, the benediction of the bishop
or presbyter seems to have been previously sought by the Christian at the time
of marriage. The Heathen rite of marriage was so manifestly religious, that
the Christian, while he sought to avoid that idolatrous ceremony, would wish to
substitute some more simple and congenial form. In the general sentiment that
this contract should be public and sacred, he would seek the sanction of his
own community, as its witnesses. Marriage not performed in the face of his
Christian brethren was little better than an illicit union.*
It was an
object likewise of the early Christian community to restrict the marriage of
Christians to Christians, to discountenance, if not prohibit, those with
unbelievers, t This was gradually
* Ideo
penes nos occultee con- junctiones, id est, non prius apud ecclesiam professae,
juxta mcechiam et fornicationem judicari periclitan- tur. Tertull. de Pudic. c. 4.
Though the rite was solemnised in the presence of the Christian priest,
and the Church attempted to impose a graver and more serious dignity, it was
not so easy to throw oft' the gay and festive character which had prevailed in
the Heathen times. Paganism, or rather, perhaps, human nature, was too strong
to submit. The austere
preacher of Constantinople reproved the loose hymns to Venus, which were
heard even at Christian weddings. The bride, he says, was borne by drunken men
to her husband’s house, among choirs of dancing harlots, with pipes and
flutes, and songs, full, to her chaste ear, of offensive license.
f A law of Valentinian II., Theodosius and Arcadius (a. d. 388), prohibited the
intermarriage of Jews and Christians. ^Codex Theodos. iii. 7. 2. It was to be
considered adultery. — Cave,
extended to
marriages with heretics, or members of chap. another Christian sect. When,
therefore, the Church t ‘ began to recognise five legal impediments
to marriage, this was the 1st, — difference of religion tween Christians and
infidels, Jews, or heretics.
The lid was,
the impediment of crime. Persons guilty of adultery were not allowed to marry
according to the Roman law; this was recognised by the Church. A law of
Constantius had made rape, or forcible abduction of a virgin, a capital
offence; and, even with the consent of the injured female, marriage could not
take place. III. Impediments from relationship. Here also they were content to
follow the Roman law, which was as severe and precise as the Mosaic
Institutes.* IV.
The civil
impediment. Children adopted by the same father could not marry. A freeman
could not marry a slave ; the connection was only concubinage. It does not
appear that the Church yet ventured to correct this vice of Roman society.
V. Spiritual
relationship, between godfathers and their spiritual children : this was
afterwards carried much farther. To these regulations for the re-
Christiane, Gentili aut Judaeo filiam tradere; cave, inqiiam, Gen- tilem
aut Judaeam atque alieni- genam, hoc est, haereticam, et omnem alienam a fide
tua uxorem accersastibi. Ambros.de Abraham, c. 9. Cum certissime noveris tradi
a nobis Christianam nisi Christiano non posse. Augustin. Ep. 234. ad Rusticum.
The council of llliberis had prohibited Christians from giving their
daughters in marriage to Gentiles (propter copiam puellarum), also to Jews,
heretics, and especially to Heathen priests. Can. xv. xvi. xvii.
* See the
various laws in the Cod. Theod., lib. iii. tit. 12., De Incestis Nuptiis.
BOOK
IV.
Divorce.
pression of improper
connections, were added some other ecclesiastical impediments. There were holy
periods in the year, in which it was forbidden to contract marriage. No one
might marry while under ecclesiastical interdict; nor one who had made a vow of
chastity.
The facility
of divorce was the primary principle of corruption in Roman social life.
Augustus had attempted to enforce some restrictions on this unlimited power of
dissolving the matrimonial contract from caprice or the lightest motive.
Probably, the severity of Christian morals had obtained that law of Constantine
which was so much too rigid for the state of society, as to be entirely
ineffective, from the impossibility of carrying it into execution. * It was
relaxed by Constantius, and almost abrogated by Honorius.t The inveterate evil
remained. A Christian writer, at the beginning of the fifth century, complains
that men changed their wives as quickly as their clothes, and that marriage
* Codex
Theodos. iii. 16. 1. See vol. ii. p. 473.
f By the law of Honorius,— I. The woman who demanded a divorce without
sufficient proof forfeited her dowry, was condemned to banishment, could not
contract a second marriage, was without hope of restoration to civil rights. 2.
If she made out only a tolerable case (convicted her husband only of me-
diocris culpa), she only forfeited her dowry, and could not contract a second
marriage, but was liable to be prosecuted by her husband for adultery. 3. If
she made a
strong case (gravis causa), she retained her dowry, and might marry
again after five years. The husband, in the first case, forfeited the gifts
and dowry,and was condemned to perpetual celibacy, not having liberty to marry
again after a certain number of years. In the second, he forfeited the dowry
but not the donation, and could marry again after two years. In the third, he
was bound to prosecute his guilty wife. On conviction, he received the dowry,
and might marry again immediately. Cod. Theodos. iii. xvi. 2.
chambers were
set up as easily as booths in a market. * At a later period than that to which
our history extends, when Justinian attempted to prohibit all divorces except
those on account of chastity, that is when the parties embraced the monastic
life, he was obliged to relax the law on account of the fearful crimes, the
plots and poisonings, and other evils, which it introduced into domestic life.
But though it
could not correct or scarcely mitigate this evil by public law in the general
body of society, Christianity, in its proper and more peculiar sphere, had
invested marriage in a religious sanctity, which at least, to a limited extent,
repressed this social evil. By degrees, separation from bed and board, even in
the case of adultery, the only cause which could dissolve the tie, was substituted
and enforced by the clergy, instead of legal divorce. Over all the ceremonial
forms, and all expressions which related to marriage, the Church threw the
utmost solemnity ; it was said to resemble the mystic union of Christ and the
Church ; till at length marriage grew up into a sacrament, indissoluble until
the final separation of death, except
* Mulieres a
maritis tanquam had buried them all); his
wife had
vestes subinde mutari, et thalamos had twenty-two husbands. There
tarn saepe et facile strui quam nun- was a great anxiety to know which
dinarum tabernas. Asterius Ama- would outlive the other. The man
senus apud Combefis. Auct. t.i. carried the day, and bore his wife
The story has been often quoted to the grave in a kind of triumphal
from St. Jerome, of the man (of the procession. Ilicronym. Epist. xci.
lowest class) in Rome, who had p. 745. had twenty wives (not divorced —
C1IAP.
I.
by the
highest ecclesiastical authority. * It is impossible to calculate the effect
of this canonisation, as it were, of marriage, the only remedy which could be
applied, first to the corrupt manners of Roman society, and afterwards to the
consequences of the barbarian invasions, in which, notwithstanding the strong
moral element in the Teutonic character, and the respect for women (which, no
doubt, was one of the original principles of chivalry), yet the dominance of
brute force, and the unlimited rights of conquest, could not but lead to the
perpetual, lawless, and violent dissolution of the marriage tie.t
The cognisance
of wills, another department in which the Church assumed a power not strictly
ecclesiastical, seems to have arisen partly from an accidental circumstance. It
was the custom among the Heathen to deposit wills in the temples, as a place of
security ; the Christians followed their practice, and chose their churches as
the depositaries of these important documents. They thus came under the
custody of the clergy, who, from guardians, became, in their courts, the judges
of their authenticity or legality, and at length a
The Eastern churches had a crime (a. p. 370). Codex Theo-
horror of second marriage; a pres- dos. iii. 14. 1. Under Theodosius,
byter was forbidden to be present Fravitta, the Goth, married a Ro-
at the wedding-feast of a digamist, man woman with the consent
Can. vii. of
the Emperor. Eunap. Ex-
f It is
curious to trace the rapid eerpt.
Legat. In another century,
fall of Roman pride. Valentinian the daughters of emperors were the
made the intermarriage of a Roman willing or the enforced brides of
provincial with a barbarian a capital barbarian kings.
general
tribunal for all matters taments.
Thus religion
laid its sacred control on all the material incidents of human life, and around
the ministers of religion gathered all the influence thus acquired over the
sentiments of mankind. The font of baptism usually received the Christian
infant, and the form of baptism was uttered by the priest or bishop; the
marriage was unhallowed without the priestly benediction ; and at the close of
life, the minister of religion was at hand to absolve and to reassure the
departing spirit; at the funeral, he ratified, as it were, the solemn promises
of immortality. But the great, permanent, and per- Peniten- petual source of
sacerdotal authority was the punt!801" penitential discipline
of the Church, which was universally recognised as belonging exclusively to the
jurisdiction of the clergy. Christianity had sufficient power, to a certain
degree, to engross the mind and heart, but not to keep under perpetual
restraint the unruly passions or the inquisitive mind. The best were most
conscious of human infirmity, and jealous of their own slight aberrations from
the catholic belief; the bad had not merely their own conscience, but public
fame and the condemnatory voice of the community, to prostrate them before the
visible arbiters of the All-seeing Power. Sin, from the most heinous
delinquency, or the darkest heresy, to the most trivial fault or the slightest
deviation from the established belief, could only be reconciled by the advice,
the guidance, at
VOL. III. D D
relating to
tes- ciiap.
book length by the direct authority, of the priest. He , 1V‘
, judged of its magnitude, he prescribed the appointed penance. The hierarchy
were supposed to be invested with the keys of heaven and of hell; they
undoubtedly held those which unlock the human heart,— fear and hope. And when
once the mind was profoundly affected by Christianity, when hope had failed to
excite to more generous obedience, they applied the baser and more servile
instrument without scruple and without remorse.
The
penitential discipline of the Church, no doubt, grew up, like other usages, by
slow degrees; its regulations were framed into a system to meet the exigences
of the times ; but we discern, at a very early period, the awful power of
condemning to the most profound humiliation, to the most agonising contrition,
to the shame of public confession, to the abasing supplication before the
priest, to long seclusion from the privileges and the society of the Christian
community. Even then public confession was the first process in the fearful yet
inevitable ceremonial. “Confession of sin,” saysTertullian*, “ is the proper
discipline for the abasement and humiliation of man ; it enforces that mode of
life which can alone find mercy with God ; it prescribes the fitting dress and
food of the penitent to be in sackcloth and ashes, to darken the body with
filth, to depress the soul with anguish ; it allows only the simplest food,
enough and no more than will maintain life. Constantly to fast and pray, to
groan, to weep, to
* De
Peenitentia, c-9.
howl day and
night before the Lord our God, to chap. grovel at the feet of the presbyter, to
kneel at the t L altar of God, to implore from all the
brethren their deprecatory supplications.” Subsequently, the more complete
penitential system rigidly regulated the most minute particulars ; the
attitude, the garb, the language, or the more expressive silence. The place in
which the believer stood, showed to the whole Church how far the candidate for
salvation through Christ had been thrown back in his spiritual course, what
progress he was making to pardon and peace. The penitent was clothed in
sackcloth, his head was strewn with ashes; men shaved their heads, women left their
dishevelled hair flung over their bosoms, they wore a peculiar veil; the
severest attendance on every religious service was exacted, all diversions were
proscribed, marriage was not permitted during the time of penance, the lawful
indulgence of the marriage bed was forbidden. Although a regular formulary,
which gradually grew into use, imposed canonical penances of a certain period
for certain offences, yet that period might be rigidly required or shortened by
the authority of the bishop. For some offences, the penitent, who it was
believed was abandoned to the power of Satan, was excluded from all enjoyment,
all honour, and all society, to the close of life; and the doors of
reconciliation were hardly opened to the departing spirit,—wonderful proof how
profoundly the doctrines of Christianity had sunk into the human heart, and of
the enormous power
d d 2
book (and what enormous power is not liable to abuse)
, 1V' , in which the willing reverence of the people had invested the
priesthood.
But something
more fearful still remained. Over all the community hung the tremendous
sentence of excommunication, tantamount to a sentence of spiritual death.* This
sentence, though not as yet dependent on the will, was pronounced and executed
by the religious magistrate. The clergy adhered to certain regular forms of
process, but the ultimate decree rested with them.
Excommu- Excommunication was of two kinds ; first, that ’ which excluded
from the communion, and threw back the initiate Christian into the ranks of the
uninitiate. This separation or suspension allowed the person under ban to enter
the church, to hear the psalms and sermon, and, in short, all that was
permitted to the catechumen.
But the more
terrible excommunication by anathema altogether banished the delinquent from
the church and the society of Christians ; it annulled for ever his hopes of
immortality through Christ; it drove him out as an outcast to the dominion of
the Evil Spirit. The Christian might not comuni- cate with him in the ordinary
intercourse of life; he was a moral leper, whom it was the solemn duty
* Interfici
Deus jussit sacerdo- tali gladio superbi
et contuinaces
tibus non obtemperantes, judicibus ?wcantur,dumde ecclesia ejiciuntur.
a se adtempus constitutis non obe- Cyprian. Epist. lxii. dientes ; sed tunc quidem
gladio Nunc agit in ecclesia excom-
occidebantur, quando adhuc et cir- municatio, quod agebat tunc in in-
cumcisio carnis manebat. Nunc au- terfectis. Augustin. Q. 39. in Deu-
tem quia circumcisio spiritalis esse teron. apud fideles Dei servos ccepit, spiri-
of all to
avoid, lest they should partake in his chap. contagion. The sentence of one
church was ra- . * pidly promulgated throughout Christendom; and the
excommunicated in Egypt or Syria found the churches in Gaul or Spain closed
against him : he was an exile without a resting place. As long as Heathenism
survived, at least in equal temporal power and distinction, and another society
received with welcome, or at least with undiminished respect, the exile from
Christianity, the excommunicated might lull his remaining terrors to rest, and
forget, in the business or dis sipation of theworld, his forfeited hopes of
immortality. But when there was but one society, that of the Christians,
throughout the world, or at best but a feeble and despised minority, he stood a
marked and branded man. Those who were, perhaps, not better Christians, but
who had escaped the fatal censures of the Church, would perhaps seize the
opportunity of showing their zeal by avoiding the outcast: if he did not lose
civil privileges, he lost civil estimation ; he was altogether excluded from
human respect and human sympathies ; he was a legitimate, almost a designated,
object of scorn, distrust, and aversion.
The nature,
the extent, and some of the moral and even political advantages of
excommunication, are illustrated in the act of the celebrated Synesius.
Synesius. The power of the Christian bishop, in his hands, appears under its
noblest and most beneficial form.
Synesius
became a Christian bishop without renouncing the habits, the language, and, in
a great x> d 3
!book degree, the opinions, of a philosopher. His writ- IV‘
, ings, more especially his Odes, blend, with a very scanty Christianity, the
mystic theology of the later Platonism ; but it is rather philosophy adopting
Christian language, than Christianity moulding philosophy to its own uses. Yet
so high was the character of Synesius, that even the worldly prelate of
Alexandria, Theophilus, approved of his elevation to the episcopate in the
obscure town of Ptolemais near Cyrene. Synesius felt the power with which he
was invested, and employed it with a wise vigour and daring philanthropy, which
commanded the admiration both of philosophy and of religion. The low-born
Andronicus was the prefect or rather the scourge and tyrant of Libya; his
exactions were unprecedented, and enforced by tortures of unusual cruelty, even
in that age and country. The province groaned and bled, without hope of
relief, under the hateful and sanguinary oppression. Synesius had tried in vain
the milder language of persuasion upon the intractable tyrant. At length he put
forth the terrors of the Church to shield the people ; and for his rapacity,
which had amounted to sacrilege, and for his inhumanity, the president of the
whole province was openly condemned, by a sentence of excommunication, to the
public abhorrence, excluded from the society and denied the common rights of
men. He was expelled from the church, as the Devil from Paradise ; every
Christian temple, every sanctuary, was closed against the man of blood ; the
priest was not even to permit him the rights of Christian burial; every pri-
vate man and
every magistrate was to exclude chap.
him
from their houses and from their tables. If ,__________________
the rest of
Christendom refused to ratify and execute the sentence of the obscure Church
of Ptole- mais, they were guilty of the sin of schism. The Church of Ptolemais
would not communicate or partake of the divine mysteries with those who thus
violated ecclesiastical discipline. The excommunication included the
accomplices of his guilt, and by a less justifiable extension of power, their
families. Andronicus quailed before the interdict, which he feared might find
countenance in the court of Constantinople ; bowed before the protector of the
people, and acknowleged the justice of his sentence.*
The salutary
thunder of sacerdotal excommunication might here and there strike some eminent
delinquent t; but ecclesiastical discipline, which in the earlier and more
fervent period of the religion, had watched with holy jealousy the whole life
of the individual, was baffled by the increase of votaries, which it could no
longer submit to this severe and constant superintendence. The clergycould not
command, nor the laity require, the sacred duty of secession and outward
penance, from the multitude of sinners, when they were the larger part of the
* Synesii
Epistolae, lvii. lviii. should the man
in power treat his
f There is a canon of the Coun- message with contempt, letters
cil of Toledo (a.d.
408.) that if shall be sent to all
the bishops of
any man in power shall have robbed the province, declaring him excom-
one in holy orders, or a ])oor man municated till he has heard the
(quemlibet pauperiorem), or a cause or made restitution. Can xi.
monk, and the bishop shall send to Labbe, ii. 1225. demand a hearing for the
cause,
D D 4
book community. But heresy of opinion was more easily t IV‘
, detected than heresy of conduct. Gradually, from Ecciesiasti- a moral as well
as a religious power, the discipline chiefly con- became almost exclusively
religious, or rather confined to fined itself to the speculative, while it
almost aban-
heresy, . .
doned in
despair the practical effects of religion. Heresy became the one great crime
for which excommunication was pronounced in its most awful form ; the heretic
was the one being with whom it was criminal to associate, who forfeited all the
privileges of religion, and all the charities of life. Executed Nor was this
all; in pursuit of the heretic, the by the state. Qjlurc]1 was not COntent to rest within her own
sphere, to
wield her own arms of moral temperament, and to exclude from her own
territory. She formed a fatal alliance with the State, and raised that which
was strictly an ecclesiastical, an offence against the religious community,
into a civil crime, amenable to temporal penalties. The Church, when she ruled
the mind of a religious or superstitious emperor, could not forego the
immediate advantage of his authority to further her own cause, and hailed his
welcome intrusion on her own internal legislation. In fact, the autocracy of
the Emperor over the Church, as well as over the State, was asserted in all
those edicts which the Church, in its blind zeal, hailed with transport as the
marks of his allegiance, but which confounded in inextricable, and to the
present time, in deplorable confusion, the limits of the religious and the
civil power. The imperial rescripts, which made heresy a civil offence, by
affixing penalties which were not purely
religious,
trespassed as much upon the real princi- chap. pies of the original religious
republic, as against the t . immutable laws of conscience and
Christian charity.
The
tremendous laws of Theodosius*, constituting civil heresy a capital offence,
punishable by the civil fo^ecdes?-1 power, are said to have been
enacted only as a terror °f" to evil-believers, but they
betrayed too clearly the darkening spirit of the times ; the next generation
would execute what the laws of the last would enact. The most distinguished
bishops of the time raised a cry of horror at the first executions for religion
; but it was their humanity which was startled ; they did not perceive that
they had sanctioned, by the smallest civil penalty, a false and fatal principle
; that though, by the legal establishment, the Church and the State had
become, in one sense, the same body, yet the associating principle of each
remained entirely distinct, and demanded an entirely different and independent
system of legislation, and administration of the law. The Christian hierarchy
bought the privilege of persecution at the price of Christian independence.
It is
difficult to decide whether the language of the book in the Theodosian code,
entitled “ On Heretics,” contrasts more strongly with the comprehensive,
equitable, and parental tone of the Roman jurisprudence, or with the gentle and
benevolent spirit of the Gospel, or even with the primary principles of the
ecclesiastical community, t The Em-
* See ch.
viii. vol. iii. p. 184. nentur, et latis adversus eos sanc- f Haereticorum
vocabulo conti- tionibus debent succumbere, qui
book peror, of his sole and supreme authority, without 1V’
, any recognition of ecclesiastical advice or sanction ; the Emperor, who might
himself be an Arian or Eu- nomian, or Manichean—who had so recently been an
Arian, defines heresy the very slightest deviation from Catholic verity, and in
a succession of statutes inflicts civil penalties, and excludes from the common
rights of men, the maintainers of certain opinions. Nothing treasonable,
immoral, dangerous to the peace of society, is alleged; the crime, the civil
crime, as it now becomes, consists solely in opinions. The law of Constantine,
which granted special immunities to certain of his subjects, might perhaps,
with some show of equity, confine those immunities to a particular class.* But
the gradually darkening statutes proceed from the withholding of privileges to
the prohibition of their meetings t, then through confiscation t, the refusal
of the common right of bequeathing property, fine §, exile ||, to capital
punishment. Thelatter, indeed, was enacted only against some of the more
obscure sects, and some of the Donatists, whose turbulent and se-
vel levi argumento a judicio Catho- licae religionis et tramite deteeti
fuerint deviare. This is a law of Arcadius. The practice was more lenient than
the law.
* The
first law of Constantine restricts the immunities which he grants to Catholics.
Cod. Theodos. xvi.
f The law of Gratian (IV.) confiscates the houses or even fields in
which heretical conventicles are held. See also law of Theodosius, viii.
Leges xi. xii.
Ibid. xxi.
|| Ibid. xviii. liii. lviii.
II The law
of Theodosius enacts this not against the general body, but some small sections
of Maniche- ans, “ Summo supplicio et inexpi- abili pcena jubemus affligi.” ix.
This law sanctions the ill-omened name of inquisitors. Compare law xxxv. The “
interminata pcena” of law lx. is against Eunomians, Arians, and Macedonians.
ditious
conduct might demand the interference of chap. the civil power ; but still they
are condemned not t ’ . as rebels and insurgents but as heretics.* Objects
of
In building
up this vast and majestic fabric of defenders the hierarchy, though individuals
might be actuated hierarchical by personal ambition or interest, and the narrow
p°wer- corporate spirit might rival loftier motives in the
consolidation of ecclesiastical power, yet the great object, which was
steadily, if dimly seen, was the advancement of mankind in religion, and
through religion to temporal and eternal happiness. Dazzled by the glorious
spectacle of provinces, of nations, gradually brought within the pale of Christianity,
the great men of the fourth century of Christianity were not and could not be
endowed with prophetic sagacity to discern the abuses of sacerdotal domination,
and the tyranny which, long centuries after, might be exercised over the human
mind in the name of religion. We may trace the hierarchical principle of
Cyprian or of Ambrose to what may seem their natural consequences, religious
crusades and the fires of the inquisition ; ice may observe the tendency of unsocial monasticism to quench
the charities of life, to harden into cruelty, grovel into licentiousness, and
brood over its own ignorance; we may trace the predestinarian doctrines \ of
Augustine darkening into narrow bigotry, or maddening to uncharitable
fanaticism ; they only contemplated, they only could contemplate, a great
* Ad Heraclianum, lvi. The sions of the civil upon the
ecclesi- imperial laws against second bap- astical authority, xvi. tit. vi.
tisms are still more singular inva-
moral and
religious power opposing civil tyranny, or at least affording a refuge from it;
purifying domestic morals, elevating and softening the human heart* ; a
wholesome and benevolent force compelling men by legitimate means to seek
wisdom, virtue, and salvation ; the better part of mankind withdrawing, in holy
prudence and wise timidity, from the corruptions of a foul and cruel age, and
devoting itself to its own self-advancement, to the highest spiritual
perfection ; and the general pious assertion of the universal and unlimited
providence and supremacy of God. None but the hopeful achieve great revolutions
; and what hopes could equal those which the loftier Christian minds might
justly entertain of the beneficent influences of Christianity ?
We cannot
wonder at the growth of the ecclesiastical power, if the Church were merely
considered
* The laws bear
some pleasing tutes were constantly
renewed, testimonies to the activity of Chris- with
the addition of some more tian benevolence in many of the ob- excepted crimes— sacrilege, rob- scure
scenes of human wretched- bery of tombs,
and coining, ness. See the humane law regard- There
is a very singular law of ing prisoners, that they might have Arcadius prohibiting the clergy properfood,
andthe useof the bath, and the monks
from interfering Nec deerit antistitum Christianse with the execution of the laws, and religionis cura laudabilis, quae
ad forcibly taking away condemned cri-
observationem constituti judicis minals
from the hands of justice, hanc ingerat monitionem. The They were allowed, at the same Christian bishop was to take care time, the amplest privilege of mer- that the
judge did his duty. Cod. ciful
intercession. This was con- Theodos. ix. 3. 7. nected
with the privilege of asyAs early as the reign of Valen- lum. Codex Theodos. ix. 40. 16. tinian and
Valens, prisoners were There is another
singular law by released at Easter (ob diem pas- which corporal punishments were chae, quem intimo corde celebra- not to be administered in Lent, ex- mus),
excepting those committed cept against
the Isaurian robbers, for the crimes of treason, poison- who were to be dealt with with- ing, magic, adultery, rape, or homi- out delay, ix. 35. 5, 6, 7. cide, ix. 36.
3, 4. These sta-
as a new
sphere in which human genius, virtue, and chap. benevolence, might develope
their unimpeded en- i ‘ , ergies, and rise above the general debasement. Di|nidt)r
This was almost the only way in which any man tage of the could devote great
abilities or generous activity to a useful purpose with reasonable hopes of
success.
The civil
offices were occupied by favour and intrigue, often acquired most easily and
held most permanently by the worst men for the worst purposes ; the utter
extinction of freedom had left no course of honourable distinction, as an
honest advocate or an independent jurist; literature was worn out; rhetoric had
degenerated into technical subtlety ; philosophy had lost its hold upon the
mind; even the great military commands were filled by fierce and active
barbarians, on whose energy Rome relied for the protection of her frontiers. In
the Church alone was security, influence, independence, fame, even wealth, and
the opportunity of serving mankind. The pulpit was the only rostrum from which
the orator would be heard ; feeble as was the voice of Christian poetry, it
found an echo in the human heart: the episcopate was the only office of dignity
which could be obtained without meanness, or exercised without fear. Whether he
sought the peace of a contemplative, or the usefulness of an active life, this
was the only sphere for the man of conscious mental strength ; and if he felt
the inward satisfaction that he was either securing his own, or advancing the
salvation of others, the lofty mind
BOOK IV. i t ■
General influence of the clergy.
would not
hesitate what path to choose through the darkening and degraded world.
The just way
to consider the influence of the Christian hierarchy (without which, in its
complete and vigorous organisation, it is clear that the religion could not
have subsisted throughout these ages of disaster and confusion) is to imagine,
if possible, the state of things without that influence. A tyranny the most
oppressive and debasing, without any principles of free or hopeful resistance,
or resistance only attainable by the complete dismemberment of the Roman
empire, and its severance into a number of hostile states; the general morals
at the lowest state of depravation, with nothing but a religion totally without
influence, and a philosophy without authority, to correct its growing cruelty
and licentiousness ; a very large portion of mankind in hopeless slavery, with
nothing to mitigate it but the insufficient control of fear in the master, or
occasional gleams of humanity or political foresight in the government, with no
inward consolation or feeling of independence whatever. In the midst of this,
the invasion of hostile barbarians in every quarter, and the complete wreck of
civilisation; with no commanding influence to assimilate the adverse races,
without the protection or conservative tendency of any religious feeling to
soften; at length to reorganise and re-create, literature, the arts of
building, painting, and music; the Latin language itself breaking up into as
many countless dialects as there were settlements of barbarous
tribes,
without a guardian or sacred depositary; chap.
it
is difficult adequately to darken the picture of t___________ Im
ignorance,
violence, confusion, and wretchedness; but without this adequate conception of
the probable state of the world without it, it is impossible to judge with
fairness or candour the obligations of Europe and of civilisation to the
Christian hierarchy.
BOOK
IV.
CHAP. II.
PUBLIC SPECTACLES.
Public The Greek
and Roman inhabitants of the empire spectacle*. were attached with
equal intensity to their favourite spectacles, whether of more solemn religious
origin, or of lighter and more festive kind. These amusements are perhaps more
congenial to the southern character, from the greater excitability of
temperament, the less variable climate, which rarely interferes with enjoyment
in the open air, and throughout the Roman world, had long been fostered by
those republican institutions which gave to every citizen a place and an
interest in all public ceremonials, and which, in this respect, still survived
the institutions themselves. The population of the great capitals had
preserved only the dangerous and pernicious part of freedom, the power of
subsisting either without regular industry or with but moderate exertion. The
perpetual distribution of corn, and the various largesses at other times,
emancipated them in a great degree from the wholesome control of their own
necessities; and a vast and uneducated multitude was maintained in idle and
dissolute inactivity. It was absolutely necessary to occupy much of this vacant
time with public diversions ; and the inven-
lion, the wealth, and the personal exertions of the ciiap.
•
• • • II
higher orders, were taxed to gratify this insatiable
v___________ ^
appetite.
Policy demanded that which ambition and the love of popularity had freely
supplied in the days of the republic, and which personal vanity continued to
offer, though with less prodigal and willing munificence. The more retired and
domestic habits of Christianity might in some degree seclude a sect from the
public diversions, but it could not change the nature or the inveterate habits
of a people : it was either swept along by, or contented itself with giving a
new direction to, the impetuous and irresistible current; it was obliged to
substitute some new excitement for that which it peremptorily prohibited, and
reluctantly to acquiesce in that which it was unable to suppress.
Christianity
had cut off that part of the public spectacles which belonged exclusively to
Paganism.
Even if all
the temples at Rome were not, as Jerome asserts, covered with dust and
cobwebs*, yet, notwithstanding the "desperate efforts of the old
aristocracy, the tide of popular interest, no doubt, set away from the deserted
and mouldering fanes of the Heathen deities, and towards the churches of the
Christians. And if this was the case in Rome, at Constantinople and throughout
the empire, the Pagan ceremonial was either extinct, or gradually expiring, or
lingering on in unimpressive
* Fuligine
et aranearum telis bra semiruta, currit ad martyrum omnia Romae templa cooperta
tumulos. Epist. lvii. p. 590. sunt: inundans populus ante
delu-
book regularity.
On the other hand, the modest and IV> unimposing ritual of
Christianity naturally, and almost necessarily, expanded into pomp and dignity.
To the deep devotion of the early Christians the place and circumstances of
worship were indifferent: piety finds every where its own temple. In the low
and unfurnished chamber, in the forest, in the desert, in the catacomb, the
Christian adored his Redeemer, prayed, chanted his hymn, and partook of the
sacred elements. Devotion wanted no accessories ; faith needed no subsidiary
excitement; or if it did, it found them in the peril, the novelty, the
adventurous and stirring character of the scene, or in the very meanness and
poverty, contrasted with the gorgeous worship which it had abandoned; in the
mutual attachment, and in the fervent emulation, which spreads throughout a
small community.
But among the
more numerous and hereditary Christians of this period, the temple and the
solemn service were indispensable to enforce and maintain the devotion.
Religion was not strong enough to disdain, and far too earnest to decline,
Religious any legitimate means of advancing her cause. The ceremonial. wh0]e
ceremonial was framed with the art which arises out of the intuitive perception
of that which is effective towards its end ; that which was felt to be awful
was adopted to enforce awe ; that which drew the people to the church, and
affected their minds when there, became sanctified to the use of the church.
The edifice itself arose more lofty with the triumph of the faith, and enlarged
itself to
receive the
multiplying votaries. Christianity dis- ciiap. dained that its God and its Redeemer
should be > ‘ less magnificently honoured than the daemons of Paganism. In
the service it delighted to transfer and to breathe, as it were, a sublimer
sense into the common appellations of the Pagan worship, whether from the
ordinary ceremonial, or the more secret mysteries. The church became a temple*;
the table of the communion an altar; the celebration of the Eucharist the
appalling or the unbloody sacrifice.t The ministering functionaries multiplied
with the variety of the ceremonial; each was consecrated to his office by a
lower kind of ordination ; but a host of subordinate attendants by degrees
swelled the officiating train. The incense, the garlands, the lamps, all were
gradually adopted by zealous rivalry, or seized as the lawful spoils of
vanquished Paganism, and consecrated to the service of Christ.
The Church
rivalled the old Heathen mysteries in expanding by slow degrees its higher
privileges. Christianity was itself the great Mystery, unfolded gradually and
in general after a long and searching probation. It still reserved the power of
opening at once its gates to the more distinguished proselytes, and of
jealously and tardily unclosing them to more doubtful neophytes. It permitted
its sanctuary, as it were, to be stormed at once by eminent virtue and
unquestioned zeal; but the
* Ambrose
and Lactantius, and f The tiplicTt], or the avaifiaicToc even
Irenaeus, use this term. See Swtn.
Bingham, b. viii. 1. 4.
common mass
of mankind were never allowed to consider it less than a hard-won privilege to
be received into the Church ; and this boon was not to be dispensed with lavish
or careless hands.* Its preparatory ceremonial of abstinence, personal purity,
ablution, secrecy, closely resembled that of the Pagan mysteries (perhaps each
may have contributed to the other); so the theologic dialect of Christianity
spoke the same language. Yet Christianity substituted for the feverish
enthusiasm of some of these rites, and the phantasmagoric terrors of others,
with their vague admonitions to purity, a searching but gently administered
moral discipline, and more sober religious excitement. It retained, indeed,
much of the dramatic power, though under another form.
The divisions
between the different orders of worshippers enforced by the sacerdotal authority,
and observed with humble submission by the people, could not but impress the
mind with astonishment and awe. The stranger, on entering the spacious open
court, which was laid out before the more splendid churches, with porticos or
cloisters on each side, beheld first the fountain or tank, where the
worshippers were expected to wash their hands, and purify themselves, as it
were, for the divine presence. Lingering in these porticos, or approaching
timidly the threshold which they dared
* It is
one of the bitterest charges catechumenus,
qnis fidelis, incertum
of Tertullian against the heretics, est: pariter adeunt, pariterorant.”
that they did not keep up this dis- Even the Heathen were admitted;
tinction between the catechumens thus “ pearls were cast before
and the faithful. “Imprimis quis swine.” De Prasscript.Haeret.c.41.
penitents.
not pass, or,
at the farthest, entering only into the chap. first porch, or vestibule*, and
pressing around the t IL , disciples to solicit their
prayers, he would observe The porch, men, pale, dejected, clad in sackcloth,
oppressed with the profound consciousness of their guilt, acquiescing in the
justice of the ecclesiastical censure, which altogether excluded them from the
Christian community. These were the first class The of penitents, men of
notorious guilt, whom only a long period of this humiliating probation could
admit even within the hearing of the sacred service. As he advanced to the
gates, he must pass the scrutiny of the doorkeepers, who guarded the admission
into the church, and distributed each class of worshippers into their proper
place. The stranger, whether Heathen or Jew, might enter into the part assigned
to the catechumens or novices and the penitents of the second order (the
hearers), that he might profit by the religious instruction.!
* There is
much difficulty and ic\av<ng rrjg
7rvXijg rov tvKrtjpiov
confusion respecting these divi- toriv, tvda iarwra rov dfiapravovra
sions of the church. The fact pro- xP>) T<*>v slmovrojv
8slo0ai 7tigtojv
bably is, that, according to the pe- virtp abrov tvxeaOaf tj aKpoamg
riod or the local circumstances, the iv8o9i rijg TrvXrjg tv ry vapdijKi, ZvQa
structure and the arrangement iardvai xp’l T'ov vnaprtjKora, siog
were more or less complicated, rwv icarijxovptvojv, Kai ivrsvOsv
Tertullian says distinctly, “non s&pxsaOai* dicovujv yap (p^al ruv
modo limine verum omni ecclesiae ypa<pu>v Kai rrjg 8i8a<jKaXiag, k-£a-
tecto subniovemus.” Where the XeaOio, Kai fiij dZtovaOuj 7rpoasvxi)g'
churches were of a simpler form, 7) 8s viroTTTwaig, 'iva tacudsv rtjg
and had no roofed narthex or vesti- 7rvXtjg rov vaov icrdfisvog, fisrd
ruJv
bule, these penitents stood in the Karrjxovfievojv s%ipxi]rai’ 1)
avaracng,
open court before the church ,• even 'Iva avviararai rolg moToig Kai fxt)
later, the flentes and the hiemantes sZspxyrai fisrd tu>v Karrjxovfisvcjv'
formed a particular class. rsXtvrdiov tj fis6s%ig ruiv dyiaafidrcjv.
A canon of St. Gregory Thau- Apud Labbe, Cone. i. p. 842.
maturgus gives the clearest view f This part of the church was
of these arrangements: 'II irpoa- usually called the narthex. But this
book He found
himself in the first division of the main IV* body of the church, of
which the walls were lined by various marbles, the roof often ceiled with mosaic,
and supported by lofty columns, with gilded capitals ; the doors were inlaid
with ivory or silver; the distant altar glittered with precious stones.* In the
midst of the nave stood the pulpit, or reading- desk (the ambo), around which
were arranged the singers, who chanted to the most solemn music, poetry, much
of it familiar to the Jew, as belonging to his own sacred writings, to the
Heathen full of the noblest images, expressive of the divine power and goodness
; adapting itself with the most exquisite versatility to every devout emotion,
melting into the most pathetic tenderness, or swelling out into the most
appalling grandeur. The pulpit was then ascended by one of the inferior order,
the reader of certain portions or extracts from the sacred volumes, in which
God himself spoke to the awe-struck auditory. He was succeeded by an orator of
a higher dignity, a presbyter or a bishop,
term, I believe, of the sixth century, Episcopus nullum prohibeat in-
was not used with great precision, trare ecelesiam, et audire verbum
or rather, perhaps, was applied to Dei, sive haereticum, sive Judseum
different parts of the church, ac- usque ad missam catechumenorum.
cording to their greater or less com- Concil. Carthag. iv. c. 84-.
plexity of structure. It is some- ^Alii asdificent ecclesias, vesti-
times used for the porch or vesti- ant parietes marmorum crustis,
bule: in this sense there were seve- columnarum moles advehant, ea-
ral nartheces (St. Sophia had four), rumque deaurent capita, pretiosum
Mamachi (vol. i. p. 216.) insists ornatum non sentientia, ebore ar-
that it was divided from the nave by gentoque valvas, et gemmis dis-
a wall. But this cannot mean the tinguant altaria. Non reprehendo,
' narthex into which the ctKpodjixevoi non abnuo. Hieronym. Epist. viii.
were admitted, as the object of ad Demetriad. their admission was that
they might hear the service.
who sometimes
addressed the people from the steps chap. which led up to the chancel, sometimes
chose the i ^ more convenient and elevated position of the ambo.#
The He was a man usually of the highest attainments Prcachcr* and eloquence, and instead of the frivolous and subtile questions which
the Pagan was accustomed to hear in the schools of rhetoric or philosophy, he
fearlessly agitated and peremptorily decided on such eternally and universally
awakening topics as the responsibility of man before God, the immortality and
future destination of the soul; topics of which use could not deaden the
interest to the believer, but which, to an unaccustomed ear, were as startling
as important. The mute attention of the whole assembly was broken only by
uncontrollable acclamations, which frequently interrupted the more moving
preachers. Around the pulpit was the last order of penitents, who prostrated
themselves in humble homage during the prayers, and the benediction of of the
bishop.
Here the
steps of the profane stranger must pause; an insuperable barrier, which he
could not pass without violence, secluded the initiate from the society of the
less perfect. Yet, till the more secret ceremonial began, he might behold, at
dim and respectful distance, the striking scene, first of
* Chrysostom
generally preached men, viii. 5. Both usages prc- from the ambo. Socr. vi. 5.
Sozo- vailed in the West.
Seu te conspicuis gradibus venerabilis arae
Concionaturum plebs sedula circumsistat.
Sid. Apollon, can. xvi.
Fronte sub adversa gradibus sublime tribunal
Tollitur, antistcs praedicat unde Deum.
Prudent. Hymn, ad Ilippolyt.
book the baptized
worshippers in their order, the females I%‘ , in general in
galleries above (the virgins separate from the matrons). Beyond, in still
further secluded sanctity, on an elevated semicircle, around the bishop, sate
the clergy, attended by the subdeacons, acolyths, and those of inferior order.
Even the gorgeous throne of the Emperor was below this platform. Before them
was the mystic and awful table, the altar as it began to be called in the
fourth century, over which was sometimes suspended a richly-wrought canopy (the
ciborium) : it was covered with fine linen. In the third century, the simpler
vessels of glass or other cheap material had given place to silver and gold. In
the later persecutions, the cruelty of the Heathen was stimulated by their
avarice; and some of the sufferers, while they bore their own agonies with
patience, were grieved to the heart to see the sacred vessels pillaged, and
turned to profane or indecent uses. In the Eastern churches, richly embroidered
curtains overshadowed the approach to the altar, or light doors secluded
altogether the Holy of Holies from the profane gaze of the multitude.
Such was the
ordinary Christian ceremonial, as it addressed the mass of mankind. But at a
certain time, the uninitiate were dismissed, the veil was dropped which
shrouded the hidden rites, the doors were closed, profane steps might not cross
the threshold of the baptistery, or linger in the church, when the Liturgy of
the faithful, the office of the eucharist, began. The veil of concealment
was first
spread over the peculiar rites of Christian- chap. ity from caution. The religious
assemblies were, t ’ , strictly speaking, unlawful, and they were
shrouded secrecy of in secrecy lest they should be disturbed by the in- ments^"
trusion of their watchful enemies*; and it was this unavoidable secrecy which
gave rise to the frightful fables of the Heathen concerning the nature of
these murderous or incestuous banquets. As they could not be public, of
necessity they took the form of mysteries, and as mysteries became objects of
jealousy and of awe. As the assemblies became more public, that seclusion of
the more solemn rites was retained from dread and reverence, which was
commenced from fear. Though profane curiosity no longer dared to take a hostile
character, it was repelled from the sacred ceremony. Of the mingled multitude,
Jews and Heathens, the incipient believers, the hesitating converts, who must
be permitted to hear the Gospel of Christ, or the address of the preacher, none
could be admitted to the sacraments. It was natural to exclude them, not merely
by regulation, and the artificial division of the church into separate parts,
but by the majesty which invested the last solemn rites. That which had
concealed itself from fear, became itself fearful: it was no longer a timid
mystery which fled the light, but an unapproachable communion with the Deity,
which would not brook profane intrusion.
It is an
extraordinary indication of the power of
* Tot
hostes ejus, quot extranei et eongregationibus opprimimur.
* *
quoticlie obsidemur, quotidie Tertull. Apologet. 7. prodimur,inipsis plurimura ccetibus
book Christianity,
that rites in themselves so simple, and 1V' , of which the
nature, after all the concealment, could not but be known, should assume such
unquestioned majesty; that, however significant, the simple lustration by
water, and the partaking of bread and wine, should so affect the awe-struck
imagination, as to make men suppose themselves ignorant of what these sacraments
really were, and even when the high-wrought expectations were at length gratified,
to experience no dissatisfaction at their plain, and in themselves, unappalling
ceremonies. The mysteriousness was no doubt fed and heightened by the
regulations of the clergy, and by the impressiveness of the service but it
grew of itself out of the profound and general religious sentiment. The
baptistery and the altar were closed against the uninitiate, but if they had
been open, men would scarcely have ventured to approach them. The knowledge of
the nature of the sacraments was reserved for the baptized ; but it was because
the minds of the unbaptized were sealed by trembling reverence, and shuddered
to anticipate the forbidden knowledge. The hearers had a vague knowr-
ledge of these mysteries floating around them, the initiate heard it within.t
To add to the impres-
* This was
the avowed object of adepta plus diligat,
et eo flagran- the clergy.^ Catechumenis sacra- tius
ametur veritas, quo vel diutius menta fidelium non produntur, non desideratur, vel laboriosius
quaeri- ideo fit, quod ea ferre non possunt, tur,
vel tardius invenitur. Claused ut ab eis tanto ardentius con- diusMamert., quoted by Casaubon
cupiscantur, quanto honorabilius in
Baron, p. 497. occultantur. August, in Johan. 96. ■j' The inimitable
pregnancy of Mortalium generi natura datum the
Greek language expresses this est, ut abstrusa fortius quaerat, ut by two verbs differently com- ncgata
magis ambiat, ut tardius pounded.
Cyril of Jerusalem, in
siveness,
night was sometimes spread over the ciiap. Christian as over the Pagan
mysteries.* . n‘
At Easter,
and at Pentecost+, and in some places Baptism, at the Epiphany, the rite of
Baptism was administered publicly (that is, in the presence of the Faithful)
to all the converts of the year, excepting those few instances in which it had
been expedient to perform the ceremony without delay, or where the timid
Christian put it off till the close of lifet; a practice for a long time
condemned in vain by the clergy. But the fact of the delay shows how deeply the
importance and efficacy of the rite were rooted in the Christian mind. It was a
complete lustration of the soul. The Neophyte emerged from the waters of
Baptism in a state of perfect innocence. The Dove (the Holy Spirit) was constantly
hovering over the font, and sanctifying the waters to the mysterious ablution
of all the sins of the passed life. If the soul suffered no subsequent taint,
it passed at once to the realms of purity and bliss ; the heart was purified ;
the understanding illuminated; the spirit was clothed with immortality.§ Robed
in white, emblematic of
his Procatechesis, states the Catechumens 7rtpit}xtl<r0ai, the
Faithful evTjxeiaOai, by the meaning of the mysteries.
* Noctu
ritus multi in mysteriis pergebantur; noctu etiam initiatio Christianorum
inchoabatur. Casau- bon, p. 490., with the quotations subjoined.
-f At Constantinople, it appears from Chrysostom, baptism did not take
place at Pentecost. Mont- faufon, Diatribe, p. 179.
| The memorable example of Constantine may for a time not only have
illustrated but likewise confirmed the practice. See Gibbon’s note (vol. iii.
p. 266.) and the author’s observations.
§ Gregory of Nazianzen almost exhausts the
copiousness of the Greek language in speaking of Baptism,—Supov tcaXovpev,
/3tt7rri(7jua, xPl<*fia, (puTicr/ta, a<p0ap- criag tvfvfxa,
XouTpov wuXiy-yei'taiac,
book spotless
purity#, the candidate approached the . ' , baptistery, in the
larger churches a separate building. There he uttered the solemn vows which
pledged him to his religion, t The symbolising genius of the East added some
significant ceremonies. The Catechumen turned to the West, the realm of Satan,
and thrice renounced his power ; he turned to the East to adore the Sun of
Righteousness t, and to proclaim his compact with the Lord of Life. The mystic
trinal number prevailed throughout ; the vow was threefold, and thrice
pronounced. The baptism was usually by immersion ; the stripping off the
clothes was emblematic of “ putting off the old man ; ” but baptism by
sprinkling was allowed, according to the exigency of the case. The water itself
became, in the vivid language of the Church, the blood of Christ ||: it was
compared, by a fanciful analogy, to the Red Sea: the daring metaphors of some
of the Fathers might seem to assert a transmutation of its colour. §
Eucharist. The sacrament of the Lord’s Supper imper-
<jtppaytPct, 7rav on rijuor. Orat. have treatises on baptism, and vie,
xl. de Baptism. as
it were, with each other, in their
Almost all the Fathers of this praises of its importance and effi-
age, Basil, the two Gregories, cacy.
Ambrose (de Sacram) Augustine,
* Unde
parens sacro ducit de fonte sacerdos
Infantes niveos corpore, corde, habitu. Paulin. ad Sever.
•j* Chrysostom in two places gives j Cyril. Catech. Mystag. Hie-
the Eastern profession of faith, ronym. in Amos, vi. 14. which was
extremely simple, “I § Unde rubet Baptismus Christi,
renounce Satan, his pomp and wor- nisi Christi sanguine consecratnr
ship, and am united to Christ. I August. Tract, in Johan. Com-
believe in the resurrection of the pare Bingham, xi. 10. 4. dead.” See
references in Mout- faufon, ubi supra.
ceptibly
acquired the solemnity, the appellation, of chap. a sacrifice. The poetry of
devotional language t IL kindled into the most vivid and
realising expressions of awe and adoration. No imagery could be too bold, no
words too glowing, to impress the soul more profoundly with the sufferings, the
divinity, the intimate union of the Redeemer with his disciples. The invisible
presence of the Lord, which the devout felt within the whole church, but more
particularly in its more holy and secluded part, was gradually concentrated as
it were upon the altar. The mysterious identification of the Redeemer with the
consecrated elements was first felt by the mind, till, at a later period, a
material and corporeal transmutation began to be asserted; that which the
earlier Fathers, in their boldest figure, called a bloodless sacrifice, became
an actual oblation of the body and blood of Christ. But all these fine and
subtile distinctions belong to a later theology. In the dim vagueness, in the
ineffable and inexplicable mystery, consisted much of its impressiveness on the
believer, the awe and dread of the uninitiate.
These
Sacraments were the sole real Mysteries ; their nature and effects were the
hidden knowledge which was revealed to the perfect alone.*
In
Alexandria, where the imitation or rivalry of
* Quid est
quod occultum est to
have been a secret rite. Ca-
et non publicum in Ecdesia, Sacra- saubon, p. 495. Compare this
mentum Baptismi, Sacramentum treatise of Casaubon, the xivth of
Eucharistice. Opera nostra bona his Exercitationes Anti-Baronianas,
vident et Pagani, Sacramenta vero which in general is profound and
occultantur illis. Augustine, in judicious.
Psalm 103. Ordination appears
book the ancient mysteries, in that seat of the Platonic
IV * • •
* , learning, was most likely to prevail,
the catechetical school of Origen attempted to form the simpler truths of the
Gospel into a regular and progressive system of development.* The works of
Clement of Alexandria were progressive, addressed to the Heathen, the
Catechumen, the perfect Christian. But the doctrine which was there reserved
for the initiate had a strange tinge of Platonic mysticism. In the church in
general the only esoteric doctrine, as we have said, related to the sacraments.
After the agitation of the Trinitarian question, there seems to have been some
desire to withdraw that holy mystery likewise from the gaze of the profane,
which the popular tumults, the conflicts between the Arians and Athanasians of
the lowest orders, in the streets of Constantinople and Alexandria, show to
have been by no means successful. The apocalyptic hymn, the Trisagion, makes a
part indeed of all the older liturgies, which belong to the end of the third or
beginning of the fourth century. Even the simple prayer of our Lord, which
might seem appropriate to universal man, and so intended by the Saviour
himself, was
* Upon this
ground rests the fa- who, after
asserting the publicity of
mous Discipliua Arcani, that eso- the main doctrines of Christianity,
teric doctrine, within which lurked the incarnation, passion, and resur-
every thing which later ages thought rection of Christ, and the general
proper to dignify by the name of resurrection to judgment, admits
the traditions of the church. This that Christianity, like Philosophy,
theory was first fully developed by had some secret and esoteric doc-
Schelstrate, “De Disciplina Area- trines. Pagi argues that, as the
ni,” and is very clearly stated in Pagi, Trinity was not among the public,
sub. Ann. 118. It rests chiefly on a it must have been among the eso-
passageof Origen (contra Cels.i.7.) teric tenets.
considered
too holy to be uttered by unbaptised ciiap. lips. It was said that none but the
baptised could v 111 properly address the Almighty as his
Father.*
That care
which Christianity had assumed over Christian the whole life of man, it did not
abandon after as‘ death. In that solemn season it took in charge the
body, which, though mouldering into dust, was to be revived for the
resurrection. The respect and honour which human nature pays to the remains of
the dead, and which, among the Greeks especially, had a strong religious hold
upon the feelings, was still more profoundly sanctified by the doctrines and
usages of Christianity. The practice of inhumation which prevailed in Egypt
and Syria, and in other parts of the East, was gradually extended over the
whole western world by Christianity.! The funeral pyre went out of use, and the
cemeteries, which from the earliest period belonged to the Christians, were
gradually enlarged for the general reception, not of the ashes only in their
urns, but for the entire remains of the dead. The Eastern practice of embalming
was so generalt, that Ter
* Bingham,
i. 4. 7. and x. 5. 9. During the time of the plague f Nec, utcreditis,ullum
damnum in Alexandria and Carthage, the sepulturae timemus, sed veterem
Christians not only buried their et meliorem consuetudinem hu- own dead, but
likewise those of the mandi frequentamus. The speaker Pagans. Dion. Alex, apud
Euseb. goes on, in very elegant language, Hist. vii. 22. Pontius, in Vita, to
adduce the analogy of the death Cypriani. Compare a curious and revival of
nature,— Expectan- Essay in the Vermischte Schriften dum etiam nobis corporis
ver est. of Bottiger, iii. 14. Verbrennen Minuc. Fel. edit. Ouzel, p. 327. oder Beerdigen.
J Titulumque et frigida saxa
Liquido spargemus odore. Prudent. Ilyin, de
Exeq.
Martyris hi tumulum studeant perfundere nardo Et medieata pio referant
unguenta sepulcro.
Paul. Nol. in Nat. C. Fel.
book tullian boasts that the Christians consumed more of
* , the merchandise of Sabsea in their
interments than the Heathens in the fumigations before the altars of their
Gods.* The general tone of the simple inscriptions spoke of death but as a
sleep ; “he sleeps in peace” was the common epitaph : the very name of the
inclosure, the cemetery, implied the same trust in its temporary occupancy ;
those who were committed to the earth only awaited the summons to a new life.t
Gradually the cemetery was, in some places, closely connected with the church.
Where the rigid interdict against burying within the walls of cities was either
inapplicable or not enforced, the open court before the Church became the
place of burial.t
Christian
funerals began early in their period of security and opulence to be celebrated
with great magnificence. Jerome compares the funeral pro
* Apologet.
c. 42. Boldetti tiani, iii. p. 83. The judge in the affirms that these odours
were acts of Tarachus (Ruinart, p. 385.) plainly perceptible on opening some
says, “you expect that your women of the Christian cemeteries at Rome, will
bury your body with ointments See Mamachi, Costumi dei Chris- and spices.”
■f Hinc maxima cura sepulchris
Impenditur, hinc resolutos Honor ultimus accipit artus Et funeris ambitus
ornat.
# # #
Quid nam tibi saxa cavata,
Quid pulchra volunt monumenta ?
Res quod nisi creditur illis Non mortua, sed data somno.
Prudent, in Exeq. Defunct.
J There is a law of Gratian, was still common), within the walls
Valentinian and Theodosius, for- of Constantinople, even within the
bidding burial, or the deposition of cemeteries of the apostles or
urns (which shows that cremation martyrs. Cod. Theod. ix. 17. 6.
cession of
Fabiola to the triumphs of Camillus,
Scipio, or
Pompey. The character of this female, who founded the first hospital in Home,
and lavished a splendid fortune in alms-giving, may have mainly contributed to
the strong interest excited by her interment. All Rome was poured forth.
The streets,
the windows, the tops of houses, were crowded with spectators. Processions of
youths and of old men preceded the bier, chaunting the praises of the deceased.
As it passed, the churches were crowded, and psalms were sung, and their golden
roofs rang with the sublime Alleluia.
The doctrine
of the Resurrection of the body worship deepened the common and natural feeling
of respect Martyrs, for the remains of the dead*: the worship of the
* In one
of the very curious essays of M. Raoul Rochette, Me- moires de I’Academie, he
has illustrated the extraordinary care with which the heathen buried along
with the remains of the dead, every kind of utensil, implement of trade, down
to the dolls of children ; even food and knives and forks. This appears from
all the tombs which are opened, from the most ancient Etruscan to the most
modern heathen sepulchres. “
II y avait la une notion confuse et grossiere sans doute de Timmortalite de
l’ame, mais il s’y trouvait aussi la preuve sensible et palpable de cet
instinct de l’homme, qui repugne a l’idee de la destruction de son etre, et qui
y resiste de toutes les forces de son intelligence et de toutes les erreurs
mime de la raison,” p. G89. But it is a
more remarkable fact that the Christians lone: adhered to the
same usages, notwithstanding the purer and loftier notions of another
life bestowed by their religion. “ La premiere observation qui s’ofFre a Boldetti luimeme et qui devra
frapper tous les csprits, e’est qu’en decorant les tombeaux de leurs frcres de
tant d’objets de pur ornament, ou d’usagereel, les Chretiens n’avaicnt pu etre
diriges que par ce motif d’esperance qui leur faisait considerer le tombeau
comme un lieu de passage, d’ou ils devaient sortir avec toutes les conditions
de Pimmortalite, et lamort, comme un sommeil paisible, au sein du- quel il ne
pouvait leur etre indifferent de se trouvcr environnes des objets qui leur
avaient ete chers durant la vie ou de l’image de ces objets,” tom. xiii. p.
692.
The heathen practice of burying money, sometimes large sums, with the
dead, was the cause of the very
BOOK
IV.
relics of
saints and martyrs still farther contributed to the same effect. If the
splendid but occasional ceremony of the apotheosis of the deceased emperor was
exploded, a ceremony which, lavished as it frequently had been on the worst and
basest of mankind, however it might amuse and excite the populace, could not
but provoke the contempt of the virtuous ; in the Christian world a continual,
and in some respects more rational, certainly more modest, apotheosis was
constantly celebrated. The more distinguished Christians were dismissed, if not
to absolute deification, to immortality, to a state, in which they retained profound
interest in, and some influence over, the condition of men. During the perilous
and gloomy days of persecution, the reverence for those who endured martyrdom
for the religion of Christ had grown up out of the best feelings of man’s improved
nature. Reverence gradually grew into veneration, worship, adoration. Although
the more rigid theology maintained a marked distinction
severe laws against the violations of non habetur; imo eulpae genus est
the tombs. In fact, these treasures inutiliter abdita relinqueremortuo-
were so great, as to be a source of rum, unde se vita potest sustentare
revenue, which the government viventium. Such are the instruc-
was unwilling to share with un- tions of the minister of Theodo-
licensed plunderers. Et si aurum, ric. Cassiod. Var. iv. 34. ut dicitur, vel argentum fuerit tua But it is still
more strange, that
indagatione detectum, compendio the Christians continued this prac-
publico fideliter vindicabis, ita tice, particularly of the piece of
tamen ut abstineatis a cineribus money in the mouth, which the
mortuorum. iEdificia tegant ci- Heathen intended for the payment
neres, columnae vel marmora or- of Charon. It continued to the
nent sepulcra : talenta non tene- time of Thomas Aquinas, who,
ant, qui commercia virorum reli- according to M.R.Rochette, wrote
querunt. Aurum enim juste against it. sepulcro detrahitur, ubi dominus
between the
honours shown to the martyrs and chap. that addressed to the Redeemer and the
Supreme t 1L Being, the line was too fine and invisible
not to be transgressed by excited popular feeling. The Heathen writers constantly
taunt the Christians with the substitution of the new idolatry for the old. The
charge of worshipping dead men’s bones and the remains of malefactors,
constantly recurs.
A Pagan
philosopher, as late as the fourth century, contemptuously selects some barbarous
names of African martyrs, and inquires whether they are more worthy objects of
worship than Minerva or Jove.*
The festivals
in honour of the martyrs were Festivals, avowedly instituted, or at least
conducted on a sumptuous scale, in rivalry of the banquets which formed so
important and attractive a part of the Pagan ceremonial.t Besides the earliest
Agapse, which gave place to the more solemn Eucharist, there were other kinds
of banquets, at marriages and funerals, called likewise Agapse t; but those of
the martyrs
* Quis
enim ferat Jovi fulmina his
perniciosissimis et tam vetus-
vibranti praeferri Mygdonem ; Ju- tissimis voluptatibus se possent ab-
noni, Minerva?, Veneri, Vestaeque stinere, visumfuisse majoribusnos-
Sanaem, et cunctis (pro nefas) tris, ut huic infirmitatis parti in-
Diis immortalibus archimartyrem terim parceretur, diesque festos,
Nymphanionem, inter quos Luci- post eos, quos relinquebant, alios
tas haud minore eultu suseipitur in honorem sanctorum martyrum
atque alii interminato numero; vel non simili sacrilegio, quamvis
Diisque hominibusque odiosa no- simili luxu celebrarentur. Au-
mina. See Augustin. Epist. xvi. gustin. Epist. xxix. p. 52. p. 20. % Gregory
Nazianzen mentions
f Cum facta pace, turbae Gen- the three kinds,
tilium in Christianum nomen ve- Ovd’ Upijv hiri caXra yevsOXiov, ye nire
cupientes,'hoc impedirentur, Sravovrog, quod dies festos cum idolis suis so-
"H nva r>vn<f>i$h]v ovv TrXtovtaut lerent in abundantia epularum
et Sewv. Carm. x. ebrietate consumere, nec facile ab
F F 2
IV.
book were the most costly and magnificent. The former were of a more
private nature; the poor were entertained at the cost of the married couple or
the relatives of the deceased. The relationship of the martyrs extended to the
whole Christian community, and united all in one bond of piety. They belonged,
by a new tie of spiritual kindred, to the whole Church.
By a noble
metaphor, the day of the martyrs’ death was considered that of their birth to
immortality ; and their birthdays became the most sacred and popular festivals
of the Church.* At their sepulchrest, or more frequently, as the public worship
became more costly, in stately churches erected either over their sepulchres,
or in some more convenient situation, but dedicated to their honour, these holy
days commenced with the most impressive religious service. Hymns were sung in
their praise (much of the early Christian poetry was composed for these
occasions); the history of their lives and martyrdoms was readt (the legends
which grew up into so fertile a subject for Christian
* TevtOXia,
natalitia. This cus- the sacred duties of
a faithful wi- tom was as early as the time of dow, offert annuis diebus
dormitio-
Polycarp. The day of his martyr- nis ejus.
dom was celebrated by the Church -f At Antioch, the remains of
of Antioch. Euseb. lib. iv. 15. St. Juventinus and St. Maximi-
Compare Suicer, in voce ysvkOXiov. 1111s were placed in a sumptuous
Tertullian instances the offerings tomb, and honoured with an annual
for the dead, and the annual cele- festival. Theodoret, E. H. iii. 15. bration of
the birthdays of the mar- J The author of the Acts of
tyrs, as of Apostolic tradition. Ob- Ignatius wrote them, in part that
lationes pro defunctis, in natalibus the day of his martyrdom might be
annua die facimus. De Coron. duly honoured. Act. Martyr. Ign.
Mil- c. 2. Compare Exhortat. ad apud Cotelerium, vol. ii. p. 161.
Cast. c. 11. In the treatise de Compare Acta St. Polycarpi, Monogamia, he
considers it among
mythic fable)
; panegyrical orations were delivered chap. by the best preachers.* The day
closed with an open banquet, in which all the worshippers were invited to
partake. The wealthy Heathens had been accustomed to propitiate the manes of
their departed friends by these costly festivals ; the banquet was almost an
integral part of the Heathen religious ceremony. The custom passed into the
Church ; and with the Pagan feeling, the festival assumed a Pagan character of
gaiety and joyous excitement, and even of luxury.t In some places, the confluence
of worshippers was so great that, as in the earlier, and indeed the more modern
religions of Asia, the neighbourhood of the more celebrated churches of the
martyrs became marts for commerce, and fairs were established on those
holidays.^
As the
evening drew in,the solemn and religious
* There is a
law of Theodosius J Already had the
Montanist the Great against selling the bodies asceticism
of Tertullian taken of martyrs. Cod. Theod. ix. 17.7. alarm at the abuse of the earlier ' f Lipsius consideredtheseAgapae festival, which had likewise dege- derived from
the Silicerniiun of nerated from its pious
use, and with the ancients. Ad Tac. Ann. vi. 5. his
accustomed vehemence deQuod ilia parentalia superstitioni nounced the abuse of the Agapae Gentilium
essent similia. Such among the
Catholics. Apud te is the observation of Ambrose apud Agape in sasculis fervet, fides in Augustin. Conf. vi. 2. Boldetti, culinis calet, spes in ferculis jacet. a good
Roman Catholic and most Sed major his est
Agape, quia per learned antiquarian, observes on hanc adolescentes tui eum sorori- this and other usages
adopted from bus dormiunt, appendices
scilicet Paganism,—Fu anehe sentimento gulae,
lascivia atque luxuria est. de’ prelati di chiesa di condescen- De Jejun. c. xvii. dere con cio alia debelozza
de’ con- There are many paintings in the
vertiti dal Gentilesimo, per istac- catacombs
representing Agap®. carli pin soavemente dell’ antichi Raoul Rochette, Mem. des In- superstizioni, non levando loro af- scrip, p. 141. The author attri- fetto ma
bensiconvertendoinbuoni butes to the
Agapae held in the
i loro
divertimenti. Osservazioni, cemeteries,
many of the cups, p. 46. Compare Marangoni’s work glasses, &e. found in the catacombs.
“ dei Cose Gentilesche.”
IV.
book thoughts gave way to other emotions ; the wine flowed
freely, and the healths of the martyrs were pledged, not unfrequently, to
complete inebriety. All the luxuries of the Roman banquet were imperceptibly
introduced. Dances were admitted, pantomimic spectacles were exhibited*, the
festivals were prolonged till late in the evening, or to midnight, so that
other criminal irregularities profaned, if not the sacred edifice, its
immediate neighbourhood.
The bishops
had for some time sanctioned these pious hilarities with their presence ; they
had freely partaken of the banquets, and their attendants were accused of
plundering the remains of the feast, which ought to have been preserved for the
use of the poor.t
But the
scandals which inevitably arose out of these paganised solemnities awoke the
slumbering vigilance of the more serious prelates. The meetings were gradually
suppressed: they are denounced, with the strongest condemnation of the luxury
and license with which they were celebrated in the church of Antioch, by
Gregory of Na-
* Bottiger, in
his prolusion on noctem cantabantur
nefaria, et can-
the four ages of the drama (Opera tantibus saltabatur. August, in
Lat. p. 326.), supposed, from a pas- Natal. Cyprian, p. 311. sage of St.
Augustine, that there f See the poem of Greg. Naz.
were scenic representations of the de Div.Vit. Gener. Jerome admits
deaths of martyrs. Muller justly the gross evils which took place
observes that the passage does not during these feasts, but ascribes
bear out this inference ; and Angus- them to the irregularities of a
tine would scarcely have used such youthful people, which ought not
expressions unless of dances or to raise a prejudice against the rcli-
mimes of less decent kind. Sane- gion, or even against the usage,
turn locum invaserat pestilentia et The bishops were sometimes called
petulantia saltationis; per totam vticpo€opoi,
feasters on the dead.
zianzum* and
by Chrysostom. They were au- chap. thoritatively condemned by a canon of the
Coun- v ' cil of Laodicea.t In the West, they were generally held in Rome, and
in other Italian cities, to a later period. The authority of Ambrose had
discountenanced, if not entirely abolished, them in his diocese of Milan.t They
prevailed to the latest time in the churches of Africa, where they were
vigorously assailed by the eloquence of Augustine.
The Bishop of
Hippo appeals to the example of Italy and other parts of the West, in which
they had never prevailed, and in which, wherever they had been known, they had
been suppressed by common consent. But Africa did not surrender them without a
struggle. The Manichean Faustus, in the ascetic spirit of his sect, taunts the
orthodox with their idolatrous festivals. “ You have but substituted your Agape
for the sacrifices of the Heathen ; in the place of their idols you have set up
your martyrs, whom you worship with the same ceremonies as the Pagans their
gods. You appease the manes of the dead with wine and with meatofferings.” The
answer of Augustine indignantly repels the charge of idolatry, and takes refuge
in the subtile distinction in the nature of the worship offered to the martyrs.
“ The reverence paid to martyrs is the same with that offered to holy men in
this life, only offered more freely, because they have
* Carm.
ccxviii., ccxix.,and Ora- J Ambros. de Jcjun. c. xvii.
tio vi. Chrysostom, Horn. in. S. Augustin. Confessiones, vi. 2.; see
M. Julian. likewise
Augustin. Epist. xxii.
f Cone. Harduin. t.i. p. 780. p. 28.
book finally triumphed in their conflict. We adore God , IV‘
, alone, we offer sacrifice to no martyr, or to the soul of any saint, or to
any angel. * * Those who intoxicate themselves by the sepulchres of the
martyrs are condemned by sound doctrine. It is a different thing to approve,
and to tolerate till we can amend. The discipline of Christians is one thing,
the sensuality of those who thus indulge in drunkenness and the infirmity of
the weak is another.”*
So
completely, however, had they grown into the habits of the Christian community,
that in many places they lingered on in obstinate resistance to the eloquence
of the great teachers of Christianity. Even the Councils pronounced with
hesitating and tardy severity the sentence of condemnation against these
inveterate usages, to which the people adhered with such strong attachment.
That of Carthage prohibited the attendance of a. d. 397. the clergy, and exhorted them to persuade the
people, as far as possible, to abstain from these festivals ; that of Orleans
condemns the singing, a.d.533. dancing,
or dissolute behaviour, in churches; that
* Cont. Faust, lib. xx. c. xxi. concourse to these
festivals, and One of the poems of St. Pau- the riots which arose out of them,
linus of Nola describes the general
Et nunc ecce frequentes Per totam et vigiles
extendunt gaudia noctem,
Laetitui somnos, tenebras funalibus arcent.
Verum utinam sanis agerent hrec gaudia votis,
Nec sua liminibus miscerent gaudia sanctis.
* *
ignoscenda tamen puto talia parcis Gaudia quae ducant epulis, quia mentibus
error Irrepit rudibus, nec tantae conscia eulpae Simplicitas pietate cadit,
male credula Sanctos Pcrfusis halante mero gaudere sepulcris.
Carmen ix. in St. Felicem Martyrem.
of Agde
(Sens) condemns secular music, the sing- ciiap. ing of women, and banquets, in
that place of which t ’ “it is written that it is a house of
prayer;” fi- a. d. 578. nally, that of Trulla, held in Constantinople, as late
as the beginning of the eighth century, prohibits the decking of tables in
churches (the prohibition indicates the practice) : and at length it provoked
a formal sentence of excommunication.
But
notwithstanding all its efforts to divert and Profane preoccupy the mind by
these graver or at least pri- sPectacIes- marily religious
spectacles, the passion for theatrical amusements was too strong to be
repressed by Christianity. It succeeded in some humane improvements, but, in
some parts, it was obliged to yield to the ungovernable torrent. The populace
of an empire threatened on all sides by dangerous enemies, oppressed by a
remorseless tyranny, notwithstanding the remonstrances of a new and dominant
religion, imperiously demanded, and recklessly enjoyed, their accustomed
diversions.* In some places, that which had been a delight became a
madness ; and it was a Christian city which first displayed sedition and
insurrection, whose streets ran with blood, from the rivalry of two factions in
the circus. The older World was degenerate even in its diversions. It was not
the nobler drama of Greece, or even that of Rome ; neither the stately
* In the
fifth century, Treves, vitatis, ubique
imago mortis, jacent
four times desolated by the barba- reliquiae infelicissimae plebis super
rians, no sooner recovered its free- tumulos mortuorum suorum, et
dom, than it petitioned for the tu circenses rogas. Compare the
games of the circus. Ubique facies whole
passage, Salvian, de Gub. captae urbis, ubique terror capti- Dei, vi.
tragedy, nor
even the fine comedy of manners, for which the mass of the people endured the
stern remonstrances of the Christian orator; but spectacles of far less
intellectual pretensions, and far more likely to be injurious to Christian
morals. These, indeed, were not, as we shall show hereafter, entirely obsolete,
but comparatively rare and unattractive.
The Heathen
calendar still regulated the amusements of the people.* Nearly-100 days in the
year were set apart as festivals; the commencement of every month was dedicated
to the public diversions. Besides these, there were extraordinary days of
rejoicing, a victory, the birthday of the reigning Emperor, or the dedication
of his statue by the prefect or the provincials of any city or district. On the
accession of a new Emperor, processions always took place, which ended in the
exhibition of games.t The dedication of statues to the Emperors by different
cities, great victories, and other important
* The ordinary calendar of ho- fourth century, are given hy Gode- lidays,
on which the courts of law froy (note on the Cod. Theodos. did not sit, at the
close of the lib.ii.viii.il.).
|
Ferise aestivae (harvest) - |
- XXX |
|
Ferias autumnales (vintage) - |
- XXX |
|
Kalendae Januarii - - |
- iii |
|
Natalitia urbis Romce - - |
- i |
|
urbis Constantin. - |
- i |
|
Paschas - - - |
- XV |
|
Dies Solis1, circiter - - Natalitia
Imperatorum - |
- xli |
|
- iv cxxv |
Christmas-day, Epiphany,and Pen- (Graevii Thesaur. viii.) reckons
tecost, were not as yet general ninety-six days for the games, of
holidays. which
but few were peculiar to
f The Constantinian Calendar Rome. Muller, ii. p. 49.
1 The
other Sundays were comprised in the summer, autumnal, and Easter holidays.
events, were
always celebrated with games. The chap. Christians obtained a law from
Theodosius, that t H‘ , games should be prohibited on the
Lord’s day.
The African
bishops, in the fifth Council of Carthage, petitioned that this prohibition
might be extended to all Christian holidays. They urged that many members of
the corporate bodies were obliged officially to attend on these occasions, and
prevented from fulfilling their religious duties. The law of Theodosius the
Elder had inhibited the celebration of games on Sundays*, one of the Younger
Theodosius added at Christmas, the Epiphany,
Easter, and
Pentecost, and directed that the theatres should be closed, not only to the
Christians, but to the impious Jews and superstitious Pagans.t But,
notwithstanding this law, which must have been imperfectly carried into
execution, the indignant preachers still denounce the rivalry of the games,
which withdrew so many of their audience.t The Theoretica or fund for the
expenses of public Tll.e Theo- shows and amusements,
which existed not only in the two capitals, but in all the larger cities of the
Empire, wTas first confiscated to the imperial treasury by
Justinian ; up to that time, the imperial policy had sanctioned and enforced
this expenditure ; and it is remarkable that this charge, which had been so
long voluntarily borne by the ambition or the vanity of the higher orders, was
first
* Cod.
Theod. xv. v. 2. Theophyl. ad Autolyc.
iii. p.39G.;
•f- Cod. Theod. xv. t. 5. 1. 5. a.d. for
the later, Chrysostom, pame
425. Muller, p. 50. passim,
Horn, contra Am.; llom.
J Sec, for the earlier period, in princip. Act i. 58.; llom. in
Apostolic Constit. ii. GO, 01, 02.; Johann.
book imposed as a direct tax on individuals by a Cliris-
* j tian Emperor. By a law of Constantine,
the Senate of Rome and of Constantinople were empowered to designate any person
of a certain rank and fortune for the costly function of exhibiting games in
these two great cities.* These were in addition to the spectacles exhibited by
the consuls. In the other cities, decemvirs were nominated to this office.t The
only exemptions were nonage, military or civil service, or a special
indulgence from the Emperor. Men fled from their native cities to escape this
onerous distinction. But if the charge was thrown on the treasury, the treasury
could recover from the praetor or decemvir, besides assessing heavy fines for
the neglect of the duty ; and they were liable to be condemned to serve two
years instead of one. In the Eastern provinces, this office had been joined
with a kind of high- priesthood, such were the Asiarchs, the Syriarchst, the
Bithyniarchs. The most distinguished men of the province had been proud of
accepting the station of chief minister of the gods, at the expense of these
sumptuous festivities. The office remained under the Christian Emperors §, but
had
* Zosim. lib.
ii. c. 38. same council condemned
all who
•f See various laws of Constan- took the office of decemvir to a
stantius, regulating the office, the j'ear’s exclusion from the commu-
expenses, the fines imposed on the nion. Bingham, ubi supra, prcetors, Cod. Theodos. vi. 3.; % Malala, Chronograph, lib. xii.
Laws i. 1—33. This shows the in art. Codex Theodos. vi. 3. 1. importance attached to the office.
§ The tribunus voluptatum ap-
These munerarii, as well as the pears as a title on a Christian tomb,
actors, were to do penance all their Bosio, Roma Sotteranea, p. 106.
lives. Act. Cone. Illeb. can. 3. Compare the observations of Bosio. Compare
Bingham, xvi. 4.8. This
degenerated
into a kind of purveyor for the public ciiap. pleasures. A law of Theodosius
enacted that this office should not be imposed on any one who refused to
undertake it.# Another law, from which however, the Asiarchs were
excluded, attempted to regulate the expenditure between the mean parsimony of
some, and the prodigality of others, t Those who voluntarily undertook the
office of exhibiting games were likewise exempted from this sumptuary law, for
there were still some ambitious of this kind of popularity. They were proud of
purchasing, at this enormous price, the honour of seeing their names displayed
on tablets to the wondering multitude t, and of being drawn in their chariots
through the applauding city on the morning of the festival.
Throughout
the empire, this passion prevailed in every city §, and in all classes. From
early morning
* Cod. Theodos. xii. 1. 103. the various kinds of games. Lib. i.
Compare the quotations from Liba- epist. 20. 27. 30,31, 32, 33., iii. 51.,
nius, in Godefroy’s Commentary, iv. 37. Theodoric espoused the
There is a sumptuary law of Theo- green faction; he supported the
dosius II. limiting the expenses: pantomime. There were still tribuni
“ Nee inconsulta plausorum insania voluptatum at Home, vi. 6. Sti-
eurialium vires, fortunas civium, pends were allowed to scenici, ix.
principalium domus, possessorum 21.
opes, reipublicae robur evellant.” f Symmachus, lib. x. epist. 28.
TheAlytarchs, Syriarchs, Asiarchs, 42. Compare Heyne, Opuscula,vi.
and some others, are exempted p. 14.
from this Law. C. T. xv. 9. 2. In % Basil, in Psal. 61. Prudent.
Italy, at a later period, the reign Hamartigenia.
of Theodoric, the public games, § Muller names the following
were provided by the liberality cities, besides the four great capi-
of the Gothic sovereign : Beati- tals, Rome, Constantinople, An-
tudo sit temporum lastitia populo- tioch,and Alexandria, in which the
rum. Cassiodorus, epist. i. 20. games are alluded to by ancient
The Epistles of Theodoric’s mi- authors, Gortyna, Nicomedia, Lao-
nister are full of provisions and dicea, Tyre, Berytus, Caesarea,
regulations for the celebration of Heliopolis, Gaza, Ascalon, Jerusa-
book to late in the evening, the theatres were crowded
1V' ;
in every part.* The artisan deserted his work, the
merchant his
shop, the slaves followed their masters, and were admitted into the vast
circuit. Sometimes, when the precincts of the circus or amphitheatre were
insufficient to contain the thronging multitudes, the adjacent hills were
crowded with spectators, anxious to obtain a glimpse of the distant
combatants, or to ascertain the colour of the victorious charioteer. The usages
of the East and of the West differed as to .the admission of women to these
spectacles. In the East, they were excluded by the general sentiment from the
theatre.f Nature itself, observes St. Chrysostom, enforces this prohibition.t
It arose, not out of Christianity, but out of the manners of the East; it is
alluded to not as a distinction, but as a general usage.§ Chrysostom laments
that women, though they did not attend the games, were agitated by the factions
of the circus.|| In the West, the greater freedom of the Homan women had long
asserted and still
lem, Berea, Corinth, Cirta, Carthage, Syracuse, Catania, Milan,
Aquileia, Ravenna, Mentz, Cologne, Treves, Arles. P. 53.
* Augustine,
indeed, asserts, “ per omnes fere civitates cadunt theatra caveaeturpitudinum,
et publican professiones flagitiorum. De Cons. Evangelist, c. 51.
f There are one or two passages of the Fathers
opposed to this opinion. Tatian says, ro?~£ ottioq del fioix^vtiv hri rijg
(tki)vi]q aotyiaTtv- ovtciq
at Svydrepeg v/iwvKctio'i ircrideg
Beiopovoi. e. 22. Clemens Alex. Strom, lib. iii.
J Chrys. Horn. 12. in Coloss, vol. ii. p. 417.
§ Procop. de Bell. Pers. 1. c. 42.
|| It wras remarked as an extraordinary occurrence that, on
the intelligence of the martyrdom of Gordius, matrons and virgins, forgetting
their bashfulness,rushed to the theatre. Basil, vol. ii. p. 144. 147.
maintained
this privilege.* It is well known that the vestal virgins had their seats of honour
in the Roman spectacles, even those which might have been supposed most
repulsive to feminine gentleness and delicacy; and the Christian preachers of
the West remonstrate as strongly against the females as against the men, on
account of their inextinguishable attachment to the public spectacles.
The more
austere and ascetic Christian teachers condemned alike all these popular
spectacles. From the avowed connection with Paganism, as to the time of their
celebration t, their connection with the worship of Pagan deities, according to
the accredited notion that all these deities were daemons permitted to delude
mankind, the theatre was considered a kind of temple of the Evil Spirit, t
There were some, however, who openly vindicated these public exhibitions, and
alleged the chariot of Elijah, the dancing of David, and the quotations of St.
Paul from dramatic writers, as cases in point.
These public
spectacles were of four kinds, Four kinds
of spectacles.
* Quae
pudica forsitan ad spec- laedunt
Deum, utpote idolis conse-
taculum matrona processerat, de cratae. Colitur namqucethonoratur
spectaculo revertitur impudica. Ad Minerva in gymnasiis, Venus in
Donat. Compare Augustine,de Civ. theatris, Neptunus in circis, Mars
Dei, ii. 4. Quid juvenes aut vir- in arenis, Mercurius in palaestris.
gines faciant, cum haec et fieri sine Salvian, lib. vi. •
pudore, et spectari libenter ab om- A fair collection of the denun-
nibus cernunt, admonentur, quid ciations of the Fathers against
facere possent, inflammantur libi- theatrical amusements may be
dines, ac se quisque pro sexu in found in Mamachi, de’ Costumi de’
illis imaginibus praefigurat, cor- Primitivi Cristiani, ii. p. 150. et
ruptiores ad cubicula revertuntur. seqq.
Lact. Div. Instit. xv. G. 31. J See the book de Spect. attri-
f Dubium enim non est, quod buted to St. Cyprian.
book independent of the common and more vulgar exhit IV'
, bitions, juggling, rope-dancing, and tumbling.* Gymnastic I. The old
gymnastic games. The Olympic games. games survived in Greece till the invasion
of Alaric. t Antioch likewise celebrated this quinquennial festivity; youths
of station and rank exhibited themselves as boxers and wrestlers. These games
were also retained at Rome and in parts of Africat: it is uncertain whether
they were introduced into Constantinople. The various passages of Chrysostom
which allude to them probably were delivered in Antioch. Something of the old
honour adhered to the wrestlers and performers in these games : they either
were, or were supposed to be, of respectable station and unblemished character.
The herald advanced into the midst of the arena and made his proclamation, “
that any man should come forward who had any charge against any one of the men
about to appear before them, as a thief, a slave, or of bad reputation.” §
Tragedy
II. Theatrical exhibitions, properly so called, an come- higher tragedy and
comedy were still repre
sented on the
inauguration of the consuls at Rome.
* Compare
the references to dancers, jugglers, &c. in Mont- Chrysostom’s works on the
rope faucon, Diatribe, p. 194. f Liban. de Vocat. ad Festa Olympia).
Cuncta Palaemoniis manus explorata coronis
Adsit, et Eleo pubes laudata tonanti.
Claudian, de FI. Mai. Cons. 288. This, however, may be poetic J They were restored in
Africa, reminiscence. These exhibitions by a law of Gratian, a. d. 376. are
described as conducted with Cod. Theod. xv. 7. 3. greater decency and order
(pro- § Compare Montfaucon’s Dia- bably because they awoke less pas- tribe, p.
194. sionate interest) than those of the circus or theatre.
Claudian
names actors of the sock and buskin, chap. the performers of genuine comedy and
tragedy, as , 11' exhibited on the occasion of the consulship of
Mal- lius.# During the triumph of the Christian Emperors Theodosius
and Arcadius, the theatre of Pompey was filled by chosen actors from all parts
of the world. Two actors in tragedy and comedy t are named as standing in the
same relation to each other as the famous iEsopus and the comic Roscius.
Prudentius speaks of the tragic mask as still in use; and it appears that
females acted those parts in Terence which were formerly represented by men. t
The youthful mind of Augustine took delight in being agitated by the fictitious
sorrows of the stage.§ Nor was this higher branch of the art extinct in the
East: tragic and comic actors are named, with other histrionic performers, in
the orations of Chrysostom ||, and there are allusions in Libanius to
mythological tragic fables and to the comedies of Menander, But as these
representations, after they had ceased to be integral parts of the Pagan
worship, were less eagerly denounced by the Christian teachersthe comparatively
* Qui
pulpita socco Personat, aut alte graditur majore cothurno,
In Cons. Mall. 313. Pompeiana proscenia delectis actoribus personarent.
Symmach. lib. x. ep. 29. f Publius Pollio and Ambivius. 1[ Liban. vol.
ii. p. 375.
Symmach. epist. x. 2. ** Lactantius inveighs with all
J Donatus in Andriam, act. iv. the energy of the
first ages against sc. 3. tragedy and
comedy:—Tragicce
$ Confess, iii. 2. historiae
subjiciunt oculis patricidia
|| Chrysostom, Ilom. 10. in Co- et incesta regum malorum, et coloss. v.
ii. p. 403.; Horn. 6. in thurnata scelera demonstrant. Co- Terrae mot. i. 780., i. p. 38. i. 731. micae
de stupris virginum et am-
VOL. III. G G
book slight and
scanty notices in their writings, almost t IV‘ , our only
records of the manners of the time, by no means prove the infrequency of these
representations ; though it is probable, for other reasons, that the barbarous
and degraded taste was more gratified by the mimes and pantomimes, the chariot
races of the circus, and the wild-beasts in the amphitheatre.* But tragedy and
comedy, at this period, were probably maintained rather to display the magnificence
of the consul or praetor, who prided himself on the variety of his
entertainments, and were applauded, perhaps t, by professors of rhetoric, and
a few faithful admirers of antiquity, rather than by the people at large. Some
have supposed that the tragedies written on religious subjects in the time of
Julian were represented on the stage; but there is no ground for this notion ;
these were intended as school books, to supply the place of Sophocles and
Menander.
In its
degeneracy, the higher Drama had longbeen Mimes. supplanted by,— 1st, the
Mimes. Even this kind of drama, perhaps, of Roman, or even of earlier Italian
origin, had degenerated into the coarsest scurrility, and, it should seem, the
most repulsive indecency. Formerly it had been the representation of some inci-
citiis meretricum, ct quo magis tragcediae, hoc cst fabulas poetarum,
sunt eloquentcs, co magis per- agendas in spectaculo multa rcrnm
suadent, facilit'ts inhaerent memoriae turpitndine, sed nulla saltern, sicut
versus numerosi et ornati. In- aliae multae, verborum obscenitate
stit. vi. 20. compositae,
quas etiam inter studia,
* Augustine,however,
draws adis- quae liberalia vocantur,
pueri le-
tinction between these two classes gerc et discere coguntnr a senibus.
of theatric representations and the De Civ. Dei, lib. ii. c. 8.
lower kind:—Scenicorum tolera- f Muller, p.139. biliora ludorum,comcediae
scilicet et
dent in
common life, extemporaneously dramatised by the mime, ludicrous in its general
character, mingled at times with sharp or even grave and sententious satire.
Such were the mimes of La- berius, to which republican Rome had listened with
delight. It was now the lowest kind of buffoonery. The mime, or several mimes,
both male and female, appeared in ridiculous dresses, with shaven crowns, and
pretending still to represent some kind of story, poured forth their witless
obscenity, and indulged in all kinds of practical jokes and manual wit, blows
on the face and broken heads. The music was probably the great charm, but that
had become soft, effeminate, and lascivious. The female performers were of the
most abandoned character *, and scenes were sometimes exhibited of the most
abominable indecency, even if we do not give implicit credit to the malignant
tales of Procopius concerning the exhibitions of the Empress Theodora, when she
performed as a dancing girl in these disgusting mimes, t
The Pantomime
was a kind of ballet in action, t Panto
mimes.
#
Many passages of Chrysostom ydpyt\oiii)v,Ka\oi KaKiZg d—oXovfitvoi
might be quoted, in which he 6pxt]'j~o.i, ical ttav o’ n rrpog aioxpo-
speaks of the naked courtesans, r?jra kciI ti)v d-orrov
ravnjv icai
meaning probably with the most cKyxcXij GvvTaXti fiovaiKriv, te
transparent clothing (though wo- Itti
tovtov.
Lib. iv. c.33.
men were exhibited at Antioch j Muller, 92. 103.
swimming in an actual state of nu- j Libanius is indignant that men
dity), who performed in these should attempt to confound the
mimes. The more severe Chris- orchestae or pantomimes with these
tian preacher is confirmed by the degraded and infamous mimes,
language of the Heathen Zosimus, Vol. iii. p. 3.50. The pantomimes
whose bitter hatred to Christianity wore masks, the mimes had their
induces him to attribute their most faces uncovered, and usually had
monstrous excesses to the reign of shaven crowns, the Christian Emperor. Mlfxoi
-s
BOOK
n
11 was iho
mimic representation of all the old tragic and mythological tables without
words •, or intermingled w ith chaunts or songs. * These exhibitions were cot
up at times with great splendour of scenery, which was usually painted on
hanging curtains, and with mimical accompaniments of the greatest \^riety. The
whole cycle of mythology i. both of the gods and heroes, was represented by
the dress and mim’c gestures of the performer. The deities, both male and
female. — Jupiter. Pkto. and Mars; Juno. Proserpine. Venus : Theseus and
Hercules: Achilles, with all the heroes of the Tro'an war: Pha?dra. Briseis.
Ata- lanta. the race of CE dipus: these are but a few of the dramatic
personages which, on the authority of Libanius j. were personated by the
pantomimes of the East- Sidonius Apol.iuaris tills twenty-live lines with those
represented in the West by the celebrated dancers Caramalus and Phabaton.*7
These included the old tables of Medea and Jason, of the house of Thy est es.
of Tereus and Philomela, Jupiter and Europa. and Danae. and Leda. and Ganymede,
Mars and Venus. Perseus and Andromeda. In the West, the female parts here
exhibited were
* The
psxuDTrmm or dancer? represented tbeir pwifc,—
Oia~s:> fascibcs e: l^q enre resru N urn, cr^re. rsnn. marrota: Ski.
ApoTL
^ Taere wa> >oiiietiines a rernlar de Prov. £.
p. ]-?S, ed. Pet£v. cboms^ vim instm e ta. ^nnmaeh.
i. ep. >9.
Apo_. whl
£Hi*prorta.ilT j Laban, pro Safe. t.S
391. poetry campled for tbe orcasicU. Mdon. Apo, ry.-m. -rxin t.
Me je*-, p. 1 f
t ‘. z?9.-.
* Grer
Ny?sen. in Gallart Bib- r Clandlan merdonf a yontb, hozn^n. Patnrm.
vi p. 61 . Aid- vbo. beiore tbe pit, "which tbuc- brose, m Hexaem. H. i.
5. ^ rues. dered wiih applause, —
Ar: rinusm Mobem an: denies Troads rnrit.
likewise
represented by women * of whom there w’ere no less than 3000 in Rome* : and so
important were these females considered to the public amusement, that, on the
expulsion of all strangers from the city during a famine, an exception was made
by the praetor, in deference to the popular wishes, in favour of this class
alone. The profession, however, was considered infamous, and the indecency of
their attire upon the public stage justified the low estimate of their moral
character. Their attractions were so dangerous to the Roman youth, that a
special law prohibited the abduction of these females from their public
occupation, whether the enamoured lover withdrew one of them from the stage as
a mistress, or, as not unfrequently happened, with the more honourable title of
wife. X The East, though it sometimes endured the appearance of women in those
parts, often left them to be performed by boys, yet with any thing but
advantage to general morality. The aversion of Christianity to the subjects
exhibited by the pantomimes, almost invariably moulded up as they were with
Paganism, as well as its high moral sense (united, perhaps, with something of
the disdain of ancient Rome for the histrionic art, which it patronised
nevertheless with inexhaustible ardour), branded the performers with the
deepest mark of public contempt. They were, as it were, public
* Even in
Constantinople, wo- men • —'Qe-rno coua-oc rvrrJ
men acted in the pantomimes, v .zvar.
Chrysostom, Horn. 6., in Thessa- T Ammian. Marcel, xiv. 6.
Ion., denounces the performance of j Cod. Theodos. it. 7. -5. Phaedra and Hippolitcs, bv
wo-
G G 3
CHAP.
U.
book slaves, and
could not abandon their profession.* IV' They were considered unfit
to mingle with respectable society; might not appear in the forum or basilica,
or use the public baths; they were excluded even from the theatre as
spectators, and might not be attended by a slave, with a folding- stool for
their use. Even Christianity appeared to extend its mercies and its hopes to
this devoted race with some degree of rigour and jealousy. The actor baptized
in the apparent agony of death, if he should recover, could not be forced back
upon the stage; but the guardian of the public amusements was to take care,
lest, by pretended sickness, the actor should obtain this precious privilege of
baptism, and thus exemption from his servitude. Even the daughters of actresses
partook of their mothers’ infamy, and could only escape being doomed to their
course of life by the profession of Christianity, ratified by a certain term of
probationary virtue. If the actress relapsed from Christianity, she was
invariably condemned to her impure servitude.!
Such was the
general state of the theatrical exhibitions in the Roman empire at that period.
The higher drama, like every other intellectual and inventive art, had to
undergo the influence of Christianity before it could revive in its splendid
and prolific energy. In all European countries, the Christian mystery, as it
was called, has been the parent of tragedy, perhaps of comedy. It reappeared
* Cod.
Theodos. xv. 13. f Cod. Theodos. de
Scenicis,
xv. 7. 2. 4. 8.9.
as a purely
religious representation, having retained chap.
no
remembrance whatever of Paganism ; and was *____________ *L
at one
period, perhaps, the most effective teacher, in times of general ignorance and
total scarcity of books, both among priests and people, of Christian history as
well as of Christian legend.
But at a
later period, the old hereditary hostility of Christianity to the theatre has
constantly revived. The passages of the Fathers have perpetually been
repeated by the more severe preachers, whether fairly applicable or not to the
dramatic entertainments of different periods ; and in general it has had the
effect of keeping the actor in a lower caste of society ; a prejudice often
productive of the evil which it professed to correct; for men whom the general
sentiment considers of a low moral order will rarely make the vain attempt of
raising themselves above it: if they cannot avoid contempt, they will care
little whether they deserve it.
III. The
Amphitheatre, with its shows of gladi- Amphi- ators and wild-beasts. The
suppression of those Ghdiato- bloody spectacles, in which human beings slaugh- ,ialsho'vs-
tered each other by hundreds for the diversion of their fellow men, is one of
the most unquestionable and proudest triumphs of Christianity. The gladiatorial
shows, strictly speaking, that is, the mortal combats of men, were never
introduced into the less warlike East, though the combats of men with wild-
beasts were exhibited in Syria and other parts. They were Roman in their
origin, and to their termination.
It might seem
that the pride of Roman conquest
g g 4
book was not
satisfied with the execution of her deso- ‘ , lating mandates, unless the whole
city witnessed the bloodshed of her foreign captives ; and in her decline she
seemed to console herself with these sanguinary proofs of her still extensive
empire : the ferocity survived the valour of her martial spirit. Barbarian life
seemed, indeed, to be of no account, but to contribute to the sports of the
Roman. The humane Symmachus, even at this late period*, reproves the impiety of
some Saxon captives, who, by strangling themselves in prison, escaped the
ignominy of this public exhibition.t It is an humiliating consideration to find
how little lloman civilisation had tended to mitigate the ferocity of manners
and of temperament. Not merely did women crowd the amphitheatre during the
combats of these fierce and almost naked savages or criminals, but it was the
especial privilege of the vestal virgin, even at this late period, to give the
signal for the mortal blow, to watch the sword driven deeper into the
palpitating entrails, t The state of uncontrolled frenzy worked up even the
most sober
* Quando
prohibuisset privata the exposure to
wild beasts was
custodia desperatae gentis hitpias considered a more ignominious
manus, cum viginti novem fractas punishment than fighting as a
sine laqueo fauces primus ludi gladiator. The slave was con-
gladiatorii dies viderit. Symmach. demned to the former for kidnap-
lib. ii. epist. 46. ping
; the freeman to the latter,
f It is curious that at one time Codex Theod. iv. 18. 1.
I Virgo —
consurgit ad ictus,
Et quotiens victor ferrum jugulo inserit, ilia
Delicias ait esse suas, pectusque jacentis Virgo modesta jubet, converso
pollice, rumpi ;
Ni lateat pars ulla animae vitalibus imis,
Altius iinpresso dum palpitat ense secutor.
Prudent, adv* Sym. ii. 1095.
spectators.
The manner in which this contagious passion for bloodshed engrossed the whole
soul is described with singular power and truth by St. Augustine. A Christian
student of the law was compelled by the importunity of his friends to enter
the amphitheatre. He sate with his eyes closed, and his mind totally abstracted
from the scene. He was suddenly startled from his trance by a tremendous shout
from the whole audience. He opened his eyes, he could not but gaze on the
spectacle. Directly he beheld the blood, his heart imbibed the common ferocity;
he could not turn away; his eyes were riveted on the arena ; and the interest,
the excitement, the pleasure, grew into complete intoxication. He looked on,
he shouted, he was inflamed; he carried away from the amphitheatre an
irresistible propensity to return to its cruel enjoyments.*
Christianity
began to assail this deep-rooted passion of the Roman world with caution,
almost with timidity. Christian Constantinople was never defiled with the blood
of gladiators. In the same year as that of the Council of Nice, a local edict
was issued, declaring the Emperor’s disapprobation of these sanguinary
exhibitions in time of peace, and prohibiting the volunteering of men as gladiators,
t This was a considerable step, if we call to mind the careless apathy with
which Constantine, before his conversion, had exhibited all his barbarian
captives in the amphitheatre at Treves, t
* August.
Conf. vi. 8. \ See vol. ii. p. 355,
f Codex Theodos. xv. 12. 1.
book This edict,
however, addressed to the prefect of IV’ . Phoenicia, had no
permanent effect, for Libanius, several years after, boasts that he had not
been a spectator of the gladiatorial shows still regularly celebrated in Syria.
Constantius prohibited soldiers, and those in the imperial service (Palatini),
from hiring themselves out to the Lanistae, the keepers of gladiators.*
Valentinian decreed that no Christian or Palatine should be condemned for any
crime whatsoever to the arena, t An earl}/ edict of Honorius prohibited any
slave who had been a gladiatort from being admitted into the service of a man
of senatorial dignity. But Christianity now began to speak in a more
courageous and commanding tone. § The Christian poet urges on the Christian
Emperor the direct prohibition of these inhuman and disgraceful exhibitions ||:
but a single act often affects the public mind much more strongly than even the
most eloquent and reiterated exhortation. An Eastern monk, named Telemachus,
travelled all the way to Rome, in order to protest against those disgraceful
barbarities. In his noble enthusiasm, he leaped into the arena to separate the
combatants ; either with the sanction of the prefect, or that of the infuriated
Codex Theodos. xv. 12. 2. J Codex. Theodos., ix. 40. 8.
I Ibid. ix. 40. g. §
Ibid. xv. 12.3.
|| Arripe dilatam tua, dux, in tempora famam,
Quodque patri superest, successor laudis
habeto.
Ille urbem vetuit taurorum sanguine tingi,
Tu mortes miserorum hominum prohibete litari:
Nullus in urbe cadat, cujus sit pcena
voluptas,
Nec sua virginitas oblectet caedibus ora.
Jam solis contenta feris infamis arena,
Nulla eruentatis homicidia ludat in armis.
Prudent, adv. Symin. ii. 1121.
assembly, he
was torn to pieces, the martyr of chap. Christian
humanity.* The impression of this awful t * scene, of a Christian, a
monk, thus murdered in the arena, was so profound, that Honorius issued a
prohibitory edict, putting an end to these bloody shows. This edict, however,
only suppressed the mortal combats of ment; the less inhuman, though still
brutalising, conflicts of men with wild-beasts seems scarcely to have been
abolishedt till the diminution of wealth, and the gradual contraction of the
limits of the empire, cut off both the supply and the means of purchasing these
costly luxuries.
The revolted
or conquered provinces of the South, the East, and the North, no longer
rendered up their accustomed tribute of lions from Libya, leopards from the
East, dogs of remarkable ferocity from Scotland, of crocodiles and bears, and
every kind of wild and rare animal. The Emperor Anthemius prohibited the
lamentable spectacles of wild-beasts on the Sunday ; and Salvian still inveighs
against those bloody exhibitions. And this amusement gradually degenerated, if
the word may be used,
* Theodoret,
v. 26. period. The passage of Salvian,
f The law of Honorius is not sometimes alleged, refers to combats extant
in the Theodosian code, with wild-beasts. — Ubi summum which only retains those
of Con- deliciarum genus est mori homines, stantine and Constantius. For aut
quod est mori graviiis acerbius- this reason, doubts have been que, lacerari,
expleri ferarum alvos thrown on the authority of Theo- humanis carnibus, eomedi
homines doret; but there is no recorded cum circumstantium lsetitia, con-
instance of gladiatorial combats spicientium voluptate. De Gub. between man and
man since this Dei, lib. vi. p. 51.
J Quicquid monstriferis nutrit Ga)tulia
campis,
Alpina quicquid tegitur nive, Gallica quicquid
Silva timet, jaceat. Largo ditcscat arena Sanguine, consumant totos spectacula
montes.
Claud, in Cons. Mall. 30G.
book not so much
from the improving humanity, as from t 1 v' , the
pusillanimity of the people. Arts were introduced to irritate the fury of the
beast, without endangering the person of the combatant, which would have been
contemptuously exploded in the more warlike days of the Empire. It became a mere
exhibition of skill and agility. The beasts were sometimes tamed before they
were exhibited. In the West, those games seem to have sunk with the Western
empire*; in the East, they lingered on so as to require a special prohibition
by the Council of Trulla at Constantinople, at the close of the seventh
century.
The circus. IV. The chariot race of the circus. If these races.10t
former exhibitions were prejudicial to the modesty and humanity of the Roman
people, the chariot races were no less fatal to their peace. This frenzy did
not, indeed, reach its height till the middle of the fifth century, when the
animosities of political and religious difference were outdone by factions enlisted
in favour of the rival charioteers in the circus. As complete a separation took
place in society ; adverse parties were banded against each other in as fierce
opposition; an insurrection as destructive and sanguinary took place ; the
throne of the Emperor was as fearfully shaken, in the collision of the blue and
green factions, as ever took place in defence of the sacred rights of liberty
or of faith. Constantinople seemed to concentre on the circus all that
* Agincourt,
Histoire de l’Art, games were the origin
of the tour-
is of opinion that Theodoric sub- naments. The wild beast shows
stituted military games for thea- were still celebrated at Rome,
trical shows, and that these military Cassiod. Epist. v. 42.
absorbing
interest, which at Rome was divided ciiap.
by
many spectacles. The Christian city seemed _____________ *L
to compensate
itself for the excitement of those games which were prohibited by the religion,
by the fury with which it embraced those which were allowed, or rather against
which Christianity remonstrated in vain. Her milder tone of persuasiveness,
and her more authoritative interdiction, were equally disregarded, where the
sovereign and the whole people yielded to the common frenzy.
But this
consolation remained to Christianity, that when it was accused of distracting
the imperial city with religious dissension, it might allege, that this at
least was a nobler subject of difference ; or rather, that the passions of men
seized upon religious distinctions with no greater eagerness than they did on
these competitions for the success of a chariot driver, in a blue or a green
jacket, in order to gratify their inextinguishable love of strife and
animosity.
BOOK
IV.
CHAP. III.
CHRISTIAN LITERATURE.
Christianity was
extensively propagated in an age in which Greek and Latin literature had fallen
into hopeless degeneracy; nor could even its spirit awaken the dead. Both these
languages had already attained and passed their full developement; they had
fulfilled their part in the imaginative and intellectual advancement of
mankind; and it seems, in general, as much beyond the power of the genius of a
country, as of an individual, to renew its youth. It was not till it had
created new languages, 01* rather till languages had been formed in which the
religious notions of Christianity were an elementary and constituent part, that
Christian literature assumed its free and natural dignity.
The genius of
the new7 religion never coalesced in perfect and amicable harmony
with either the Greek or the Latin tongue. In each c’ase it was a foreign
dialect introduced into a fully-formed and completely organised language. The
Greek, notwithstanding its exquisite pliancy, with difficulty accommodated
itself to the new sentiments and opinions. It had either to endure the
naturalisation of new words, or to deflect its own terms to new significations.
In the latter case, the doctrines were endangered, in the former, the purity
of the language, more especially since the Oriental writers were in general
alien to the Grecian mind. The Greek lan-
guage had
indeed long before yielded to the conta- chap. initiating influences of
Barbarism. From Homer to v ‘ , Demosthenes, it had varied in its
style and character, Degene- but had maintained
its admirable perfection, as the Fateof finest, the clearest, and most
versatile instrument Greekh-
_ ’ 1 tcrature
of poetry,
oratory, or philosophy. But the con- andian-
quests of Greece were as fatal to her language as to gua°e*
her liberties. The Macedonian, the language of the conquerors, was not the
purest Greek*, and in general, by the extension over a wider surface, the
stream contracted a taint from every soil over which it flowed. Alexandria was
probably the best school of foreign Grecian style, at least in literature ; in
Syria it had always been infected in some degree by the admixture of Oriental
terms. The Hellenistic style, as it has been called, of the New Testament, may
be considered a fair example of the language, as it was spoken in the provinces
among persons of no high degree of intellectual culture.
The Latin
seemed no less to have fulfilled its Of Roman,
mission, and to have passed its culminating point, in the verse of
Virgil and the prose of Cicero. Its stern and masculine majesty, its plain and
practical vigour, seemed as if it could not outlive the republican
institutions, in the intellectual conflicts of which it had been formed. The
impulse of the old freedom carried it through the reign of Augustus, but no
further ; and it had undergone rapid and progressive deterioration before it
was called upon to discharge its second office of desseminating and preserving
the Christianity of the West; and the
* Compare
the dissertation of Valpy’s edition of Stephens’ The- Sturz on the Macedonian
dialect, saurus. reprinted in the prolegomena to
book Latin, like the Greek, had suffered by its own t IV>
, triumphs. Among the more distinguished Heathen writers, subsequent to
Augustus, the largest number were of provincial origin ; and something of their
foreign tone still adhered to their style. Of the best Latin Christian writers,
it is remarkable that not one was a Roman, not one, except Ambrose, an
Italian. Tertullian, Cyprian, Arnobius (perhaps Lactantius), and Augustine were
Africans; the Roman education, and superior understanding of the latter, could
not altogether refine away that rude provincialism which darkened the whole
language of the former. The writings of Hilary , are obscured by another
dialect of Barbarism. Even at so late a period, whatever exceptions may be made
to the taste of his conceptions and of his imagery, with some limitation, the
Roman style of Claudian, and the structure of his verse, carries us back to the
time of Virgil ; in Prudentius, it is not merely the inferiority of the poet,
but something foreign and uncongenial refuses to harmonise with the adopted
poetic language.*
Yet it was
impossible that such an enthusiasm Christian
could be disseminated through the empire without literature. *n some degree awakening the
torpid languages.
The mind
could not be so deeply stirred without expressing itself with life and vigour,
even if with diminished elegance and dignity. No one can compare the energetic
sentences of Chrysostom
* Among
the most remarkable which contrasts
singularly with the
productions as to Latinity are the perspicuous and almost classical
Ecclesiastical History and Life of elegance of the style. See post, on
St. Martin of Tours by Sulpicius Minucius Felix.
Severus; the legendary matter of
with the
prolix and elaborate, if more correct, chap.
j
• iii
periods of
Libanius, without acknowledging that a , ' .
new principle
of vitality has been infused into
the language.
But in fact
the ecclesiastical Greek and Latin are new dialects of the ancient tongue.
Their literature stands entirely apart from that of Greece or Ilome. The Greek
already possessed the foundation of this literature in the Septuagint version
of the Old, and in the original of the New Testament.
The Vulgate
of Jerome, which almost immediately superseded the older imperfect or
inaccurate versions from the Greek, supplied the same groundwork to Latin
Christendom. There is something singularly rich and, if we may so speak,
picturesque in the Latin of the Vulgate ; the Orientalism of the Scripture is
blended up with such curious felicity with the idiom of the Latin, that,
although far re- N moved either from the colloquial language of the
comedians, or the purity of Cicero, it both delights the ear and fills the
mind. It is an original and somewhat foreign, but likewise an expressive and
harmonious dialect.* It has no doubt powerfully influenced the religious style,
not merely of the later Latin writers, but those of the modern languages of
which Latin is the parent. Constantly quoted,
* There
appears to me more of to Hebraise or
Orientalise his
the Oriental character in the Old Latin.
Testament of the Vulgate than in The story of Jerome’s noc-
the LXX. That translation having turnal flagellation for his attach-
been made by Greeks, or by Jews ment to profane literature rests
domiciled in a Greek city, the (as we have seen) on his own au-
Hebrew style seems subdued, as thority; but his later works show
far as possible, to the Greek. Je- that the offending spirit was not
rome seems to have endeavoured effectively scourged out of him.
book either in its express words, or in terms approaching 1V*
closely to its own, it contributed to form the dialect of ecclesiastical Latin,
which became the religious language of Europe ; and as soon as religion condescended
to employ the modern languages in its service, was transfused as a necessary
and integral part of that which related to religion. Christian literature was
as yet purely religious in its scope; though it ranged over the whole field of
ancient poetry, philosophy, and history, its sole object was the illustration
or confirmation of Christian opinion.
•oetry. Eor
many ages, and indeed as long as it spoke the ancient languages, it was barren
of poetry in all its loftier departments, at least of that which was poetry in
form as well as in spirit.
The religion
itself was the poetry of Christianity. The sacred books were to the Christians
what the national epic, and the sacred lyric had been to the other races of
antiquity. They occupied the place, and proscribed in their superior sanctity,
or defied by their unattainable excellence, all rivalry. The Church succeeded
to the splendid inheritance of the Hebrew temple and synagogue. The Psalms and
the Prophets, if they departed somewhat from their original simple energy and
grandeur in the uncongenial and too polished languages of the Greeks and
Romans, still, in their imagery, their bold impersonations, the power and
majesty of their manner, as well as in the sublimity of the notions of divine
power and wisdom, with which they were instinct, stood alone in the religious
poetry of mankind.
The religious
books of Christianity, though of a chap. gentler cast, and only in a few short
passages (and , ^ * in the grand poetic drama of the Revelations) Sacred
poetical in their form, had much, especially in their writin°s‘
narratives, of the essence of poetry ; the power of awakening kindred emotions;
the pure simplicity of truth, blended with imagery and with language, which
kindled the fancy. Faith itself was constantly summoning the imagination to
its aid, to realise, to impersonate those scenes which were described in the
sacred volume, and which it was thus enabled to embrace with greater fervour
and sincerity. All the other early Christian poetry was pale and lifeless in
comparison with that of the sacred writers. Some few hymns, as the noble Te
Deum ascribed to Ambrose, were admitted, with the Psalms, and the short lyric
passages in the New Testament, the Magnificat, the Nunc Dimittis, and the
Alleluia, into the services of the Church.
But the
sacred volume commanded exclusive adoration not merely by its sanctity, but by
its unrivalled imagery and sweetness. Each sect had its hymns ; and those of
the Gnostics, with the rival strains of the orthodox churches of Syria,
attained great popularity. But in general these compositions were only a
feebler echo of the strong and vivid sounds of the Hebrew psalms. The epic and
tragic form into which, in the time of Julian, the scripture narratives were
cast, in order to provide a Christian Homer and Euripides for those schools in
which the originals were interdicted, were probably but cold paraphrases, the
Hebrew poetry
ii ii 2
BOOK
IV.
expressed in
an incongruous cento of the Homeric or tragic phraseology. The garrulous
feebleness of Gregory’s own poem does not awaken any regret for the loss of
those writings either of his own composition or of his age.* Even in the
martyrdoms, the noblest unoccupied subjects for Christian verse, the poetry
seems to have forced its way into the legend, rather than animated the writer
of verse. Prudentius—whose finest lines (and they are sometimes of a very
spirited, sententious, and eloquent, if not poetic cast) occur in his other
poems, on these which would appear at first far more promising subjects is
sometimes pretty and fanciful, but scarcely more.t
* The
Greek poetry after Na- zianzen was almost silent; some perhaps, of the hymns
are ancient (one particularly in Routh’s Reliquiae). See likewise Smith’s account
of the Greek church. The hymns of Synesius are very interesting as
illustrative of the state of religious sentiment, and by no means without
beauty. But may we call these dreamy Platonic raptures Christian poetry ?
f One of the best, or rather perhaps 'prettiest, passages, is that which
has been selected as a hymn for the Innocents’ day : —
Salvete flores martyrum Quos lucis ipso in limine,
Christi insecutor sustulit Ceu turbo naseentes
rosas.
Vos, prima Christi victima,
Grex immolatorum tener,
Aram ante ipsam simplices Palma et coronis luditis.
But these are only a few stanzas out of a long hymn on the Epiphany. The
best verses in Prudentius are to be found in the
books against Symmachus; but their highest praise is that, in their force
and energy, the}7 approach to Claudian. With regard to Clau- dian, I
cannot refrain from repeating what I have stated in another place, as it is so
closely connected with the subject of Christian poetry. M. Beugnot has pointed
out one remarkable characteristic of Claudian’s poetry and of the times— his
extraordinary religious indifference. Here is a poet writing at the actual
crisis of the complete triumph of the new religion, and the visible extinction
of the old : if we may so speak, a strictly historical poet, whose works, excepting
his mythological poem on the rape of Proserpine, are confined to temporary
subjects, and to the politics of his own eventful times; }ret,
excepting in one or two small and indifferent pieces, manifestly written by a
Christian, and interpolated among his poems, there is no allusion whatever to
the great religious strife. No one would know.the existence of Christianity
There
is more of the essence of poetry in the simpler and unadorned Acts of the
Martyrs, more
Paganism,
all the oracles throughout the world, are summoned to predict the
felicity of his reign. His birth is compared to that of Apollo, but the narrow
limits of an island must not confine the new deity —
Non littora nostro Sufficerent angusta Deo.
Augury, and divination, the shrines of Ammon and of Delphi, the Persian
magi, the Etruscan seers, the Chaldean astrologers, the Sibyl herself, are
described as still discharging their poetic functions, and celebrating the
natal day of this Christian prince. They are noble lines, as well as curious
illustrations of the times: —
at that period of the world by reading the works of Claudiau.
His panegyric and his satire preserve the same religious impartiality ;
award their most lavish praise or their bitterest invective on Christian or
Pagan : he insults the fall of Eugenius, and glories in the victories of
Theodosius.
Under his child, — and Honorius never became more than a child,—
Christianity continued to inflict wounds more and more deadly on expiring
Paganism. Are the gods of Olympus agitated with apprehension at the birth of
their new enemy ? They are introduced as rejoicing at his appearance, and
promising long years of glory.
The whole prophetic choir of
Quae tunc documenta futuri ?
Quse voces avium ? quanti per inane volatus ?
Quis vatum discursus erat ? Tibi corniger
Ammon Et dudum taciti rupere silentia Delphi.
Te Persae cecinere Magi, te sensit Etruscus
Augur, et inspectis Babylonius horruit astris : Chaldasi stupuere senes,
Cumanaque rursus Intonuit rupes, rabidae delubra Sibylloe.
Note on Gibbon
But Roman poetry expired with Claudian. In the vast mass of the Christian
Latin poetry of this period, independent of the perpetual faults against metre
and taste, it is impossible not to acknowledge that the subject matter appears
foreign, and irreconcileable with the style of the verse. Christian images and
sentiments, the frequent biblical phrases and expressions, are not yet
naturalised; and it is almost impossible to select any passage of considerable
length from the whole cycle, which can be offered as poetry. I cxcept a few of
the hymns, and even, as to the
. v. 249.
hymns (settingaside the TeDeum), parodoxical as it may sound, I cannot
but think the later and more barbarous the best. There is nothing in my
judgment to be compared with the monkish “ Dies irae, Dies ilia,” or even the “
Stabat Mater.”
I am inclined to select, as a favourable specimen of Latin poetry, the
following almost unknown lines (they are not in the earlier editions of
Dracontius). I have three reasons for my selection: 1. The real merit of the
verses compared to most of the Christian poetry; 2. Their opposition to the
CHAP.
III.
book pathos, occasionally more grandeur,
more touching J incident and
expression, and even, we may ven-
prevailing tenet of celibacy, for early poetry on this subject (Adam
which cause they are quoted by in Paradise) must possess to the Theiner; 3. The
interest which countrymen of Milton.
Tunc oculos per cuncta jacit, miratur amoenum Sic florere locum, sic
puros fontibus amnes,
Quatuor undisonas stringenti gurgite ripas,
Ire per arboreos saltus, camposque virentes
Miratur ; sed quid sit homo, quos factus ad usus Scire cupit simplex, et non
habet, unde requirat;
Quo merito sibimet data sit possessio mundi,
Et domus alma nemus per florea regna paratum :
Ac procul expectat virides jnmenta per agros ;
Et de se tacitus, quae sint haec cuncta,
requirit,
Et quare secum non sint haec ipsa, volutat:
Nam consorte carens, cum quo conferret,
egebat.
Viderat Omnipotens, haec ilium corde moventem,
Et miseratus ait : Demus adjutoria facto;
Participem generis : tanquam si diceret
auctor,
Kon solum decet esse virum, consortia blanda
Noverit, uxor erit, quum sit tamen ille maritus,
Conjugium se quisque vocet, dulcedo recurrat
Cordibus innocuis, et sit sibi pignus uterque Yelle pares, et nolle pares,
stans una voluntas,
Par animi concors, paribus concurrere votis.
Ambo sibi requies cordis sint, ambo fideles,
Et quicunque datur casus, sit causa duorum.
Nec mora, jam venit alma quies, oculosque
supinat Somnus, et in dulcem solvuntur membra soporem.
Sed quum jure Deus, nullo prohibente valeret
Demere particulam, de quo plus ipse pararat,
Ne vi oblata daret juveni sua costa dolorem,
Redderet et tristem subito, quem laedere
nollet,
Fur opifex vult esse suus ; nam posset et
illam Pulvere de simili princeps formare puellam.
Sed quo plenus amor toto de corde veniret,
Noscere in uxore voluit sua membra maritum,
Dividitur contexta cutis, subducitur una
Sensim costa viro, sed mox reditura marito.
Nam juvenis de parte brevi formatur adulta
Virgo, decora, rudis, niatura tumentibus annis,
Conjugii, sobolisque capax, quibus apta
probatur,
Et sine lacte pio crescit infantia pubes.
Excutitur somno juvenis, videt ipse puellam
Ante oculos astare suos, pater, inde maritus.
Non tamen ex costa genitor, sed conjugis
auctor.
Somnus erat partus, conceptus semine nullo,
ture to say,
happier invention than in the prolix chap. and inanimate strains of the Christian
poet. , * For the awakened imagination was not content with feasting in silence
011 its lawful nutriment, the poetry of the Bible; it demanded and received
perpetual stimulants, which increased, instead of satisfying, the appetite.
That peculiar state of the human mind had now commenced, in which the
imagination so far predominates over the other faculties, that truth cannot
help arraying itself in the garb of fiction; credulity courts fiction, and
fiction believes its own fables. That some of the Legends. Christian legends
were deliberate forgeries can
Materiem sopita quies produxit amoris,
Affectusque novos blandi genuere sopores.
Constitit ante oculos nullo velamine tecta,
Corpore nuda simul niveo, quasi nympha
profundi,
Caesaries intonsa comis, gena pulchra rubore,
Omnia pulchra gerens, oculos, os, colla,
manusque,
Vel qualem possent digiti formare Tonantis.
Nescia mens illis, fieri quae causa fuisset ;
Tunc Deus et princeps ambos, conjunxit in unum
Et remeat sua costa viro ; sua membra recepit ;
Accipit et fcenus, quum non sit debitor ullus.
His datur omnis humus, et quicquid jussa
creavit,
Aeris et pelagi foetus, elementa duorum,
Arbitrio commissa manent. His, crescite, dixit
Omnipotens, replete solum de semine vcstro,
Sanguinis ingeniti natos nutrite nepotes,
Et de prole novos iterum copulate jugales.
Et dum terra fretum, dum ccelum sublevat aer,
Dum solis micat axe jubar, dum lima tenebras
Dissipat, et puro lucent mea sidera ccelo ;
Sumere, quicquid habent pomaria nostra
licebit;
Nam totum quod terra creat, quod pontus et aer
Protulit, addictum vestro sub jure manebit,
Dcliciaeque fluent vobis, et honesta voluptas
;
Arboris unius tantum nescite saporem.
Dracontii Presbyt. Hispani 1791. Carmen de
Deo, lib. i. v. Christ, secul. v. sub Theodos. M. 348.415.
Carmina, a F. Arevalo. Roma?,
book scarcely be
questioned; the principle of pious fraud , 1Vm , appeared to justify this mode of working on the
popular mind ; it was admitted and avowed. To deceive into Christianity was so
valuable a service, as to hallow deceit itself. But the largest portion was
probably the natural birth of that imaginative excitement which quickens its
day-dreams and nightly visions into reality. The Christian lived in a
supernatural world; the notion of the divine power, the perpetual interference
of the Deity, the agency of the countless invisible beings which hovered over mankind,
was so strongly impressed upon the belief, that every extraordinary, and almost
every ordinary incident became a miracle, every inward emotion a suggestion
either of a good or an evil spirit. A mythic period was thus gradually formed,
in which reality melted into fable, and invention unconsciously trespassed on
the province of history. This invention had very early let itself Spurious
loose, in the spurious gospels, or accounts of the Gospels. y[ves 0f the Saviour and his
Apostles, which were chiefly, we conceive, composed among, or rather against,
the sects which were less scrupulous in their veneration for the sacred books.
Unless Antido- cetic, it is difficult to imagine any serious object in
fictions, in general so fantastic and puerile.* This example had been set by
some, probably, of the foreign Jews, whose apocryphal books were as numerous
and as wild as those of the Christian sectaries. The Jews had likewise
anticipated them in the inter
* Compare
what has been said observe that the antiquity of this on the Gospel of the
Infancy, vol.i. gospel is very dubious, page 133.; though I would now
polation or
fabrication of the Sibylline verses. The chap. fourth book of Esdras, the Shepherd of
Hernias, and IIL other prophetic works, grew out of the Prophets and
the book of Revelations, as the Gospels of Nicode- mus, and that of the
Infancy, and the various spurious acts of the different Apostles*, out of the
Gospels and Acts. The Recognitions and other tracts which are called the
Clementina, partake more of the nature of religious romance. Many of the former
were obviously intended to pass for genuine records, and must be proscribed as
unwarrantable fictions ; the latter may rather have been designed to trace, and
so to awaken religious feelings, than as altogether real history. The Lives of
St. Anthony by Lives of Athanasius and of Hilarion by Jerome are the pro- ’
totypes of the countless biographies of saints j and with a strong outline of
truth, became impersonations of the feelings, the opinions, the belief of the
time. We have no reason to doubt that the
* Compare
the Codex Apoc- the old mysteries,
became a fa-
ryphus Novi Testamenti, by J. A. vourite topic of Christian legend,
Fabrieius, and Jones on the Canon. founded on, and tending greatly
A more elaborate collection of to establish the popular belief in,
these curious documents has been a purgatory, and to open, as it
commenced (I trust not aban- were, to the fears of man, the
doned) by Dr. Thilo, Lipsiae, terrors of the penal state. With
1832. Of these, by far the most regard to these spurious gospels
remarkable in its composition and in general, it is a curious question
its influence, was the Gospel of in what manner, so little noticed
Nicodemus. The author of this as they are in the higher Christian
work was a poet, and of no mean literature, they should have reached
invention. The latter part, which down, and so completely incorpo-
describes the descent of the Sa- rated themselves, in the dark ages,
viour to hell, to deliver “ the with the superstitions of the vul-
spirits in prison” (according to the gar. They would never have fur-
hint in the epistle of St. Peter nished so many subjects to paint-
(l Peter, iii. IS.), is extremely ing, if they had not been objects
striking and dramatic. This “har- of popular belief, rowing of hell,” as it is
called in
book authors implicitly believed whatever of fiction emi ^ , hellishes
their own unpremeditated fables ; the colouring, though fanciful and
inconceivable to our eyes, was fresh and living to theirs.
History.
History itself could only reflect the proceedings of the Christian world, as
they appeared to that world. We may lament that the annals of Christianity
found in the earliest times no historian more judicious and trustworthy than
Eusebius ; the heretical sects no less prejudiced and more philosophical
chronicler than Epiphanius : but in them, if not scrupulously veracious
reporters of the events and characters of the times, we possess almost all that
we could reasonably hope ; faithful reporters of the opinions entertained, and
the feelings excited by both. Few Christians of that day would not have
considered it the sacred duty of a Christian to adopt that principle, avowed
and gloried in by Eusebius, but now made a bitter reproach, that he would
relate all that was to the credit, and pass lightly over all which was to the
dishonour of the faith.* The historians of Christianity were credu-
* “ In addition
to these things think it right to pass
over, as un-
(the appointment of rude and unfit befitting my history, which, as I
persons to episcopal offices and stated in the beginning, declines
other delinquencies), the ambition and avoids the relation of such
of many; the precipitate and illegi- things. But whatsoever things,
timate ordinations ; the dissensions according to the sacred Scripture,
among the confessors; whatever the are ‘ honest and of good report: ’
younger and more seditious so if there be any virtue, and if there
pertinaciously attempted against be any praise, these things I have
the remains of the Church, intro- thought it most befitting the his-
ducinginnovation after innovation, tory of these wonderful martyrs,
and unsparingly, in the midst of to speak and to w’rite and to ad-
the calamities of the persecution, dress to the ears of the faithful.”
adding new afflictions, and heaping On this passage,de Martyr. Palaest.
evil upon evil; all these things I cxii., and that to which it alludes,
lous, but of
that which it would have been con- chap. sidered impiety to disbelieve, even if
they had the , * inclination.
The larger
part of Christian literature consists in controversial writings, valuable to
posterity as records of the progress of the human mind, and of the gradual
developement of Christian opinions ; at times worthy of admiration for the
force, the copiousness, and the subtlety of argument; but too often repulsive
from their solemn prolixity on insignificant subjects, and above all, the
fierce, the unjust, and the acrimonious spirit with which they treat their
adversaries. The Christian literature in prose (excluding the history and
hagiography), may be distributed under five heads : — I. Apologies, or defences
of the Faith, against Jewish, or more frequently Heathen adversaries. II.
Hermeneutics, or commentaries on the sacred writings. III. Expositions of the
principles and doctrines of the Faith. IV. Polemical works against the
different sects and heresies. V. Orations.
E. H. viii. 2., the honesty and impartiality of Eusebius, which was not
above suspicion in his own day (Tillemont, M. E. tom.i. part i. p. 67.), has
been severely questioned. Gibbon’s observations on the subject gave rise to
many dissertations. Muller, de Fide Euseb. Caes.
Havniae, 1813. Danzius, de Euseb. Caes. H. E. Scriptore, ejus- queFide
Historica recte aestimanda. Jenae, 1815. Kestner, Comment.de Euseb.
H.E.Conditoris Auctoritate et Fide. See
also Reuterdahl, de Fontibus II. E. Eusebianae. Lond. Goth. 1826, and various
passages in the Excursus of Heinichen.
In many passages it is clear that Eusebius did not adhere to his own rule
of partiality. His Ecclesiastical History, though probably highly coloured in
many parts, is by no means an uniform panegyric on the early Christians. Strict
impartiality could not be expected from a Christian writer of that day ; and
probably Eusebius erred more often from credulity than from dishonesty. Yet the
unbelief produced, in later times, by the fictitious character of early Christian
History, may show how dangerous, how fatal, may be the least departure from
truth.
book I. We
have already traced the manner in which
IV. .
. .
i ‘ i the
apology for Christianity, from humbly defensive,
Apologies,
became vigorously aggressive. The calm appeal to justice and humanity, the
earnest deprecation of the odious calumnies with which they were charged, the
plea for toleration, gradually rise to the vehement and uncompromising
proscription of the folly and guilt of idolatry. Tertullian marks, as it were,
the period of transition, though his fiery temper may perhaps have anticipated
the time when Christianity, in the consciousness of strength, instead of
endeavouring to appease or avert the wrath of hostile Paganism, might defy it
to deadly strife. The earliest extant apology, that of Justin Martyr, is by no
means severe in argument, nor vigorous in style, and though not altogether abstaining
from recrimination, is still rather humble and deprecatory in its tone. The
short apologetic orations—as the Christians had to encounter not merely the
general hostility of the government or the people, but direct and argumentative
treatises, written against them by the philosophic party — gradually swelled
into books. The first of these is perhaps the best, that of Origen against
Celsus. The intellect of Origen, notwithstanding its occasional fantastic
aberrations, appears to us more suited to grapple with this lofty argument than
the diffuse and excursive Eusebius, whose evangelic Preparation and
Demonstration heaped together vast masses of curious but by^no means convincing
learning, and the feebler and less candid Cyril, in his Books against Julian.
We have already noticed
the great
work which perhaps might be best ar- chap. ranged under this head, the “ City of
God” of St. t m' , Augustine ; but there was one short
treatise which may vindicate the Christian Latin literature from the charge of
barbarism : perhaps no late work, either Pagan or Christian, reminds us of the
golden days of Latin prose so much as the Octavius of Minucius Felix.
II. The
Hermeneutics, or the interpretation of Hermeneu- the sacred writers, might be
expected to have more tlcs* real value and authority than can be
awarded them by sober and dispassionate judgment. But it cannot be denied that
almost all these writers, including those of highest name, are fanciful in their
inferences, discover mysteries in the plainest sentences, wander away from the
clear historical, moral, or religious meaning, into a long train of
corollaries, at which we arrive we know not how. Piety, in fact, read in the
Scripture, whatever it chose to read, and the devotional feeling it excited was
at once the end and the test of the biblical commentary. But the character of
the age and the school in which the Christian teachers were trained, must here,
as in other cases, be taken into account. The most sober Jewish system of
interpretation (setting aside the wild cabalistic notions of the significance
of letters, the frequency of their recurrence, their collocation, and all those
wild theories which were engendered by a servile veneration of the very form
and language of the sacred writings) allowed itself at least an equal latitude
of authoritative inference.
The
Platonists spun out the thoughts or axioms of
book their master
into as fine and subtle' a web of mystic , I^' , speculation. The general
principle of an esoteric or recondite meaning in all works which commanded
veneration, was universally received ; it was this principle upon which the
Gnostic sects formed all their vague and mystic theories; and if in this respect
the Christian teachers did not bind themselves by much severer rules of
reasoning than prevailed around them on all sides, they may have been actuated
partly by some jealousy, lest their own plainer and simpler sacred writings
should appear dry and barren, in comparison with the rich and imaginative
freedom of their adversaries. Expositions III. The expositions of faith and
practice may of Pmth. comprehend all the smaller treatises on particular
duties; prayer, almsgiving, marriage, and celibacy. They depend, of course, for
their merit and authority on the character of the writer.
Polemical IV. Christianity might appear, if we judge
by writings. proportion which the
controversial writings
bear to the
rest of Christian literature, to have introduced an element of violent and
implacable discord. Nor does the tone of these polemical writings, by which
alone we can judge of the ancient heresies, of which their own accounts have
almost entirely perished, impress us very favourably with their fairness or
candour. But it must be remembered that, after all, the field of literature
was not the arena in which the great contest between Christianity and the world
was waged ; it was in the private circle of each separate congregation, which
was constantly but silently enlarging its bound-
aries; it was
the immediate contact of mind with chap. mind, the direct influence of the
Christian clergy t IIL . and even the more pious of the
laity, which were tranquilly and noiselessly pursuing their course of
conversion.*
These
treatises, however, were principally addressed to the clergy, and through them
worked downward into the mass of the Christian people : even with the more
rapid and frequent communication which took place in the Christian world, they
were but partially and imperfectly disseminated ; but that which became
another considerable and important part of their literature, their oratory,
had in the first instance been directly addressed to the popular mind, and
.formed the chief part of the popular instruction. Christian preaching had
opened a new field for eloquence.
V. Oratory,
that oratory at least which communi- Christian cates its own impulses and
passions to the heart, oratory‘ which not merely persuades the
reason, but sways the whole soul of man, had suffered a long and total silence.
It had every where expired with the republican institutions. The discussions
in the senate had been controlled by the imperial presence ; and
* I might
perhaps have made interest as
historical documents ; another and a very interesting those of Jerome, for manners ; branch of the prose Christian those of Augustine, perhaps for
literature, the epistolary. The style.
They far surpass those of letters of the great writers form Chrysostom, which we must, how- one of the
most valuable parts of ever, recollect
were written from their works. The Latin Fathers, his dreary and monotonous place of however, maintain that
superiority exile. Yet Chrysostom’s
are slipcover the Greek, which in classical rior
to that dullest of all collec- tinies is asserted by Cicero and tions, the huge folio of the letters Pliny.
The letters of Cyprian ofLibanius. and
Ambrose are of the highest
book even if the
Roman senators had asserted the fullest IV‘ , freedom of speech, and
allowed themselves the most exciting fervour of language, this was but one
assembly in a single city, formed out of a confined aristocracy. The municipal
assemblies were alike rebuked by the awe of a presiding master, the provincial
governor, and of course afforded a less open field for stirring and general
eloquence. The perfection of jurisprudence had probably been equally fatal to
judicial oratory; we hear of great lawyers, but not of distinguished advocates.
The highest flight of Pagan oratory which remains is in the adulatory
panegyrics of the Emperors, pronounced by rival candidates for favour.
Rhetoric was taught, indeed, and practised as a liberal, but it had sunk into a
mere, art; it was taught by salaried professors in all the great towns to the
higher youth ; but they were mere exercises of fluent diction, on trite or
obsolete subjects, the characters of the heroes of the Iliad, or some subtle
question of morality.* It is impossible to conceive a more sudden and total
change than from the school of the rhetorician to a crowded Christian church.
The orator suddenly emerged from a listless audience of brother scholars,
before whom he had discussed some one of those trivial questions according to
formal rules, and whose ear could require no more than terseness or elegance
of diction, and a just distribution of the argument: emotion was neither
expected nor could be excited. He
* The
declamations of Quintilian both of the subjects and the style are no doubt
favourable specimens of these orators.
found himself
among a breathless and anxious chap.
multitude,
whose eternal destiny might seem to t *
hang on his*
lips, catching up and treasuring his words as those of divine inspiration, and
interrupting his more eloquent passages by almost involuntary acclamations.#
The orator, in the best days of Athens, the tribune, in the most turbulent
periods of Rome, had not such complete hold upon the minds of his hearers ;
and—but that the sublime nature of his subject usually lay above the sphere of
immediate action, but that, the purer and loftier its tone, if it found instantaneous
sympathy, yet it also met the constant inert resistance of prejudice, and
ignorance, and vice to its authority,— the power with which this privilege of
oratory would have invested the clergy would have been far greater than that of
any of the former political or sacerdotal dominations. Wherever the oratory of
the pulpit coincided with human passion, it was irresistible, and sometimes
when it resolutely encountered it, it might extort an unwilling triumph : when
it appealed to faction, to ferocity, to sectarian animosity, it swept away its
audience like a torrent, to any violence or madness at which it aimed; when to
virtue, to piety, to peace, it at times subdued the most refractory, and received
the homage of devout obedience.
* These
acclamations sometimes Trap’ v/xm>
ol daifiovioi <To<pirrTai. Ba-
rewarded the more eloquent and sanistes, p. 236., edit. Deindorf.
successful teachers of rhetoric. Compare the note. Chrysostom’s
Themistius speaks of the tKGofaiiq works are full of allusions to these
ts Kal Kporovg, olmv Srctfia cnroXcivovm acclamations.
VOL. III. I I
B?v
K The bishop in general, at least when the hierarch- t j
ical power became more dominant, reserved for himself an office so productive
of influence and so liable to abuse.* But men like Athanasius or Augustine were
not compelled to wait for that qualification of rank. They received the ready
permission of the bishop to exercise at once this important function. In
general, a promising orator would rarely want opportunity of distinction ; and
he who had obtained celebrity would frequently be raised by general
acclamation, or by a just appreciation of his usefulness by the higher clergy,
to an episcopal throne.
But it is
difficult to conceive the general effect produced by this devotion of oratory
to its new office. From this time, instead of seizing casual opportunities of
working on the mind and heart of man, it was constantly, regularly, in every
part of
* The laity
were long permitted days. Quod
medicorum est, promit-
to address the people in the ab- tunt medici, tractant fabrilia fabri.
sence of the clergy. It was ob- Sola Scripturorum ars est, quam
jected to the Bishop Demetrius, sibi omnes passim vindicant. Scri-
that he had permitted an unprece- bimus, indocti doctique poemata
dented innovation in the case of passim. Hanc garrula anus, hanc
Origen: he had allowed a layman delirus senex, hanc sophista ver-
to teach when the bishop was pre- bosus, hanc universi praesumunt,
sent. Euseb. E. H. vi. 19. 'O diMa- lacerant, docent antequam discant.
kiov, tl Kal Xa'iKoQ 7], tuTreipog St Alii addicto supercilio, grandia
tov Xoyov, Kal rbv rpoirov atfivog, verba trutinantes, inter mulierculas
didaoKtTuj. Constit. Apost. viii. 32. de sacris literis philosophantur.
Laicus, praesentibus clericis, nisi Alii discunt, proh pudor ! a femi-
illis jubentibus, docere non audeat. nis, quod viros doceant: et ne
Cone. Carth. can. 98. Jerome might parum hoc sit quadam facilitate
be supposed,inhis indignantremon- verborum, imo audacia, edisserunt
strance against the right which al- aliis quod ipsi non intelligunt.
most all assumed of interpreting the Epist. 1. ad Paulinum, vol. iv. p.
Scriptures, to be writing of later 571.
the empire,
with more or less energy, with greater chap. or less commanding authority, urging
the doctrines , * of Christianity on awe-struck and submissive hearers. It had,
of course, as it always has had, its periods of more than usual excitement, its
sudden paroxysms of power, by which it convulsed some part of society. The
constancy and regularity with which, in the ordinary course of things, it
discharged its function, may in some degree have deadened its influence ; and,
in the period of ignorance and barbarism, the instruction was chiefly through
the ceremonial, the symbolic worship, the painting, and even the dramatic
representation.
Still, this
new moral power, though intermitted at times, and even suspended, was almost
continually operating, in its great and sustained energy, throughout the
Christian world ; though of course strongly tempered with the dominant spirit
of Christianity, and, excepting in those periods either ripe for or preparing
some great change in religious sentiment or opinion, the living and general expression
of the prevalent Christianity, it was always in greater or less activity,
instilling the broader principles of Christian faith and morals; if
superstitious, rarely altogether silent; if appealing to passions which ought
to have been rebuked before its voice, and exciting those feelings of hostility
between conflicting sects which it should have allayed,
— yet even
then in some hearts its gentler and more Christian tones made a profound and
salutary impression, while its more violent language fell off without
i i 2
book mingling with
the uncongenial feelings. The great
ly' t
principles of the religion,—the providence of God,
the
redemption by Christ, the immortality of the soul, future retribution,—gleamed
through all the fantastic and legendary lore with which it was encumbered and
obscured in the darker ages. Christianity first imposed it as a duty on one
class of men to be constantly enforcing moral and religious truth on all
mankind. Though that duty, of course, was discharged with very different
energy, judgment, and success, at different periods, it was always a strong
counteracting power, an authorised, and in general respected, remonstrance
against the vices and misery of mankind. Man was perpetually reminded that he
was an immortal being under the protection of a wise and all-ruling Providence,
and destined for a higher state of existence.
Nor was this
influence only immediate and temporary : Christian oratory did not cease to
speak when its echoes had died away upon the ear, and its expressions faded
from the hearts of those to whom it was addressed. The orations of the Basils
and Chrysostoms, the Ambroses and Augustines, became one of the most important
parts of Christian literature. That eloquence which, in Rome and Greece, had
been confined to civil and judicial affairs, was now inseparably connected with
religion. The oratory of the pulpit took its place with that of the bar, the
comitia, or the senate, as the historical record of that which once had power-
fully moved
the minds of multitudes. No part of c^p- Christian
literature so vividly reflects the times, ^ ^ ‘ the tone of religious doctrine
or sentiment, in many cases the manners, habits, and character of the period,
as the sermons of the leading teachers.
BOOK ' IV.
Fine arts.
CHAP. IV.
CHRISTIANITY AND THE FINE ARTS.
As in
literature, so in the fine arts, Christianity had to await that period in which
it should become completely interwoven with the feelings and moral being of
mankind, before it could put forth all its creative energies, and kindle into
active productiveness those new principles of the noble and the beautiful,
which it infused into the human imagination. The dawn of a new civilisation
must be the first epoch for the development of Christian art. The total disorganisation
of society, which was about to take place, implied the total suspension of the
arts which embellish social life. The objects of admiration were swept away by
the destructive ravages of Barbarian warfare ; or, where they were left in
contemptuous indifference, the mind had neither leisure to indulge, nor
refinement enough to feel, this admiration, which belongs to a more secure
state of society, and of repose from the more pressing toils and anxieties of
life.
This
suspended animation of the fine arts was of course different in degree in the
various parts of Europe, in proportion as they were exposed to the ravages of
war, the comparative barbarism of the tribes by which they were overrun, the
station heldby the clergy, the security which they could command
by the
sanctity of their character, and their disposable wealth. At every period,
from Theodoric, who dwelt with vain fondness over the last struggles of
decaying art, to Charlemagne, who seemed to hail, with prophetic taste, the
hope of its revival, there is no period in which the tradition of art was not
preserved in some part of Europe, though obscured by ignorance, barbarism, and
that still worse enemy, if possible, false and meretricious taste.
Christianity, in every branch of the arts, preserved something from the general
wreck, and brooded in silence over the imperfect rudiments of each, of which it
was the sole conservator. The mere mechanical skill of working stone, of
delineating the human face, and of laying on colours so as to produce something
like illusion, was constantly exercised in the works which religion required to
awaken the torpid emotions of an ignorant and superstitious people.*
In all the
arts, Christianity was at first, of course, purely imitative, and imitative of
the prevalent degenerate style. It had not yet felt its strength, and dared not
develope, or dreamed not of those latent principles which lay beneath its
religion, and which hereafter were to produce works, in its own style, and its
own department, rivalling all the wonders of antiquity ; when the extraordinary
creations of its proper architecture were to arise, far surpassing in the skill
of their construction, in their magnitude more than equalling them, and in
* The
Iconoclasts had probably East than the Barbarians them- more influence in
barbarising the selves in the West.
book their
opposite indeed, but not less majestic style, t Iy>
t vindicating the genius of Christianity : when Italy was to
transcend ancient Greece in painting as much as the whole modern world is
inferior in the rival art of sculpture.
Architect- I. Architecture was the first of these arts which was summoned
to the service of Christianity. The devotion of the earlier ages did not need,
and could not command, this subsidiary to pious emotion,
— it imparted sanctity to the meanest building
; now it would not be content without enshrining its triumphant worship in a
loftier edifice. Religion at once offered this proof of its sincerity by the
sacrifice of wealth to this hallowed purpose; and the increasing splendour of
the religious edifices reacted upon the general devotion, by the feelings of
awe and veneration which they inspired. Splendour, however, did not disdain to
be subservient to use ; and the arrangements of the new buildings, which arose
in all quarters, or were diverted to this new object, accommodated themselves
to the Christian ceremonial. In the East, we have already shown, in the church
of Tyre, described by Eusebius, the ancient temple lending its model to the
Christian church; and the basilica, in the West, adapted with still greater
ease and propriety for Christian worship.* There were many distinctive points
which materially affected the style of Christian architecture. The simplicity
of the Grecian temple, as it has been shown t, harmonised perfectly only with
its own form of wor-
* Vol.
II. p. 298. 300. f Vol. II. p. 411.
415.
ship ; it was more of a public place, sometimes, in- ciiap. deed, hypaethral, or open to the
air. -The Christian worship demanded more complete enclosure; the church was
more of a chamber, in which the voice of an individual could be distinctly
heard ; and the whole assembly of worshippers, sheltered from the change or
inclemency of the weather, or the intrusion of unauthorised persons, might
listen in undisturbed devotion to the prayer, the reading of the scripture, or
the preacher.
One consequence of this was the necessity of Windows, regular apertures
for the admission of light*; and these imperatively demanded a departure from
the plan of temple architecture.
Windows had been equally necessary in the basilicae for the public legal
proceedings; the reading legal documents required a bright and full light; and
in the basilicae the windows were numerous and large. The nave, probably from
the earliest period, was lighted by cleristory windows, which were above the
roof of the lower aisles.t
* In the
fanciful comparison -J- The size of
the windows has
(in H. E. x. 4.) which Eusebius been disputed by Christian antidraws
between the different parts of quaries : some asserted that the
the church and the different gra- early Christians, accustomed to
dations of catechumens, he speaks the obscurity of their crypts and
of the most perfect as “ shone catacombs, preferred narrow aper-
on by the light through the win- tures for light; others that the ser-
dows — tovq Ss 7rpog to (j>u>g vices, especially reading the Scrip-
dvolyfiaoi Karavyd&i. He seems to tures,
required it to be both bright
describe the temple as full of light, and equally diffused. Ciampini, as
emblematical of the heavenly light an Italian, prefers the latter, and
diffused by Christ, — Xafiirpov Kai sarcastically alludes to the narrow
<pojTog tfnrXeo) rd rt tvdoQtv Kai td windows of Gothic architecture,
ektoq : but it is not easy to discover introduced by the “ Vandals,”
where his metaphor ends and his whose first object being to exclude
fact begins. See Ciampini, vol. i. the cold of their northern climate,
p. 74. they
contracted the windows to the
book Throughout the West, the practice of converting t *
, the basilica into the church continued to a late period; the very name seemed
appropriate: the royal hall was changed into a dwelling for the GREAT KING.*
Subdivi- The more minute subdivision of the internal ar- budding. e
rangement contributed to form the peculiar character of Christian
architecture, The different orders of Christians were distributed according to
their respective degrees of proficiency. But besides this, the church had
inherited from the synagogue, and from the general feeling of the East, the
principle of secluding the female part of the worshippers. Enclosed galleries,
on a higher level, were probably common in the synagogues ; and this
arrangement appears to have been generally adopted in the earlier Christian
churches.t
This greater
internal complexity necessarily led to still farther departure from the
simplicity of design in the exterior plan and elevation. The single or the
double row of columns, reaching from the top to the bottom of the building,
with the long and unbroken horizontal line of the roof reposing upon
narrowest dimensions possible. In the monastic churches, the light was
excluded, quia monachis meditantibus fortasse officiebat, quo- minus possent
intento animo soli Deo vacare. Ciampini, Vetera Mo- numenta. The author
considers that the parochial or cathedral churches may, in general, be distinguished
from the monastic by this test.
* Basilicae
prius vocabantur re
gum habitacula, nunc autem ideo basilicae divina templa nominantur, quia
ibi Regi omnium Deo cultus et sacrificia offeruntur. Isidor.Orig. lib. v.
Basilicae olim negotiis paene, nunc votis pro tua salute susceptis. Auson.
Grat. Act. pro Consul.
f Populi confluunt ad ecclesias casta celebritate, honesta utrius- que
sexus discretione. August, de Civ. Dei, ii. 28, Compare Bingham, viii. 5.5.
it, would
give place to rows of unequal heights, or to the division into separate
stories.
The same
process had probably taken place in the palatial architecture of Rome. Instead
of one order of columns, which reached from the top to the bottom of the
buildings, rows of columns, one above the other, marked the different stories
into which the building was divided.
Christianity
thus, from the first, either at once assumed, or betrayed its tendency to, its
peculiar character. Its harmony was not that of the Greek, arising from the
breadth and simplicity of one design, which, if at times too vast for the eye
to contemplate at a single glance, was comprehended and felt at once by the
mind; of which the lines were all horizontal and regular, and the general
impression a majestic or graceful uniformity, either awful from its
massiveness or solidity, or pleasing from its lightness and delicate
proportion.
The harmony
of the Christian building (if in fact it attained, before its perfection in the
mediaeval Gothic, to that first principle of architecture) consisted in the
combination of many separate parts, duly balanced into one whole; the
subordination of the accessories to the principal object; the multiplication
of distinct objects coalescing into one rich and effective mass, and pervaded
and reduced to a kind of symmetry by one general character in the various lines
and in the style of ornament.
This
predominance of complexity over simplicity, of variety over symmetry, was no
doubt greatly increased by the buildings which, from an
book early period, arose around the central church,
IV' , especially in all the
monastic institutions. The
baptistry was
often a separate building, and frequently, in the ordinary structures for
worship, dwellings for the officiating priesthood were attached to, or
adjacent to, the church. The Grecian temple appears often to have stood alone,
on the brow of a hill, in a grove, or in some other commanding or secluded
situation ; in Rome, many of the pontifical offices were held by patricians,
who occupied their own palaces; but the Eastern temples were in general
surrounded by spacious courts, and with buildings for the residence of the
sacerdotal colleges. If these were not the models of the Christian
establishments, the same ecclesiastical arrangements, the institution of a
numerous and wealthy priestly order, attached to the churches, demanded the
same accommodation. Thus a multitude of subordinate buildings would crowd
around the central or more eminent house of God ; at first, where mere
convenience was considered, and where the mind had not awakened to the solemn
impressions excited by vast and various architectural works, combined by a
congenial style of building, and harmonised by skilful arrangement and subordination,
they would be piled together irregularly and capriciously, obscuring that which
was really grand, and displaying irreverent confusion rather than stately
order. Gradually, as the sense of grandeur and solemnity dawned upon the mind,
there would arise the desire of producing one general effect and impression ;
but this no doubt was the later deve-
lopment of a
principle which, if at first dimly per- chap. ceived, was by no means rigidly
or consistently IV*
followed
out. We must wait many centuries before we reach the culminating period of
genuine Christian architecture. .
II. Sculpture
alone, of the fine arts, has been Sculpture, faithful to its parent Paganism.
It has never cordially imbibed the spirit of Christianity. The second
creative epoch (how poor, comparatively, in fertility and originality!) was
contemporary and closely connected with the revival of classical literature in
Europe. It has lent itself to Christian sentiment chiefly in two forms; as
necessary and subordinate to architecture, and as monumental sculpture.
Christianity
was by no means so intolerant, at least after its first period, of the remains
of ancient sculpture, or so perseveringly hostile to the art, as might have been
expected from its severe aversion to idolatry. The earlier fathers, indeed,
condemn the arts of sculpture and of painting as inseparably connected with
Paganism. Every art which frames an image is irreclaimably idolatrous * ; and
the stern Tertullian reproaches Hermogenes with the two deadly sins of painting
and marrying.t The
* Ubi
artifices statuarum et ima- f Pingit
illicite, nubit assidue,
ginum et oranis generis simula- legem Dei in libidinem defendit, in
chrorum diabolus saeculo intulit — artem contemnit; bis falsarius et
caput facta est idolatrioe ars omnis cauterio et stylo. In Hermog.
qute idolum quoque modo edit, cap i. Cauterio refers to encaustic
Tertull. de Idolat. c. iii. He has painting.
The Apostolic Constitu-
no language to express his horror tions reckon a maker of idols with
that makers of images should be persons of infamous character and
admitted into the clerical order, profession, viii. 32.
BOOK
IV.
Council of
Elvira proscribed paintings on the walls of churches*, which nevertheless
became a common usage during the two next centuries.
In all
respects, this severer sentiment was mitigated by time. The civil uses of
sculpture were generally recognised. The Christian emperors erected, or
permitted the adulation of their subjects to erect, their statues in the
different cities. That of Constantine on the great porphyry column, with its
singular and unchristian confusion of attributes, has been already noticed.
Philo- storgius indeed asserts that this statue became an object of worship
even to the Christians ; that lights and frankincense were offered before it,
and that the image was worshipped as that of a tutelary god. t The sedition in
Antioch arose out of insults to the statues of the emperorst, and the erection
of the statue of the empress before the great church in Constantinople gave
rise to the last disturbance, which ended in the exile of Chrysostom^ The
statue of the emperor was long the representative of the imperial presence; it
was reverenced in the capital and in the provincial cities with honours
approaching to adoration. || The
* Placuit picturas in ecclesia v7ravTu>cri, Kal hjf.101 TrpooKvvovoiv
esse non debere, ne quod colitur et ov ttpog
ti)v oavifia (3Xe7rovTtg
adoratur, in parietibus depingatur. «\A« 7rpog tov xaPaKT*iPa
T°v
Can. xxxvi. fiaaiXtwg,
ovk tv rij <pvoti
f Vol.ii. p.408. Philostorg.ii.17. povp.kvov dXX’ Iv ypafrj irapaStiKvv-
j Vol. iii. p. 209. fi'tvov.
Joann. Damascen. de Ima-
§ Vol. iii. p. 234. gin. orat. 9. Jerome,
however
(j Ei yap (HamXtwg d-n-ovTog i’ikwv (on Daniel), compares it to the
clvaTrXypoi x^Pav (SamXsojc, Kal worship
demanded by Nebuchad-
7rpo0Kvvov<Tiv dpxovTtg Kal Upo- nezzar. Ergo judices et prin-
pt]viai tTriTtXovvTai, Kal apxovrtg cipes saeculi, qui
imperatorum sta-
modest law of
Theodosius, by which he attempted ciiap.
to
regulate these ceremonies, of which the adu- ,_______________
lation
bordered at times on impiety, expressly reserved the excessive honours,
sometimes lavished on these statues at the public games, for the supreme
Deity.*
The statues
even of the gods were condemned with some reluctance and remorse. No doubt
iconoclasm, under the first edicts of the emperors, raged in the provinces with
relentless violence.
Yet
Constantine, we have seen, did not scruple to adorn his capital with images,
both of gods and men, plundered indiscriminately from the temples of Greece.
The Christians, indeed, asserted that they were set up for scorn and contempt.
Even
Theodosius exempts such statues as were admirable as works of art from the*
common sentence of destruction, t This doubtful toleration of profane art
gradually gave place to the admission of Art into the service of Christianity.
Sculpture,
and, still more, Painting, were received as the ministers of Christian piety,
and allowed to lay their offerings at the feet of the new religion.
But the
commencement of Christian art was slow, timid, and rude. It long preferred
allegory
tuas adorant et imagines, hoc se nitatum superno numini reservetur. facere
intelligent quod tres pueri Cod. Theod.
xv. 4. 1. facere nolentes placuere Deo. f
A particular temple was to re
* They were to prove their loy- main open, in qua simulachra fealty by the respect which
they felt runtur posita, artis pretio quam
for the statue in their secret hearts : divinitate
metienda. Cod. Theod. — excedens cultura hominum dig- xvi. 10. 8.
book to representation, the true and legitimate object . of art. * It
expanded but tardily during the first centuries, from the significant symbol to
the human form in colour or in marble.
The Cross was
long the primal, and even the sole, symbol of Christianity — the cross in its
rudest and its most artless form ; for many centuries elapsed before the image
of the Saviour was wrought upon it.t It was the copy of the common instrument
of ignominious execution in all its nakedness; and nothing, indeed, so
powerfully attests the triumph of Christianity as the elevation of this, which
to the Jew and to the Heathen was the basest, the most degrading, punishment of
the lowest criminal t, the proverbial terror of the
* Rumohr. Italienische Fors- chungen, i. p. 158. We want the German words andeutung (allusion or
suggestion, but neither conveys the same forcible sense), and dars- telliing,
actual representation or placing before the sight. The artists who employ the
first can only address minds already furnished with the key to the symbolic or
allegoric form. Imitation (the genuine object of art) speaks to all mankind.
f The author has expressed in a former work his impression on this most
remarkable fact in the history of Christianity.
“ In one respect it is impossible now to conceive the extent to which the
Apostles of the crucified Jesus shocked all the feelings of mankind.
The public establishment of Christianity, the adoration of ages, the
reverence of nations, has thrown around the Cross of Christ an indelible and
inalienable sanctity.
No effort of the imagination can
dissipate the illusion of dignity which has gathered round it; it has
been so long dissevered from all its coarse and humiliating associations, that
it cannot be cast back and desecrated into its state of opprobrium and
contempt. To the most daring unbeliever among ourselves it is the symbol — the
absurd and irrational, he may conceive, but still the ancient and venerable
symbol — of a powerful and influential religion. "NVhat was it to the Jew
and the Heathen ? — the basest, the most degrading, punishment of the lowest
criminal, the proverbial terror of the wretched slave ! It was to them what
the most despicable and revolting instrument of public execution is to us.
Yet to the Cross of Christ men turned from deities, in which were embodied
every attribute of strength, power, and dignity,” &c. Milman’s Bampton
Lectures, p. 279,
wretched
slave, into an object for the adoration of chap. ages, the reverence of
nations. The glowing lan- t guage of Chrysostom expresses the
universal sanctity of the Cross in the fourth century. “ Nothing so highly
adorns the imperial crown as the Cross, which is more precious than the whole
world : its form, at which, of old, men shuddered with horror, is now so
eagerly and etnulously sought for, that it is found among princes and subjects,
men and women, virgins and matrons, slaves and freemen; for all bear it about,
perpetually impressed on the most honourable part of the body, or on the
forehead, as on a pillar. This appears in the sacred temple, in the ordination
of priests; it shines again on the body of the Lord, and in the mystic supper.
It is to be seen every where in honour, in the private house and the public
market-place, in the desert, in the highway, on mountains, in forests, on
hills, on the sea, in ships, on islands, on our beds and on our clothes, on our
arms, in our chambers, in our banquets, on gold and silver vessels, on gems, in
the paintings of our walls, on the bodies of diseased beasts, on human bodies
possessed by devils, in war and peace, by day, by night, in the dances of the
feasting, and the meetings of the fasting and praying.” In the time of Chrysostom
the legend of the Discovery of the True Cross was generally received. “ Why do
all men vie with each other to approach that true Cross, on which the sacred
body was crucified ? Why do many, women as well as men, bear fragments of it
set in gold as ornaments round their necks, though it was the sign
VOL. III. K K
BOOK
IV.
Symbol
ism.
of
condemnation. Even emperors have laid aside the diadem to take up the Cross.” *
A more
various symbolism gradually grew up, and extended to what approached nearer to works
of art. Its rude designs were executed in engravings on seals, or on lamps, or
glass vessels, and before long in relief on marble, or in paintings on the
walls of the cemeteries. The earliest of these were the seal rings, of which
many now exist, with Gnostic symbols and inscriptions. These seals were
considered indispensable in ancient housekeeping. The Christian was permitted,
according to Clement of Alexandria, to bestow on his wife one ring of gold, in
order that, being entrusted with the care of his domestic concerns, she might
seal up that which might be insecure. But these rings must not have any
idolatrous engraving, only such as might suggest Christian or gentle thoughts,
the dove, the fish t, the ship, the anchor, or the Apostolic fisherman fishing
for men, which would remind them of children drawn out of the waters of
baptism, t Tertullian mentions a communion cup with the image of the Good
Shepherd embossed
* Chrysost.
Oper. vol. i. p. 57. gitudo,etprofundum.
Aves quando
569. See in Munter’s work (p. G8. volant ad aethera, formam crucis
et seq.) the various forms which assumunt; homo natans per aquas,
the Cross assumed, and the fanciful vel orans, forma crucis vehitur.
notions concerning it. Navis per maria antenna cruci
Ipsa species crucis quid est nisi similata sufflatur. Thau litera sig-
forma quadrata mundi ? Oriens de num
salutis et crucis describitur.
vertice fulgens; Arcton dextra Hieronym. in Marc. xv. tenet ; Auster in laeva
consistit; f The ’IXGVS, according to the
Occidens sub" plantis formatur. rule of the ancient anagram, meant
Unde Apostolus dicit: ut sciamus, 'Itjcrovg Xpiarog Oeov Viog ZwTi)p. quae sit
altitudo, et latitudo, et Ion- J Clem. Alex. Psedagog. iii. 2.
upon it. But
Christian symbolism soon disdained ciiap. these narrow limits, extended itself
into the whole , IV* domain of the Old Testament as well as of the
Gospel, and even ventured at times over the unhallowed borders of Paganism.
The persons and incidents of the Old Testament had all a typical or allegorical
reference to the doctrines of Christianity.* Adam asleep, while Eve was taken
from his side, represented the death of Christ; Eve, the mother of all who are
born to new life ; Adam and Eve with the serpent had a latent allusion to the
new Adam and the Cross. Cain and Abel,
Noah and the
ark with the dove and the olive branch, the sacrifice of Isaac, Joseph sold by
his brethren as a bondslave, Moses by the burning bush, breaking the tables of
the law, striking water from the rock, with Pharaoh perishing in the Red Sea,
the ark of God, Samson bearing the gates of Gaza,
Job on the
dung-heap, David and Goliah, Elijah in the car of fire, Tobias with the fish,
Daniel in the lions’ den, Jonah issuing from the whale’s belly or under the
gourd, the three children in the fiery furnace, Ezekiel by the valley of dead
bones, were favourite subjects, and had all their mystic significance. They
reminded the devout worshipper of the Sacrifice, Resurrection, and Redemption
of Christ. The direct illustrations of the New Testament showed the Lord of the
Church on a high mountain, with four rivers, the Gospels, flowing from it; the
Good Shepherd bearing the
*
* See
Mamachi, De Costumi di’ priniitivi Christiani, lib. i. c. iv.
. K K CZ
BOOK
IV.
lamb *, and
sometimes the Apostles and Saints of a later time appeared in the symbols.
Paganism lent some of her spoils to the conqueror, t The Saviour was
represented under the person and with the lyre of Orpheus, either as the
civiliser of men, or in allusion to the Orphic poetry, which had already been
interpolated with Christian images. Hence also the lyre was the emblem of
truth. Other images, particularly those of animals, were not uncommon.t The
Church was represented by a ship, the anchor denoted the pure ground of faith;
the stag implied the hart which thirsted after the
* There is
a Heathen prototype (see II. Rochette) even for this good shepherd, and one of
the earliest images is encircled with the “Four Seasons” represented by Genii
with Pagan attributes. Compare Munter, p. Gl. Tombstones, and even
inscriptions, were freely borrowed. One Christian tomb has been published by P.
Lupi, inscribed “ Diis Manibus.” j- In three very curious dissertations in the
last volume of the Memoirs of the Academy of Inscriptions on works of art in
the catacombs of Rome, M. Raoul Rochette has shown how much, either through
the employment of Heathen artists, or their yet imperfectly unheathenised
Christianity, the Christians borrowed from the monumental decorations, the
symbolic figures, and even the inscriptions, of Heathenism. M. Rochette says, “ La physionomie presque
payenne qu’ offre la decoration des catacombes de Rome,” p. 96. The Protestant travellers, Burnet and Misson, from
the singular mixture of the sacred
and the profane in these monuments, inferred that these catacombs were
common places of burial for Heathens and Christians. The Roman antiquarians,
however, have clearly proved the contrary. M. Raoul Rochette, as well as M.
Rostelli (in an Essay in the Roms Bes- chreibung), consider this point con-
lusively made out in favour of the Roman writers. M. R. Rochette has adduced
monuments in which the symbolic images and the language of Heathenism and
Christianity are strangely mingled together. Munter had observed the Jordan represented
as a river god.
J The catacombs at Rome are the chief authorities for this symbolic
school of Christian art. They are represented in the works of Bosio, Roma
Sotteranea, Aringhi, Bottari, and Boldetti. But perhaps the best view of them,
being in fact a very judicious and well- arranged selection of the most curious
works of early Christian art, may be found in the Sinnbilder und
Kunstvorstellungen der alten Christen, by Bishop Munter.
water-brooks
; the horse the rapidity with which chap.
men ought to
run and embrace the doctrine of IV*
L .
salvation ;
the hare the timid Christian hunted by ])ersecutors ; the lion prefigured
strength, or appeared as the emblem of the tribe of Judah; the fish was an
anagram of the Saviour’s name; the dove indicated the simplicity, the cock the
vigilance, of the Christian ; the peacock and the phoenix the Resurrection.
But these
were simple and artless memorials to which devotion gave all their value and
significance ; in themselves they neither had, nor aimed at, grandeur or
beauty. They touched the soul by the reminiscences which they awakened, or the
thoughts which they suggested; they had nothing of that inherent power over the
emotions of the soul which belongs to the higher works of art.*
Art must draw
nearer to human nature and to the truth of life, before it can accomplish its
object.
The elements
of this feeling, even the first sense of external grandeur and beauty, had yet
to be infused
* All
these works in their different forms are in general of coarse and inferior
execution. The funereal vases found in the Christian cemeteries are of the
lowest style of workmanship. The senator Buon- arotti, in his work, “ De’ Vetri
Ce- meteriali/’thusaccounts for this :— “ Stettero sempre lontane di quelle
arti, colle quali avessero potuto cor- rer pericolo di contaminarsi colla
idolatria, e da cio avvenne, che po- chi, o niuno di essi si diede allapit-
tura e alia scultura, le quali aveano
per oggetto principale di rappresen- tare le
deita, e le favole de’ gentili. Sicche volendo i fedeli adornar con simboli
devoti i loro vasi, erano forzati per lo piii a valersi di arte- fici
inespcrti, eche professavano altri mestieri.” See Mamachi, vol. i. p. 275. Compare Rumohr, who suggests other reasons
for the rudeness of the earliest Christian relief, in my opinion, though by no
means irreconcilable with this, neither so simple nor satisfactory. Page 170.
BOOK into
the Christian mind. The pure and holy and IV* majestic inward
thoughts and sentiments had to ' ' ' work into form, and associate themselves
with appropriate visible images. This want and this desire were long unfelt.
Person of The person of the Saviour was a subject of grave
’ dispute among the older fathers. Some took the expressions of the sacred
writings in a literal sense, and insisted that his outward form was mean and
unseemly. Justin Martyr speaks of his want of form and comeliness. *
Tertullian, who could not but be in extremes, expresses the same sentiment with
his accustomed vehemence. The person of Christ wanted not merely divine
majesty, but even human beauty, t Clement of Alexandria maintains the same
opinion, t But the most
curious illustration of this notion occurs in the work of Origen against
Celsus. In the true spirit of Grecian art and philosophy, Celsus denies that
the Deity could dwell in a mean form or low stature. Origen is embarrassed
with the argument; he fears to recede from the literal interpretation of
Isaiah, but endeavours to soften it off, and denies that it refers to lowliness
of stature, or means more than the absence of noble form or pre-eminent beauty.
He then triumphantly adduces the verse of the forty-fourth
* ToV Kal utijulov <pavivTa. ultra omnes homines. Contr. Marc.
Dial, cum Triph. 85. and 88. 100. iii. 17. Neaspectu quidam honestus.
*1- Quodcumque illud corpus- Adv. Judasos, c. 14. Etiam despi-
culum sit, quoniam habitum, et cientium formam ejus haec erat vox.
quoniam conspectum sit, si inglo- Adeo nec humanae honestatis cor-
rius, si ignobilis si inhonorabilis ; pus fuit, nedum coelestis claritatis.
meus erit Christus * * * — Sed De Carn. Christi. c. 9.
species ejus inhonorata, deficiens J Paedagog. iii. 1.
Psalm, “ Ride
on in thy loveliness and in thy chap. beauty”*
But as the
poetry of Christianity obtained more full possession of the human mind, these
debasing and inglorious conceptions were repudiated by the more vivid
imagination of the great writers in the fourth century. The great principle of
Christian art began to awaken ; the outworking as it were, of the inward
purity, beauty, and harmony, upon the symmetry of the external form, and the
lovely expression of the countenance. Jerom, Chrysostom, Ambrose, Augustine,
with one voice, assert the majesty and engaging appearance of the Saviour.
The language
of Jerom first shows the sublime conception which was brooding, as it were, in
the Christian mind, and was at length slowly to deve- lope itself up to the
gradual perfection of Christian art. “ Assuredly that splendour and majesty of
the hidden divinity, which shone even in his human countenance, could not but
attract at first sight all beholders,” “ Unless he had something celestial in
his countenance and in his look, the Apostles would not immediately have
followed him.,, t “ The Heavenly Father forced upon him in full
streams that
* ’'Afii)vavov
yap ory Stlov ri -f- Certc fulgor ipsa
et majestas
7r\eov T(Sv aXXwv 7rpooijv, fxijS'tv divinitatis occultas, quce etiam in
dXXov Siatptpeiv' tovto ovfev humana
facie relucebat, ex primo
dXXov SteQtpev, dXX\ tjg <paal, /xiK-pov, ad se venientes trahere poterat
Kal dvofickg, Kal ayevtg ?/v. Celsus, aspectu.
Ilieronym. in Matth. c.
apud Origen, vi. 75. Origen quotes ix. 9.
the text of the LXX, in which it Nisi enim habuisset et in vultu
is the forty-fourth, and thus trans- quiddam et in oculis sidereum,
lated : Tp wpaiorjjTl <tov, Kal ry kuX- nunquam eum statim secuti fuis-
Xet gov Kal ivrtivov, Kal Karevofov, sent
Apostoli. Epist ad Princip.
Kal fiaoiXtvt. Virginem.
K K 4
book corporeal grace, which is distilled drop by drop IV*
. upon mortal man.” Such are the glowing expressions of Chrysostom.* Gregory of
Nyssa applies all the vivid imagery of the Song of Solomon to the person as
well as to the doctrine of Christ; and Augustine declares that “ He was
beautiful on his mother’s bosom, beautiful in the arms of his parents,
beautiful upon the Cross, beautiful in the sepulchre.”
There were
some, however, who even at this, and to a much later period, chiefly among
those addicted to monkish austerity, who adhered to the older opinion, as
though human beauty were something carnal and material. St. Basil interprets
even the forty-fourth Psalm in the more austere sense. Many of the painters
among the Greeks, even in the eighth century, who were monks of the rule of St.
Basil, are said to have been too faithful to the judgment of their master, or
perhaps their rude art was better qualified to represent a mean figure, with
harsh outline and stiff attitude, and a blackened countenance, rather than
majesty of form or beautiful expression. Such are the Byzantine pictures of
this school. The harsh Cyril of Alexandria repeats the assertion of the
Saviour’s mean appearance, even beyond the ordinary race of men, in the
strongest language, t This controversy proves decisively that there was no
traditionary type, which was admitted to represent the
* In
Psalm, xliv. rwv dvdpu-xiov. De Nud. Noe.
-j- ’AWa to tiSog ctvrov annov, lib* ii. t. i. p. 43.
IkXuttov 7rapa iravrag Tovg mot>£
human form of
the Saviour. The distinct assertion of Augustine, that the form and countenance
of Christ were entirely unknown, and painted with every possible variety of
expression, is conclusive as to the West. * In the East we may dismiss at once
as a manifest fable, probably of local superstition, the statue of Christ at
Ca?sarea Philippi, representing him in the act of healing the woman with the
issue of blood, t But there can be no doubt that paintings, purporting to be
actual resemblances of Jesus, of Peter, and of Paul, were current in the time
of Eusebius in the Eastt, though we are disinclined to receive the authority of
a later writer, that Constantine adorned his new city with likenesses of Christ
and his Apostles.
The earliest
images emanated, no doubt, from Earliest the Gnostic sects, who not merely
blended the ^nSstL Christian and Pagan, or Oriental notions on their
* Qua
fuerit ille facie nos penitus f Euseb. H. E. vii. 18. with
ignoramus : nam et ipsius Donii- the Excursus of Heinichen. These
nicae facies carnis innumerabilium were, probably, two bronze figures,
cogitationum diversitate variatur one of a kneeling woman in the act
et fingitur, quae tamen una erat, of supplication ; the other, the up-
quaecunque erat. De Trin. lib. vii. right figure of a man, probably of
c. 4, 5. a
Caesar, which the Christian in-
The Christian apologists uni- habitants of Caesarea Philippi
formly acknowledge the charge, that transformed into the Saviour and
they have no altars or images. Mi- the woman in the Gospels : Tovtov
nuc. Fel. Octavius, x. p. 61. Ar- Si top dvSpuivra th-ova rov li]<rov
nob. vi. post init. Origen, contra Q'tpuv iXtyov. Eusebius seems de-
Celsum, viii. p. 389. Compare sirous of believing the story. Com-
Jablonski (Dissertatio de Origine pare Munter.
Iina<jinum Christi, opuscul. vol. iii. J "Or£ tcalTwv ’A-ttootoXwv tujv
p. 377.) who well argues that, con- aurov rdgeiKovag ITflvXov Kai Uirpov
sistently with Jewish manners, there Kai avrov Si) tov Xpurrov
Sid xi°w"
could not have been any likeness of /idrwv iv ypa<palg awZofiivag tVro-
the Lord. Compare Pearson on pqaafiev. Ibid. loc. cit. the Creed, vol. ii. p. 101.
IV.
book gems and
seals, engraved with the mysterious Abraxas; but likewise, according to their
eclectic system, consecrated small golden or silver images of all those ancient
sages whose doctrines they had adopted, or had fused together in their wild and
various theories. The image of Christ appeared with those of Pythagoras, Plato,
Aristotle, and probably some of the eastern philosophers.* The Carpocratians
had painted portraits of Christ; and Marcellina t, a celebrated female
heresiarch, exposed to the view of the Gnostic church in Rome, the portraits
of Jesus and St. Paul, of Homer, and of Pythagoras. Of this nature, no doubt,
were the images of Abraham, Orpheus, Pythagoras, Apollonius, and Christ, set up
in his private chapel by the Emperor Alexander Severus. These small imagest,
which varied very much, it should seem,
* Irenasus
de Hasr. i. c. 84. XPISTOS in Greek characters,
(edit. Grabe). Epiphan. Haeres. with the symbolic fish below,
xxvii. 6. Augustin, de Hasresib. This is in the collection of M.
c. vii. These images of Christ were Fortia d’Urban, and is engraved as
said to have been derived from the a vignette to M. R. Rochette’s
collection of Pontius Pilate. Com- essay. The other is adduced in
pare Jablonski’s Dissertation. an “ Essay on Ancient Coins,
*j- Marcellina lived about the Medals, and Gems, as illustrating
middle of the second century, or a the Progress of Christianity in the
little later. Early
Ages, by the Rev. R. Walsh.”
J Of these Gnostic images of This is a kind of medal or tessera
Christ there are only two extant of metal, representing Christ as he
which seem to have some claim to is described in the apocryphal let-
authenticity and antiquity. Those ter of Lentulus to the Roman se-
from the collection of Chifflet are nate. (Fabric. Cod. Apoc. Nov.
now considered to represent Se- Test. p. 301, 302.) It has a head
rapis. One is mentioned by M. of Christ, the hair parted over the
Raoul Rochette (Types Imitatifs forehead, covering the ears, and
de 1’Art du Christianisme, p. 21.)’; falling over the shoulders; the
it is a storie, a kind of tessera with shape is long, the beard short and
a head of Christ, young and beard- thin. It has the name of Jesus in
less, in profile, with the word Hebrew, and has not the nimbus,
in form and
feature, could contribute but little, if chap. in the least, to form that type of
superhuman beauty, t U/m , which might mingle the sentiment of human
sympathy with reverence for the divinity of Christ.
Christian art
long brooded over such feelings as those expressed by Jerome and Augustine,
before it could even attempt to embody them in marble or colour.*
The earliest
pictures of the Saviour seem formed The earliest on one type or model. They all
represent the ofthesL oval countenance, slightly lengthened; the grave, V10ur'
soft, and melancholy expression; the short thin beard; the hair parted on the
forehead into two long masses, which fall upon the shoulders.t Such are the
features which characterise the earliest ex-
or glory. On the reverse is an inscription in a kind of cabalistic
character, of which the sense seems to be, “ The Messiah reigns in peace; God
is made man.” This may possibly be a tessera of the Jewish Christians; or
modelled after a Gnostic type of the first age of Christianity. See Discours sur les Types Imitatifs de l’Art
du Chris- ti.tnisme, par M. Raoul Rochette.
* I must
not omit the description of the person of our Saviour in the spurious Epistle
of Lentulus to the Roman Senate (see Fabric. Cod. Apoc. N. T. i. p. 301.),
since it is referred to constantly by writers on early Christian art. But what
proof is there of the existence of this epistle previous to the great aera of
Christian painting ? “ He was a man of tall and well- proportioned form ; the
countenance severe and impressive, so as to move the beholders at once to
love and awe. His hair was of the colour of wine(vinei coloris), reaching
to his ears, with no radiation (sine radiatione, without the nimbus), and
standing up, from his ears, clustering and bright, and flowing down over his
shoulders, parted on the top according to the fashion of the Nazarenes. The
brow high and open; the complexion clear, with a delicate tinge of red; the
aspect frank and pleasing; the nose and mouth finely formed; the beard thick,
parted, and the colour of the hair; the eyes blue, and exceedingly bright. * *
* His countenance was of wonderful sweetness and gravity; no one ever saw him
laugh, though he was seen to weep ; his stature was tall; the hands and arms
finely formed. * * * He was the most beautiful of the sons of men.”
f Raoul Rochette, p. 26.
book tant
painting, that on the vault of the cemetery of , IV‘ , St.
Callistus, in which the Saviour is represented as far as his bust, like the
images on bucklers in use among the Romans.* A later painting, in the chapel of
the cemetery of St. Pontianus, resembles this 15 and a third was discovered in
the catacomb of St. Callistus by Boldetti, but unfortunately perished while he
was looking at it, in the attempt to remove it from the wall. The same countenance
appears on some, but not the earliest, reliefs on the sarcophagi, five of which
may be referred, according to M. Rochette, to the time of Julian. Of one, that
of Olybrius, the date appears certain — the close of the fourth century. These,
the paintings at least, are no doubt the work of Greek artists ; and this head
may be considered the archetype, the Hieratic model, of the Christian
conception of the Saviour, imagined in the East, and generally adopted in the
West.t The Father Reverential awe, diffidence in their own skill, pTe^Jnted.
the still dominant sense of the purely spiritual nature of the Parental Deity§,
or perhaps the ex
* Bottari,
Pitture e Sculture seated in a curule chair, with a Sacre, vol. ii. tav. lxx.
p. 42. roll half unfolded in
his hand, and
■j- This, however, was probably under his feet a singular
represent- repainted in the time of Hadrian I. ation of the upper part of a man
J Rumohr considers a statue of holding an inflated veil with his the Good
Shepherd in the Vatican two hands, a common symbol or collection, from its
style, to be a personification of heaven. See very early work ; the oldest
monu- R. Rochette, p. 43., who considers ment of Christian sculpture, prior
these sarcophagi anterior to the to the urn of Junius Bassus, which formation
of the ordinary type, is of the middle of the fourth cen- $ Compare Miinter,
ii. p. 49. tury. Italienische Forschungen, vol.
Nefas habent docti ejus (ecclesiae
i. p. 168. In that
usually thought Catholicae) credere Dcum figura the earliest, that of Junius
Bassus, humani corporis terminatum. Au- Jesus Christ is represented be- gust.
Conf. vi. II. tween the Apostles, beardless,
elusive habit
of dwelling upon the Son as the chap. direct object of religious worship,
restrained early t 1V* , Christian art from those
attempts to which we arc scarcely reconciled by the sublimity and originality
of Michael Angelo and Raffaelle. Even the symbolic representation of the
Father was rare. Where it does appear, it is under the symbol of an immense
hand issuing from a cloud, or a ray of light streaming from heaven, to imply,
it may be presumed, the creative and all-enlightening power of the Universal
Father.*
The Virgin
Mother could not but offer herself TheVirgin. to the imagination, and be
accepted at once as the subject of Christian art. As respect for the mother of
Christ deepened into reverence, reverence bowed down to adoration ; as she
became the mother of God, and herself a deity in popular worship, this worship
was the parent, and, in some sense, the offspring of art. Augustine indeed admits
that the real features of the Virgin, as of the Saviour, were unknown.t But the
fervent language of Jerome shows that art had already attempted to shadow out
the conception of mingling
* M.
Emeric David (in his Discours sur les Anciens Monumens, to which I am indebted
for much information), says that the French artists had firs>t the heureuse
hardi- csse of representing the Eternal Father under the human form. The
instance to which he alludes is contained in a Latin Bible (in the Cabinet
Imperial) cited by Mont- faucon, but not fully described. It was presented to
Charles the Bold
by the canons of the church of Tours, in the year 850. This period is
far beyond the bounds of our present history. See therefore E. David, pp. 43.
46.
f Neque enim novimus faciem Virginis Mariae. Augustin, de Trin. c. viii. Ut ipsa corporis
facies simulacrum fuerit mentis, figura pro- bitatis. Ambros. de Virgin, lib. ii. c. 2.
book virgin purity
and maternal tenderness, which as IV' yet probably was content to
dwell within the verge of human nature, and aspired not to mingle a divine
idealism with these more mortal feelings. The outward form and countenance
could not but be the image of the purity and gentleness of the soul within :
and this primary object of Christian art could not but give rise to one of its
characteristic distinctions from that of the ancients, the substitution of
mental expression for purely corporeal beauty. As reverential modesty precluded
all exposure of the form, the countenance was the whole picture. This
reverence, indeed, in the very earliest specimens of the art, goes still
further, and confines itself to the expression of composed and dignified
attitude. The artists did not even venture to expose the face. With one
exception, the Virgin appears veiled on the reliefs on the sarcophagi, and in
the earliest paintings. The oldest known picture of the Virgin is in the catacomb
of St. Callistus, in which she appears seated in the calm majesty, and in the
dress, of a Roman matron. It is the transition, as it were, from ancient to
modern art, which still timidly adheres to its conventional type of dignity.*
But in the sarcophagi, art has already more nearly approximated to its most
exquisite subject—the Virgin Mother is seated, with the divine child in her
lap, receiving the homage of the Wise Men.
* Bottari,
Pitture e Sculture Memoire de M. Raoul Rochette, Jsacre, t. iii. p. 111, tav.
218. See Academ. Inscript.
She is still
veiled*, but with the rounded form chap. and grace of youth, and a kind of
sedate chastity of t ’ expression in her form, which seems designed
to convey the feeling of gentleness and holiness. Two of these sarcophagi, one
in the Vatican collection, and one at Milan, appear to disprove the common
notion that the representation of the Virgin was unknown before the Council of
Ephesus, t That council, in its zeal against the doctrines of Nesto- rius,
established, as it has been called, a Hieratic type of the Virgin, which is
traced throughout Byzantine art, and on the coins of the Eastern empire. This
type, however, gradually degenerates with the darkness of the age, and the decline
of art. The countenance, sweetly smiling on the child, becomes sad and severe.
The head is bowed with a gloomy and almost sinister expression, and the
countenance gradually darkens, till it assumes a black colour, and seems to
adapt itself in this respect to an ancient tradition. At length even the
sentiment of maternal affection is effaced, both the mother and child become
stiff and lifeless, the child is swathed in tight bands, and has an expression
of pain rather than of gentleness or placid infancy.!
* In Bottari there is one picture tures of the Virgin ascribed to St.
of the Virgin with the head naked. Luke, the tradition of whose paint-
t. ii. tav. cxxvi. The only one ing ascends to the sixth century, and
known to M. Raoul Rochette. the Egyptian works which rcpre-
f A. D. 431. This opinion is sent Isis nursing Horus. I have not
maintained by Basnage and most thought it necessary to notice fur-
Protestant writers. thcr
these palpable forgeries, though
% Compare Raoul Rochette, the object, in so many
places, of po-
page 35. M. R. Rochette observes pular worship, much similarity between the
pic-
book The apostles,
particularly St. Peter and St. Paul, i * , were among the earlier objects of
Christian art. The Though in one place, St. Augustine asserts that the
Apostles. persons 0f £]ie
Apostles were equally unknown with that of the Saviour, in another he
acknowledges that their pictures were exhibited on the walls of many churches
for the edification of the faithful.* In a vision ascribed to Constantine, but
of very doubtful authority, the Emperor is said to have recognised the apostles
by their likeness to their portraits.f A picture known to St. Ambrose pretended
to have come down by regular tradition from their time : and Chrysostom, when
he studied the writings, gazed with reverence on what he supposed an authentic
likeness of the apostle, t Paul and Peter appear on many of the oldest
monuments, on the glass vessels, fragments of which have been discovered, and
on which Jerome informs us that they were frequently painted. They are found,
as we have seen, on the sarcophagus of Junius Bassus, and on many others. In one
of these, in which the costume is Roman, St. Paul is represented bald, and with
the high nose, as he is described in the Philopatris §, which, whatever its
age, has evidently taken these personal peculiarities of the
# St.
Augustin in Genesin, cap. xxii. Quod pluribus locis si- mul eos (apostolos) cum
illo (Christo) pictos viderint * * * in pictis parietibus. Augustin, de Cons.
Evang. i. 16.
f Hadrian I. Epist. ad Imp.
Constantin, et Iren. Coneil. Nic.
ii. art. 2.
J These two assertions rest on the authority of Joannes Damas- cenus, de
Imagin.
§ raXiXalof
ava^taXavTiag t7rippi- vog. Philop. e. xii.
Apostle from
the popular Christian representations, chap. St. Peter has usually a single tuft of
hair on his , ^ , bald forehead.* Each has a book, the only symbol of his
apostleship. St. Peter has neither the sword nor the keys. In the same relief,
St. John and St. James are distinguished from the rest by their youth; already,
therefore, this peculiarity was established which prevails throughout Christian
art. The majesty of age, and a kind of dignity of precedence, are attributed to
Peter and Paul, while all the grace of youth, and the most exquisite gentleness,
are centered in John. They seem to have assumed this peculiar character of
expression, even before their distinctive symbols.
It may excite
surprise that the acts of martyrdom Martyrdom did not become the subjects of
Christian art, till se°nted.ire far down in the dark ages. That of
St. Sebastian, a relief in terra-cotta, which formerly existed in the cemetery
of St. Priscilla, and that of Peter and Paul in the Basilica Siciniana,
assigned by Ciampini to the fifth century, are rare exceptions, and both of
doubtful date and authenticity. The martyrdom of St. Felicitas and her seven
children, discovered in 1812, in a small oratory within the baths of Titus,
cannot be earlier, according to M. Ii. Rochette, than the seventh century.t
The absence
of all gloomy or distressing subjects
* Munter
says the arrest of St. -j* llaoul Rochette, in Mem. de Peter (Acts xii. 1. 3.)
is the only l’Academie, tom. xiii. p. 165. subject from the A cts of the
Apostles among the monuments in the catacombs. ii. p. 104.
VOL. III. L h
book is the
remarkable and characteristic feature in the IV* catacombs of llome
and in all the earliest Christian art. A modern writer, who has studied the
subject with profound attention, has expressed himself in the following
language # : — “ The catacombs destined for the sepulture of the
primitive Christians, for a long time peopled with martyrs, ornamented during
times of persecution, and under the dominion of melancholy thoughts and painful
duties, nevertheless every where represent in all the historic parts of these
paintings only what is noble and exalted t, and in that which constitutes the
purely decorative part only pleasing and graceful subjects, the images of the
good shepherd, representations of the vintage, of the agape, with pastoral
scenes: the symbols are fruits, flowers, palms, crowns, lambs, doves, in a word
nothing but what excites emotions of joy, innocence, and charity. Entirely
occupied with the celestial recompense which awaited them after the trials of
their troubled life, and often of so dreadful a death, the Christians saw in
death, and even in execution, only a way by which they arrived at this
everlasting happiness ; and far from associating with this image that of the
tortures 01* privations which opened heaven before them, they took pleasure in
enlivening it with smiling colours, or presented it under agreeable symbols,
adorning it with flowers and vine leaves ; for it is thus that the asylum of
death
* INI. D’
Agincourt says, “ II n’a sign had
before been noticed) re-
rencontrelui-memedans ces souter- presentant une martyre. IIist.de
rains aucune trace de nul autre ta- l’Art. bleau (one of barbarian and late de- f
Des traits heroiques.
appears to us
in the Christian catacombs. There chai*. is no sign of mourning, no token of
resentment, no t lv* expression of vengeance ; all
breathes softness, benevolence, charity.”*
It may seem
even more singular, that the passion The of our Lord himself remained a subject
interdicted, cruclfix’ as it were, by awful reverence. The cross, it
has been said, was the symbol of Christianity many centuries before the
crucifix, t It was rather a cheerful and consolatory than a depressing and melancholy
sign ; it was adorned with flowers, with crowns, and precious stones, a pledge
of the resurrection, rather than a memorial of the passion.
The catacombs
of Rome, faithful to their general character, offer no instance of a
crucifixion, nor does any allusion to such a subject of art occur in any early
writer.t Cardinal Bona gives the following as the progress of the gradual
change. I.
The simple
cross. II. The cross with the lamb at the foot of it.§ III. Christ clothed, on
the cross, with hands uplifted in prayer, but not nailed to it.
* Gregory of
Nyssa, however, f See, among other
authorities,
describes the heroic acts of St. The- Munter, page 77. Es ist unir.o-
odorus as painted on the walls of a glich das alter der Crucifixe genau
church dedicated to that saint, zu bestimmen. Vor dem Ende des
“ The painter had represented
his siebenten Jahrhunderts kannte die
sufferings, the forms of the tyrants Kirche sie nicht.
like wild beasts. The fiery fur- J The decree of the Quinisextan
nace, the death of the athlete of Council, in 695, is the clearest
Christ—all this had the painter proof that up to that period the
expressed by colours, as in a book, Passion had been usually repre-
and adorned the temple like a plea- sented under a symbolic or alle-
sant and blooming meadow. The goric form, dumb walls speak and edify.
§ Sub cruce sanguinea niveo stat Christus in agno,
Agnus ut innocua injusto datur hostia letho.
Pauli. Nolan, Epist. 32.
LL O
book IV. Christ fastened to the cross with four nails, still iv. ... i *
living, and with open eyes. He was not represented
as dead till
the tenth or eleventh century.* There is some reason to believe that the bust
of the Saviour first appeared on the cross, and afterwards the whole person ;
the head was at first erect, with some expression of divinity ; by degrees it
drooped with the agony of pain, the face was wan and furrowed, and death, with
all its anguish, was imitated by the . utmost power of coarse art — mere
corporeal suffering without sublimity, all that was painful in truth, with
nothing that was tender and affecting. This change took place among the monkish
artists of the Lower Empire. Those of the order of St. Basil introduced it into
the West; and from that time these painful images, with those of martyrdom, and
every scene of suffering, which could be imagined by the gloomy fancy of
anchorites, who could not be moved by less violent excitement, spread
throughout Christendom. It required all the wonderful magic of Italian art to
elevate them into sublimity.
But early
Christian art, at least that of painting, was not content with these simpler
subjects ; it endeavoured to represent designs of far bolder and raintings more
intricate character. Among the earliest de- at Nola’ scriptions of
Christian painting is that in the Church of St. Felix, by Paulinus of Nola.t In
the
# De cruce
Vaticana.
-J- The lines are not without merit: —
Quo duce Jordanes suspenso gurgite fixis
Fluctibujs, a facie divinae restitit arcae.
colonnades of
that church were painted scenes from the Old Testament: among them were the
Passage of the Red Sea, Joshua and the Ark of God, Ruth and her Sister-in-law,
one deserting, the other following her parent in fond fidelity* ; an emblem,
the poet suggests, of mankind, part deserting, part adhering to the true faith.
The object of this embellishment of the churches was to beguile the rude minds
of the illiterate peasants who thronged with no very exalted motives to the altar
of St. Felix — to preoccupy their minds with sacred subjects, so that they
might be less eager for the festival banquets, held with such munificence and
with such a concourse of strangers, at the tomb of the martyr.t
Vis nova divisit flumen : pars amne recluso
Constitit, et fluvii pars in mare lapsa cucurrit,
Destituitque vadum: et validus qui forte
ruebat Impetus, adstrictas alte cumulaverat undas,
Et tremula, compage minax pendebat aquae mons
Despectans transire pedes arente profundo ;
Et medio pedibus siccis in flumine ferri Pulverulenta hominum duro
vestigia limo.
If this description is drawn from talent for composition and for land-
the picture, not from the book, the scape, as well as for the drawing of
painter must have possessed some figures.
* Quum geminae scindunt sese in diversa sorores;
lluth sequitur sanctam, quam deserit Orpa,
parentem : Perfidiam nurus una, fidem nurus altera monstrat.
Praefert una Deum patriae, patriam altera vitae.
-J* Forte requiratur, quanam ratione gerendi
Scdcrit liaec nobis sententia, pingere sanctas Raro more domos animantibus
adsimulatis.
* * * turba frequentior hie est
book These gross
and irreligious desires led them to the ^ lY' t
church ; yet, gazing on these pictures, they would not merely be awakened by
these holy examples to purer thoughts and holier emotions ; they would feast
their eyes instead of their baser appetites; an involuntary sobriety and
forgetfulness of the wine flagon would steal over their souls; at all events,
they would have less time to waste in the indulgence of their looser festivity.
Music. Christianity
has been the parent of music, pro
bably as far
surpassing in skill and magnificence the compositions of earlier times, as the
cathedral organ the simpler instruments of the Jewish or Pagan religious
worship. But this perfection of the art belongs to a much later period in
Christian his-
Rusticitas non casta fide, neque docta
legendi.
Haec adsueta diu sacris servire profanis,
Ventre Deo, tandem convertitur advena Christo,
Dum sanctorum opera in Christo miratur aperta.
Propterea visum nobis opus utile, totis Felicis domibus pictura iiludere
sancta:
Si forte attonitas haec per spectacula mentes Agrestum caperet fucata
coloribus umbra,
Quae super exprimitur literis — ut littera monstret Quod manus explicuit:
dumque omnes picta vicissim Ostcndunt releguntque sibi, vel tardius escae Sunt
memores, dum grata oculis jejunia pascunt:
Atque ita se melior stupefactis inserat usus,
Dum fallit pictura famem; sanctasque legenti Historias castorum operum
subrepit honestas Excmplis inducta piis ; potatur hianti Sobrietas, nimii
subeunt oblivia vini :
Dumque diem ducunt spatio majore tuentes,
Pocula rarescunt, quia per mirantia tracto Tempore, jam paucae superant
epulantibus horae.
In Natal. Felic., Poema xxiv.
tory. Like
the rest of its service, the music of the Church no doubt grew up from a rude
and simple, to a more splendid and artificial form. The practice of singing
hymns is coeval with Christianity ; the hearers of the Apostles sang the
praises of God ; and the first sound which reached the Pagan ear from the
secluded sanctuaries of Christianity was the hymn to Christ as God. The Church
succeeded to an inheritance of religious lyrics as unrivalled in the history of
poetry as of religion. # The Psalms were introduced early into the
public service ; but at first, apparently, though some psalms may have been
sung on appropriate occasions — the 73d, called the morning, and the 141st, the
evening psalm—the whole Psalter was introduced only as part of the Old Testament,
and read in the course of the service, t With the poetry did they borrow the
music of the Synagogue? Was this music the same which had ailed the spacious
courts of the Temple, perhaps answered to those sad strains which had been
heard beside the waters of the Euphrates, or even descended from still earlier
times of glory, when Deborah or when Miriam struck their harps to the praise of
God ? This question it must be impossible to answer; and no tradition, as far
as we
* The Temple
Service, in Light- Temple in the
Quarterly Review
foot’s works, gives the Psalms vol. xxxviii. page 20.
which were appropriate to each f Bingham’s Antiquities, vol. xiv
clay. The author lias given a slight p. 1. 5. outline of this hymnology of the
book are aware,
indicates the source from which the , Church borrowed her primitive harmonies,
though the probability is certainly in favour of their Jewish parentage.
The Christian
hymns of the primitive churches seem to have been confined to the glorification
of their God and Saviour.* Prayer was considered the language of supplication
and humiliation ; the soul awoke, as it were, in the hymn, to more ardent
expressions of gratitude and love. Probably, the music was nothing more at
first than a very simple accompaniment, or no more than the accordance of the
harmonious voices; it was the humble subsidiary of the hymn of praise, not
itself the soul-engrossing art. t Nothing could be more simple than the
earliest recorded hymns; they were fragments from the Scripture—the doxology, “
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost;” the angelic
hymn, “ Glory be to God on high ;” the cherubic hymn from Revel, iv, 12. —
“Holy, holy, holy;” the hymn of victory, Rev. xv. 3., “Great and marvellous are
thy works.” It was not improbably the cherubic hymn, to which Pliny alludes, as
forming part of the Christian worship. The “ Magnificat” and the “ Nunc
dimittis” were likewise sung from the earliest ages ; the Halleluia was the
constant prelude
* Gregory
of Nyssa defines a f Private individuals wrote
nymn—vfivog iariv >} tm ring virap- hymns to Christ, which were gene-
xovtriv tjfMV ayaOolg avartOtfihni np rally sung. Euseb. H. E. v. 28. ;
Ottp See Psalm ii. vii.
24.
or burden of
the hymn.* Of the character of the ciiap.
. IV.
music few and
imperfect traces are found. In ■. * Egypt the simplest form long
prevailed. In the monastic establishments one person arose and repeated the
psalm, the others sate around in silence on their lowly seats, and responded,
as it were, to the psalm within their hearts, t In Alexandria, by the order of
Athanasius, the psalms were repeated with the slightest possible inflection of
voice ; it could hardly be called singing.t Yet, though the severe mind of
Athanasius might disdain such subsidiaries, the power of music was felt to be
a dangerous antagonist in the great religious contest. Already the soft and
effeminate singing introduced by Paul of Samosata, had estranged the hearts of
many worshippers, and his peculiar doctrines had stolen into the soul, which
had been melted by the artificial melodies, introducedbyhim into the service.
The Gnostic
hymns of Bardesanes and Valentinus §, no doubt, had their musical
accompaniment. Arius
* Alleluia
novis balat ovile choris.
Paulin. Epist. ad Sev. 12.
Curvorum hinc chorus helciariorum,
Responsantibus Alleluia ripis,
Ad Christum levat amnicum ccleusma.
Sid. Apoll. lib. ii. ep. 10.
•j- Absque eo qui dicturus in me- J Tam modico flexu vocis facie-
dium Psalmos surrexerit, cuncti bat sonare lectorem Psalmi, ut pro-
sedilibus humillimis insidentes, ad nuncianti vicinior esset quam ca-
yocem psallentis omni cordis inten- ncnti. August. Confess, x. 33.
iione dependent. Cassian. Instit. ii. § Tertull. de
Carn. Christi, 17.
12. Compare
Euseb. II. E. ii. 17.
Apostol. Constit. xx. 57.
book himself had
composed hymns which were sung to 1V> , popular airs; and the
streets of Constantinople, even to the time of Chrysostom, echoed at night to
those seductive strains which denied or imperfectly expressed the Trinitarian
doctrines. Chrysostom arrayed a band of orthodox choristers, who hymned the
coequal Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. The Do- natists in Africa adapted their
enthusiastic hymns to wild and passionate melodies, which tended to keep up and
inflame, as it were, with the sound of the trumpet, the fanaticism of their
followers. *
The first
change in the manner of singing was the substitution of singerst, who became a
separate order in the Church, for the mingled voices of all ranks, ages, and
sexes, which was compared by the great reformer of church music to the glad
sound
o o
of many
waters.t
The
antiphonal singing, in which the different sides of the choir answered to each
other in responsive verses, was first introduced at Antioch by Flavianus and
Diodorus. Though, from the form of some of the psalms, it is not improbable
that this system of alternate chanting may have prevailed in the Temple
service, yet the place and the period of its appearance in the Christian Church
seems to indi-
* Donatistae
nos reprehendunt, f Compare Bingham.
The lea-
quod sobrie psallimus in ecclcsia ders were called viro€o\tig.
divina cantica Prophetarum, cum J Responsoriis psalmorum, can-
ipsi ebrietates suas ad canticum tu mulierum, virginum, parvula-
psalmorum humanoingeniocompo- rum consonans undarum fragor
sitorum, quasi tubas exhortationis rcsultat. Ambros. Hexam. 1. iii.
inflammant. Augustin. Confess. c 5.
cate a
different source. The strong resemblance chap
• • TV
which it
bears to the chorus of the Greek tragedy, might induce a suspicion, that as it
borrowed its simple primitive music from Judaism, it may, in turn, have
despoiled Paganism of some of its lofty religious harmonies.
This
antiphonal chanting was introduced into the West* by Ambrose, and if it inspired,
or even fully accompanied the Te Deum, usually ascribed to that prelate, we
cannot calculate too highly its effect upon the Christian mind. So beautiful
was the music in the Ambrosian service, that the sensitive conscience of the
young Augustine took alarm, lest, when he wept at the solemn music, he should
be yielding to the luxury of sweet sounds, rather than imbibing the devotional
spirit of the hymn.t Though alive to the perilous pleasure, yet he inclined to
the wisdom of awakening weaker minds to piety by this enchantment of their
hearing. The Ambrosian chant, with its more simple and masculine tones, is
still preserved in the Church of Milan; in the rest of Italy it was superseded
by the richer
* Augustin. Confess, ix. 7. 1. tur, cum liquida voce et conveni-
Hovv indeed could it be rejected, entissima modulatione cantantur :
when it had received the autho- magnam instituti hujus utilitatem
rity of a vision of the blessed Ig- rursus agnosco. Ita fluctuo inter
natius, who was said to have heard periculum voluptatis et experimen-
the angels singing in the antipho- turn salubritacis ; magisque addu-
nal manner the praises of the Holy cor, non quidem irretractabilem
Trinity. Socr. H. E. vi. 8. sententiam proferens cantandi con-
+ Cum reminiscor lachrymas suctudinem approbare in eccle-
meas quas fudi ad cantus ecclesiae sia : ut per oblectamenta aurium,
tujE, in primordiis rccuperataj fidei infirmior animus in affectum pieta-
meae, et nunc ipsum cum moveor, tis assurgat. Augustin. Confess,
non cantu sed rebus quae cantan- x. 33. 3. Compare ix. 7. 2.
Roman chant,
which was introduced by the Pope, Gregory the Great.*
* The
cathedral chanting of England has probably almost alone preserved the ancient
antiphonal system, which has been discarded for a greater variety of
instruments, and a more complicated system of music, in the Roman Catholic service.
This, if I may presume to offer a judgment, has lost as much in solemnity and
majesty as it has gained
in richness and variety. Ce chant (le Plain
Chant) tel qu’il subsiste encore aujourd’hui est un reste bien defigure, mais
bien precieux de Pancienne musique, qui apres avoir passe par la main des
barbares n’a pas perdu encore toutes ses premieres beautes. Millin, Diction-
naire des Beaux Arts.
CHAP.
V.
CHAP. V.
CONCLUSION.
Thus, then, Christianity had become the religion of the Roman world : it
had not, indeed, confined its adventurous spirit of moral conquest within these
limits; yet it is in the Roman world that its more extensive and permanent influence,
as well as its peculiar vicissitudes, can alone be followed out with
distinctness and accuracy.
Paganism was
slowly expiring; the hostile edicts of the emperors, down to the final
legislation of Justinian, did but accelerate its inevitable destiny. Its
temples, where not destroyed, were perishing by neglect and peaceful decay, or,
where their solid structures defied these less violent assailants, stood
deserted and overgrown with weeds ; the unpaid priests ceased to offer, not
only sacrifice, but prayer, and were gradually dying out as a separate order
of men. Its philosophy lingered in a few cities of Greece, till the economy or
the
- religion of the Eastern Emperor finally
closed its schools.
The doom of
the Roman empire was likewise sealed : the horizon on all sides was dark with
overwhelming clouds ; and the internal energies of the empire, the military
spirit, the wealth, the imperial power, had crumbled away. The exter.
book nal unity was dissolved; the provinces were gra- * , dually severed
from the main body; the Western empire was rapidly sinking, and the Eastern
falling into hopeless decrepitude. Yet though her external polity was
dissolved, though her visible throne was prostrate upon the earth, llome still
ruled the mind of man, and her secret domination maintained its influence,
until it assumed a new outward form. Rome survived in her laws, in her
municipal institutions, and in that which lent a new sanctity and reverence to
her laws, and gave strength by their alliance with its own peculiar polity to
the municipal institutions— in her adopted religion. The empire of Christ
succeeded to the empire of the Caesars.
When it
ascended the throne, assumed a supreme and universal dominion over mankind,
became the legislator, not merely through public statutes, but in all the
minute details of life, discharged, in fact, almost all the functions of civil
as well as of religious government, Christianity could not but appear under a
new form, and wear a far different appearance than when it was the humble and
private faith of a few scattered individuals, or only spiritually connected
communities. As it was about to enter into its next period of conflict with
barbarism, and undergo the temptation of unlimited power, however it might
depart from its primitive simplicity, and indeed recede from its genuine
spirit, it is impossible not to observe how wonderfully (those who contemplate
human affairs with religious minds may assert how providentially) it adapted
itself to
its altered
position, and the new part which it was chap. to fulfil in the history of man.
We have already > * , traced this gradual change in the formation of the
powerful Hierarchy, in the development of Monas- ticism, the establishment of
the splendid and imposing Ritual ; we must turn our attention, before we
close, to the new modification of the religion itself.
Its theology
now appears wrought out into a regular, multifarious, and, as it were, legally
established system.
It was the
consummate excellence of Chris- Christian tianity, that it blended in
apparently indissoluble [h^pc^odf union religious and moral perfection. Its
essential doctrine was, in its pure theory, inseparable from humane, virtuous,
and charitable disposition. Piety to God, as he was impersonated in Christ, worked
out, as it seemed, by spontaneous energy into Christian beneficence.
But there has
always been a strong propensity to disturb this nice balance : the dogmatic
part of religion, the province of faith, is constantly endeavouring to set
itself apart, and to maintain a separate existence. Faith, in this limited
sense, aspires to be religion. This, in general, takes place soon after the
first outburst, the strong impulse of new and absorbing religious emotions. At
a later period morality attempts to stand alone, without the sanction or
support of religious faith. One half of Christianity is thus perpetually
striving to pass for the whole, and to absorb all the attention, to the
neglect, to the disparagement, at length to a total
book separation from its heaven-appointed consort. The v t *
, multiplication and subtle refinement of theologic dogmas, the engrossing
interest excited by some dominant tenet, especially if they are associated
with, or embodied in, a minute and rigorous ceremonial, tend to satisfy and
lull the mind into complacent acquiescence in its own religious com- Separation
pleteness. But directly religion began to consider faithhandan
itself something apart, something exclusively dog- moraisian matic
or exclusively ceremonial, an acceptance of certain truths by the belief, or
the discharge of certain ritual observances, the transition from separation to
hostility was rapid and unimpeded.* No sooner had Christianity divorced
morality as its inseparable companion through life, than it formed an unlawful
connection with any dominant passion ; and the strange and unnatural union of
Christian faith with ambition, avarice, cruelty, fraud, and even licence,
appeared in strong contrast with its primitive harmony of doctrine and inward
disposition. Thus in a great degree, while the Roman world became Christian in
outward worship and in faith, it remained Heathen, or even at some periods
worse than in the better times of Heathenism, as to beneficence, gentleness,
purity, social virtue, humanity, and peace. This extreme view may appear to be
justified by the general survey of Christian never society. Yet, in fact,
religion did not, except at the complete. darkest peri0CiSj
so completely insulate itself, or so entirely recede from its natural
alliance with morality, though it admitted, at each of its periods,
much which
was irreconcilable with its pure and ori- chap. ginal spirit. Hence the mingled
character of its social * and political, as well as of its personal influences.
The union of
Christianity with monachism, with sacerdotal domination, with the military
spirit, with the spiritual autocracy of the papacy, with the advancement at
one time, at another with the repression, of the human mind, had each their
darker and brighter side ; and were in succession (however they departed from
the primal and ideal perfection of Christianity) to a certain extent
beneficial, because apparently almost necessary to the social and intellectual
development of mankind at each particular juncture. So, for instance, military
Christianity, which grew out of the inevitable incorporation of the force and
energy of the barbarian conquerors with the sentiments and feelings of that
age, and which finally produced chivalry, was, in fact, the substitution of
inhumanity for Christian gentleness, of the love of glory for the love of
peace. Yet was this indispensable to the preservation of Christianity in its
contest with its new eastern antagonist. Unwarlike Christianity would have
been trampled under foot, and have been in danger of total extermination, by
triumphant Mohammedanism.
Yet even when
its prevailing character thus stood Christian in the most direct contrast with
the spirit of the nev^ Gospel, it was not merely that the creed of Chris- extinct-
tianity in its primary articles was universally accepted, and a profound
devotion filled the Christian mind, there was likewise a constant under-growth,
as it were, of Christian feelings, and even of Chris-
VOL. III. M 31
BOOK
IV.
' ,
tian virtues.
Nothing could contrast more strangely, for instance, than St. Louis
slaughtering Saracens and heretics with his remorseless sword, and the Saviour
of mankind by the Lake of Galilee ; yet, when this dominant spirit of the age
did not preoccupy the whole soul, the self-denial, the purity, even the
gentleness of such a heart bore still unanswerable testimony to the genuine
influence of Christianity. Our illustration has carried us far beyond the
boundaries of our history, but already the great characteristic distinction of
later Christian history had begun to be developed, the severance of Christian
faith from Christian love, the passionate attachment, the stern and remorseless
maintenance of the Christian creed, without or with only a partial practice of
Christian virtue, or even the predominance of a tone of mind, in some respects
absolutely inconsistent with genuine Christianity. While the human mind, in
general, became more rigid in exacting, and more timid in departing from, the
admitted doctrines of the church, the moral sense became more dull and obtuse
to the purer and more evanescent beauty of Christian holiness. In truth it was
so much more easy, in a dark and unreasoning age, to subscribe, or at least to
render passive submission to, certain defined doctrines, than to work out those
doctrines in their proper influences upon the life, that we deplore, rather
than wonder at, this substitution of one half of the Christian religion for the
whole. Nor are we astonished to find those, who were constantly violating the
primary principles of Christianity, fiercely resenting, and, if they had the
power,
relentlessly avenging, any violation of the ciiap. integrity of Christian
faith. Heresy of opinion, we t . have seen, became almost the only
crime, against which excommunication pointed its thunders : the darker and more
baleful heresy of unchristian passions, which assumed the language of
Christianity, was either too general to be detected, or at best encountered
with feeble and impotent remonstrance.
Thus
Christianity became at the same time more peremptorily dogmatic, and less
influential; it assumed the supreme dominion over the mind, while it held but
an imperfect and partial control over the passions and affections. The theology
of the Gospel was the religion of the world; the spirit of the Gospel very far
from the ruling influence of mankind.
Yet even the
theology maintained its dominion, by in some degree accommodating itself to the
human mind. It became to a certain degree mythic in its character, and
polytheistic in its form.
Now had
commenced what may be called, neither Mythic age unreasonably nor
unwarrantably, the mythic age of SaSy.18" Christianity. As
Christianity worked downward into the lower classes of society, as it received
the rude and ignorant barbarians within its pale, the general effect could not
but be, that the age would drag down the religion to its level, rather than the
religion elevate the age to its own lofty standard.
The
connection between the world of man and a higher order of things had been
re-established ; the approximation of the Godhead to the human race, the actual
presence of the Incarnate Deity
M M 2
book upon earth, was universally recognised ;
transcen- 1V‘ , dental truths, beyond the sphere of human reason,
had become the primary and elemental principles of human belief. A strongly
imaginative period was the necessary consequence of this extraordinary ?aith.
impulse. It was the reign of faith, of faith which saw or felt the divine, or
at least supernatural, agency, in every occurrence of life, and in every
impulse of the heart; which offered itself as the fearless and undoubting
interpreter of every event; which comprehended in its domain the past, the
present, and the future ; and seized upon the whole range of human thought and knowledge,
upon history, and even natural philosophy, as its own patrimony.
This was not,
it could not be, that more sublime theology of a rational and intellectual
Christianity ; that theology which expands itself as the system of the universe
expands upon the mind ; and from its wider acquaintance with the wonderful provisions,
the more manifest and all-provident forethought of the Deity, acknowledges
with more awestruck and admiring, yet not less fervent and grateful, homage the
beneficence of the Creator; that Christian theology which reverentially traces
the benignant providence of God over the affairs of men — the all-ruling Father
— the Redeemer revealed at the appointed time, and publishing the code of
reconciliation, holiness, peace, and ever- lastinglife — the Universal Spirit,
with its mysterious and confest, but untraceable energy, pervading the kindred
spiritual part of man. The Christian of these days lived in a supernatural
world, or in a
world under
the constant and felt and discernible ciiap.
interference of supernatural power. God was not t ' , only
present, but asserting his presence at every instant, not merely on signal
occasions and for important purposes, but on the most insignificant acts and
persons. The course of nature was beheld, not as one great uniform and majestic
miracle, but as a succession of small, insulated, sometimes trivial, sometimes
contradictory interpositions, often utterly inconsistent with the moral and
Christian attributes of God. The divine power and goodness were not spreading
abroad like a genial and equable sunlight, enlightening, cheering, vivifying,
but breaking out in partial and visible flashes of influence ; each incident
was a special miracle, the ordinary emotion of the heart was divine
inspiration. Each individual had not merely his portion in the common
diffusion of religious and moral knowledge or feeling, but looked for his
peculiar and especial share in the divine blessing. His dreams came direct from
heaven, a new system of Christian omens succeeded the old; witchcraft merely invoked
Beelzebub, or Satan instead of Hecate; hallowed places only changed their
tutelary nymph or genius for a saint or martyr.
It is not
less unjust to stigmatise in the mass as imagin fraud, or to condemn as the
weakness of superstition, ofthchu! than it is to enforce as an essential part
of Chris- man m,nd* tianity, that which was the necessary
development of this state of the human mind. The case was this,—the mind of man
had before it a recent and wonderful revelation, in which it could not but
31 m 3
acknowledge
the divine interposition. God had been brought down, or had condescended to
mingle himself with the affairs of men. But where should that faith, which
could not but receive these high, and consolatory, and reasonable truths, set
limits to the agency of this beneficent power? How should it discriminate
between that which in its apparent discrepancy with the laws of nature (and of
those laws how little was known!) was miraculous ; and that which, to more
accurate observation, was only strange or wonderful, or perhaps the result of
ordinary but dimly seen causes ? how still more in the mysterious world of the
human mind, of which the laws are still, we will not say in their primitive,
but in comparison with those of external nature, in profound obscurity ? If
the understanding of man was too much dazzled to see clearly even material objects
; if just awakening from a deep trance, it beheld every thing floating before
it in a mist of wonder, how much more was the mind disqualified to judge of its
own emotions, of the origin, suggestion, and powers, of those thoughts and
emotions, which still perplex and baffle our deepest metaphysics.
The
irresistible current of man’s thoughts and feelings ran all one way. It is difficult
to calculate the effect of that extraordinary power or propensity of the mind
to see what it expects to see, to colour with the preconceived hue of its own
opinions and sentiments whatever presents itself before it. The contagion of
emotions or of passions, which in vast assemblies may be resolved, perhaps,
into a physical effect, acts, it should seem, in a more extensive manner ;
opinions and feelings appear to
be propagated
with a kind of epidemic force and chap. rapidity. There were some, no doubt,
who saw , * farther, but who either dared not, or did not care, to stand across
the torrent of general feeling. But the mass, even of the strongest minded,
were influenced, no doubt, by the profound religious dread of assuming that
for an ordinary effect of nature, which might be a divine interposition. They
were far more inclined to suspect reason of presumption than faith of
credulity. Where faith is the height of virtue, and infidelity the depth of
sin, tranquil investigation becomes criminal indifference, doubt guilty
scepticism. Of all charges men shrink most sensitively, especially in a
religious age, from that of irreligion, however made by the most igno-
rantorthe most presumptuous. The clergy, thegreat The agents in the maintenance
and communication ofcergy* this imaginative religious bias, the
asserters of constant miracle in all its various forms, were themselves, no
doubt, irresistibly carried away by the same tendency. It was treason against
their order and their sacred duty, to arrest, or to deaden, whatever might
tend to religious impression. Pledged by obligation, by feeling, we may add by
interest, to advance religion, most were blind to, all closed their eyes
against, the remote consequences of folly and superstition. A clergyman who, in
a credulous or enthusiastic age, dares to be rationally pious, is'a phenomenon
of moral courage. From this time, either the charge of irreligion, or the not
less dreadful and fatal suspicion of heresy or magic, was the penalty to be
paid for the glorious privilege of
M 31 4
book superiority to the age in which the man lived, or
. ^ t of the attainment to a higher and more reasonable
theology. .
Religious The
desire of producing religious impression was lions?8 in a great
degree the fertile parent of all the wild inventions which already began to be
grafted on the simple creed of Christianity. That which was employed avowedly
with this end in one generation, became the popular belief of the next. The
full growth of all this religious poetry (for, though not in form, it was
poetical in its essence) belongs to, and must be reserved for, a later period :
Christian history would be incomplete without that of Christian popular
superstition.
But though
religion, and religion in this peculiar form, had thus swallowed up all other
pursuits and sentiments, it cannot indeed be said, that this new mythic 01*
imaginative period of the world suppressed the development of any strong
intellectual energy, or arrested the progress of real knowledge and
improvement. This, even if commenced, must have yielded to the devastating
inroads of barbarism. But in truth, however high in some respects the
civilisation of the Roman empire under the Antonines ; however the useful, more
especially the mechanical, arts must have attained, as their gigantic remains
still prove, a high perfection, (though . degenerate in point of taste, by the
colossal solidity of their structure, the vast buildings, the roads, the
aqueducts, the bridges, in every quarter of the world, bear testimony to the
science as well as to the public spirit of the age,) still there
is a
remarkable dearth, at this flourishing period, of great names in science and
philosophy, as well as in literature.*
Principles
may have been admitted, and may Effect on have begun to take firm root, though
the authori- philosophy, tative writings of the Christian fathers, which, after
a long period, would prove adverse to the free development of natural, moral,
and intellectual philosophy ; and, having been enshrined for centuries as a
part of religious doctrine, would not easily surrender their claims to divine
authority, or be deposed from their established supremacy. The church condemned
Galileo on the authority of the fathers as much as of the sacred writings, at
least on their irrefragable interpretation of the scriptures; and the denial of
the antipodes by St. Augustine was alleged against the magnificent, but as it
appeared to many no less impious than frantic, theory ofColumbus.t The wild
cosmogonical theories ofthe Gnostics and Manicheans, with the no less unsatisfactory
hypotheses of the Greeks, tended, no doubt, to throw discredit on all kinds of
physical study t,
* Galen, as a writer on physic, faceret sapicntius ac verius si exmay be quoted as an exception. ceptione facta diceret caussas raT It has been
said, that the tionesque duntaxat rerum
cceles- best mathematical sciencc which tium
seu naturalium, quia sunt the age could command was em- abditae, nesciri posse, quia nullus ployed in the settlement of the doceat, nec qiueri oportcre, quia inquestion
about Easter, decided at vcniri quccrcnda
non j)ossunt. Qua the Council of Nice. exceptione
interposita et physicos
J Brucker’s observations on the admonuisset ne quaererent ea, qiue physical
knowledge, or rather on modum excederent
cogitationis the professed contempt of physical humanae,
et se ipsum calumniae inknowledge, of the fathers, are cha- vidia liberasset, et nobis certc de-
racterised with his usual plain good disset
aliquid, quod sequerennir.” sense. Their general language Div. Instit. iii. 2. See other quo- was that of
Lactantius :—“Quanto tations to the same
cfFcct:
book and to establish the strictly literal exposition of IV‘
, the Mosaic history of the creation. The orthodox fathers, when they enlarge
on the works of the six days, though they allow themselves largely in
allegorical inference, have in general in view these strange theories, and
refuse to depart from the strict letter of the history*; and the popular language,
which was necessarily employed with regard to the earth and the movements of
the heavenly bodies,' became established as literal and immutable truth. The
Bible, and the Bible interpreted by the fathers, became the code not of
religion only, but of every branch of knowledge. If religion demanded the
assent to a heaven-revealed, or heaven- sanctioned, theory of the physical
creation, the whole history of man, from its commencement to its close, seemed
to be established in still more distinct and explicit terms. Nothing was
allowed for figurative or Oriental phraseology, nothing for that condescension
to the dominant sentiments and state of knowledge, which may have been necessary
to render each part of the sacred writings intelligible to that age in which it
was composed. And if the origin of man was thus clearly revealed, the close of
his history was still supposed, however each generation passed away
undisturbed, to be still
Brucker,Hist. Phil. iii. p.
357. The that great
prelate. The evil was, not
work of Cosmas Indicopleustes, that the fathers fell into extraor-
edited by Montfaupon, is a curious dinary errors on subjects of which
example of the prevailing notions they were ignorant, but that their
of physical science. errors
were canonised by the blind
* Compare the
Hexaemeron of veneration of later
ages, which
Ambrose, and Brucker’s sensible might have been better informed, remarks on
the pardonable errors of
imminent and
immediate. The day of judgment ciiap. was before the eyes of the Christian, either instant, , *
or at a very brief interval; it was not unusual, on a general view, to discern
the signs of the old age and decrepitude of the world; and every great calamity
was either the sign or the commencement of the awful consummation. Gregory I.
beheld in the horrors of the Lombard invasion the visible approach of the last
day ; and it is not impossible that the doctrine of a purgatorial state was
strengthened by this prevalent notion, which interposed only a limited space
between the death of the individual and the final judgment.
But the
popular belief was not merely a theology in its higher sense.
Christianity
began to approach to a polytheistic Poiy- form, or at least
to permit, what it is difficult to call form of by any other name than
polytheistic, habits and feelings of devotion. It attributed, however vaguely,
to subordinate beings some of the inalienable powers and attributes of
divinity. Under the whole of this form lay the sum of Christian doctrine; but
that which was constantly presented to the minds of men was the host of
subordinate, indeed, but still active and influential, mediators between the
Deity and the world of man. Throughout (as has already been and will presently
be indicated again)
* Depopulate
urbes, eversa occupaverunt bestiae
loca, quae castra, conerematas eeclesia?, ties- prius multitude) hominum
tenebat.
tructa sunt monasteria virorum et Nam in hae terra, in qua nos vivi-
fceminarum, desolata ab hominibus mus, finem suum mundus jam non
paedia,atqueabomni cultore desti- nuntiat sed ostendit. Greg. Mag.
tuta; in solitudine vacat terra, Dial. iii. 08.
book existed the
vital and essential difference between ' , Christianity and Paganism. It is
possible that the controversies about the Trinity and the divine nature of
Christ, tended indirectly to the promotion of this worship, of the Virgin, of
angels, of saints and martyrs. The great object of the victorious, to a
certain extent, of both parties, was the closest approximation, in one sense,
the identification, of the Saviour with the unseen and incomprehensible
Deity. Though the human nature of Christ was as strenuously asserted in theory,
it was not dwelt upon with the same earnestness and constancy as his divine.
To magnify, to purify this from all earthly leaven was the object of all eloquence
: theologic disputes on this point withdrew or diverted the attention from the
life of Christ as simply related in the Gospels. Christ became the object of a
remoter, a more awful, adoration. The mind began therefore to seek out, or
eagerly to seize, some other more material beings, in closer alliance with
human sympathies. The constant propensity of man to humanise his Deity,
checked, as it were, by the receding majesty of the Saviour, readily clung with
its devotion to humbler objects. * The weak wing of the common and
unenlightened mind could not soar to the unapproachable light in
* The progress of the worship fathers of the next period leave the
of saints and angels has been fairly saints and martyrs in a kind of in-
and impartially traced by Shroeck, termediatestate,thebosomof Abra-
Christliche Kirchengeschichte, viii. ham or Paradise, as explained by
lGl.etsey. In the account of the Tertnllian, contr. Marc. iv. 34-.
martyrdom of Polycarp, it is said, Apolyct. 47. Compare Irenaeus
“ we love the martyrs as disciples adv. Haer. v. c. 31. Justin,Dial, cun
and followers of the Lord.” The Tryph. Origen, Horn. vii. in Levit.
wnicli Christ
dwelt with the Father ; it dropped to chat.
the earth, and bowed itself down before some less t ^ , mysterious
and infinite object of veneration. In theory it was always a different and
inferior kind of worship ; but the feelings, especially impassioned devotion,
know no logic : they pause not; it would chill them to death if they were to
pause for these fine and subtle distinctions. The gentle ascent by worship of
which admiration, reverence, gratitude, and love, saintfand
' o j angels.
swelled up to
awe, to veneration, to worship, both as regards the feelings of the individual
and the general sentiment, was imperceptible. Men passed from rational respect
for the remains of the dead #, the communion of holy thought and
emotion, which might connect the departed saint with his brethren in the flesh,
to the superstitious veneration of relics, and the deification of mortal men,
by so easy a transition, that they never discovered the precise point at which
they transgressed the unmarked and unwatched boundary.
This new
polytheising Christianity therefore was still subordinate and subsidiary in the
theologic creed to the true Christian worship, but it usurped its place in the
heart, and rivalled it in the daily
* The growth of
the worship of sanctum corpus martyris ad Dei
relics is best shown by the pro- honorem cultumque constructum,
hibitory law of Theodosius (a. d. dicere in
precibus, offero tibi sa-
386.) against the removal and sale crifieium, Petre, vel Paule, vel Cy-
of saints’ bodies. “ Jwmo marty- priane, cum apud eorum memorias
res distrahat, nemo mercctur.” Cod. offeratur Deo qui eos et homines
Theodos. ix. 17. Augustine de- et martyres fecit, et sanctis suis
nies that worship was ever offered angelis ccelesti honore sociavit.”
to apostles or saints. “Quisautem De Civ. Dei, viii. 27. Compare
audivit aliquando fidelium stantem xvii. 10. where he asserts miracles
saeerdotem ad altare etiam super to be performed at their tombs.
book language and practices of devotion. The wor- ,
shipper felt and acknowledged his dependency, and looked for protection, or
support, to these new intermediate beings, the intercessors with the great
Intercessor. They were arrayed by the general belief in some of the attributes
of the Deity,—ubiquity * ; the perpetual cognisance of the affairs of earth;
they could hear the prayert; they could read the heart; they could control
nature; they had a power, derivative indeed from a higher source, but still
exercised according to their volition, over all the events of the world. Thus each
city, and almost each individual, began to have his tutelar saint; the presence
of some beatified being hovered over and hallowed particular spots ; and thus
the strong influence of local and particular worships combined again with that
great universal faith, of which the supreme Father was the sole object, and the
universe thetemple.t Still, however, this new
* Massuet,
in his preface to Ire- naeus, p. cxxxvi. has adduced some texts from the
fathers of the fourth and fifth centuries on the ubiquity of the saints and the
Virgin.
■J* Perhaps the earliest instances of these are in the eulogies of
the eastern martyrs, by Basil, Greg. Naz. and Greg. Nyssen. See especially the
former on the Forty Martyrs. 'O SrXiGofievoQ, IttI rovg
TiaaapaKOVTCt Kara<pevyet,d evtppaivo- HtvoQ, in’
civtovq cnrorp'txt1, 6 fiiv 'iva Xvaiv ivpy tojv tW^tpwi', 6 Sk ’tva <pv\ctx9y avroi tci %p?jcrr6repa*
tvTtivOci yvvt) evae€i)g inrep renviov evxofJLtv)) KaTaXcijxtavsTai,
ctirodi]- f-iovvTi avSp't TovtTravoftovairovfitvi), dppiOVTOVVTl TT}V
GlOTTjp'tClV. Opel*.
vol. ii. p. 155. These and similar passages in Greg. Nazianzen (Orat. in
Basil.)and Gregory of Nyssa (in Theodor. Martyr.) may be rhetorical ornaments,
but their ignorant and enthusiastic hearers would not make much allowance for
the fervour of eloquence.
J An illustration of the new form assumed by Christian worship may be
collected from the works ofPaulinus,who,in eighteen poems, celebrates the
nativity of St. Felix the tutelary saint of Nola. St. Felix is at least invested
in the powers ascribed to the intermediate deities of antiquity. Pilgrims
crowded from the whole of the south of Italy to the festival of
polytheism
differed in its influence, as well as in its It bore a constant
nature, from
that of Paganism.
CHAT.
v.
St. Felix. Rome herself, though she possessed the altars of St. Peter
and St. Paul, poured forth her myriads ; the Capenian gate was choked, the
Appian way was covered with the devout worshippers.1 Multitudes came from beyond the sea. St. Felix is
implored by his servants to remove the impediments to their pilgrimages from
the hostility of men or adverse weather; to smooth the seas, and send
propitious winds.® There is constant reference, indeed, to Christ3 as the source of this power, yet the power is fully
and explicitly assigned to the saint. He is the prevailing intercessor between
the worshipper and Christ. But the vital distinctions between this pa
ganising form of Christianity and Paganism itself is no less manifest in
these poems. It is not merely as a tutelary deity in this life, that the saint
is invoked ; the future state of existence and the final judgment are
constantly present to the thoughts of the worshipper. St. Felix is entreated
after death to bear the souls of his worshippers into the bosom of the
Redeemer, and to intercede for them at the last day.4
These poems furnish altogether a curious picture of the times, and show
how early Christian Italy began to become what it is. The pilgrims brought
their votive offerings, curtains and hangings, embroidered with figures of
animals,
1 “ Stipatam multis unam juvat urbibus urbem
Cernere, totque uno compulsa examina voto.
Lucani coeunt populi, coit Appula pubes.
Et Calabri, et cuncti, quos adluit aestus
uterque,
Qui laeva, et dextra Latium circumsonat unda.
# . # # * #
Et qua bis ternas Campania laeta per urbes,
&e.
Ipsaque ccelestum sacris procerum monumentis
Roma Petro Pauloque potens, rarescere gaudet
Hujus honore diei, portaeque ex ore Capense
Millia profundens ad amicae maenia Noke
Dimittet duodena decem per millia denso
Agmine, confertis longe latet Appia turbis.” —
Cann. iii.
2 “ Da currere mollibus undis
Et famulis famulos a puppi suggcre ventos.” —
Carm.i.
3 “ Sis bonus o felixque tuis, Dominumque potentem
Exores,
Liceat placati munere Christ!
Post pelagi fluctus,” &c.
4 “ Positasque tuorum
Ante tuos vultus, animas vectare paterno Ne
renuas gremio Domini fulgentis ad ora. * * *
Posce ovium grege nos statui, ut sententia
summi
Judicis, hoc quoque nos iterum tibi munere
donct.” — Carm. iii.
book reference to
another state of existence. TI10112I1
X *
t
^' , the office of the tutelary being was to avert and mitigate temporal
suffering, yet it was still more so to awaken and keep alive the sentiments of
the religious being. They were not merely the agents of the divine
providential government on earth, but indissolubly connected with the hopes and
fears of the future state of existence.
Worship of
The most natural, most beautiful, and most the virgm. universa]?
though perhaps the latest developed, of these new forms of Christianity, that
which tended to the poetry of the religion, and acted as the conservator of
art, particularly of paint-
silver plates with inscriptions, candles of painted wax, pendent lamps,
precious ointments, and dishes of venison and other meats for the banquet. The
following characteristic circumstance must not be omitted. The magnificent
plans of Paulinus for building the church of St. Felix were interfered with by
two wooden cottages, which stood in a field before the front of the building.
At midnight a fire broke out in these tenements. The
bling apprehension lest the splendid “ palace ” of the saint should be
enveloped in the flames. lie entered the church, armed with a piece of the wood
of the true cross, and advanced towards the fire. The flames which had resisted
all the water thrown upon them, retreated before the sacred wood ; and in the
morning everything was found uninjured except these two devoted buildings. The
bishop, without scruple, ascribes the fire to St. Felix : —
affrighted bishop woke up in trem
“ Sed et hoc Felicis gratia nobis Munere consuluit, quod praeveniendo
laborem Utilibus Jiammis, operum compendia nobis Praestitit.” Carm. x.
of God or of his saint, seeing one of the buildings thus miraculously in
flames, sets fire to the other.
The peasant, who had dared to prefer his hovel, though the beloved
dwelling of his youth, to the house
“ Et celeri peragit sua damna furore
Dilectasque domos, et inanes planget amores.”
Some of the other miracles at the shrine of St. Felix border close on the
comic.
ing, till at
length it became the parent of that chap.
refined
sense of the beautiful, that which was the ,____________ v*
inspiration
of modern Italy, was the worship of the Virgin. Directly that Christian devotion
expanded itself beyond its legitimate objects; as soon as prayers or hymns
were addressed to any of those beings who had acquired sanctity from their
connection or co-operation with the introduction of Christianity into the
world ; as soon as the apostles and martyrs had become hallowed in the general
sentiment, as more especially the objects of the divine favour and of human
gratitude, the virgin mother of the Saviour appeared to possess peculiar
claims to the veneration of the Christian world. The worship of the Virgin,
like most of the other tenets which grew out of Christianity, originated in the
lively fancy and fervent temperament of the East, but was embraced with equal
ardour, and retained with passionate constancy, in the West.*
* Irenaeus,
in whose works are found the earliest of those ardent expressions with regard
to the Virgin, which afterwards kindled into adoration, may, in this respect,
be considered as Oriental.
I allude to his parallel between Eve and the Virgin,
in which he seems to assign a mediatorial character to the latter. Iren. iii.
33. v. 19. .
The earlier fathers use expressions with regard to the Virgin
altogether inconsistent with the reverence of later ages. Ter-
tullian compares her unfavourably with Martha and Mary, and insinuates
that she partook of the incredulity of the rest of her own family. “ Mater aeque non demon- stratur adhaesisse
illi, cum Marthae et Mariae aliae in commercio ejus frequentantur. Hocdenique
in loco (St. Luc. viii.20.) apparet incredu- litas eorum cum is doceret viam
vitae,” &c. De Carne Christi., c. 7. There is a collection of quotations on this subject in Field on the
Church, p. 26+. et scq.
The Collyridians, who offered
book The higher
importance assigned to the female IV’ . sex by Christianity, than by
any other form at least of Oriental religion, powerfully tended to the general
adoption of the worship of the Virgin, while that worship reacted on the
general estimation of the female sex. Women willingly deified (we cannot use
another adequate expression) this perfect representative of their own sex,
while the sex was elevated in general sentiment by the influence ascribed to
their all-powerful patroness. The ideal of this sacred being was the blending
of maternal tenderness with perfect purity — the two attributes of the female
character which man, by his nature, seems to hold in the highest admiration and
love; and this image constantly presented to the Christian mind, calling forth
the gentler emotions, appealing to, and giving, as it were, the divine
sanction to, domestic affections, could not be without its influence. It
operated equally on the manners, the feelings, and in some respect on the
inventive powers of Christianity. The gentleness of the Redeemer’s character,
the impersonation of the divine mercy in his whole beneficent life, had been in
some degree darkened by the fierceness of polemic animosity. The religion had
assumed a sternness and severity arising from the mutual and recriminatory
condemnations. The opposite
cakes to the Virgin, were rejected was an object of controversy : as
as heretics. Epiph. Haer. lxxviii. might be expected, it was main-
lxxix. tained
with unshaken confidence by
The perpetual virginity of Mary Epiphanius, Ambrose,and Jerome.
parties
denounced eternal punishments against each cilap. other with such indiscriminate energy,
that hell , f had become almost the leading and predominant image in
the Christian dispensation. This advancing gloom was perpetually softened ;
this severity, allayed by the impulse of gentleness and purity, suggested by
this new form of worship. It kept in motion that genial under-current of more
humane feeling ; it diverted and estranged the thought from this harassing
strife to calmer and less exciting objects. The dismal and the terrible, which
so constantly haunted the imagination, found no place during the contemplation
of the Mother and the Child, which, when once it became enshrined in the heart,
began to take a visible and external form.* The image arose out of, and derived
its sanctity from, the general feeling, which in its turn, especially when, at
a later period, real art breathed life into it, strengthened the general
feeling to an incalculable degree.
The wider and
more general dissemination of the worship of the Virgin belongs to a later
period in Christian history.
Thus under
her new form was Christianity prepared to enter into the darkening period of
Eu
* At a
later period, indeed, even the Virgin became the goddess of war: —
’Atl yup o"£e n)v <pv<Jiv vikuv fiovi],
To/ey to
7Tjoiotov, Kai ii&xy to divrepov.
Such are the verses of George of Pisidia, relating a victory over the
Avars.
ropean
history — to fulfil her high office as the great conservative principle of
religion, knowledge, humanity, and of the highest degree of civilisation of
which the age was capable, during centuries of violence, of ignorance, and of
barbarism.