THE HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, FROM THE BIRTH OF CHRIST TO THE ABOLITION OF PAGANISM IN THE ROMAN EMPIRE. B\T ? THE REV. H^HrMfLM AN, PKEBSNDARY OF ST. . PETER’S, AND M N1STER OF ST. MARGARET’S, WESTMINSTER. WITH A PREFACE AND NOTES BY JAMES MURDOCK, D.D. NEW-YORK: PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS 1 S 7 2.Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1841, bv Harper & Brothers, In the Clerk’s Office of the Southern District of New York.s if %r zx PREFACE. The History of the Jews was that of a nation, the History of Christianity is that of a religion. Yet, as the Jewish Annals might be considered in their relation to the general history of man, to the rank which the nation, bore among the various families of the human race, and the influence which it exercised on the civilization of mankind, so Christianity may be viewed either in a strictly religious, or, rather, in a temporal, social, and political light. In the former case the writer will dwell almost exclusively on the religious doctrines, and will bear continual reference to the new relation established between man and the Supreme Being: the predominant character will be that of the theologian. In the latter, although he may not al- together decline the examination of the religious doctrines, their development and their variations, his leading object will be to trace the effect of Christianity on the individual and socia.1 happiness of man, its influence on the Polity, the Laws and In- stitutions, the opinions, the manners, even on the Arts and the Literature of the Christian world : he will write rather as an historian than as a religious instructed Though, in fact, a candid and dispassionate survey of the connexion of Christianity with the temporal happiness, and with the intellectual and social advancement of" mankind, even to the religious inquirer, cannot but be of high importance and inter- est; while with the general mass, at least of the reading and intelligent part of . the community, nothing tends so powerfully to the strengthening or weakening of religious impression and sentiment, nothing acts so extensively, even though per- haps indirectly, on the formation of religious opinions, and on. the speculative or practical belief or rejection of Christianity, as the notions we entertain of its influ- ence on the history of man, and its relation to human happiness and social improve- ment. This latter is the express design of the present work, of which the plan and scope will be more fully explained at the close of the Introductory Chapter. If at any time I entertained doubts as to the expediency of including an historical view of the Life of the Saviour in the history of his religion, those doubts have been set at rest by the appearance of the recent work of Strauss. Though, for reasons stated in a separate Appendix to this work, I have no hesitation in declaring my con- ^ .viction that the theory of Strauss is an historical impossibility, yet the extraordinary sensation which this book has produced in the most learned and intellectually active ^ nation of Europe gives it an undeniable importance. Though, till recently, only accessible to the small, yet rapidly increasing number of students of German liter- ^ ature in this country, and, from its enormous length and manner of composition, not likely to be translated into English, it has, however, already appeared in a French translation.* After reading with much attention the work of Strauss., I turned back to my own brief and rapid outline, which had been finished some time beforehand found what appeared to me a complete, though, of course, undesigned jgj : refutation of his hypothesis. In my view, the Life of Christ (independent of its su- pernatural or religious character) offers a clear, genuine, and purely historical nar- rative, connected by numberless fine and obviously inartificial links with the history of the times, full of local and temporary allusions, perfectly unpremeditated,-yet of surprising accuracy, to all the events, characters, opinions, sentiments, usages, to the whole life, as it were, of that peculiar period ; altogether, therefore, repudiating that mythic character which Strauss has endeavoured to trace throughout the Evan- gelic narrative. In all its essential character it is true and unadulterated History.*f * The only good view of Strauss’s work with which I a,m acquainted, in a language accessible to the ordinary reader, is in ah article in the Revue des Deux Mondes, by M. E. Quinet. I I agree on this point with the author of a work which appeared last year in Paris, M. Salvador. He is speaking of the Evangelic History, une oeuvre enfir? dans laquelle le lieu de la scene, le heros, les fig-: sires accessoires, tout .e materiel, appartiermemt acetU nation nraeme.et ou chaque ligne exige, pour etreIV PREFACE,. In this, however* as in all respects, I have been anxious and studious not to give my work a controversial tone. My “ Life of Christ” remains- exactly as it was originally written, excepting in one or two notes. I have reserved entirely my reference to the work of Strauss for a separate Appendix. In these animadversions and in some scattered observations which I have here and there ventured to malur in my notes on foreign, chiefly German writers, I shall not be accused of that nar- row jealousy, and, in my opinion, unworthy and timid suspicion, with which the writers of that country are proscribed by many. I am under too much obligation to their profound research and philosophical tone of thought not openly to express my gratitude to such works of German writers as I have been able to obtain which have had any bearing on the subject of my inquiries. I could wish most unfeignedly that our modern literature were so rich in wri- tings displaying the same universal command of the literature of all ages and all countries, the same boldness, sagacity, and impartiality in historical criticism, as to enable us to dispense with such assistance. Though, in truth, with more or less of these high qualifications, German literature unites religious views of every shade and character, from the Christliche Mystik of Goerres, which would bring back the faith of Europe to the Golden Legend and the Hagiography of what we still ven ture to call the dark ages, down, in regular series, to Strauss, or, if there be anything below Strauss, in the descending scale of Christian belief. On all other points, especially those which are at present agitated in this country, though of course I cannot be, yet I have written as if in total ignorance of the ex- istence of such discussions. I have delivered, without fear and without partiality, what I have conscientiously believed to be the truth. I write for the general reader rather than for the members of my own profession, as I cannot understand why- such subjects of universal interest should be secluded as the peculiar objects of study to one class or order alone. In one respect, the present possesses an advantage, in which the former work of the author, from its size and form, was unavoidably deficient—the greater copious- ness of confirmatory and illustrative quotation. I trust that I have .avoided the op- posite error of encumbering and overloading either my text or my notes with the conflicting opinions of former writers. Nothing is more easy than this prodigal accumulation of authorities ; it would have been a very light task to have swelled the notes to twice the size of the volumes. The author’s notion of history is, that it should give the results, not the process of inquiry ; and, however difficult this may be during the period of which he now writes, where the authenticity of almost every document is questioned and every minute point is a controversy, he has with his ut- most diligence investigated, and with scrupulous fidelity repeated, what appeared to him to be the truth. Once or twice only, where the authorities are so nicely bal- anced that it is almost impossible to form a satisfactory conclusion, he has admitted the conflicting arguments into the text; and he has always cautiously avoided to deliver that which is extremely problematical as historical certainty. Where he lias deviated from his ordinary practice of citing few rather many names in his notes, it is on certain subjects, chiefly Oriental, on which the opinions of well-known scholars possess, in themselves, weight and authority. If he should be blessed with life and leisure, the author cannot but look forward to the continuation of this History with increasing interest, as it approaches the period of the re-creation of European society under the influence of Christianity.* As Christian History, surveyed in a wise and candid spirit, cannot but be a useful school for the promotion of Christian faith, so no study can tend more directly to, or more im- peratively enforce on all unprejudiced and dispassionate minds, mutual forbearance, enlightened toleration, and the greatest even of Christian virtues, Christian charity. comprise, la connaissance rigoureuse de son histoire, de ses lois, et de ses mceurs anciennes, des local- ities, prejuges, du langage, des opinions populaires. des sectes, du gouvernement, et des diverses classes de Juifs exis tant. aux epoques on les eveneinents sont rapportes.—Jesus Christ, sa Doctrine, &c., tom., i. p, 159. * Some points in the latter part of the volume are but imperfectly developed, their full investigatior having been reserved for a later part of the work.ERE F A C E T O’ T II E AMERICAN EDI T I O N . BY JAMES MURDOCK, D-D. 'The author of this work, if we may judge from his writings, is one of the most learned, candid, and indefatigable of the British historians of the -present age. In his own country, like Southey, he is known also as a poet. But in this country he is chiefly known as the author of a popular History of the Jews, which passed to a second edition, in London in 1830, and then was republished in this country as a*-part of Harpers’ Family Library. Notwithstanding some objections to the author’s views ^f Inspiration and of the Miracles of the Old Testament, that work, it is believed, is gen- erally regarded, both in England and America, as the best history of the Jews in the English language ; especially the third volume, which embra- ces the period since the destruction of the second temple, and in which good use is made of the first and larger work of Dr. Jost, of Berlin. This, we suppose, was Mr. Milraan’s first essay in historical composition. More recently, and after attaining greater maturity in this department of/knowj- cdge, he has published an edition of Gibbon’s History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, with an admirably well written preface, and numerous learned notes, which are of great value, especially as antidotes to the irreligious and infidel tendency of the work. The London Quar- terly Review says : “ There can be no question that this edition of Gibbon is the only one extant to which parents, and guardians, and academical -authorities ought to ' give any measure of countenance.” And the Monthly Review says : “ It never before was a work which could bo safely put into the hands of the young, or of those whose opportunities and means for detecting its perversions are few. Now, however, the er- rors of this luminous and imposing history have been skilfully and con- vincingly noticed. The poison, if not extracted, has been made palpable.’5 The notes of Milman, which fill 120 closely-printed 8vo pages, are partly original, and partly derived from Guizot, Wenck, St. Martin, and others; and they not only expose the author’s base insinuations and sarcasms against Christianity, but also cast much additional light on the history it- self. This edition of Gibbon has been recently issued from the press of the Messrs. Harper,in four neat 8vo volumes, with Mil-man’s notes placed at the end of each volume. Mr. Milman has likewise published the Life Edward Gibbon, with Selections from his Correspondence, &c.-, andv| PREFACE, notes by the editor. This work is favourably noticed by the English re- viewers : but it has not fallen in my way. After this experience, and having acquired an established reputation as an historical writer, Mr. Milman has ventured upon the new and more difficult work, the first part of which is here presented to the American public. The title given to this work does not distinctly indicate its peculiar design or object. It may be said to promise more than the book con- tains, and also matter of a different kind. According to established usage, this common and well-known title would include the more theological and spiritual part of Ecclesiastical History. But it is not so in the work be- fore us* Of this, however, distinct notice is given in the author’s preface. “ Christianity,” it is there said, “ may be viewed either in a strictly reli- gious, or, rather, in a temporal, social, and political light. In the former case the writer will dwell almost exclusively on the religious doctrines, and will bear continual reference to the new relation established between man and the Supreme Being: the prominent character will be that of the Theologian. In the latter, although he may not altogether decline the examination of the religious doctrines, their development and their vari- ations, his leading object will be to trace the effect of Christianity on the individual and social happiness of man, its influence on the Polity, the Laws and Institutions, the opinions, the manners, even on the Arts and the Literature of the Christian world : he will write rather as an historian than as a religious instructed55 So, at the close of his first chapter, where he again states the design of his work, he says: “ The History of Christianity has usually assumed the form of a History of the Church, more or less controversial, and confined itself to annals of the internal feuds and divisions in the Christian community, and the variations in doc- trine and discipline, rather than to its political and social influences. Our attention, on the other hand, will be chiefly directed to its effects on the social and even political condition of man.” “ It is the author’s object, the difficulty of which he himself fully appreciates, to portray the genius of the Christianity of each successive age in connexion with that of the age itself; in short, to exhibit the reciprocal influence of civilization on Christianity, of Christianity on civilization.” This work, then, was not intended to be an Ecclesiastical History, in the ordinary sense of the term. The author assumes the character, less of an ecclesiastical his- torian than of a philosopher and a politician: he treats of Christianity, considered as an element of civil society, or as affecting the social, civil, and secular condition of man. In its conception and plan, although on a kindred subject, this is a very different work from Guizot’s History of Civilization. The learned Frenchman seizes upon certain great and fundamental principles, and, by placing them distinctly before the reader, he makes him comprehendPREFACE. y|j the whole subject philosophically, without going into .a detail of facts and occurrences. Mr. Milman, on the contrary, endeavours to spread out all the historical facts in the case, or to exhibit the beneficial influences of Christianity by the detail of the actual occurrences, rather than by a course of solid reasoning based on philosophical principles. This work, therefore, bears a genuine historical character. Indeed, it is a pretty full Ecclesiastical History, although, as we have before, observed, one of a pe- culiar character. It details all those facts in ecclesiastical history which the author supposed would be generally interesting in a secular point of view; and, by the splendour of its style, and the fulness and accuracy of its statements, it is well adapted to afford both pleasure and profit. At the same time, its religious tendency is salutary : it is a safe book for all to read. The divine origin of, Christianity, and the authority of the holy Scriptures, are everywhere maintained. Indeed, a large part of the book —all that relates to the history of Jesus Christ and his apostles—seems to have been written chiefly for the purpose of rescuing this poition of sa- cred history from the exceptions of infidels and the perversions of Ration- alists. In addition to this fundamental point, the book distinctly main- tains the divine mission of Christ, his equality with the Father, and his ability to save all who believe in and obey him ; also, the reality and the necessity or the new birth; the future judgment, and the retributions of the world to come. These and other Christian doctrines are not, indeed, kept continually before the reader’s mind, and urged upon him with the zeal of a “ religious teacher ;” but they are distinctly recognised as taught by Christ and his apostles, and as being essential and vital principles of the Christian religion. This book, therefore, though not professing to teach articles of faith, or to inculcate piety, is a safe book for all classes of readers ; and, while it is an appropriate work for the use of statesmen, philanthropists, and literary men, it deserves a place in most of our social and circulating libraries, and in all those of our higher literary institutions. * F.or clergymen, also, and for all who cultivate sound theological learn- ing, this work will be valuable. Though not embracing the whole ground of Church History, and, therefore, not meeting all their necessities, it takes up many subjects of no small importance, and treats them in a very able and interesting manner. On most of the topics which come within the range of his plan, Mr. Milman makes good use of what he justly de- nominates “ the unwearied industry, the universal command of the litera- ture of all ages and all countries, and the boldness, sagacity, and impar- tiality in historical criticism” of the modern German writers ; and he in- genuously acknowledges himself “ under too much obligation to them not openly to express his gratitude.” Yet he is far from adopting all their conclusions. He is aware of the wild aberrations to which they are in- cident, and he is sedulous, and, for the most part, successful in selecting frojm them only what appears sound and valuableviii PREFACE. Among the subjects of interest to theologians which Mr; Milman has discussed, are, the character of the different Pagan Religions, and their in- fluences on society; the Grecian Philosophy, and its effects ; the Oriental Philosophy, and its legitimate offspring, the Gnostic and Manichsean sects ; the influences of this philosophy on the prevailing opinions and modes of thinking among the Jews, at the time of Christ’s advent, and, consequently, upon the language of the New Testament, and on the conceptions and the belief of Christians in the early ages, and even down to modern times ; the origination of asceticism,*penance, celibacy, and bodily mortifications from this philosophy; the progress of Christianity in the four first centu- ries, and the decline and fall of Paganism in the Roman empire ; the long struggles of the latter, first for victory, and then for existence, its artifices, its assumption of new forms, new principle's, and a new organization bor- rowed from the Church; the origin of the Christian Hierarchy, and its advances in power and wealth, and its complete dominion over the Church and the consciences of men; the spread of monkery in the fourth and fifth centuries, and its effects ; the changes in legislation and government, in the manners and customs of the people, in the arts, literature, and the general state of society, in consequence of the prevalence of Christianity. Besides these subjects, which properly fall within the scope or design of the work, Mr. Milman, as already stated, has gone over the entire history of the Saviour and his apostles. Fie likewise gives a pretty full and interest- ing account of the principal schisms and controversies in the Church, and particularly of the early disagreements between the Jewish and Gentile converts, and of the Donatist and Arian controversies. He also gives us biographies of several of the most eminent fathers, Chrysostom, Basil, the two Gregories,. Ambrose, Augustine, Jerome, &c.; and he even recites some of the more interesting martyrdoms. The style of this work is always vigorous and animated, and often truly rich and splendid. Yet it is not unfrequently obscure, either from loose- ness and negligence in the structure of the sentences, or from an unrea- sonable indulgence of the imagination. Mr. Milman seems to have become so habituated to poetic composition, that he unconsciously assumes a poetic style and manner when he becomes highly interested. His use of corn junctions, too, is often faulty ; and I have ventured to alter one of his ex- pressions wherever it occurs. It is the use of directly in the sense of as soon as, Thus on p. 32, speaking of the Pagan mysteries, he says : “Directly they ceased to be mysteries they lost their power.” I have in- troduced the slightest change that would render the meaning obvious, thus : “ Directly, as they ceased to be mysteries, they lost their power.” The history terminates near the beginning of the fifth century. Its continuation—which we are encouraged to expect—will open a wide and important field for such investigations and discussions as come within the author’s plan, and for which he has shown so much ability.According to the wishes of the publishers, at whose request this preface is written, I have made some additions to the notes and references, in different parts of the work, which are distinguished by brackets. Mr. Milman’s frequent references to his History of the Jews, and to his edi- tion of Gibbon, are also adapted to the American editions of those works. JAMES MURDOCK. New-Haven, January 1st, 1841.CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTION.—STATE AND VARIOUS FORMS OF PAGA.N RELIGION AND OF PHILOSOPHY. Page FEra of Augustus Csesar . . . .21 Roman Civilization...........................21 Appearance of Christianity . . . .22 The older Religions..........................22 Policy of Alexander..........................22 Policy of Rome ...... 22 Universality of Christianity . . . . .23 Dissociating Principle of old Religions . . 23 Fetichism ....... 24 Tsabaism ....................................24 Nature-worship...............................25 'Poets.......................................25 Priestly Caste...............................25 Anthropomorphism of the Greeks . . .26 Religion of Rome . . . . . .27 Moral Element of Roman Religion . <» 27 Religion of the Jews.........................28 God under the old and new Religion . . 28 Preparation for new Religion .-in the Heathen World....................................28 Preparation for new Religion among the Jews 29 Expansion of Judaism.........................29 Effects of Progress of Knowledge upon Poly- theism ......................................29 “ “ “ beneficial 29' “ “ “ prejudicial 30 Philosophy................................31 The Mysteries.............................31 Philosophy...................................32 Varieties of Philosophic Systems . . .32 Epicureanism accordant to Greek Character, Stoicism to Roman . . . . 32,33 Academics....................................33 Philosophy fatal to popular Religion . . 33 Literature...................................33 Future Life..................................34 Reception of foreign Religions . . .34 Poetry ceases to be Religious . . . .35 Superstitions . . . . . . .35 Revolution effected by Christianity . . 36 Immortality of the Soul......................36 Design of this History . . . .37 Christianity different in Form in different Pe- riods of Civilization . . . . 37 Christianity not self-developed . . .37 CHAPTER II. LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST.—STATE OF JUDAEA.—THE BE LIEF IN THE MESSIAH. Life of Christ necessary to a History of Chris- tianity ................................. . 38 •“ “ its Difficulty . . . .38 State of Judsea. Herod the Great . . .39 Intrigues and Death of Antipater . . .39 vSons of Herod...............................39 General Expectation of the Messiah . . 39 Nature of the Belief in the Messiah . . 40 The Prophets . . ..............40 Tradition....................................40 Foreign Connexions of the Jews . . .41 Babylonia....................................41 Cabala............................. Syrian Religions .... Religion of Persia . . . Completeness of the Zoroastrian System The Zendavesta .... The Angels......................... Principle of Evil The Supreme Deity removed from all Connex- ion with the material World Mediator........................... The Word........................... Future State....................... Jewish Notion of the Messiah Messiah, National .... Judseo-Grecian System . Reign of Messiah, according to Alexandrean Jews........................ Belief different, according to the Characti the Believer..................... Popular Belief..................... State of political Confusion Birth of Christ .... Belief in preternatural Interpositions (B.C. 5) .... .51 Vision of Zachariah 51 Return of Zachariah to Hebron 52 Annunciation .... 52 Incarnation of the Deity . 53 Birth from a Virgin . 54 Visit to Elizabeth 55 Birth of John the Baptist 55 Journey to Bethlehem 55 Decree of Augustus . 56 Birth of Christ .... 57 Simeon : his Benediction 58 The Magi .... , , 58 The Magi in Jerusalem . 59 Flight into Egypt 5.) Return to Galilee APPENDIX TO CHAPTER II. 59 I. Recent Lives of Christ . 59 11. Origin of the Gospels . . . III. Influence of the more imaginative Inci- 63 er of Riga 42 42 42 43 43 44 45 45 45 46 46 47 47 48 48 48 49 50 50 50 dents of the early Evangelic History on *the Propagation and Maintenance of the Religion.................68 CHAPTER III. COMMENCEMENT OF THE PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS. Period to the Assumption of Public Character Visit to Jerusalem Political Revolutions during the preceding Pe- riod ......................... Reign of Archelaus . • . Reduction to a Roman Province Sanhedrin .... The Publicans .... Insurrections .... Judas the Galilean . John the Baptist Baptism...................... Multitudes who attend his Preaching Expectation of the Messiah 68 68 69 69 69 69 69 69 70 70 *71 71 72CONTENTS. xii PaKe Mysterious Language of the Baptist . . 73 Deputation of the Priesthood concerning the Pretensions of John.......................73 Avowed inferiority of John to Jesus . . 73 Baptism of Jesus.............................74 Temptation of Jesus..........................74 Deputation from Jerusalem to John . . 76 Jesus designated by John as the Messiah . 76 First Disciples of Jesus.....................77 Jesus commences his Career as a Teacher . 77 First Miracle. Anti-Essenian . . .77 Capernaum....................................78 First Passover (A.D. 27).....................78 Jesus at Jerusalem...........................78 The Temple a Mart............................78 Expulsion of the Traders . . . .79 Expectations raised by this Event . . .79 Reverence of the Jews for the Temple . . 80 Their Expectations disappointed . . .80 Nicodemus . . . ... . .80 CHAPTER IV. PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS FROM THE FIRST TO THE SECOND PASSOVER. Departure from Jerusalem . . . .82 John the Baptist and Herod . . . .82 Jesus passes through Samaria . . .82 Hostility of the Jews and Samaritans . . 82 Samaritan Belief in the Messiah . . .83 Samaritan Sanhedrin ..........................84 Second Miracle in Capernaum . . .85 Nazareth. Inhospitable Reception of Jesus . 85 Jesus in the Synagogue . . . . .85 Violence of the Nazarenes . . . .86 Capernaum the chief Residence of Jesus . 86 Apostles chosen...............................86 Jesus in the Synagogue of Capernaum . . 86 His Mode of Teaching different from that of the Rabbins................................87 Causes of the Hostility of the ordinary Teach- ers .........................................87 Progress through Galilee.....................88 Populousness of Galilee......................88 Herod Antipas................................88 Jesus passes unmolested through Galilee . 89 Comparison with Authors of other Revolu- tions . . . , . . . .89 Teaches in the Synagogues and in the ouen Air . ............................... 89 Manner of his Discourses Quotation from Jortin....................................89 Sermon on the Mount..........................90 Principles of Christian Morality. Not in Uni- son with the Age.............................90 Its Universality.............................91 Its original Principles . . . . * . 92 Conduct of Jesus with regard to his Country- men ........................................,92 Healing the Leper............................92 Second Miracle '.................93 The Publicans ....... 93 Close of first Year ot Public Life of Jesus . 93 CHAPTER V. SECOND YEAR OF THE PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS. Jesus in Jerusalem (A.D. 28) . . . .94' Change in Popular Sentiment . . .94 Breach of the. Sabbath .... . .94 Jewish Reverence for the Sabbath . . .94 Healing of the Sick Man at the Pool of Beth- esda . ................................. . . . .95 Judicial Investigation of the Case . . .95 Defence of Jesus , . ... . . .95 Second Defence of Jesus . . . .96 , Difficult Position of the Sanhedrin . . .96 Hostility of the Pharisaic Party They follow him into Galilee . New Violation of the Sabbath Jesus withdraws beyond the Sea of Galilee . Jesus retires from public view Reappears at Capernaum . Organization of his Followers . The Twelve Apostles......................... Healing of the Centurion’s Servant Message of John the Baptist .... Contrast between Jesus and John the Baptist Dsomoniacs.................................. The Pharisees demand a Sign Conduct of Jesus to his Relatives . Parables.................................... Rebukes the Storm........................... Destruction of the Swine . The Apostles sent out....................... Conduct of Herod............................ Death of John the Baptist .... Jesus withdraws from Galilee . The Multitudes fed in the Desert Enthusiasm of the People . Jesus in the Synagogue of Capernaum . 96 97 97 97 98 98 98 99 99 100 101 101 101 102 102 102 102 102 103 103 103 103 104 CHAPTER VL THIRD YEAR OF THE PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS. Passover (A.D. 29)........................105 Massacre of the Galileans at the Passover . 105 Concealment of Jesus......................106 The Syro-Phoenician Woman .... 106 Jesus still in partial Concealment . . . 107 Perplexity of the Apostles .... 107 Jesus near Caesarea Philippi .... 108 The Transfiguration . 108 Tribute-money.............................109 Contention of the Apostles .... 109 Jesus commends a Child to the Imitation of the Apostles................................109 Feast of Tabernacles ‘....................109 Jesus in the Temple at Jerusalem . . . 110 Perplexity of the Sanhedrin .... 110 Woman taken in Adultery . . . .111 Jesus teaches in the Temple .... Ill Healing the Blind Man........................112 Conduct of the Sanhedrin • . . . . 113 Jesus near Samaria . . . . . 114 Feast of Dedication. Jesus again in Jerusalem 115 Period between the Feast of Dedication and the Passover •.................................116 Raising of Lazarus...........................117 CHAPTER VII. THE LAST PASSOVER.—THE CRUCIFIXION. Last Passover (A.D. 30)...................118 Zaccheus..................................118 All Sects hostile to Jesus .... 119 The Pharisees.............................119 The Lawyers...............................119 The Sadducees............................J19 Jesus the Messiah ...... 120 The Essenes...............................121 The Rulers................................121 Demeanour of Jesus........................122 Difficulty of Chronological Arrangement . 122 Jesus at Bethany ■...................; 122 Jesus enters Jerusalem in Triumph . . 123 Monday, Nisan 2 (March) . . ' . 123 Acclamations in the Temple .... 123 The Greeks................................124 Cursing the barren Fig-tree .... 124 Second Day in Jerusalem ■ . . . 124 The Third Day • ..........................125 Deputation from the Rulers .... 125 The Fourth Day . , . . . . 125CONTENTS. The Herodians ”The Sadducees . . . . The Pharisees . . The Crisis in the Fate of Jesus Jesus on the Mount of Olives . Evening View of Jerusalem and the Temple Necessity for the Destruction of the Temple . Jesus contemplates with Sadness the future Ruin of Jerusalem The Ruin of the Jews the Consequence of their Character..................... Immediate Causes of the Rejection of Jesus by the Jews . . . . Distinctness with which Jesus prophesied the Fall of Jerusalem . . . . . Embarrassment of the Sanhedrin Treachery and Motives of Judas The Passover f . The Last Supper........................... Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane Betrayal of Jesus ........................ Jesus led Prisoner to the City ... The High-priest . . . . House of Annas ........................... First Interrogatory . . . ... Second, more public, Interrogatory . Jesus acknowledges himself the Messiah Conduct of the High-priest . Jesus insulted by the Soldiery Denial of Peter........................... Question of the Right of the Sanhedrin to in- flict Capital Punishment . Real/Relation of the Sanhedrin to the Govern ment . . ‘ . . . . . The Case of Jesus new and unprecedented ' . Motives of the Rulers in disclaiming their Power . . . . . Jesus before Pilate....................... Remorse and Death of Judas . . . . Astonishment of Pilate.................... “ “ at the Conduct of the Sanhedrin . . . . . “ “ at the Nature of the Charge • . . . ... The Deputation refuse to communicate with Pilot from fear of legal Defilement Examination before Pilate .... Pilate endeavours to save Jesus Clamours of the Accusers .... Jesus sent to Herod . . . Jesus sent back with Insult . . . Barabbas . . . . . Jesus crowned with Thorns .... The People demand his Crucifixion Intercession of Pilate’s Wife .... Last Interrogatory of Jesus . . . . Condemnation of Jesus ...... Insults offered to Jesus by the Populace Circumstances of the Crucifixion . The Two Malefactors . . . Spectators of the Execution . . . . Conduct of Jesus ......................... Preternatural Darkness.................... Death of Jesus ........................... Burial of Jesus . . . . The Religion apparently at an End Page 125 126 127 127 12* 128 128 128 . 129 129 130 130 130 13 i 131 132 132 133 133 133 133 133 134 134 134 134 . 134 135 136 136 136 136 136 137 137 137 137 138 138 138 138 139 139 139 139 140 140 140 141 141 142 142 142 143 143 143 BOOK II. CHAPTER 1 THE RESURRECTION, AND FIRST PROMULGATION OF CHRISTIANITY Christian Doctrine of the Immortadity of the Soul , „ ... 145 Page Effects of this Doctrine . . . .145 Style of the Evangelists . . . 146 The Women at the Sepulchre . .* 146 Arrival of Peter and John . . . . 147 First Appearance of Jesus to Mary Magdelenc 147 Later Appearances . . . . . .148 Incredulity of the Apostles : its Cause . .148 Return of the Apostles to Galilee . . . 148 Apostles in Judsea . . . . . 149 Ascension . . . . . . . 149 Election of a; new Apostle . . * . .149 Reappearance of the Religion of Jesus . . 150 Disciples near the Temple. Gift of Tongues . 150 Speech of Peter .............................150 Common Fund, not Community of Goods . 151 Conduct of the Sanhedrin . . . . 151 Second Speech of Peter . . . . 151 Sadducees predominant in the Sanhedrin 152 Apostles before the Sanhedrin . , 152 Gamaliel ....................................152 Institution of Deacons . . . . . 153 Death of the Proto-martyr (A.D. 34) . . 154 Paul of Tarsus............................155 Paul in Arabia . . . . . . . 156 Persecution of the Jews by Caligula . . 157 Death of James . . . . . . 157 Death of Herod............................157 CHAPTER II. CHRISTIANITY AND JUDAISM. Piogitss of Christianity..................158 Gradual Enlargement of the Views of the Apostles................................158 Christianity a universal Religion . . . 158 External and internal Conflict of Christianity with Judaism '. . . ... 159 Paul and Barnabas ...... 159 Differences between Jew and Gentile partially abrogated by Peter . . . . .159 Cornelius....................................J59 State of Judssa . ... . . 160 Paul and Barnabas Apostles .... 161 Cyprus . . . . . . . .161 Sergius Paulus . . . . . .161 Jews in the City of Asia Minor . . .162 Jewish Attachment to the Law . . . 162 Council of Jerusalem (A.D. 49) . . . 163 Second Journey of Paul (A.D. 50) . . . 163 Third Journey of Paul . . ... 164 Paul in Jerusalem (A.D. 58) .... 165 “ in the Temple ...... 165 “ Apprehended . . . . . . 165 “ before the Sanhedrin . . . .166 “ sent to Ceesarea.........................166 “ before Felix . . . . . . 166 “ in Prison at Caesarea . . . .167 “ before Agrippa ... . . . 167 “ sent to Rome.............................167 Martyrdom of James (A.D. 62) . . . 168 Jewish War . . ... . . . 1G8 Probable Effect of the Fall of Jerusalem on Christianity . . . . . . .169 Effect on the Jews ... . . 169 Jewish Attachment to the Law . . . 170 The Law . . . . . . . 170 Strength of internal Judaism within the Church opposed by St. Paul . . : . .171 Belief i*n the approaching End of the World . 172 Hostility of Judaism and Christianity . . 172 Mark, bishop of Jerusalem . ■. 173 CHAPTER III. CHRISTIANITY AND PAGANISM. Relationship between Judaism and Christianity 174 Direct Opposition of Christianity to Paganism 174 Universality of Paganism . , , 175XIV CONTENTS. Page Christianity in Cyprus .... 176 Antioch in Pisidia.........................176 Lystra.....................................176 Phrygia....................................177 Galatia .....................................177 Philippi . . . . . . . . 177 Contrast of Polytheism at Lystra, Philippi, and Athens..................................178 Thessalonica . . . , . . .178 Athens . w.................................178 Paul on the Areopagus . . . * . . 178 Speech of Paul...............................178 Corinth (A D. 52)............................180 Gallio (A.D. 53)...........................181 Ephesus (A.D. 54)..........................181 Disciples of John the Baptist .... 181 Ephesian Magic 182 Jewish Exorcists 182 Demetrius, the Maker of Silver Shrines (A.D. 57).....................................183 St. Paul leaves Rome (A.D. 63) . . .184 Burning of Rome (A.D. 64) .... 184 Probable Causes which implicated the Chris- tians with this Event ...................185 Martyrdom of Paul..........................188 Ephesus............................. . Svt. John ; his Gospel................. Nicolaitans............................ Cerinthus.............................. Later Gnostics......................... The primal Deity of Gnosticism The Pleroma............................ The H3on Christ........................ Malignity of Matter .... Rejection of the Old Testament “ of some Parts of the New Saturninus............................. Alexandrea'............................ Basilides.............................. Valentinus . ... Bardesanes............................. Marcion of Pontus ..... Varieties of Gnosticism .... Gnosticism not popular . ■ “ conciliatory towards Paganism Page . 206 . 206 . 207 . 207 . 208 . 208 . 208 . 2C . 201 . 208 . 209 . 209 . 210 . 210 . 211 . 213 . 214 . 215 . 216 . 216 CHAPTER VI. CHRISTIANITY DURING THE PROSPEROUS PERIOD OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE. CHAPTER IV. CHRISTIANITY TO CLOSE OF FIRST CENTURY.— CONSTITUTION OF CHRISTIAN CHURCHES. Great Revolutions slow and gradual . . 189 Imperial History divided into Four Periods . 189 First Period, to the Death of Nero . . 189 Second Period to the Accession of Trajan , 191 Stoic Philosophers .........................191 Temple Tax..................................191 Change in the Condition and Estimation of the Jews after the War.......................192 The Descendants of the Brethren of our Lord brought before the Tribunal . . . 192 Flavius Clemens . . . . . 193 Legends of the Missions of the Apostles into different Countries . . . ■. . 193 Death of St. John...........................193 Constitution of Christian Churches . . 194 Christian Churches formed from, and on the Model of, the Synagogue .... 194 Essential Difference between the Church and Synagogue................................195 Christian Church formed round an Individual 196 Authority of the Bishop.....................196 The Presbyters . . . . . .197 Church of Corinth an exception . . . 198 CHAPTER V. CHRISTIANITY AND ORIENTALISM. Oriental Religions..........................199 Situation of Palestine favourable for a new Religion.................................200 Judaism.....................................200 General Character of Orientalism . . .200 Purity of Mind. Malignity of Matter . .200 The universal Primary Principle . . . 200 Source of Asceticism........................201 Celibacy....................................201 “ unknown in Greece and Rome . 202 Plato'......................................202 Rome...................................... 202 Orientalism in Western Asia . . . 203 Combination of Orientalism with Christianity 203 Simon Magus.................................204 “ “ his real Character and Tenets . 205 “ “ his Helena .... 205 “ Probability of his History . .205 Gnosticism connects itself with Christianity , 206 Roman Emperors at the Commencement of the Second Century . . . . .217 Characters of the Emperors favourable to the Advancement of Christianity . . .217 Trajan Emperor (A.D. 98-116) . . .218 Hadrian Emperor (A.D. 117-138) . . .218 Antoninus Pius Emperor (A.D. 138-161) . 218 Christianity in Bithyniaand the adjacent Prov- inces ....................................218 Letter of Pliny...........................219 Answer of Trajan..........................219 The Jews not averse to Theatrical Amuse- ments ....................................220 Christians abstain from them .... 220 Their Danger on Occasions of Politial Rejoi- cings ....................................220 Probable connexion of the Persecution under Pliny with the State of the East . . . 221 Hadrian Emperor (A.D. 117) .... 222 Character of Hadrian......................222 Hadrian’s Conduct towards Christianity . 223 Hadrian incapable of understanding Christian- ity ......................................223 Antoninus Pius Emperor (A.D. 138) . . 224 CHAPTER VII. CHRISTIANITY AND MARCUS AURELIUS THE PHI- LOSOPHER. Three Causes of the Hostility of Marcus Aure- lius and his Government to Christianity . 225 1. Altered Position of Christianity in regard to Paganism................................225 Connexion of Christianity with the Fall of the Roman Empire . • . • • • . 226 Tone of some Christian Writings confirmatory of this Connexion.......................226 The Sibylline Books........................227 2. Change in the Circumstances of the Times 229 Terror of the Roman World .... 230 3. The Character of the Empejor . . . 230 Private Sentiments of the Emperor m his Med- itations .................................231 Calamities of the Empire (A.D. 166) . . 232 Christian Martyrdoms.......................232 Persecution in Asia Minor . 233 Polycarp...................................233 Miracle of the Thundering Legion . . .235 Martyrs of Vienne (A.D. 177) . . . 236 Martyrdom of Blandina ... . 237CONTENTS xv CHAPTER VIL*. FOURTH PERIOD. CHRISTIANITY UNDER THE SUC- CESSORS OF MARCUS AURELIUS. pao>e Fourth Period..............................238 Rapid Succession of Emperors (A.D. 180-284) 238 Insecurity of the Throne favourable to Christi- anity ....................... . . 238 Causes of Persecutions during this Period . 238 Commodus(A.D. 180-193) * . ■ . . .239 Reign of Severus (A.D. 194-210) . . . 240 Infancy of Caracalla ..... 240 'Peaceful Conduct of the Christians . . 240 Persecution in the East . . . .240 Christianity not persecuted in the West . . 240 Probable Causes of Persecution . . . 240 Egypt...............................241 Africa..............................241 African Christianity................242 Montanism ....... 242 Apology of Tertullian...............243 Martyrdom of Perpetua and Felicitas . . 243 Caracalla. Geta (A.D. 211-217) . . . 246 Elagabalus Emperor (A.D. 218) . . . 246 Worship of the Sun in Rome . . . . 247 Religious Innovations meditated by Elagabalus 247 Alexander Severus Emperor (A.D. 222) . . 248 Mammaea...................................... 248 Change in the Relation of Christianity to Soci- ety ........................................248 First Christian Churches .... 248 [nfluencq of Christianity on Heathenism . 249 Change in Heathenism ..... 249 Paganism becomes serious .... 250 Apollonius of Tyana.................250 Porphyrius..........................250 Life of Pythagoras . . . . ... 250 Philosophic Paganism not popular . . . 250 Maxirnm (A.D. 235)................. 251 Gordian (A.D. 238-244)............. 251 Philip (A.D. 244).................. 251 Secular Games) A.D. 247)........... 251 Decius (A.D. 249-251) ..... 251 Causes of the Decian Persecution . . . 251 Fabianus, bishop of Rome .... 252 Enthusiasm of Christianity less strong . . 252 Valerian (A.D. 254)................ 252 Cyprian, bishop of Carthage .... 253 Plague in Carthage . 254 < hnduct of Cyprian and the Christians . . 254 Cyprian’s Retreat...................254 “ Return to Carthage .... 254 Miserable Death of the Persecutors of Christi- anity . . . . . . . . 255 Gallienus alone (A.D. 260) .... 255 Aurelian (A.D. 271-275)............ 256 Paul of Samosata....................256 CHAPTER IX. THE PERSECUTION UNDER DIOCLESIAN. Peace of the Christians (A.D. 284) . . . 257 Progress of Christianity.....................257 Relaxation of Christian Morals . . . 257 “ of Christian Charity . . . 257 Dioclesian . . . . . . . 258 Change in the State of the Empire . . 258 Neglect of Rome ...... 258 Religion of Dioclesian .... 259 New Paganism . . . . . 259 Worship of the Sun...........................260 Sentiments of the Philosophic Party . . 260 Deliberations concerning Christianity . . 261 Council summoned by Dioclesian . . . 261 Edict of Persecution . . . . .261 '* “ its Publication . . 261 Page Edict of Persecution, its Execution in Nico- media....................................262 “ “ torn down . . . 262 Fire in the Palace at Nicomedia . . . 262 The Persecution becomes general . . . 263 IllneSs and Abdication of Dioclesian (A.D. 304) 264 General Misery..............................264 Galerius, emperor of the East . . 264 Maximin Daias...............................264 Maxentius................................. 264 Constantine . 264 Sufferings of the Christians .... 265 Edict of Galerius (A.D. 311, April 30) . . 265 Conduct of Maximin in the East . . . 266 Maximin hostile to Christianity . . . 266 Reorganization of Paganism .... 267 Persecutions in the Dominions of Maximin . 267 The Pagans appeal to the flourishing State of the East in support of their Religion . . 267 Reverse ....................................268 Tyranny of Maximin..........................268 War with Armenia............................268 Famine . 268 Pestilence..................................268 Maximin retracts his persecuting Edict . . 269 Death of Maximin............................269 The new Paganism falls with Maximin . . 269 Rebuilding of the Church of Tyre . . .269 BOOK III. CHAPTER I. CONSTANTINE. Reign of Constantine.........................271 Change in the Empire.........................271 Degradation of Rome..........................271 Unity of the Empire still preserved . . .271 New Nobility . . '....................272 State of the Religion of Rome . . . 272 Motives for the Conversion of Constantine . 272 Revival of Zoroastrianism .... 273 Restoration of the Persian Monarchy by Ardes- chir Babhegan . . . . . 274 Restoration of the Religion of Zoroaster . 274 Vision of Erdiviraph . . . . 271 Intolerance of the Magian Hierarchy . . 274 Destruction of Christianity in Persia . . 275 Connexion of the Throne and the Hierarchy . 275 Armenia the first Christian Kingdom . . 275 Gregory the Illuminator ..... 276 Murder of Khosrov . . . . . . 276 Tiridates, king of Armenia .... 276 Persecution of Gregory ..... 277 Conversion of the King...................277 Persecution by the Christians . . . 277 Manicheism . . . ' . . . . 277 Mani ■................................... . 277 “ various Sources of his Doctrines . . 277 “ his Paintings . . . . . . 278 “ his Life and Opinions . . .. .279 “ his Death...........................282 “ Propagation of his Religion . . .282 Triumph of Christianity..................283 Numbers of the Christians . . .283 Different State of. the East with regard to the Propagation of Christianity .... 284 “ “ of the West .... 284 End of the Persecutors of Christianity . . 285 War of Constantine against Maxentius . 285 Religion of Maxentius . . . , . 285 His Paganism . . . . . . . 286 Religion of Constantine . . . . . 287 Vision of Constantine . , . 287Xvl CONTENTS. Conduct of Constantine after his Victory over Maxentius.............................. Edict .of Constantine from Milan . Earlier Laws of .Constantine .... Sanctity of the Sunday..................... Law against Divination . . . . . Constantine’s Encouragement of Christianity Churches in Rome........................... Dissensions of Christianity .... Donatism................................... The Christian Hierarchy different from the Pagan Priesthood ...... The Traditors.....................’ Contest for the See of Carthage Appeal to the Civil Power . Council of Rome............................ Donatists persecuted....................... The Circumcellions......................... Passion for Martyrdom...................... Page 288 289 289 289 *290 290 290 291 291 291 292 292 293 293 294 295 295 CHAPTER II. ‘ CONSTANTINE BECOMES SOLE EMPEROR. The East still Pagan..........................296 Clerical Order recognised by the Law . . 297 Exemption from the Decu donate . . . 297 Wars with Licinius............................297 Licinius becomes more decidedly Pagan . 298 Battle of Hadrianopie (A.D. 323) . . .299 Conduct of Constantine to his Enemies . . 299 Crispus, son oi Constantine .... 300 Death of Crispus (April, A.D. 326) . . . 300 Death of Fausta ..............................300 Pagan Account of the Death of Crispus . . 301 Page Conduct of the Arian Prelates in Antioch A.D. 328)........................... . 318 Athanasius ..................................319 Charges against Athanasius . . . .319 Synod of Tyre (A.D. 335) , . . . .320 Athanasius in Constantinople . . . 320 New Accusations..............................320 Death of Sopater, the Philosopher . . .321 Banishment of Athanasius to Treves (A.D, 336, February).................................321 Arius in Constantinople......................321 Death of Arius...............................321 Baptism of Constantine.......................322 Extent to which Paganism was suppressed . 322 Legal Establishment of Christianity . . 321 Effects of this on the Religion . . .321 “ “ Civil Power . . .321 How far the Religion of the Empire . . 321 Effect of the legal Establishment of Christian- ity on Society...........................325 Laws relating to Sundays .... 325 “ tending to Humanity .... 325 “ concerning Slavery .... 326 “ against Rape and Abduction . . . 326 “ against Adultery..................326 “ concerning Divorce .... 327 “ against Paederasty................327 “ against making of Eunuchs . . .327 “ favourable to Celibacy .... 327 Burial of Constantine .... 328 Conversion of ^Ethiopia......................329 “ of the Iberians .... 329 CHAPTER V. CHAPTER III. FOUNDATION OF CONSTANTINOPLE. Rise of Constantinople favourable to Christi- anity .....................................303 Constantinople a Christian City . . . 303 Building of the City . . . . . 303 Ceremonial of the Foundation . . .304 Statue of Constantine.......................305 Progress of Christianity....................305 The Amphitheatre............................306 Ancient Temples ............................306 Basilicas .... . . . . . . 307 Relative Position of Christianity and Paganism 308 Temples suppressed ..... 308 Christianity at Jerusalem .... 308 Churches built in Palestine .... 309 CHAPTER IV. TRINITARIAN CONTROVERSY.. Origin of the Controversy .... 310 Constant Struggle between the intellectual and devotional Conception of the Deit.y .311 Controversy commences at Alexandrea . .312 Noetus . 312 Sabellianism................................312 Trinitarianism . 312 Alexander, patriarch of Alexandrea . . .313 Arius .................................... 313 ' Letter of Constantine.....................314 Council of Nice (A D. 325) . . . .315 Controversy about keeping Easter . . .315 Number of Bishops present .... 315 First Meetings of the Council . . 316 Behaviour of Constantine . 316 Nice.ne Creed . . . 316 Five Recusants . . . . . 317 Banishment of Arius . * . 317 Change in the Opinions of Constantine . .317 Eusebius of Nicomedia.......................318 CHRISTIANITY UNDER THE SONS OF CONSTANTINE. Accession of the Sons of Constantine . ■ .329 Religious Differences of the two surviving Sons 330 Moral more slow than Religious Revolution . 330 Athanasius ..................................331 Restoration of Athanasius to Alexandrea (A.D. 338)..................................... 332 Council of.Antioch (A.D.341) . . . 332 Athanasius flies to Rome .... 332 Usurpation of Gregory........................333 Bloody Quarrel at Constantinople . . . 333 Effects of the Trinitarian Controversy in the West . . . *....................333 Athanasius at Rome...........................334 Julius, bishop of Rome ... . 334 Synod at Rome : at Milan (A.D. 343) . . 334 Council of Sardica (A.D. 345, 346) . . . 334 Rival Council at Philippopolis . . . 334 Reconciliation of Constantius with Athanasius (A.D. 349)............................... 334 Persian War..................................335 Death of Constans............................335 War with Magnentius (A.D. 351) . . .335 Battle of Mursa..............................335 Paul deposed from the Bishopric of Constanti- nople : Macedonius reinstated . . . 335 Councils of Arles and Milan . . . .336 Persecution of Liberius, bishop of Rome . 336 New Charges against Athanasius . . .336 Council of Milan.............................336 Fall of Liberius.............................337 “ of Hosius...............................337 Reception of Constantius at Rome . . . 337 Orders to remove Athanasius .... 337 Tumult in the Church of Alexandrea . . 338 George of Cappadocia . . . 338 Escape and Retreat of Athanasius . . 339 Hilary of Poictiers . . . . . . 339 Lucifer of Cagliari . . 340 Mutual Accusations of Cruelty . 340 Athanasius as a Writer - . . , 341C O N T Page Necessity of Creeds during the succeeding __^ 0X0 Centuries.................................342 influence of the Athanasian Controversy on the Growth of the Papal Power . . . 342 Superiority of Arianism . . . • . . 343 Heresy of Aetius . . . . . . 343 “ of Macedonius..........................343 Council of Rimini ...... 344 CHAPTER VI. JULIAN. Short Reign of Julian (A.D. 361-363) . . 345 His Character................................345 His Religion.................................346 Unfavourable State of Christianity . . . 347 Julian’s Education . . . . . . 347 “ Intercourse with the Philosophers . 348 Conduct of Constantius towards him . . 349 Julian at Athens.............................349 “ initiated at Eleusis .... 349 Julian’s Elevation to the rank of Csesar . . 350 Death of Constantius . . . . . . 350 Conduct of Julian............................350 Restoration of Paganism......................351 Julian’s new Priesthood......................352 “ charitable Institutions imitated from Christianity . 353 Julian’s Ritual..............................353 “ Respect for Temples .... 353 “ Plan of Religious Instruction . . 353 “ animal Sacrifices . . . . 353 Philosophers ................................354 Maximus . . 354 /ulian’s Toleration..........................355 “ sarcastic Tone.........................355 “ Taunts of the Christians’ Professions of Poverty.............................. 355 Julian’s Withdrawal of their Privileges . . 356 Exclusion of them from public Education . 356 Education of the higher Classes . . . 356 Arts of Julian to undermine Christianity . 357 Persecutions............................... 357 Restoration of Temples.......................357 Julian contends on ill-chosen Ground . . 358 Constantinople. Antioch .... 358 Julian at Antioch............................358 Temple on Mount Casius. Grove of Daphne 359 Remains of Babylas ..... 359 Fire in the new-built Temple .... 359 Alexandrea ..................................359 George, the Arian Bishop .... 359 His Death 360 Athanasius . . . . . . . 360 Death of Mark of Arethusa . . . .361 Julian courts the Jews.......................361 “ determines to rebuild the Temple at Je- rusalem ............................ 361 Writings of Julian ..... .362 His Work against Christianity . . . 362 The “ Misopogon”.............................363 Julian sets forth on his Persian Expedition . 363 Death of Julian..............................363 Probable Results of his Conflict with Christi- anity ....................................364 CHAPTER VII. VALENTINIAN AND VALENS. Lamentations of the Pagans at the Death of Julian.......................................364 Reign of Jovian . . . . . . 365 Valentinian and Valens.......................365 Toleration of Valentinian (A.D. 364) . . 365 Laws of Valentinian..........................365 Persecutions for Magic .... 365 E N T S. xvii Pa^a Cruelty of Valentinian ..... 366 Trials in Rome before M aximin . . . 360 Connexion of these crimes with Paganism . 367 Rebellion of Procopius in the East (A.D. 365) 367 State of Christianity in the East . . . 369 Interview of Valens with Basil . . . 370 Effects of Christianity in mitigating the Evils of Barbarism................................37Q Influence of the Clergy........................371 Their Importance in the new State of Things 371 Influence of Christianity on Literature . . 371 “ “ on Language . . 372 “ “ on the Municipal In- stitutions . . . . . . . 372 Influence of Christianity on general Habits . 372 Early Christianity among the Goths . • . 373 Ulphilas’s Version of the Scriptures . . 373 Arianism of the Goths ..... 374 CHAPTER VIII. THEODOSIUS. ABOLITION OF PAGANISM. Hostility of Theodosius to Paganism . . 375 Alienation of the Revenue of the Temples . 376 Oration of Libanius . . . . . 377 Syrian Temples destroyed . . . . 377 Temple of Serapis at Alexandrea . . . 377 Worship of Serapis.............................378 Statue of Serapis..............................378 The first Attacks on Paganism . . . 378 Olympus the Philosopher .... 378 War in the City.............................. 379 Flight of Olympus............................ 379 Rescript of Theodosius . . . . 379 The Temple assailed . . . . . 379 The Statue .................................. 379 Paganism at Rome ..............................381 Gratian Emperor (A.D. 367) . . . .381 “ refuses the Pontificate . . . 382 Statue of Victory..............................382 Apology of Symmachus ..... 384 Reply of Ambrose...............................384 Murder of Valentinian (A.D. 392) . . . 38-4 Accession of Eugenius . . „ . . 385 Law of Honorius................................386 Capture of Rome by Alaric ... . . 38^ CHAPTER IX THEODOSIUS. TRIUMPH OF TRINITARIANISM. THE. GREAT PRELATES OF THE EAST. Orthodoxy of Theodosius . . . 388 Laws against Heretics (A.D. 380) . . . 388 All the more powerful ecclesiastical Writers fa- vourable to Trinitarianism .... 389 Theophilus of Alexandrea, Bishop (A.D. 385- 412).................................389 St. Ephrem, the Syrian . . . . . 290 Cappadocia.............................391 St. Basil . ...... 391 Gregory of Nazianzum . . . . . 392 His Poems . . • . . . . . 392 Characteristic Difference between Greek and Christian Poetry . . . . . . 392 Value of Gregory’s Poems .... 393 Gregory, bishop of Sasima (A.D. 372) . . 393 Gregory, bishop of Constantinople A.D. 339- 379) . . . .■ . „ . .393 Chrysostom . -.......................395 “ his Life ... . . 395 Riots in Antioch . . . . . 397 Intercession of Flavianus for the Rioters . 397 Sentence of Theodosius . . . . . 398 Issue of the Interview of Flavianus with the Emperor.............................. 398 Chrysostom, bishop of Constantinople (A.D. . 398).................................. 399xviii CONTENTS. Difference of the Sacerdotal Power in Rome and Constantinople....................... Political Difficulties of Chrysostom . Interference of the Clergy in secular Affairs . Eutropius the Eunuch...................... Right of Asylum . • • . ♦ Chrysostom saves the Life of Eutropius “ is governed by his Deacon Sera- pion..................................... Cheophilus.of Alexandrea . Council of the Oak........................ Condemnation of Chrysostom He leaves Constantinople . . . • Earthquake............................ Return of Chrysostom...................... Statue of the Empress..................... Second Condemnation of Chrysostom Tumults in the Church (AD. 404) . Chrysostom surrenders..................... His Seclusion and Death . • # His Remains transported to Constantinople . 399 399 399 400 400 401 401 402 402 403 403 403 403 404 404 404 405 405 405 CHAPTER X. THE GREAT PRELATES OF THE WEST. Ambrose, archbishop of Milan “ his Youth........................... “ is made bishop (A.D. 374) “ an Advocate of Celibacy . “ his Redemption of Captives “ disputes with the Empress Justina . “ compels the Emperor to yield . “ his second Embassy to the Usurper Maximus . ....................... Accession of Theodosius (A. D. 338) Jewish Synagogue destroyed .... Conduct of Ambrose........................ Massacre of Thessalonica (A.D. 390) First Capital Punishment for 'Religion (A.D. 385) . ....................... Priscilhan and his Followers .... Martin of Tours .... Death of Valentinian (A.D. 392) “ of Theodosius (A.D. 395) “ of Ambrose (A.D. 397) .... Augustine................................. Augustinian Theology...................... Augustine’s Baptism (A.D. 387) “ controversial Writings . “ •* City of God” “ Life and Character 406 406 407 407 407 408 409 410 411 411 411 412 412 412 413 413 413 413 413 414 417 418 418 419 CHAPTER XI. JEROME. THE MONASTIC SYSTEM. Jerome...................... Monachism .... Ccenobitism . Origin of Monachism Celibacy....................- - Causes which tended to promote Monachism . Antony . Daemonology Self-torture ; • • Influence of Antony . Ccsnobitic Establishments Dangers of Ccenobitism . Bigotry . ; Fanaticism . Ignorance ......................... : . - General Effects of Monachism on Christianity ■ a ■ “ “ on Political Af- tairs............................... Some of its Advantages .... Effect on the Maintenance of Christianity Influence on the Clergy “ in promoting Celibacy 420 422 422 422 423 423 424 425 426 426 427 427 428 428 428 429 , 429 430 430 , 431 432 Life of Jerome .... Trials in his Retreat His classical Studies His Return to Rome Morality of the Roman Clergy Jerome’s Influence over the Females Character of Roman Females Paula.............................. Controversies of Jerome . Retreat to Palestine . Jovinian and Vigilantius . Vigilantius . ras* . 433 . 433 . 433 . 434 . 434 . 434 . 435 1 . 435 . 435 . 435 . 436 . 437 BOOKIV. CHAPTER I. TIIE ROMAN EMPIRE UNDER CHRISTIANITY. General Survey of the Change effected by Christianity . Sources of Information Theodosian Code Christian Writers Slavery . Manners of the Court Government of Eunuchs The Emperor . The Aristocracy Their Manners The Females . . - - Gradual Development of the Hierarchical Pow- Priesthood Expulsion or Excommunication Increase of Priestly Civil Influence The Bishop in the early Community Dissensions in the Church the cause of Increase of Sacerdotal Power . Language of the Old Testament Clergy and Laity Change in the Mode of electing the Metropolitan Bishops Formation of the Diocese. . Chorepiscopi ...» Archbishops and Patriarchs Church of Rome New sacred Offices . Unity of the Church General Councils Increase in Pomp Wealth of the Clergy Uses to which it was applied . . - - Law of Constantine empowering the Church to receive Bequests . • Restrictive Edict of Valentinian Pope Damasus Application of Church Wealth Celibacy of the Clergy Married Bishops and Clergy . Moral Consequences of Celibacy Mulieres subintroductse . Union of Church and State . . - The State under Ecclesiastical Discipline Divorce . Wills ... Penitential Discipline Excommunication . Ecclesiastical Censures chiefly confined to Her- esy ...••••• « “ executed by the state Civil Punishment for Ecclesiastical Offences . Objects of the great Defenders of the Hierar- chical Power . . • • • . • Dignity and Advantages of the Clerical Station General Influence of the Clergy . 438 438 438 438 438 439 439 439 440 440 441 442 443 443 444 444 445 445 446 446 446 446 447 447 448 448- 448 449 450 450 450 451 451 451 452 453 453 454 454 456 456 457 457 458 459 460 460 460 461 461 462CHAPTER II. PUBLIC SPECTACLES. Public Spectacles................. Religious Ceremonial . Divisions of the Church . ... The Porch......................... The Penitents.................' . The Narthex....................... The. Preacher..................... Secrecy of the Sacraments Baptism........................... Eucharist ...... Christian Funerals................ Worship of the Martyrs .... Festivals....................... Profane Spectacles . . . . . Heathen Calendar.................. The Theoretica.................... Four Kinds of Spectacles Gymnastic Games................... Tragedy and Comedy .... Mimes............................. Pantomimes ...... Amphitheatre. Gladiatorial Shows The Circus. Chariot Races . CHAPTER III CHRISTIAN LITERATURE. Fate of Greek Literature and Language “ Roman Literature and Language Christian Literature . Poetry ........................... Sacred Writings . . . . liege nds ....... Spurious Gospels , Lives of Saints . History Apologies Hermeneutics . „ » • ' • Expositions of Faith Fas* . 483 Polemical Writings . 483 Christian Oratory . 483 CHAPTER IV. CHRISTIANITY AND THE FINE ARTS. Fine Arts Architecture . 486 Windows • . . 486 Subdivisions of the Church .486 Sculpture . . . ’ . . 487 Symbolism ..... . 489 Person of the Saviour . 490 Earliest Images Gnostic . . 492 Earliest Portraits of the Saviour . 492 The Father rarely represented . 493 The Virgin . . . . 493 The Apostles . 494 Martyrdom not represented . 494 The Crucifix . 495 Paintings at Nola .... . 495 Music CHAPTER V. CONCLUSION. Christian Theology of the Period . . 498 Separation of Christian Faith and Christian Morals never complete . . 499 Christian Feelings never extinct . 499 Mythic Age of Christianity . 500 Faith Imaginative State of the Human Mind . 500 The Clergy . . • . 50 i Religious Impressions . 50 i Effect on Natural Philosophy . . 50! Polytheistic Form of Christianity . . 502 Worship of Saints and Angels . 503 w of the Virgin . . , 5-94 ra*e 462 463 463 464 464 464 464 465 466 466 46? 468 468 470 471 471 473 473 473 474 474 475 477 478 478 478 479 479 481 481 481 481 482 482HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTION.-STATE AND VARIOUS FORMS OF PAGAN RELIGION, AND OF PHILOSOPHY. The reign of Augustus Caesar is the of most remarkable epoch in the his- Augustus tory of mankind. For the first1 CjBsar. tjme> a large part of the families,1 tribes, and nations, into which the human race had gradually separated, were united under a vast, uniform, and apparently per- manent social system. The older Asi- atic empires had, in general, owed their rise to the ability and success bf some ad- venturous conqueror; and, when the mas- ter-hand was withdrawn, fell asunder, or were swept away to make room for some new kingdom or dynasty, which sprang up with equal rapidity, and in its turn ex- perienced the same fate. The Grecian monarchy established by Alexander, as! though it shared in the Asiatic principle of vast and sudden growth and as rapid de- cay, broke up at his death into several conflicting kingdoms ; yet survived in its influence, and united, in some degrep, Western Asia, Egypt, and Greece into one political system, in which the Greek lan- guage and manners predominated. But the monarchy of Rome was founded on principles as yet unknown ; the kingdoms, which were won by the most unjustifiable aggression, were, for the most part, gov- erned with a judicious union of firmness and conciliation, in which the conscious strength of irresistible power was temper- ed with the wisest respect to national usages. The Romans conquered like sav- ages, but ruled like philosophic states- men.* Till, frrm the Euphrates to the Atlantic, from t\ e shores of Britain, and the borders of tl $ German forests, to the sands of the At icari Desert, the whole Western world w is consolidated into one ♦ On the capture of city, promiscuous massacre was the general order, which descended even to brute animals, until a certain signal.—Polyb., x., 15. As to the latter point, I mean, of course, the general policy, not the local tyranny, which was so often exercised by the individual provincial governor. great commonwealth, united by the bonds of law and government, by facilities of communication and commerce, and by the general dissemination of the Greek and Latin languages. For civilization followed in the train of Roman conquest: the feroci- Roman civ- ty of her martial temperament Nation, seemed to have spent itself in the civil wars : the lava flood of her ambition had cooled; and, wherever it had spread, a rich and luxuriant vegetation broke forth. At least down to the time of the Anto- nines, though occasionally disturbed by the contests which arose on the change of dynasties, the rapid progress of im- ! provement was by no means retarded Diverging from Rome as a centre, mag nificent and commodious roads connected the most remote countries; the free nav- igation of the Mediterranean united the most flourishing cities of the empire ; the military colonies had disseminated the language and manners of the South in the most distant regions; the wealth and pop- ulation of the African and Asiatic provin- ces had steadily increased; while, amid the forests of Gaul, the morasses of Brit- ain, the sierras of Spain, flourishing cities arose ; and the arts, the luxuries, the or- der, and regularity of cultivated life were introduced into regions which, a short time before, had afforded a scanty and pre- carious subsistence, to tribes scarcely ac- quainted with agriculture. The frontiers of civilization seemed gradually to ad- vance, and to drive back the still-receding barbarism ;* while within the pale, nation- al distinctions were dying away; all tribes and races met amicably in the general re- lation of Roman subjects or citizens, and * Quse sparsa congregaret imperia, ritnsque molli- ret, et tot populorum discordes ferasque linguas ser monis commercio contraheret ad colloquia, et hv manitatem homini daret.—Plin., Nat. Hist., iii., 522 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. mankind seemed settling down into one great federal society.* About this point of time Christianity ap- *ppearance peared. As Rome had united jf christi- the whole Western world into army. onej as it might almost seem, lasting social system, so Christianity was the first religion which aimed at a uni- versal and permanent moral conquest. The older The religions of* the older world religions. were content with their domin- ion over the particular people which were their several votaries. * Family, tribal, national deities were universally recog- nised ; and, as their gods accompanied the migrations or the conquests of different nations, their worship was extended over a wider surface, but rarely propagated among the subject races. To drag in tri- umph the divinities of a vanquished peo- ple was the last and most' insulting mark of subjugation.f Yet, though the gods of the conquerors had thus manifested their superiority, and, in some cases, the sub- ject nation might be inclined to desert their inefficient protectors, who had been found wanting in the hour of trial, still the god- head even of the defeated divinities was not denied : though their power could not withstand the mightier tutelar deity of the invaders, yet their right to a seat in the crowded synod of heaven, and their rank among the intermediate rulers of the world, was not called in question.J The con- queror might indeed take delight in show- ing his contempt, and, as it were, tram- pling under foot the rebuked and impotent deities of his subject; and thus religious persecution be inflicted by the oppressor, and religious fanaticism excited among the oppressed. Yet, if the temple was des- ecrated, the altar thrown down, the priest- hood degraded or put to the sword, this was done in the fierceness of hostility or the insolence of pride or from policy, * “Unum esse reipubliese corpus, atque unius animo regendum.” Such was the argument of Asinius Gallus, Tac., Ann., i., 12. f Tot de diis, quot de gentibus triumphi. Ter- tullian.' Compare Isaiah, xlvi., 1, and Gesenius’s note. Jerv, xlvin., ? ; xlix.,3. Hos.,x.,5,6. Dan., xi., 8. i There is a curious passage in Lydus de Osten- tis, a book which probably contains some parts of the ancient ritual of Rome. A certain aspect of a comet not merely foretold victory, but the passing over of the hostile gods to the side of the Romans: teal avra de ra d-ela KaTaketyovoi rovg noTie^iovg, &OT8 hi izepicoov Trpocjred^vat rolg vuirjralg Lydus, de Ostentis, lib. 12. $ Such was the conduct of Cambyses in Egypt. Xerxes had, before his Grecian invasion, shown the proud intolerance of his disposition, in destroying the deities of the Babylonians, and slaying their priesthood (Herod., i., 183, and Arrian, vii , 19); though, in this case, the rapacity which fatally in- lest the religion should become the rally- ing-pojnt of civil independence :* rarely, if ever, for the purpose of extirpating a false, or supplanting it by a true, system of belief; perhaps in no instance with the design of promulgating the tenets of a more pure and perfect religion. A wiser policy commenced with Alexan- Policy of der. The deities of the conquer- Alexander; ed nations were treated with uniform rev- erence, the sacrilegious plunder of their temples punished with exemplary severi- ty.! According to the Grecian system, their own gods were recognised in those of Egypt and Asia; they were called by Grecian names,J and worshipped with the accustomed offerings; and thus all reli- gious differences between Macedonian, and Syrian, and Egyptian, and Persian at once vanished away. On the same prin- ciple, and wflth equal sagacity, ofRome Rome, in this as in other respects, 0 ome' aspired to enslave the mind of those na- tions which had been prostrated by her arms. The gods of the subject nations were treated with every mark of respect: sometimes they were admitted within the walls of the conqueror, as though to ren- der their allegiance, and rank themselves in peaceful subordination under the su- preme divinity of the Roman Gradivus, or the Jupiter of the Capitol till, at length, they all met in the amicable synod of the Pantheon, a representative assembly, as it were, of the presiding deities of all na- tions, in Rome, the religious as well as the civil capital of the world.|| The state, as duced him to pillage and desecrate the temples of Greece may have combined with his natural arro- gance—Herod., viii , 53. # * This was most likely the principle of the hor- rible persecution of the Jews by Antiochus Epiph anes, though a kind of heathen bigotry seems to have mingled with his strange character.-—1 Macc , i., 41, et seqq. 2 Macc., vi. Diod. Sic, xxxiv., ]. Hist, of the dews, vol. ii., p. 37. + Arrian, lib. vi., p. 431, 439 (edit. Amst., 1668) Polyb., v., 10. t Arrian, lib. iii., p. 158; vii., p. 464 and 486 Some Persian traditions, perhaps, represent Alex- ander as a religious persecutor; but these are of no authority against the direct statement of the Greek historians. The Indian religious usages, and the conduct of some of their faquirs, excited the won- der of the Greeks. (} Solere Romanos Deos omnes urbium superh- tarum parlim privatim per familias spargere, par- tim publice consecrare.—Arnob., iii., 38. It was a grave charge against Marcellus, that, by plundering the temples in Sicily, he had made the state an object of jealousy (hi Beaufort’s Republique Romaine, b. i., ch. 5. Compare the recent and valuable work of Walter, Geschichte des Rbmischen Rec.hts, p. 177. || Et tauten ante omnes Martem coluere priores, Hoc dederat studiis bellica turba suis. After reciting the national deities of other cities, the religious poet of Rome proceeds, Mars Latio venerandus erat; quia prsesidet armis, Arina ferae gcnti remque decusque dabant. ' Ovid, Fasti, iii., 79. The month of Mars began the year.—Ibid. 11 Compare the proportion of Roman and of reli- gious legend in the Fasti of Ovid. See, likewise, Constant, I., 21, &c. ■ possessed a kind of sanctity; the eagle was, in fact, a shrine.* The altar had its place in the centre of the camp, as the ark of God in that of the Israelites. The Triumph may be considered as the great religious ceremony of the nation ; the god Terminus, who never receded, was, as it were, the deified ambition of Rome. At length Rome itself was impersonated and assumed her rank in heaven, as it were the representative of the all-conquering and all-ruling republic. There was a stronger moral element in the Roman religion than in that Moral cle_ of Greece.f In Greece the gods mem of* had been represented, in their col- t religion iective capacity, as the avengers of great crimes ; a kind of general retribu tive justice was assigned to them ; they guarded the sanctity of oaths. But, in the better days of the republic, Rome had, as it were, deified her own virtues. Tem- ples arose to Concord, to Faith, to Con- stancy, to Modesty (Pudor), to Hope. The Penates, the household deities, be- came the guardians of domestic happi- ness. Venus Verticordia presided over the purity of domestic morals,J and Jupi- ter Stator over courage. But the true national character of the Roman theology is most remarkably shown in the various temples, and various attributes assigned to the good Fortune of the city, who might appear the Deity of Patriotism.$ Even Peace was at length received among the gods of Rome. And as long as the wor- ship of the heart continued to sanctify these impersonations of human virtues, their adoration tended to maintain thb lofty moral tone ; but, as soon as that was withdrawn, or languished into apa- thy, the deities became cold abstractions, without even that reality which might ap- pear to attach itself to the other gods of the city : their temples stood, their rites were perhaps solemnized, but they had ceased to command, and no longer re- ceived the active veneration of the peo- ple. What,- in fact, is the general result of the Roman religions calendar, half a year of which is described in the Fasti of Ovid 1 There are festivals founded on old * fO yap aeroc 6vop.a<7jLievo(; (earl ds vec,>c fufcpog) teat ev avrcp asrog xpvcrove htbpvrac, Dion. Cassius, xl., c. 18. Gibbon, i., 7. Moyle's Works, ii., 86. Compare Tac., Ann , L, 39. t The distinction between the Roman and Greek religions is drawn with singular felicity in the two supplemental (in my opinion the most valuable and original), but, unfortunately, unfinished volumes of M.’ Constant, Du Polytheisme Romain. X The most virtuous woman in Rome was cho- sen to dedicate her statue. Val. Max., viii . 15. § Constant, i., 16.28 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Ita lian and on picturesque Grecian legends; others commemorative of the great events of the heroic days of the republic ; others instituted in base flattery of the ruling dy- nasty ; one ceremonial only, that of the Manes,* which relates to the doctrine of another life, and that preserved, as it were, from pride, and as a memorial of older times. Nothing can show more strongly the nationality of the Roman religion, and its almost complete transmutation from a moral into a political power, f Amid all this labyrinth, we behold the Religion of sacred secret of the Divine Unity the Jews, preserved inviolate, though some- times under the most adverse circumstan- ces, and, as it were, perpetually hovering on the verge of extinction, in one narrow district of the world, the province of Palestine. Nor is it there the recondite treasure of a high and learned caste, or he hardly worked-out conclusion of the ,hiiiking and philosophical few, but the plain and distinct groundwork of the pop- ular creed. Still, even there, as though in its earlier period, the yet undeveloped mind of man was unfit for the reception, or, at least, for the preservation of this doctrine, in its perfect spiritual purity; as though the Deity condescended to the capacities of the age, and it were impossible for the Divine nature to maintain its place in the mind of man without some visible repre- sentative ; a kind of symbolic worship still enshrines the one great God of the Mosaic religion. There is a striking analogy between the Shechinahf or lumi- nous appearance which “ dwelt between the cherubim,’’ and the pure, immaterial fire of the Theism, which approaches nearest to the Hebrew, that of the early Persians. Yet even here likewise is found the great indelible distinction be- tween the religion of the ancient and of the modern world ; the characteristic which, besides the general practice of propitiating the Deity, usually by animal * ii, 533. The Lemuria (Remuria) were insti- tuted to appease the shade of Rerrms, v., 451, &c. Ovid applies on another occasion his general maxim, A Pro magna teste vetustas Creditur : acceptam parce movere fidem. Fasti, iv., 203. f See the fine description of Majestas (Fasti, v., 25-52), who becomes, at the end, the tutelar deity of the senate and matrons, and presides over the triumphs of Rome. t Even if the notion of a visible Shechinah was of a later period (note to Iieber’s Bampton Lectures, p. 278), God was universally believed to have a lo- cal and personal residence behind the veil, in the unapproachable Holy of Holies ; and the imagina- tion would thus be even more powerfully excited than by a visible symbol. sacrifices, universally prevails in the prag Christian ages. The physical predomi * nates over the moral character of the Deity. God is Power in the old God under religion, he is Love under the the old and new. Nor does his pure and Jfei01111ew Re~ essential spirituality, in the more lgl0n* complete faith of the Gospel, attach itself to, or exhibit itself under any form. “ God,” says the divine author of Christianity, “ is a Spirit, and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.” In the early Jewish worship, it was the phys- ical power of the Deity which was pre- sented to the mind of the worshipper : he was their temporal king, the dispenser of earthly blessings, famine and plenty, drought and rain, discomfiture or success in war. The miracles recorded in the Old Testament, particularly in the earlier books, are amplifications, as it were, or new directions of the powers of nature; as if the object were to show that the deities of other nations were but subordi- nate and obedient instruments in the hand of the great self-existent. Being, the Jeho- vah of Jewish worship. Yet, when it is said that the physical rather than the moral character of the Deity predominated, it must not be suppo- sed that the latter was altogether exclu- ded. * It is impossible entirely to dissoci- ate the notion of moral government from that belief, or that propensity to believe in the existence of a God, implanted in the human mind; and religion was too useful an ally not to be called in to confirm the consciously imperfect authority of human law. But it may be laid, down as a prin- ciple, that the nearer the nation approach- es to barbarism, the childhood of the hu- man race, the more earthly are the con- ceptions of the Deity; the moral aspect of the Divine nature seems gradually to develop itself with the development of the human mind. It is at first, as in Egypt and India, the prerogative of the higher class; the vulgar are left to their stocks and their stones, their animals and their reptiles. In the republican states of Greece, the intellectual aristocracy of the philosophers, guarded by no such legally established distinction, rarely dared open- ly to assert their superiority; but conceal- ed their more extended views behind a prudential veil, as a secret or esoteric doctrine, and by studious conformity to the national rites and ceremonies. Gradually, however, as the period ap- proaches in which the religion Preparation of civilization is to be introdu- {^on huhe1 ced into the great drama of hu- heathen e man life, as we descend nearer worldHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. n towards the point of separation between the ancient and modern world, the human mind appears expanding. Polytheism is evidently relaxing its hold upon all class- es : the monarch maintains his throne, not from the deep-rooted, or rational, or con- scientious loyalty of his subjects, but from the want of a competitor; because man- kind were habituated to a government which the statesman thought it might be dangerous, and the philosopher, enjoying, perfect toleration, and rather proud of his distinctive superiority than anxious to propagate his opinions throughout the world, did not think it worth while, at the hazard of popular odium, to disturb. Judaism gave manifest indications of a Among the preparation for a more essential- Jews. ly spiritual, more purely' moral faith. The symbolic presence of the Dei- ty (according to their own tradition)* ceased with the temple of Solomon; and the heathen world beheld with astonish- ment a whole race whose Deity was rep- resented under no visible form or likeness. The conqueror Pompey, who enters the violated temple, is filled with wonder at finding the sanctuary without image or emblem of the presiding Deity ;f the poet describes them as worshipping nothing but the clouds and the divinity that fills the heaven the philosophic historian, whose profounder mind seems struggling with hostile prejudices, defines, with his own inimitable compression of language, the doctrine, to the sublimity of which he has closed his eyes. “The worship of the Jews is purely mental; they acknowl- edge but one God, and that God supreme and eternal, neither changeable nor per- ishable.”^ The doctrine of another life (which derived no sanction from the Law, and was naturally obscured by the more immediate and intelligible prospect of temporal rewards and punishments) dawns in the prophetic writings; and from the apocryphal books and from Josephus, as well as from the writings of the New Testament, clearly appears to have be- come incorporated with the general senti- ment. Retribution in another life has al- ready taken the place of the immediate or speedy avenging or rewarding providence of the Deity in the land of Canaan.|| Judaism, however, only required to ex- * Hist, of the Jews, ii., 11. f lb., ii., 73. $ Nil prater nubes et coeli numen adorant.—Juv., xiv., 97. § Judaei ment.e sola, unumque numen intelligent. * * * Summum illud et setemum, neque mutabile, neque interiturum.—Tac , Hist., v., 5. 11 See Chap ii,, in which this question is resu- med. pand with the expansion of the Expansion human mind ; its sacred records of Judaism, had preserved, in its original simplicity, the notion of the Divine Power; the preg nant definitions of the one great self-ex- isting Being, the magnificent poetical am plifications of his might and providence were of all ages • they were eternal poe- try, because they were eternal truth. If the moral aspect of the Divine nature was more obscurely intimated, and, in this re- spect, had assumed the character of a lo- cal or national Deity, whose love was confined to the chosen people, and dis- played itself chiefly in the beneficence of a temporal sovereign, yet nothing was needed but to give a higher and more ex- tensive sense to those types and shadows of universal wisdom ; an improvement which the tendency of the age manifestly required, and which the Jews themselves, especially the Alexandrean school, had al- ready attempted, by allegorizing the whole annals of their people, and extracting a profound moral meaning from all the cir- cumstances of their extraordinary his- tory.* But the progress of knowledge was fatal to the popular religion of Greece Effects of and Rome. The awe-struck im- agination of the older race, which uporTpo^f- had listened with trembling be-.theism, lief to the wildest fables, the deep feeling of the sublime and the beautiful, which, uniting with national pride, had assembled adoring multitudes before the Parthenon or the Jove of Phidias, now gave place to cold and sober reason. Poetry had been religion, religion was becoming mere po- etry. Humanizing the Deity, and bring- ing it too near the earth, naturally produ- ced, in a less imaginative and more re- flecting age, that familiarity which de- stroys respect. When man became more acquainted with his own nature, the less was he satisfied with deities cast in his own mould. In some respects . the advancement of civilization 1 ene cia' had no doubt softened and. purified the old religions from their savage and licen- tious tendencies. Human sacrifices had ceased,f or had retired to the remotest * Philo wrote for the unbelievers among ms own people, and to conciliate the Greeks. (De Conf. Linguar., vol. i., p. 405.) The same principle which among the heathens gave rise to the system of Euhemerus, who resolved all mythology into history, and that of the other philosophers who at tempted to reduce it to allegory, induced Philo, and no doubt his predecessor Aristobulus, thus to en- deavour to accommodate the Mosaic history to an incredulous age, and to blend Judaism and Plato nism into one harmonious system. f Human sacrifices sometimes, but rarely, occui30 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY parts of Germany, or to the shores of the Baltic.* Though some of the secret rites were said to be defiled with unspeakable pollutions,! yet this, if true, arose from the depravation of manners rather than in the earlier periods of Grecian history. Accord- ing to Plutarch, Vit. Arist.,9, and Vit. Thcmistoclis, three sons of.Sandauke, sister of the King of Per- sia, were offered, in obedience to an oracle, to Bac- chus Oiriestes. The bloodstained altar of Diana of Tauris was placed by the tragedians in a barbarous region. Prisoners were sometimes stain on the tombs of warriors in much later times, as in the Homeric age, even on that of Philopcemen.—Plut., V it. PhiSop., c. 21. Compare Tschirner, Fall des Heidenthums, p. 34. Octavius is said (Suet., Vit. Octav ) to have sacri- ficed 300 Perugian captives on an altar sacred to the deified Julius (Divd Julio). This may be con- sidered the sanguinary spirit of the age of proscrip- tions taking for once a more solemn and religious form. As to the libation of the blood of the gladia- tors (see Tertullian, Apolog., c. 9. Scorpiac., 7. Cyprian, De Spectaculis. Compare Porphyr., de Abstin. Lactant., 1-21), I should agree with M. Constant in ascribing this ceremony to the barbari- ty of the Roman amusements rather than to their religion. All public spectacles were, perhaps, to a certain degree, religious ceremonies ; but the gladi- ators were the victims of the sanguinary pleasures of the Roman people, not slain in honour of then gods.—Constant, iv., 335. Tschirner, p. 45. * Tac., Ann., i., 61. Tac., Germ., 10, 40. Com- pare, on the gradual abolition of human sacrifices, Constant, iv., 330. The exception, which rests on the authority of Pliny, xxviii., 2, and Plutarch, Vita Marii. in init., Quaest. Rom., appears to me very doubtful. The prohibitory law of Lentulus, AU. DCLVII., and Livy’s striking expression, more non Romano, concerning the sacrifice said to be con- tinued to a late period, as well as the edict of Tibe- rius, promulgated in the remoter provinces, indicate the general sentiment of the time. Non satis assti- mari potest quantum Romanis debeatur, qui sostu- iere monstra in quibus hominem occidere religio- sissimum erat, mandi vero saluberrimum.— Plin., H. N., xxx., 1. See in Ovid, Fasti, iii., 341, the reluctance of Numa to offer human sacrifice.. Ha- drian issued an edict prohibiting human sacrifices ; this was directed, according to Creuzer (Symb., i., 363), against the later Mithriac rites, which had re- introduced the horrible practice of consulting fu- turity in the entrails of human victims. The sav- age Gommodus (Lamprid. in Comm.) offered a hu- man victim to Mithra. The East, if the accounts are to be credited, continually reacted on the reli- gion of Rome. Human sacrifices are said to have taken place under Aurelian(Aug. Hist., Vit. Aurel.), and even under Maxentius. f The dissolute, rites against which the Fathers inveigh were of foreign and Oriental origin : Isiac, Bacchanalian, Mithriac. — Lobeck, i., 197. See Constant, vol. iv , c. 11. Compare the Confession of Hispala in Livy. I cannot refrain from transcri- bing an observation of M. Constant on these rites, which strikes me as extremely profuund and just: “ La mauvaise influence des fables licencieuses commence avec le mepris et le ridicule verse sur ces fables. II en est de meme des ceremonies. Des rites indecens pouvent Atre pratiques par un peuple religieux avec une grande purete de caeur. Mais quand 1’incredulite atteint ces. peuples, ces rites sont pour lui la cause et la pretexte de la plus revoltante corruption.”—-Du Polyth, Rom., ii., 102. from religion. The orgies of the Bonp Dea were a profanation of the sacred rite, held up to. detestation by the indignant satirist, not, as among some of the early Oriental nations, the rite itself. But with the tyranny, which could thus extort from reluctant human na- p . , ture the sacrifice of all humanity and all decency, the older religions had lost their more salutary, and, if the ex- pression may be ventured, their constitu- tional authority. They had been driven away, or silently receded from their post, in which, indeed, they had never been firmly seated, as conservators of public morals. The circumstances of the times tended no less to loosen the bonds of the ancient faith. Peace enervated the deities as well as the soldiers of Rome : their oc- cupation was gone ;* the augurs read no longer the signs of conquest in the en- trails of the victims ; and though, down to the days of Augustine,! Roman pride clung to the worship of the older and glorious days of the republic, and denounced the ingratitude of forsaking gods, under whose tutelary sway Rome had become the em- press of the world, yet the ceremonies had now no stirring interest ; they were pa- geants in which the unbelieving aristocra- cy played their parts with formal cold- ness, the contagion of wjjich could not but spread to the lower classes. ’The only novel or exciting rite of the Roman religion , was that which probably tended more than any other, when the immediate excitement was over, to enfeeble the reli- gious feeling, the deification! of the living, * Our generals began to wage civil wars against each other as soon as they neglected the auspices. —Cic., Nat. Deor., ii., 3. This is good evidence to the fact; the cause lay deeper. f This was the main argument of his great work, De Civitate Dei. It is nowhere more strongly ex- pressed than in the oration of Symmachus to Theo- dosius. Hie cultus in leges meas orbern redegit; hsec sacra Annibalem a moenibus, a Capitolio Sen- nonas repulerunt. This subject will frequently re- cur in the course of our History. X The deification of Augustus found some oppo- nents. Nihil Deorurn honoribus relictum, cum se templis et effigie numinum, per flamines et sacer- dotes coli vell'et.—Tac., Ann., i., 10. The more sa. gacious Tiberius shrunk from such honours. In one instance he allowed himself to be joined in divine honours with his mother and the senate, but in general he refused them.—Tac., Ann.,iv., 15,37, v., 2. The very curious satire of Seneca, the A-TroKoXvvTwiris, though chiefly aimed at Claudius, throws ridicule on the whole ceremony. Aligns? tus, in his speech to the gods, says: Denique dum tales deos facitis, nemo vos deos esse credet. A later writer complains: Aliquant! pari libidine in eoelestium numerum referuntur, segre exequiis dig- ni.—Aur. Victor, Caesar, in Gallieno. M. Ranke, in the first chapter of whose admirable work (Die Ro- mischen Papste) I am not displeased to find someHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 31 or the apotheosis of the dead emperor, whom a few years, or perhaps a few days, abandoned to the open execration or con- tempt of the whole people. At the same time, that energy of mind, which had con- sumed itself in foreign conquest or civil faction, in carrying the arms of Home to the Euphrates or the Rhine, or in the mor- tal conflict for patrician or plebeian su- premacy, now that the field of military or civil distinction was closed, turned inward and preyed upon itself for, compressed by the iron hand of despotism, made itself a vent in philosophical or religious specula- tions. The noble mind sought a retreat from the degradation of servitude in the groves of the Academy, or attempted to find consolation for the loss of personal dignity by asserting, with the Stoic, the dignity of human nature.* * * * * § But Philosophy aspired in vain to fill , that void in the human mind p which had been created by the expulsion or secession of religion. The objects of Philosophy were twofold: ei- ther, 1. To refine the popular religion into a more rational creed; or, 2. To offer it- self as a substitute. With this first view, it endeavoured:to bring back the fables to their original meaning ;f to detect the la- tent truth under the allegoric shell: but in many cases the key was lost, or the fable had wandered so far from its pri- mary sense as to refuse all rational inter- pretation ; and, where the truth had been less encumbered with fiction, it came, forth cold and inanimate : the philosopher could strip off the splendid robes in which the moral'or religious doctrine had been dis- guised, but he could not instil into it the breath of life. The imagination refused the unnatural alliance of cold and calcula- coincidences of view, even of expression, with my own, seems to think that much of the strength of the old religion lay in the worship of the emperor. I am not disposed to think so ill of human nature. * Cicero, no doubt, speaks the language of many of the more elevated minds when he states that he took refuge in philosophy from the afflictions of life at that dark period of civil contention. . Hortata etiam est, ut me ad heec conferrem, animi asgritudo, magn& et gravi commota injuria: cujus si majorem aliquam levationem reperire potuissern, non ad haec potissimum confugissem.—Be Nat. Deor., i., 4. t UpayfiaTuv vif avdpwrdvrjg auQeveiag ov KaOopufievcov oafy&g evoxv^oveoTepog kpprjvevg 6 fivQog.—Max. Tyr., Dissert, x. The whole essay ts intended to prove that poetry and philosophy held the same doctrine about the gods. This pro- cess, it should be observed, though it had already commenced, was not carried to its height until phi- losophy and polytheism coalesced again, from the sense of their common danger, and endeavoured to array a. system, composed of the most rational and attractive parts of both, against the encroachments of Christianity ting reason; and the religious feeling, when it saw the old deities reduced into inge- nious allegories, sank into apathy, or vaguely yearned for some new excite- ment, which it knew not from what quar- ter to expect. The last hopes of the ancient religion lay in the Mysteries. Of them TheMys- alone, the writers about the time teries- of the appearance of Christianity, speak with uniform reverence, if not with awe. They alone could bestow happiness in life and hope in death.* In these remarkable rites} the primitive Nature-worship had survived under a less refined and less hu- manized form ; the original and more sim- ple, symbolic forms (those of the first ag- ricultural-inhabitants of Greece}) had been retained by ancient reverence : as its alle- gory was less intricate and obscure,$ it accommodated itself better with the ad- vancing spirit of the age. It may indeed be questioned whether the Mysteries did not owe much of their influence to their secrecy, and to the impressive forms un- der which they shadowed forth their more recondite truths.|| These, if they did not satisfy, yet kept the mind in a state of pro- gressive and continued excitement. They were, if it may be so said, a great religious drama, in which the initiated were at once spectators and actors ; where the fifth act was designedly delayed to the utmost pos- sible point, and of this still suspended ca- tastrophe, the dramatis personas, the only audience, were kept in studied ignorance.®[f * Neque solum cum lsetitia vivendi rationem ac- cepimus, sed etiam cum spe meliore moriendi.— Cic., de Leg., ii., 14. The theory of Warburton on the Mysteries is now universally exploded ; but neither, with the utmost deference to his erudition, can I enter altogether into the views of Lobeck. In my judgment, his quotations do not bear him out as to the publicity of the ceremonies; nor can I con- ceive that there was none, or scarcely any, secret. Vetabo qui Cereris sacrum Vulgarit arcanse, sub iisdem Sit trabibus, fragilemque mecum Solvat phaselum. Hor., Cam., iii., 2. f The theories of Maier, Warburton, Plessing, Boulanger, Dupuis, Meiners, Villoison, P. Knight, Heeren, St. Croix, Creuzer, may be found briefly stated, Lobeck, i., 6, 8. t Quibus explicatis, ad rationemque revocatis, rerum rnagis natura cognoscitur, quam deorum.— Cic., de Nat. Deor., i., 42. § See Varro’s View of the Eleusinian Mysteries, preserved by Augustin, De Civ. Dei, vii., 15. II '’kyvcdoLa ism, its milder and more pleasurable mor- als, and, perhaps, its propensity to degen- erate into indolence and sensuality, was kindred and congenial to that of Greece, and the Grecian part of the Roman socie- ty. The Stoic, with its more practical * 'Opag to ttXfjdog rtiv owd^paruv ; irq Tig TpaTTTjTCU ; 7volov CLVTCOV mTeXe^opev ; TLVl TTUG- r&v Tcapayyelftdrcjv ; Max. Tyr., xxxv., sub fin. f Neander has likewise quoted several of the same authorities adduced in the following passage. Seethe translation ©f Neander, which had not been announced when the above was written. It is cu- rious that Strabo remarks, on another point, the similarity of the Indian opinions to Platonism, and treats them all as p60ot : TLapcnrliicovoi Sh ml ftvOovg, oxnrep ml HXdrov^ nape re a8apaia{ Kat Ka& Rpiaewv ml uXka rot avra.—L. xv., p. 713.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. stoicism to character, its mental strength Roman. and self-confidence, its fatalism, its universally-diffused and all-governing Deity, the soul of the universe (of which the political power of the all-ruling re- public might appear an image), bore the same analogy to that of Rome. While the more profound thinkers, who could not disguise from themselves the insuffi- ciency of the grounds on which the philo- sophical systems rested, either settled into a calm and contented skepticism, or, with the Academics, formed an ca emics. ecjectjc creed from what appear- ed the better parts of the rest. Such, on all the great questions of reli- gion, the Divine nature, Providence, the origin and future state of the soul,* was the floating and uncertain state of the human mind. In the department of mor- als, Philosophy nobly performed her part; but perhaps her success in this respect more clearly displayed her inefficiency. The height to which moral science was carried in the works of Cicero, Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Antoninus, while it made the breach still wider between the popular religion and the advanced state of the human mind, more vividly displayed the want of a faith which would associate itself with the purest and loftiest morality; and remarry, as it were, those thoughts and feelings, which connect man with a future state of being, to the practical du- ties of life.f For, while these speculations occupied Philosophy the loftier and more thinking fatal to popa- minds, what remained for the lar religion. vu]gar 0f fog higher and of the lower orders 1 Philosophy had shaken the old edifice to its base ; and, even if it could have confined its more profound and secret doctrines within the circles of its own elect; if its contempt for the old fables of the popular creed had been more jealously guarded, it is impossible but that the irreligion of the upper order must work downward upon the lower. * Augustin, speaking of the great work of Varro, concludes thus: In hac tota serie pulcherrimse et subtilissimse disputationis, vitam seternam frustra quaen et sperari, facillime apparet.—Civ. Dei, vi., 3. f Gibbon and many other writers (Law, Theory of Religion, 127, 130 ; Sumner, Evidences, p. 76) have adduced the well-known passages from Sal- lust and Cicero which indicate the general state of feeling on the great question of the immortality of the soul. There is a striking passage, in a writer whose works have lately come to light through the industry of Angelo Mai. The author is endeavour- ing to find consolation for the loss of a favourite grandson: Si maxirrA esse animas immoctales constet, erit hoc philosophis disserendi argvinen tum,nonparentibusdesiderandi remedium.—Front., le Nep, Amiss. E 3b When religion has, if not avowediy, yet manifestly, sunk into an engine of state policy, its most imposing and solemn rites will lose all their commanding life and energy. Actors will perform ill who do not feel their parts. “It is marvellous,” says the Epicurean in Cicero, “ that one soothsayer (haruspex) can look another in the face without laughing.” And, when the Epicurean himself stood before the altar, in the remarkable language of Plu- tarch, “ he hypocritically enacted prayer and adoration from fear of the many ; he uttered words directly opposite to his phi- losophy. While he sacrifices, the minis- tering priest seems to him no more than a cook, and he departs uttering the line of Menander, ‘ I have sacrificed to gods in whom I ha*m no concern.’ ”* Unless, indeed, the literature as well as the philosophy of the age imme- Literature diately preceding Christianity had been confined to the intellectual aristoc- racy, the reasoning spirit, which rejected with disdain the old imaginative fables, could not but descend at least as l#w as the rudiments of liberal education. When the gravest writers, like Polybius and Strabo, find it necessary to apologize to their more learned and thinking readers for the introduction of those mythic le- gends which formed the creed of_ theii ancestors, and to plead the necessity of avoiding offence, because such tales are still sacred among the vulgar, this defer- ence shows rather the increasing indiffer- ence than the strength of popular opinion. “ Historians,” says the former writer, “ must be pardoned, if, for the sake of maintaining piety among the many, they occasionally introduce .miraculous or fab- ulous tales ; but they must not be permit- ted on these points to run into extrava- gance.” “ Religion,” he declares in an- other passage, “ would perhaps be unne- cessary in a commonwealth of wise men. But, since the multitude is ever fickle, full of lawless desires, irrational passions, and violence, it is right to restrain it by the fear of the invisible world and such tragic terrors. Whence our ancestors appear to have introduced notions concerning the gods, and opinions about the infernal re- gions, not rashly or without considera- tion. Those rather act rashly and incon- siderately who would expel them.”* “ It is impossible,” observes the inquiring geog- rapher, “ to govern a mob of women, or the whole mixed multitude, by philosophic * Quoted also by Neander from Plutarch.—(Non poss. suav. viv. sec. Epic.) I have adopted Re iske’s reading of the latter clause, t Polyb., vi., 56.34 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. reasoning, and to exhort them to piety, holiness, and faith ; we must also employ superstition, with its fables and prodigies. For the thunder, the 88gis, the trident, the torches, the serpents, the thyrsi of the gods are fables, as is all the ancient the- ology ; but the legislature introduced these things as bugbears to those \^ho are chil- dren in understanding.”* In short, even, when the Roman writers professed the utmost respect for the religious institu- tions of their country, there was a kind of silent protest against their sincerity. It was an evident, frequently an avowed condescension to the prejudices of the vulgar. Livy admires the wisdom of Numa, who introduced thq fear of the gods as a “ most efficacious means of controlling an ignorant and barbarous populace.”! Even the serious Dionysius judges of religion according to its useful- ness, not according to its truth > as the* wise scheme of the legislator rather than as th# revelation of the Deity.J Pausa- nias, while he is making a kind of reli- gious survey of Greece, expressing a grave veneration for all the temples and rites of antiquity, frequently relating the miraculous intervention of the several deities,§ is jealous and careful lest he should be considered a believer in the fa- bles which he relates. || The natural con- sequence of this double doctrine was not unforeseen. “ What,” says the Academic in Cicero, “ when men maintain all be- lief in the immortal gods to have been invented by wise men for the good of the state, that religion might lead to their duty those who would not be led by reason, do they not sweep away the very foundations of all religion l”®|f The mental childhood of the human Future race was passing away, at least it Iife* had become wearied of its old toys.** The education itself, by which, according to these generally judicious writers, the youthful mind was to be impregnated with reverential feelings for the objects of na- tional worship, must have been coldly conducted by teachers conscious that they * Strabo, lib. i., p. 19. f PI. R., i., 19. t Ant. Rom., ii., 8, 9. § Bceotica, 25 ; Laconica, 4. II T ovrov ~bv hoyov, ical oa a ioucora elpT}-- rat, ovk aftodexoiievog ypatyu, yputyo de ovdev rjcaov. — Corinth., xvii. In another place he re- peats that he gives the popular legend as he finds it.—Arcad., viii. De Nat. Deor., i., 42, ** Gibbon has a striking sentence in his juvenile Essai sur la Litterature (Misc. Works, iv., 61): “ Les Romains etaient eclaires : cependant ces m&mes Romains ne furent pas choques de voir re- unir dans la persorme de Cesar un dieu, un pr£tre, ; et un athee ” He adds atheist, as disbelieving with the Epicureans die pr.>vid Fearful times! when the condemnation of a son by a father, and that father an odious and sanguinary ty- rant, could coincide with the universal sentiment of the people! The attach- ment of the nation to the reigning family might have been secured, if the sons of Mariamne, the heiress of the Asmonean * See Appendix II., on the Origin of the Gospels. line, had survived to claim the succession. the foreign and Idumean origin of the fa- ther might have been forgotten in the na- tional and splendid descent of the mother. There was, it should seam, a powerful Herodian party, attached to the fortunes of the ruling house ; but the body of the nation now looked with ill-concealed aver- sion to the perpetuation of the Idumean tyranny in the persons of the sons Sous of of Herod. Yet to those who con- Rerod. templated only the political signs of the times, nothing remained but the degrading alternative, either to submit to the line of Herod, or to sink into a Roman province. Such was to be the end of their long ages of national glory, such the hopeless ter- mination of the national independence. But, notwithstanding the progress of Gre- cian opinions and manners, with which the politic Herod had endeavoured to counterbalance the turbulent and unruly spirit of the religious party, the great mass of the people, obstinately wedded to the law and the institutions of their fa- thers, watched with undisguised jealousy the denationalizing proceedings of their king. This stern and inextinguishable enthusiasm had recently broken out into active resistance, in the conspiracy to tear down the golden eagle, which Herod had suspended over the gate of the temple.* The signal for this daring act had been a rumour of the king’s death; and the ter- rific vengeance which, under a temporary show of moderation, Herod had wreaked on the offenders, the degradation of the high-priest, and the execution of the pop- ular teachers, who were accused of hav- ing instigated the insurrection, could not but widen the breach between the dying- sovereign and the people. The greater part of the nation looked to the death of Herod with a vague hope of liberation and independence, which struck in with the more peculiar cause of excitement pre- dominant in the general mind. For the principle of this universal fer- ment lay deeper than in the im- Generai ex_ patience of a tyrannical govern- pectation of ment, which burdened the peo- the Messiah, pie with intolerable exactions, or the ap- prehension of national degradation, if Ju- daea should be reduced to the dominion of a Roman proconsul: it was the confidence in the immediate coming of- the Messiah, which was working with vague and mys- terious agitation in the hearts of all or- ders.f The very danger to which Jewish * Hist, of the Jews, vol. ii., p. 105. f Whoever is curious in such inquiries will find a fearful catalogue of calamities, which were to pre- cede, according to the Rabbinical authorities, the40 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. independence was reduced was associated with this exalted sentiment; the nearer the ruin, the nearer the restoration of their Theocracy. For there is no doubt, that, among other predictions, according to the general Belief, which pointed to the present period, a very ancient interpreta- tion of the prophecy, which declared that the sceptre, the royal dominion, should not- depart from the race of Israel until the coming of the Shiloh, one of the titles uniformly attributed to the Messiah, con- nected the termination of the existing pol- ity with the manifestation of the Deliver- er.* This expectation of a wonderful revolution to be wrought-! by the sudden appearance of some great mysterious per- son, had been so widely disseminated as to excite the astonishment, perhaps the jealousy of the Romans, whose historians, Suetonius and Tacitus, as is well known, bear witness to the fact. “ Among many,” writes the latter, “ there was a persuasion, that in the ancient books of the priesthood it was written that, at this precise time, the East should become mighty, and that the sovereigns of the world should issue from Judaea.”! “ In the East an ancient and consistent opinion prevailed, that it was fated there should issue, at this time, from Judaea those who should obtain uni- versal dominion. ”§ Yet no question is more difficult than Nature of to ascertain the origin, the ex- the belief in tent, the character of this belief, ihe Messiah. as prevailed at the time of our Saviour’s coming; how far it had spread among the surrounding nations; or, how far, on the other hand, the original Jewish creed, formed from the authentic prophet- coming of the Messiah, either in Lightfoot’s Har- mony, vol. v., p. 180 (8vo edit.), or in Schoetgen, Horae Hebraicse, vol. ii., p. 509, or Eisenmenger, das entdecktes Judenthum, ii., p. 711. The notion may have been grounded on the last chapter of the Prophecy of Daniel. Compare Bertholdt, c. 13.— The Rabbins deliver, “ In the first year of that week (of years) that the Son of David is to come, shall that be fulfilled, ‘ I will rain upon one city, but I will not rain upon another.’ ”—Amos, iv., 7. “ The second year the arrows of famine shall be sent forth. The third, the famine shall be griev- ous, and men, and women, and children, holy men and men of good works, shall die; and there shall be a forgetfulness of the Law among' those that learn it. The fourth year, fulness and not fulness. The fifth year, great fulness: they shall eat, and ('link, and rejoice, and the Law shall return to its scholars. The sixth year, voices.” (The gloss is, ‘ a fame shall be spread that the Son of David comes,” or, “they shall sound with the trumpet.”) “ The seventh year, wars ; and, in the going out of that year, the Son of David shall come.”—Light- foot, xi., 421. * Casaubon, Exercit. anti*Baron., ii. j 2 Esdras, vi., 25. $ Tac., Hist., v , 13. 6 Suet., Yes., p. 4* ical writings, had become impregnateu with Oriental or Alexandrean notions. It is most probable that there was no con- sistent, uniform, or authorized opinion on the subject: all was vague and indefinite ; and in this vagueness and indefiniteness lay much of its power over the general mind.* Whatever purer or loft- The Propb- ier notions concerning the great els- Deliverer and Restorer might be imparted to wise and holy men, in whatever sense we understand that u Abraham rejoiced to see the day” of the Messiah, the intima- tions on this subject in the earlier books of the Old Testament, though distinctly to be traced along its whole course, are few, brief, and occurring at long intervals. But from the time, and during the whole period of the prophets, this mysterious Being becomes gradually more prominent. The future dominion of some great king, to descend from the line of David, to tri- umph over all his enemies, and to estab- lish a universal kingdom of peace and happiness, of which the descriptions of the golden age in the Greek poets are but a faint and unimaginative transcript: the promise of the Messiah, in short, comes more distinctly forward. As early as the first chapters of Isaiah, he appears to as- sume a title and sacred designation, which at least approaches near to that of the Divinity ;f and in the later prophets, not merely does this leading characteristic maintain its place, but, under the splendid poetical imagery, drawn from existing cir- cumstances, there seems to lie hid a more profound meaning, which points to some great and general moral revolution to be achieved by this mysterious Being. But their sacred books, the Law and the Prophets, were not the clear and . unmingled source of the Jewish ra mon‘ opinions on this all-absorbing subject. Over this, as over the whole system of the law, tradition had thrown a veil; and it is this traditionary notion of the Mes- siah which it is necessary here to develop; but from whence tradition had derived its apparently extraneous and independent notions becomes a much more deep and * The Jewish opinions concerning the Messiah have been examined with great diligence and accu- racy by Professor Bertholdt, in his Christologia Ju- daRorum. Bertholdt is what may be called a mod- erate Rationalist. To his work, and to Lightfoot, Schoetgen, Meuschen, and Eisenmenger, l am in- debted for most of my Rabbinical quotations. f Such is the opinion of Rosenmiiller (on Isaiah, ix., 5. Compare likewise, on Psalm xlv., 7). On a point much contested by modern scholars, Gese- nius, in his note on the same passages, espouses the opposite opinion. Neither of these authors, it may be added, discuss the question on theological, but purely on historical and critical grounds.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 41 embarrassing question.* It is manifest from the Evangelic history,! that, although there was no settled or established creed upon the subject, yet there was a certain conventional language : particular texts of the sacred writings were universally recognised as bearing reference to the Messiah; and there were some few char- acteristic credentials of his title and office which would have commanded universal assent. There are two quarters from which the Foreign con- Jews> as they ceased to be an nexions of insulated people, confined in the the Jews, narrow tract of Palestine, and by their captivity and migrations becom- ing more-mingled with other races, might insensibly contract new religious notions, the East and the West, Babylonia and Alexandrea. The latter would be the chief, though not, perhaps, the only chan- nel through which the influence of Gre- cian opinions would penetrate into Pales- tine and of the Alexandrean notions of the Messiah we shall hereafter adduce two competent representatives, the author of the Book of Wisdom and Philo. But the East, no doubt, made a more early, profound, and lasting impression on the popular mind of the Jews. Unfortunate- ly, in no part does history present us with so melancholy a blank as in that of the great Babylonian settlement of liabyloma. ^ peQple Qf jgraeL ^ * Bertholdt, p. 8. t The brief intimations in the Gospels are almost the only absolutely certain authorities for the nature of this belief at that particular period, except, per- haps, the more genuine part of the Apocrypha. Jo- sephus, though he acknowledges the existence and the influence of this remarkable feature in the na- tional character, is either inclined to treat it as a popular delusion or to warp it to his own purposes, its fulfilment in the person of Vespasian. For his own school, Philo is a valuable witness ; but among the Alexandrean Jews the belief in a personal Mes- siah was much more faint and indistinct than in Palestine. The Rabbinical books, even the oldest Targumin or comments on the Sacred Writings, are somewhat suspicious, from tne uncertainty of their date: still, in this as in other points of com- mence, where their expressions are similar to those of the Christian records, there seems so man- ifest an improbability that these should have been adopted, after the two religions had assumed an hostile position towards each other, that they may be fairly considered as vestiges of an earlier system of opinions, retained from ancient reverence, and indelible even by implacable animosity. - It is far more likely that Christianity should speak the cur- rent language of the time, than that, the Synagogue should interpolate their own traditionary records with terms or notions borrowed from the Church. t Even as early as the reign of Antiochus the Great, certain Jews had attempted to introduce Grecian manners, and had built a Grecian school or gymnasium at Jerusalem.—1 Macc., i., 11, 16. 2 Macc., ii., 4, 11, 12. F portance m the religious, and even in the civil affairs of the nation cannot but have been very considerable. It was only a small part of the nation which returned wijh the successive remigrations under Ezra and Nehemiah to their native land ; and, though probably many of the poorer classes had remained behind at the period of the Captivity, and many more returned singly or in small bodies, yet, on the other hand, it is probable that the tide of emi- gration, which at a later time was perpet- ually flowing from the valleys of Palestine into Egypt, Syria, Asia Minor, and even more remote regions, would, often take the course of the Euphrates, and swell the numbers of the Mesopotamian colony. In the great contest between Alexander and the Persian monarchy, excepting from some rather suspicious stories in Jose- phus, we hear less than we might expect of this race of Jews.* But as we ap- proach the era of Christianity, and some- what later, they emerge rather more into notice. While the Jews were spreading in the West, and, no doubt, successfully disseminating their Monotheism in many quarters, in Babylonia their proselytes were kings ; and the later Jewish Temple beheld an Eastern queen (by a singular coincidence, of the same name with the celebrated mother of Constantine, the patroness of Christian Jerusalem) lavish- ing her wealth on the structure on Mount Moriah, and in the most munificent chari- ty to the poorer inhabitants of the city. The name of Helena, queen of the Adia- beni, was long dear to the memory of the Jews ; and her tomb was one of the most remarkable monuments near the walls of the city. Philo not only asserts that Bab- ylon and other Eastern satrapies were full of his countrymen,! but intimates that the * There may be truth in the observation of St. Croix : “ Les Grecs et les Romains avoient tant de haine et de m6pris pour le peuple .Tuif, qu’ils affec- toient n’en pas parlerdans leurs ecrits.” (Histo riens d’Alex., p. 555.) This, however, would apply only to the later writers, which are all we now pos- sess ; but if in the contemporary historians there had been much more, it would probably, at least if to the credit of his countrymen, have been gleaned by Josephus. f See, on the numbers of the Jews in the Asiatic provinces, particularly Armenia, at a later period (the conquest of Armenia by Sapor, A.D. 367), St Martin’s additions to Le Beau’s Hist, du Bas Em- pire. The death of this valuable writer, it is to be feared, will deprive the learned world of his prom- ised work on the History of the! Birth and Death of Jesus. Christ, which was to contain circumstan- tial accounts of the Jews beyond the Euphrates. Of the different races of Jews mentioned in the Acts, as present in Jerusalem, four are from this quarter: Parthians, Medes, Elamites, dwellers in Mesopotamia.42 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. apprehension of their taking up arms in behalf of their outraged religion and marching upon Palestine weighed upon the mind of Petronius, when commanded, at all hazards,'to place the statue of Cal- igula in the Temple.* It'appears from some hints of Josephus, that, during the last war, the revolted party entertained great hopes of succour from that quarter ;f and there is good ground for supposing that the final insurrection in the time of Hadrian was connected with a rising' in Mesopotamia.^ At the same period, the influence of this race of Jews on the reli- gious character of the people is no less manifest. Here was a chief scene of the preaching of the great apostle and we cannot but think that its importance in early Christian history, which has usual- ly been traced almost exclusively in the West, has been much underrated. Hence came the mystic Cabala|| of the Jews, the chief parent of those gnostic opinions out of which grew the heresies of the early Church : here the Jews, under the Prince of the Captivity, held their most famous schools, where learning was imbodied in the Babylonian Talmud; and here the most, influential heresiarch, Manes, at- tempted to fuse into one system the ele- ments of Magianism, Cabalism, and* Chris- tianity. Having thus rapidly traced the fortunes of this great Jewish colony, we must reascend to the time of its first estab- lishment. ‘ From a very early period the Jews seem to have possessed a Cabala, a' tradition- ,.* Leg. ad Caium, vol. ii., p. 578, edit. Mang. f Dio (or Xiphilin) asserts that they received con- siderable succours from the East —L. lxvi., c. 4. X Hist, of Jews, iii., 96, &c. § Nothing but the stubborn obstinacy of contro- versy could have thrown a doubt on the plain date in the first Epistle of St. Peter (v. 13). Philo in two places (ii., p. 578, 587), Josephus in one (Ant., xv-iii.,. 9, 8), expressly name Babylon as the habita- tion of the great Eastern settlement. It is not cer- tain whether the city was then entirely destroyed (Gesenius on Isaiah, xiii., 22), but, in fact, the name was extended to the province or satrapy. But it was equally the object of the two great con- flicting parties in Christianity to identify Rome with Babylon. This fact established, the Roman Cath- olic had an unanswerable argument to prove the contested point of St. Peter’s residence in the Western metropolis ; Babylon, therefore, was deci- ded to mean pagan Rome. The Protestant at once concurred; for if Rome was Babylon, it was the, mystic spiritual Babylon of the Apocalypse. The whole third chapter of the second Epistle ap- pears to me full of Oriental allusions, and the ex- ample of Balaam seems peculiarly appropriate, if written in that region. Lucan’s “ Cumque superba foret Babylon spoli- anda” may indeed be mere poetic license, or may allude to Seleucia. || Cabala is used here in its most extensive sense. —See Chiarini, p, 97. ary comment or interpretation of Cabala the sacred writings. Whether it existed before the Captivity, it is impossi- ble to ascertain; it is certain that many of their books, even those written by dis- tinguished prophets, Gad and Iddo, were lost at that disastrous time. But whether they carried any accredited tradition to Babylonia, • it seems evident, from the Oriental cast which it assumed, that they either brought it from thence on their re- turn to their native land, or received it subsequently during their intercourse with their Eastern brethren.* Down to the Captivity the Jews of Palestine had been in contact only with the religions of the neighbouring nations, which, however dif- ferently modified, appear to have been es- sentially the same, a sort of Nature-wor- ship, in which the host of Heaven, especial- ly the sun and moon, under different names, Baal and Moloch, Astarte and Syrian Reii- Mylitta, and probably as sym- g‘ons- bols or representatives of the active and passive powers of nature, no doubt with some distinction of their attributes, were the predominant objects. These religions had long degenerated into cruel or licen- tious superstitions ; and the Jews, in fall- ing off to the idolatry of their neighbours, or introducing foreign rites into their own religious system, not merely offended against the great primal distinction of their faith, the unity of the Godhead, but sunk from the pure, humane, and com- paratively civilized institutes of their law- giver, to the loose and sanguinary usages of barbarism. In the East, how- Reii gion of ever, they encountered a religion Persia- of a far nobler and more regular struc- ture :f a religion which offered no temp- tation to idolatrous practices; for the Ma- gian rejected, with the devout abhorrence of the followers of Mdses, the exhibition of the Deity in the human form; though it possessed a rich store of mythological and symbolical figures, singularly analo- gous to those which may be considered the poetic machinery of the later Hebrew prophets.J The religion of Persia seems * Mosheim, De Rebus Christ., ii., 1-8. 4 f In Asia Persarum religionem caeteris esse no- biliorem.—Mosheim, Instit., p. 58, and Grot., de Ver., ii., 10. % This, it may be observed, has no connexion whatever with the originality or authority of these predictions. It should be borne in mind, that in these visions it is the moral or religious meaning alone which can be the object of faith, not the figures through which that meaning is conveyed. There is no reason why the images of Daniel and . Ezekiel should not be derived from, or assimilate to, the present forms around them, as well as those I of the rustic Amoz be chiefly drawn from pastoralHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 43 to have held an intermediate rank between the Pantheism of India, where the whole universe emanated from the Deity, and was finally to be reabsorbed into the Dei- ty, and ■ the purer 'Theism of the Jews, which asserted the one omnific Jehovah, and .seemed to place a wide and impassa- ble interval between the nature of the Creator and that of the created being. In the Persian system, the Creation owed its existence to the conflicting powers of evil and good. These were subordinate to, or proceeding from, the Great Primal Cause (Zeruane Akerene), Time without bounds,* * which in fact appears, as Gibbon observes, rather as a metaphysical ab- straction than as an active and presiding Deity. The Creation was at once the work and the dominion of the two antag- onist creators, who had balanced against each other in perpetual conflict a race of spiritual and material beings, light and darkness, good and evil. This Magian- ism, subsequent to the Jewish Captivity,! and during the residence of the captives in Mesopotamia,- either spread, with the conquests of the Persians, from the re- gions farther to the East, Aderbijan and Bactria, or was first promulgated by Zo- roaster, who is differently represented as the author or as the reformer of the faith. From the remarkable allusions or points of coincidence between some of the Ma- gi an tenets and the Sacred Writings,! Hyde and Prideaux laboured to prove that Zoroaster^ had been a pupil of Dan- iel, and derived those notions, which seem more nearly allied to the purer Jewish faith, from his intercourse with the He- brew prophet, who held a high station under the victorious Medo-Persian mon- archy. || But, in fact, there is such an or rural life.—See, e. g., Chiarini’s Ezekiel. Pref- ace to Talmud, p. 90 and 101. * So translated by Du Perron and Kleuker. There is a learned dissertation of Foucher on this subject.—Acad, des Ins., vol. xxix. According to Bohlen, it is analogous to the Sanscrit Sarvam akaranam, the Uncreated Whole; according to Fred. Schlegel, Sarvam akharyam, the Unum In- divisibile. f The appearance of the Magian order, before the conquest of Babylon by the Medo-Persian kings, is an extremely difficult question. Nebu- chadnezzar’s army was attended (Jer., xxxix., 3) by Nergal-sharezer, the Rab-mag, (Archi- magus).—Compare Bertholdt, Daniel, Excurs. iii. f Isaiah, xlvii., 7. The name of Zoroaster (Zerotoash) has been deduced from words signifying “ the star of gold” or “ the star of splendour,” and may have been a title or appellative. || The hypothesis which places Zoroaster under the reign of Darius Hystaspes, identified with the Gushtasp of Persian mythological history, l's main- tained by Hyde, Prideaux, Anquetil du Perron, Kleuker, Herder, Goerres, Malcolm, Von Hammer, originality and completeness coapieteness in the Zoroastrian system, and of theZoroa* in its leading principles, espe- tnan syslem dally that of the antagonist powers ol good and evil; it departs so widely from the ancient and simple Theism of the Jews, as clearly to indicate an independ ent and peculiar source, at least in its more perfect development; if it is not, as we are inclined to believe, of much more ancient date, and native to a region much farther to the East than the Persian court, where Zoroaster, according to one tradi- tion, might have had intercourse, in his youth, with the Prophet Daniel. If, as appears to be the general opinion of the Continental writers, who The ze»-’ have most profoundly investigated davesta- the subject, we have authentic remains, or. at least, records which, if of later date, con- tain the true principles of Magianism, in the Liturgies and Institutes of the Zenda- vesta ;* it is by no means an improbable and apparently by De Guigniaut. The silence of He- rodotus appears to me among the strongest objec- tions to this view. Foucher, Tychsen, Heeren, and recently Hoity, identify Gushtasp with Cyaxares I., and place the religious revolution under the previous Median dy- nasty. A theory which throws Zoroaster much higher up into antiquity is developed with great ability by Rhode, in his Heilige Sage. The earlier date of the Persian prophet has likewise been maintained by Moyle, Gibbon, and Volney. These views may in some degree be reconciled by the supposition that it was a reformation, not a primary development of the religion, which took place under the Medo-Persian, or the Persian mon- archy. The elements of the faith and the caste of the Magi were, I should conceive, earlier. The inculcation of agricultural habits on a people emerging from the pastoral life, so well developed by Heeren, seems to indicate a more ancient date. Consult also Gesenius on Isaiah, Ixv., 5." Constant, sur la Religion, ii., 187. * It may be necessary, in this country, briefly to state the question as to the authenticity or value ot these documents. They were brought from the East by that singular adventurer, Anquetil du Per- ron. Sir W. Jones, in a letter, not the most suc- cessful of the writings of that excellent and accom- plished man, being a somewhat stiff and laboured imitation of the easy irony of Voltaire, threw a shade of suspicion over the character of Du Perron, which in England has never been dispelled, and, except among Oriental scholars, has attached to all his publications. Abroad, however, the antiquity' of the Zendavesta, at least its value as a trustwor- thy record of the Zoroastrian tenets, has been gen- erally acknowledged. If altogether spurious, those works must be considered as forgeries of Du Per- ron. But, I., they are too incomplete and imper- fect for forgeries ; if it had been worth Du Perron’s while to fabricate die Institutes of Zoroaster, we should, no doubt, have had something more elabo- rate than several books of prayers, and treatises of different ages, from which it required his own in- dustry, and that of his German translator, Kleuker, to form a complete system. II. Du Perron must have forged the language in which the books are44 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. source in which we might discover the or- igin of those traditional notions of the Jews, which were extraneous to their ear- lier system, and which do not appear to rest on their sacred records.* It is un- doubtedly remarkable, that among the Magian tenets we find so many of those doctrines, about which the great schism in the Jewish popular creed, that of the tra- ditionists and anti-traditionists, contended for several centuries. It has already been observed, that in the later prophetic wri- written, as well as the books themselves. But the Zend is universally admitted by the great Oriental- ists and historians of language to be a genuine and •very curious branch of the Eastern dialects. (See Sopp., Vergleichende Grammatik.) It should be added, that the publication of the Zendavesta, in the original, has been commenced by M. Bournouf in Paris, and by M. Olshausen in Germany. III. These documents may be considered as more modern compilations, of little greater authority than the Sadder, which Hyde translated from the modem Persian. That they are of the age of Zo- roaster it may be difficult to prove ; but their inter- nal evidence, and their coincidence with the other notices of the Persian religion, scattered among the writings of the Greeks and Romans (see Du Per- ron’s and Kleuker’s illustrations, especially the Persica of the latter), afford sufficient ground for supposing that they contain the genuine and unadul- terated elements of the Zoroastrian faith, and, if not of primitive, are of very high antiquity. The traces of Mohammedanism, which Brucker (vol. vi., p. 68) supposed that he had detected, and which are apparent in the Sadder, are rather notions bor- rowed by Mohammed from the Jews ; but whence obtained by the Jews is the question. Mr. Er- skine, the highest authority on such subjects, con- siders the existing Zendavesta to have been com- piled in the age of Ardeshir Babhegan, the great re- storer of the Magian faith. (Bombay Transac- tions.) In Professor Neuman’s translation of Var- tan there is a curious sentence, which seems to in- timate that the books of the Magian faith either did not exist at that time, or were inaccessible to the generality. IV. A thought has sometimes crossed my own mind (it has been anticipated by Du Perron), wheth- er they can be the sacred books of a sect formed from a union of Gnostic or Manichaean Christian- ity with the ancient Persian religion. But there is no vestige of purely Christian tradition ; and those points in which Parseism seems to coincide with Christianity are inseparable parts of their great sys- tem. And against all such opinions must be weigh- ed the learned paper of Professor Rask, who gives strong reasons for the antiquity both of the language and of the books. The language he considers the vernacular tongue of ancient Media. (Trans, of Asiatic Society, iii., 524.) Still, while I appeal to the Zendavesta as authority, I shall only adduce the more general leading principles of the faith, of which the antiquity appears certain; and rarely any tenet for which we have not corroborative au- thority in the Greek and Latin writers. The testi- monies of the latter have been collected both by Du Perron and Kleuker. * xMosheim has traced with brevity, but with his usual good sense and candour, this analogy between the traditional notions of the Jews and those of the Magians.—De Reb. ant& Const. M., ii., 7 [and In- stit. of Eccl. Hist., i., p. 59, &c.]. tings, many allusions, and much of what may be called the poetic language and ma- chinery, is strikingly similar to the main principles of the Magian faith. Nor can it be necessary to suggest how completely such expressions as the “ children of light” and the “ children of darkness” had be- come identified with the common language of the Jews at the time of our Saviour: and when Jesus proclaimed himself “ the Light of the world,” no doubt he employed a term familiar to the ears of the people, though, as usual, they might not clearly comprehend in what sense it was applica- ble to the Messiah, or to the purely moral character of the new religion. It is generally admitted, that the Jewish notions about the angels,* one Thean was the doctrine from the Ganges, or even the shores of the Yellow Sea,j to the Ilissus; it was the fundamental principle of the Indian religion and Indian philosophy;{ it was the basis of Zoroas- trianism^, it was pure Platonism,|| it was the Platonic Judaism of the Alexandrean school. Many fine passages might be quoted from Philo, on the impossibility that the first self-existing Being should become cognizable to the sense of man; and even in Palestine, no doubt, John the Baptist, and our Lord himself, spoke no new doctrine, but rather the common sen- timent of the more enlightened, when they declared that “no man had seen*God at any time.”T[ In conformity with this prin- ciple, the Jews, in the interpretation of the older Scriptures, instead of direct and sensible communication from the one great Deity, had interposed either one or more intermediate beings as the channels of communication. According to one ac credited tradition alluded to by St. Ste- phen, the law was delivered “ by the dispo- sition of angels ;”** * * * § ** according to another, this office was delegated to a single angel sometimes called the angel of the Law,f*j * It is curious to trace the development of this idea in the .older and in the apocryphal books of the Old Testament. In the book of Proverbs, the Wis- dom is little more than the great attribute of the Deity, an intellectual personification: in Ecclesias- ticus it is a distinct and separate being, and “ stands up beautiful” before the throne of God, xxv., 1. t M. Abel Remusat says of the three Chinese religions, “ Parmi leurs dogmes fundamentaux, en- seignes six siecles avant notre ere par Lao-tseu, Pun de leurs maitres, est celui de 1’existence da la raison grimor diale, qui a cree le monde, le Logos des Platoniciens.— Rech.Asiat., 2d ser., i., 38 X In the Indian system, Brahm, in the neuter, is the great Primal Spirit. See Baron W. Von Hum- boldt, fiber den Bhagavat Gita. Compare Bopp., Conjugations System, 290, 301. § See above. U ndv to daifiovibv fiera^v sen Osov kclI d-vr}- rov—Qeog 6s dvdp6tto ov {liyvvmt, dWa did tovtov Tcacra sgtiv rj o/niXca.—Plato, in Symp. f John, i, 18. Compare John, i., 4, 18; vi., 46. ** Compare LXX. transl. of Dent., xxxiii., 2, where the angels are interpolated. 'Hfitiv ra XiGTCL t&v doyfidrov Kal rd ooLurara rtiv ev rolg vojloig 6C dyyeXov irapd rov Qsov fiadsvTov.— Joseph , Ant., xv., 5, 3. Compare Chiarini, i., 307. And on the traces of the Jud^eo-Alexandrean phi- losophy in the LXX., Dahne, Judisch-Alexandri- anische Religions Philosophic, part ii., p. 49-56. f t Compare Gal., iii., 19. Deus Mosen legem do- cuit: cum autem descenderet, tarito timore percul-4(3 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. at others the Metatron. But the more ordi- nary representative, as it were, of God to the sense and mind of man, was the Mem- ' The Word ra, or the Divine Word ; and it is remarkable that the same appel- lation is found in the Indian,* * * * § the Persian,! the Platonic, and the Alexandrean systems. By the Targumists, the earliest Jewish commentators on the Scriptures, this term had been already applied to the Messiah ;J nor is it necessary to observe the manner in which it has been sanctified by its in- troduction into the Christian ■ scheme.§ From this remarkable uniformity of con- ception and coincidence of language has sometimes been assumed a common tra- dition, generally disseminated throughout the race of man. I should be content with receiving it as the general acquiescence sus est, ut omnium oblivisceretur. Deus autem statim Jesifiam, Angelum legis, vocavit, qui ipsi le- gem tradidit bene ordinatam et custoditam, omnes- que angeli amici ejus facti sunt. Jalkut Ruben, quoted by Wetstein and Schoetgen, in loco. See also Eisenmenger, 1-56. Two angels seem to be introduced in this latter tradition, the angelus Me- tatron, and Jesifya, angelus Legis. Philo, de Prsem., rationalizes farther, and consid- ers the commandments communicated, as it were, by the air made articulate, ii., 405. * It appears in the Indian system : Yach signify- ing speech. She is the active power of Brahma, proceeding from him: she speaks a hymn in the Yedas, in praise of herself as the supreme and uni- versal soul. (Colebrooke, in Asiatic Researches, viii., p. 402.) La premiere parole, que profera le Createur, ce fut Gum : Oum parut avant toutes choses, et il s’appelle le premier ne du Createur. Oum ou Prana, pared au pur ether renfermant en soi toutes les qualites, tous elemens, est le nom, le corps de Brahm, et par consequent infini comme lui, createur et maitre de toutes choses. Brahm mdditant sur le Verbe divin y trouva l’eau primi- tive.—Oupnek-Hat, quoted in De Guigniaut, p. 644. Origen, or, rather, the author of the Philosophou- mena inserted in his works, was aware of this fact. ’Auroi (Brachmanes) rov fiedv ty&g elv&L Xeyovcnv ovx ottolov ng 6pd, olov rjXiog ical 7xvp- IlTJm eariv avrolg 6 Qedg Xoyog, ovx 6 evapOpog, d?Jid o rfjg yvcooeog, 6C ov rd KpvTXTa Trjg yvdaeog pva- T'fjpia opuTcu (jotyoig.—De Brachman. According to a note, partly by M. le Normant, partly by M. Champollion, in Chateaubriand (Etu- des sur rHistoire), Thoth is, in the hieroglyphicai language of Egypt, the Word. f In the Persian system, the use of the term Hon- overis by no means consistent; strictly speaking, it occupies only a third place. Ormuzd, the good Principle, created the external universe by his Word (Honover): in another sense, the great primal spirit is the Word ; in another, the Principle of Good. t It is by the latter, as may be seen in the works of Lightfoot, Schoetgen, and other Talmudic wri-* ters, and in Bertholdt (Christologia Judaica), that it is applied to the Messiah, not by Philo, who, as will appear, scarcely, if ever, notices a personal Messiah. § Dr. Burton (in his Bampton Lectures) ac- knowledges, of course, the antiquity of the term, and suggests the most sensible mode of reconciling this fact with its adoption into Christianity. of the human mind, in the necessity of some mediation between the pure, spirit- ual nature of the Deity, and the intellect- ual and moral being of man, of which the sublimest and simplest, and, therefore, the most natural development, was the reve- lation of God in Christ; in the inadequate language of our version of the original, “ the brightness of (God’s) glory, and the express image of his person.”* No question has been more strenuously debated than the knowledge of F a future state entertained by the rts a e- earlier Jews. At all events, it is quite clear that, before the time of Christ, not merely the immortality of the soul, but, what is very different, a final resurrec- tion,! had become completely interwoven with the popular belief. Passages in the later prophets, Daniel and Ezekiel, par- ticularly a very remarkable one in the latter, may be adduced as the first distinct authorities on which this belief might be grounded. It appears, however, in its more perfect development, soon after the return from the Captivity. As early as the revolt of the Maccabees, it was so deeply rooted in the public mind, that we find a solemn ceremony performed for the dead.J From henceforth it became the leading article of the great schism be- tween the traditionists and the anti-tradi- tionists, the Pharisees andihe Sadducees : and in the Gospels we cannot but discov- er, at a glance, its almost universal preva- lence. Even the Roman historian was struck by its influence on the indomitable character of the people.§ In the Zoroas- trian religion, a resurrection holds a place no less prominent than in the later Jewish belief.|| On the day of the final triumph of the Great Principle of Light, the chil- dren of light are to be raised from the dead, to partake in the physical splen- dour, and to assume the moral perfection of the subjects of the triumphant Princi- ple of Good. In the same manner, the Jews associated together the coming of the Messiah with the final resurrection From many passages quoted by Lightfoot, * ’krzavyaopa rfjg dofyg feat xaPaKTVp TVC vizoardueag avrov.—Hebrews, i., 3. f It is singular how often this material point of difference has been lost sight of in the discussions on this subject. f 2 Macc., xii., 44. § Animasque prselio et suppliciis peremptorum seternas putant.—Tac., Hist., v., 5. || Hyde, de Vet. Pers. Relig., 537 and 293. Beausobre, Hist, du Manicheisme, i., 204. ’Ava~ §t6aeaBai Kara rovg Mdyovg rovg dvOp&Tzovg nal eaeodai ddavdrovg.—Theopomp. apud Diog. Laert. Kleuker’s Zendavesta and Anhang., part ii., p. 110. Bounciehesch, xix., xxxi., &c. Com- pare Gesenius on Isaiah, xxvi., 19.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 47 I select the following: “ The righteous, whom thfe Lord shall raise from the dead in the days of the Messiah, when they are restored to life, shall not again return to their dust, neither in the days of the Mes- siah, nor in the following age, but their flesh shall remain upon them.”* Out of all these different sources, from Jewish no- whence they derived a knowl- tion of the edge of a future state, the passa- Messiah. ges 0p their prophets in their own sacred writings (among which that in the book of Daniel, from its coinci- dence with the Zoroastrian tenet, might easily be misapplied), and the Oriental element, the popular belief of the Pales- tinian Jews had moulded up a splendid though confused vision of the appearance of the Messiah, the simultaneous regen- eration of all things, the resurrection of the dead, and the reign of the Messiah upon earth. All these events were to take place at once, or to follow close upon each other. In many passages, the. language of the apostles clearly intimates that they were as little prepared to ex- pect a purely religious renovation at the coming of the Messiah as the rest of their countrymen; and throughout the apostolic age this notion still maintained its ground, and kept up the general apprehension that the final consummation was immediately at hand.f It is no doubt impossible to as- sign their particular preponderance to these several elements, which combined to form the popular belief: yet, even if many of their notions entirely originated in the Zoroastrian system, it would be curious to observe how, by the very ca- lamities of the Jews, Divine Providence adapted them for the more important part which they were to fill in the history of mankind; and to trace the progressive manner in which the Almighty prepared the development of the more perfect and universal system of Christianity. For, with whatever Oriental colouring Messiah, Jewish tradition might invest the national, image of the great Deliverer, in Palestine it still remained rigidly national and exclusive. If the Jew concurred with the worshipper of Ormuzd in expecting a final restoration of all things through the agency of a Divine Intelligence,} that Be- * Lightfoot, v., 255 ; x., 495; xi., 353. t Compare 2 Esdras, vi., 24, 25. t The Persians long preserved the notion of a restoration of the law of Zoroaster by a kind of Messiah. “ Suivant les traditions des Parses, rap- port£es dans la Zerdouscht-nameh et dans le Djamaspi-nazem, Pashoutan, l’un des personnages destines a faire refleurir la religion de Zoroastre, et Fempire des Perses dans les derniers temps, de- rneure en attendant ce moment dans le Kangue- ing, according to the promise to their fa- thers, was to be intimately connected with their race ; he was to descend from the line of David ; he was to occupy Sion, the holy city, as the centre of his govern- ment ; he was to make his appearance in the temple on Mount Moriah; he was to reassemble all the scattered descendants of the tribes, to discomfit and expel their barbarous and foreign rulers. The great distinction between the two races of man- kind fell in completely with their heredi- tary prejudices : the children of Abraham were, as their birthright, the children of light; and even the doctrine of the resur- rection was singularly harmonized with that exclusive nationality. At least the first resurrection* * was to be their separate portion ;f it was to summon them, if not all, at least the more righteous, from Par- adise, from the abode of departed spirits ; and under their triumphant King they were to enjoy a thousand years of glory and bliss upon the recreated and renova- ted earth.} dez, pays qui paroit repondre en partie a Khorassan. II en sortira a l’ordre, qui lui sera apporte par un ized (i. e,, spiritus celestis) nomme Serosch, et re- viendra dans l’lran. Par Fefficace des paroles sa- crees de FAvesta, il mettra en fuite les barbares, qui desoloient ce pays, y retablira la.religion dans toute sa purete, et y fera renaitre Fabondance, le bonheur, et la paix.—Silvestre de Sacy, sur div. Ant. de la Perse, p. 95. * 2 Esd., xi., 10-31. All Israelites (says the Mischna. Tract. Sanh., c. xi., 12) shall partake in the life to dome, except those who deny the resur- rection of the dead (the Sadducees?) and that the law came from Heaven, and the Epicureans. R. Akiba added, he who reads foreign books; Aba Schaul, he who pronounces the Ineffable Name (Jehovah). Three kings and four private individu- als have no share in the life to come : the kings, Jeroboam, Ahab, Manasseh; the four private men, Balaam, Doeg, Achitophel, -—- ? f It is good (says the martyred youth in the book of Maccabees), being put to death by men, to be raised up again by him; as for thee, thou shall have no resurrection to life.—2 Macc., vii., 14 ; xii., 44 ; also 2 Esd., ii., 23. Compare the speech of Josephus, Hist, of the Jews, vol. ii., p. 312. Quotations might be multiplied from the rabbini- cal writers. $ Tanchuma, fol. 255. Quot sunt dies Messise? R. Elieser, filius R. Jose, Galilseus, dixit Messise tempora sunt mille anni, secundum dictum, Jer., xxiii., 4. Dies enim Dei mille est annorum.— Bertholdt, p. 38. The holy blessed God will renew the world for a thousand years—quoted by Lightfoot, iii., 37. If I presume to treat the millennium as a fable “ of Jewish dotage,” I may remind my readers that this expression is taken from what once stood as an ar- ticle (the forty-first) of our Church. [“ They who endeavour to revive the fable of the Millenarians, are therein contrary to the Holy Scriptures, and cast themselves down headlong into Jewish dota- ges.”] See Collier for the Articles in Edward the Sixth’s reign. Atque de hujus in his terris regno, mille annos* duraturo, ejusdemque deliciis et volup- tatibus, de bellis ejus cum terribili quodam adver48 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY We pass from the rich poetic imperson- Judaeo-Gre- ations, the fantastic but ex- cian system, pressive symbolic forms of the East, to the colder and clearer light of Grecian philosophy, with which the West- ern Jews, especially in Alexandrea, had endeavoured to associate their own reli- gious truths. The poetic age of Greece had long passed away before the two na- tions came into contact; and the same rationalizing tendency of the times led the Greek to reduce his religion, the Jew the history of his nation, to a lofty moral al- legory.* * * § Enough of poetry remained in the philosophic system, adopted in the great Jewish Alexandrean school, that of Plato, to leave ample scope for the ima- gination ; and, indeed, there was a kind of softened Orientalism, probably derived by Plato from his master Pythagoras, by Pythagoras from the East, which readily assimilated with the mystic interpreta- tions of the Egypto-Jewish theology. The Alexandrean notions of the days of the Messiah are faintly shadowed out in the book “ of the Wisdom of Solomon,”! in terms which occasionally remind us of some which occur in the New Testament. The righteous Jews, on account of their acknowledged moral and religious supe- riority, were to “judge the nations,” and have “ dominion over all people.” But the more perfect development of these views is to be found in the works of Philo. This writer, who, however inclined to soar into the cloudy realms of mysticism, often rests in the middle region of the moral sublime; and abounds in passages which would scarcely do discredit .to his Athe- nian master, had arrayed a splendid vision of the perfectibility of human nature, in which his own nation was to take the most distinguished part. From them knowl- edge and virtue wmre to emanate through (he universal race of man. The whole world, convinced at length of the moral superiority of the Mosaic institutes, inter- preted, it is true, upon the allegorical sys- tem, and so harmonized with the sublimest Platonism of the Greeks, was to submit in voluntary homage, and render their alle- giance to the great religious teachers and examples of mankind. The Jews them- selves, thus suddenly regenerated to more sario quem Antichristum dicebant, de victoriis de- nique earumque fructibus mirabilia narrabant som- nia, quorum deinde pars ad Christianos transfere- batur.—Mosheim, ii., 8. This was the kingdom of heaven, the kingdom of God—of Christ, or, emphatically, “the king- dom.”—See Kuinoel, vol. i., p. 61. Schoetgen, Hor. Heb., p. 1147. * Compare Bertholdt, ch. vi. t Wisdom, iii., 8; v., 1C; viii., 14. than the primitive purity and loftiness of their Law (in which the Divine Reason, the Logos, was, as it were, imbodied), were to gather together from all quarters, and under the guidance of a more than human being, unseen to all eyes but those of the favoured nation* (such was the only ves- tige of the Messiah), to reas- Rejan of Meg semble in their native land, sialf”accorct" There the great era of virtue, ingtoAiexan- and peace, and abundance, pro- drean Jews’ ductiveness of the soil, prolificness in the people, in short, of all the blessings prom- ised in the book of Deuteronomy, was to commence and endure for ever. This people were to be invincible, since true valour is inseparable from true virtue. By a singular inference, not out of character with allegoric interpreters, who, while they refine the plainest facts and precepts to a more subtle and mystic meaning, are apt to take that which is evidently figurative in a literal sense, the very wild beasts in awe and wonder at this pure and passion- less race, who shall have ceased to rage against each other with bestial ferocity, were to tame their savage hostility to man- kind.! Thus the prophecy of Isaiah, to which Philo seems to allude, though he does not adduce the words, was to be ac- complished to the letter; and that para- disaical state of amity between brute and man, so beautifully described by Milton, perhaps from this source, was finally to be renewed. And as the Jewish philoso- pher, contrary to most of his own coun- trymen, and to some of the Grecian sects, denied the future dissolution of the world by fire, and asserted its eternity,! he prob- ably contemplated the everlasting duration of this peaceful and holy state. Such—for no doubt the Alexandrean opinions had penetrated into Pal- Belief differ- estine, particularly among the entaccordills Hellenist Jews—such were the icterof^he vast, incoherent, and dazzling believer, images with which the future teemed to the hopes of the Jewish people.§ Thev * De Exerc., ii., 435, 436. f De Praem., ii., p. 422. ! De Mundi Incorruptibilitate, passim. § The following passages from the apocryphal books may be consulted ; I do not think it necessa- ry to refer to all the citations which might be made from the Prophets : the “faithful prophet” is men- tioned, 1 Macc., xiv., 41 ; the discomfiture of the enemies of Israel, Judith, xvi., 17 ; universal peace, Ecclesiast., 1., 23, 24; the reassembling of the tribes, Tobit, xiii., 13-18; Baruch, ii., 34, 35; the conversion of many nations, Tobit, xiii., 11; xiv., 6, 7 : see particularly the second apocryphal book of Esdras, which, although manifestly Judaeo-Chris- tian, is of value as illustrating the opinions of the times: “ Thou madest the world for our sakes ; as. for the other people, which also come of Adam, thouHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 49 admitted either a part or the whole of the common belief, as accorded with their tone of mind and feeling. Each region, each rank, each sect; the Babylonian, the Egyp- tian, the Palestinian, the Samaritan ; the Pharisee, the lawyer, the zealot, arrayed the Messiah in those attributes which suit- ed his own temperament. Of that which was more methodically taught in the syn- agogue or the adjacent school, the popu- lace caught up whatever made the deeper impression. The enthusiasm took an ac- tive or contemplative, an ambitious or a religious, an earthly or a heavenly tone, according to the education, habits, or sta- tion of the believer ; and to different men the Messiah was man or angel, or more than angel; he was king,* * * * § conqueror, or moral reformer; a more victorious Josh- ua, a more magnificent Herod, a wider- ruling Caesar, a wiser Moses,f a holier Abraham ;J an angel, the Angel of the Cov- enant, the Metatron, the Mediator between God and man;§ Michael, the great tutelar archangel of the nation, who appears by some to have been identified with the mysterious Being who led them forth from Egypt; he was the Word of God ;|| an Emanation from the Deity; himself par- taking of the Divine nature. While this was the religious belief, some others were, no doubt, of the Sadducaic party, or the half-Grecised adherents of the Herodian family, who treated the whole as a popu- hast said that they are nothing, but be like unto spittle; and hast likened the abundance of them unto a drop that falleth from a vessel. * * If the world now be made for our sakes, why do we not possess an inheritance with the world? How long shall this endure?—2 Esdras, vi., 56-59. * The Gospels, passim; 2 Esdras, xii., 32. f Thou wilt proclaim liberty to thy ,people, the house of Israel, by the hand of Messias, as t.hou didst by the hand of Moses and Aaron, on the day of the Passover.—Chald. Par. on Lament., ii., 22, quoted by Lightfoot, v., 161. Among others to the same purport, the following, of a later date, is curious. Moses came out of the wilderness, and King Messias out of tne midst of Rome ; the one spake in the head of a cloud, *and the other spake in the head of a cloud, and the Word of the Lord speaking between these, and they walking together.—Targ. Jer. on Exod., xii. X “ Behold, glorious shall be my servant King Messiah, exalted, lofty, and very high: more exalt- ed than Abraham, for it is written of him, I have lifted up my hand to the Lord (Gen., xiv,, 22); and more exalted than Moses, for it is written of him, He saith of me, take him unto thy bosom, for he is greater than the fathers.”—Jalkut Shamuni; see Bertholdt, 101. Some of the titles of the Messiah, recognised by general belief and usage, will be noticed as they oc- cur in the course of the history. § Sohar, quoted by Bertholdt, p. 121,133. J| Many of the quotations about the Me.mra, or Divine Word, may be found in Dr Pye Smith’s vork on the Messiah. G lar delusion; or, as Josephus to Vespa- sian, would not scruple to employ it as a politic means for the advancement of their own fortunes. While the robber- chieftain looked out from his hill-tower to see the blood-red banner of him whom he literally expected to come “from Edom with dyed garments from Bozrah,” and “ treading the wine-press in his wrath,” the Essene in his solitary hermitage, or monastic fraternity of husbandmen, look- ed to the reign of the Messiah, when the more peaceful images of the same prophet would be accomplished, and the Prince of Peace establish his quiet and uninterrupted reign. In the body of the people, the circum- stances of the times powerfully popular tended both to develop more fully, belief, and to stamp more deeply into their hearts, the expectation of a temporal de- liverer, a conqueror, a king. As misgov- ernment irritated, as exaction pressed, as national pride was wounded by foreign domination, so enthusiasm took a fiercer and more martial turn: as the desire of national independence became the pre- dominant sentiment, the Messiah was more immediately expected to accomplish that which lay nearest to their hearts. The higher views of his character, and the more unworldly hopes of a spiritual and moral revolution, receded farther and farther from the view; and as the time approached in which the . Messiah was to be born, the people in general were in a less favourable state of mind to listen to the doctrines of peace, humility, and love, or to recognise that Messiah in a being so entirely divested of temporal power or splendour. In the ruling party, on the other hand, as-will hereafter appear, the dread of this inflammable state of the pub- lic mind, and the dangerous position of affairs, would confirm that jealousy of in- novation inseparable from established gov- ernments. Every tendency to commotion would be repressed with a strong hand, pr, at least, the rulers would be constantly on the watch, by their forward zeal in con- demning all disturbers of the public peace, to exculpate themselves, with their for- eign masters, from any participation in the tumult. Holding, no doubt, with de- vout, perhaps with conscientious earnest- ness, the promised coming of the Messiah as an abstract truth and as an article of their religious creed, their own interests, their rank and authority, were so connect- ed with the existing order of things, po- litical prudence would appear so fully te justify more than ordinary caution, that, while they would have fiercely resented50 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. any imputation on their want of faith in the Divine promises, it would have been difficult, even by the most public and im- posing “ signs,” to have satisfied their cool incredulity. With all these elements of political state of an(* religious excitement stirring political through the whole fabric of so- confusion, ciety, it would be difficult to con- ceive a nation in a more extraordinary state of suspense and agitation than the Jews about the period of the birth of Christ. Their temporal and religious for- tunes seemed drawing to an immediate issue. Their king lay slowly perishing of a lingering and loathsome disease ; and his temper, which had so often broken out into paroxysms little short of insanity, now seemed to be goaded by bodily and mental anguish to the fury of a wild beast. Every day might be anticipated the spec- tacle of the execution of his eldest son, now on his way from Rome, and known to have been detected, in his unnatural treasons. It seemed that even yet the royal authority and the stern fanaticism of the religious party, which had for many years lowered upon each other with hos- tile front, might grapple in a deadly strug- gle. The more prudent of the religious leaders could scarcely restrain the indig- nant enthusiasm of their followers, which broke out at once on the accession of Archelaus ; while, on the other hand, the almost incredible testamentary cruelty, by which Herod commanded the heads of the principal Jewish families to be assem- bled in the Hippodrome, at the signal of his death to be cut down in a promiscuous massacre, may reasonably be ascribed to remorseless policy as well as to frantic vengeance. He might suppose that, by removing all opponents of weight and in- fluence, he could secure the peaceable succession of his descendants, if the em- peror, according to his promise, should ratify the will by which he had divided his dominions among his surviving sons.* In the midst of this civil confusion/that Birth of great event took place which was Christ, to produce so total a revolution in the state of all mankind. However stri- king the few incidents which are related of the birth of Christ, when contemplated distinct and separate from the stirring transactions of the times, and through the atmosphere, as it were, of devotional feel- ings, which at once seem, to magnify and harmonize them; yet, for this very rea- son, we are, perhaps, scarcely capable of judging the effect which such events ac- + Compare Hist. cF the Jews, vo1 ii., p. 106 tually produced, and the relative magni- tude in which they appeared to the con- temporary generation. For, if we endeav- our to cast ourselves back into the period to which these incidents belong, and place ourselves, as it were, in the midst of the awful political crisis, which seemed about to decide at once the independence or servitude of the nation, and might, more or less, affect the private and personal welfare of each family and individual, it will by no means move our wonder, that the commotion excited by the appearance of the Magians in Jerusalem, and the an- nouncement of the birth of the Christ, should not have made a more deep im- pression on the public mind, and should have passed away, it should seem, so speedily from the popular remembrance. In fact, even if generally credited, the in- telligence that the Messiah had appeared in the form of a newborn infant would rather, perhaps, have disappointed than gratified the high-wrought expectation, which looked for an instant, an immediate deliverance, and would .be too impatient to await the slow development of his man- hood. Whether the more1 considerate expected the Deliverer suddenly to reveal himself in his maturity of strength and power may be uncertain : but the last thing that the more ardent and fiery look- ed for, particularly those who supposed that the Messiah would partake of the di- vine or superhuman nature, was his ap- pearance as a child; the last throne to which they would be summoned to render their homage would be the cradle of a helpless infant.** Nor is it less important, throughout the early history of Christianity, to Belief in }re_ seize the spirit of the times, tematurai in- Events which appear to us so terPosU10!iS- extraordinary, that we can scarcely con- ceive that they should either fail in ex- citing a powerful sensation, or ever be obliterated from the popular remembrance, in fheir own day might pass off as of little more than ordinary occurrence. During the whole life of "Christ, and the early propagation of the religion, it must be borne in mind that they took place in an age and among a people which supersti- tion had made so familiar with what were supposed to be preternatural events, that wonders awakened no emotion, or werfc speedily superseded by some new demand on the ever-ready belief. The Jews of that period not only believed that the Su- preme Being had the power of controlling the course of nature, but that the same * “When Christ cometh, no man knoweth whence he is ’’—John, vii 27.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 51. influence was possessed by multitudes of subordinate spirits, both good and evil. Where the pious Christian in the present day would behold the direct agency of the Almighty, the Jews would invariably have interposed an angel as the author or min- isterial agent in the wonderful transaction. Where the Christian moralist would con- demn the fierce passion, the ungovernable lust, or the inhuman temper, the Jew dis- cerned the workings of diabolical posses- sion. Scarcely a malady was endured, or crime committed, but it was traced to the operation of one of these myriad daemons, who watched every opportunity of exercising their malice in the suffer- ings and the sms of men. Yet the first incident in Christian his- Conception tory, the annunciation of the n?dTnhnhthP conception and birth of John Baptist the Baptist,* as its wonderful (B.c. 5). circumstances took place in a priestly family, and on so public a scene as the temple, might be expected to excite the public attention in no ordinary degree. The four Levitical families who returned from the Captivity had been distributed into twenty-four courses, one of which came into actual office in the temple every week: they had assumed the old names, as if descended in direct lineage from the original heads of families ; and thus the regular ministrations of the priesthood were reorganized on the ancient footing, coeval with the foundation of the temple. In the course of Abia, the eighth in order,f was an aged priest named Zachariah. The officiating course were accustomed to cast lots for the separate functions. Some bf these were'considered of higher dignity than others, which were either of a more menial character, or, at least, were not held in equal estimation. Almost the most important was the watching and supplying with incense the great brazen altar, which stood within the building of the temple, in the first or holy place. Into this, at the sound of a small bell, which gave notice to the worshippers at a distance, the ministering priest entered alone; and in the sacred chamber, into which the light of day never penetrated, but where the dim fires of the altar, and the chandeliers, which were never extin- guished, gave a solemn and uncertain light, still more bedimmed by the clouds * Luke, i., 5-22. t As each came into office twice in the year, and there is nothing to indicate whether this was the first or second period, it appears to me quite impossible to. calculate the time of the year in which this event took place. Of this ordering of the courses, observes Lightfoot, both Talmuds speak ■irgeJy ijj gf of smoke arising from the newly-fed altar of incense, no doubt, in the pious mind, the sense of the more immediate presence of the Deity, only separated by the veil, which divided the Holy place from the Holy of Holies, would constantly have awakened the most profound emotions. While the priest was employed within the gates, the multitude of worshippers in the adjacent court awaited his return; for it should seem that the offering of in- cense was considered emblematic of the prayers of the whole nation; and though it took place twice every day, at morning and evening, the entrance and return ol the priest from the mysterious precincts was watched by the devout with some- thing of awful anxiety. This day, to the general astonishment, Zachariah, to whom the function had fallen, lingered far beyond the customary time. For it is said of the high-priest’s annual entrance into the Holy of Holies, that he usually stayed within as short a time as possible, lest the anxious people should fear that, on account of some omission in the offering, or guilt in the minister, or perhaps in the nation, of which he was the federal religious head, he might have been stricken with death. It may be supposed, therefore, that even in the subordinate ceremonies there was a cer- tain ordinary time, after which the de- vouter people would begin to tremble, lest their representative, who, in their be- half, was making the national offering, might have met with some sinister or fatal sign of the Divine disfavour. When at length Zachariah appeared, he could not speak; and it was evident that in some mysterious manner he had been struck dumb, and to the anxious inquiries he could only make known by signs that something awful and unusual had taken place within the sanctuary. At what period he made his full relation of the wonderful fact which had occurred does not appear; but. it was a relation of ab- sorbing interest both to the aged man him-. self, who, although his wife was far ad- vanced in years, was to be blessed with offspring, and to the whole people, as in- dicating the fulfilment of one of the pre- liminary signs which were universally accredited as precursive of the Messiah. In the vision of Zachariah he had be- held an angel standing on the vision of right side of the altar, who an- Zachariah. nounced that his prayer was heard,* and * Grotius and many other writers are of opin- ion that by this is mdant, not the prayer of Zacha- riah for ofchng, but the general national orayer,52 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. that his barren house was to be blessed ; that his aged wife should bear a son, and that son be consecrated from his birth to the service of God, and observe the strict- est austerity; that he.was to revive the decaying spirit of religion, unite the dis- organized nation, and, above all, should appear as the expected harbinger, who was to precede and prepare the way for the approaching Redeemer. The angel proclaimed himself to be the messenger of God (Gabriel), and both as a punish- ment for his incredulity, and a sign of the certainty of the promise, Zachariah was struck dumb, but with an assurance that the affliction should remain only till the accomplishment of the Divine prediction in the birth of his son.* * If, as has been said, the vision of Zachariah was in any manner communicated to the assembled people (though the silence of the evan- gelist makes strongly against any such supposition), or even to his kindred the officiating priesthood, it would no doubt have caused a great sensation, falling in, as it would, with the prevailing tone of the . public mind. For it was the general belief that some messenger would, in the language of Isaiah, “ prepare the way of the Lord and the last words which had, as it were, sealed the book of prophecy, intimated, as many supposed, the personal reappearance of Elijah, the greatest, and, in popular opinion, a sort of representa- tive of the whole prophetic community. The ascetic life to which the infant proph- et was to be dedicated, according to the Nazaritish vow of abstinence from all wine or strong drink, was likewise a characteristic of the prophetic order, which, although many, more particularly among the Essenes, asserted their in- spired knowledge of futurity, was gener- ally considered to have ceased in the per- son of Malachi, the last whose oracles were enrolled in the sacred canon.f It does not appear that dumbness was a Retarn of legal disqualification for the sa- Zachariah cerdotal function, for Zachariah to Hebron. remaine(q among his brethren, the offered by him in his ministerial function,for the ap- pearance of the Messiah. * According to Josephus, Ant., xiii., J8, Hyr- canus, the high-priest, heard a voice from heaven while he was offering on the altar of incense. f The mythic interpreters (see Strauss, p. 138) assert that this “ short poem,” as they call it, was invented out of the passages in the Old Testament relating to the births of Isaac, Samson, and Sam- uel, by a Judaizing Christian, while there were still genuine followers of John the Baptist, in order to conciliate them to Christianity. This is admitting very high antiquity of the passage ; and, unless it coincided with their own traditions, was it likely to have any influence upon that sect ? priests, till their week of ministration eiiu ed. He then returned to his usual resi deuce in the southern part of Judaea, mosj probably in the ancient and well-known city of Hebron,* which was originally a Levitical city ; and although the'sacerdo- tal order do not seem to have resumed the exclusive possession of their cities at the return from the Captivity, it might lead the priestly families to settle more gener- ally in those towns ; and Hebron, though of no great size, was considered remark- ably populous in proportion to its extent. The Divine promise began to be accom- plished ; and, during the five first months of her pregnancy, Elizabeth, the wife of Zachariah, concealed herself, either avoid- ing the curious inquiries of her neighbours in these jealous and perilous times, or in devotional retirement, rendering thanks to the Almighty for the unexpected bless- ing.f It was on a far less public scene that the birth of Christ, of whom the Ammnci- child of Zachariah was to be the harbinger, was announced to the Virgin Mother. The families which traced their descent from the house of David had fallen into poverty and neglect. When, after the return from the Babylonian Captivity, the sovereignty had been assumed, first by the high-priests of Levitical descent, sub- sequently by the Asmonean family, who were likewise of the priestly line, and finally by the house of Herod, of Idu- mean origin, but ingrafted into the Mac- cabean line by the marriage of Herod with Mariamne, it was the most obvious policy to leave in the obscurity into which they had sunk that race which, if it should pro- duce any pretendant of the least distinc- tion, he might advance an hereditary claim, as dear to the people as it would be dangerous to the reigning dynasty. The whole descendants of the royal race seem to have sunk so low, that even the popular belief, which looked to the line of David as that from which the Messiah was to spring,J did not invest them with * Yet, as there seems no reason why the city ol Hebron should not be. named, many of the most learned writers, Yalesius, Reland, Haremberg, Kuinoel, have supposed that Jutta (the name of a small city) is the right reading, which, being little known, was altered into a city (of) Judah. + Luke, i., 23-25. t This opinion revived so strongly in the time oj Domitian, as, according to the Christian historian, to awaken the apprehension of the Roman emperor, who commanded diligent search to be made for ali who claimed descent from the line of David. It does not appear how many were discovered, as Eu- sebius relates the story merely for the purpose of showing that the descendants of our Lord’s breth- ren were brought before the emperor, and dismisse/HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 58 sufficient importance to awaken the jeal- ousy or suspicion of the rulers. Joseph, a man descended from this royal race, had migrated, for some unknown reason, to a distance from the part of the land inhabit- ed by the tribe of Benjamin, to which, however, they were sffll considered to be- long. He settled in Nazareth, an obscure town in Lower Galilee, which, independ- ent of the general disrepute in which the whole of the Galilean provinces were held by the inhabitants of the more holy dis- trict of Judaea, seems to have been mark- ed by a kind of peculiar proverbial con- tempt. Joseph had been betrothed to a virgin of his own race named Mary, but, according to Jewish usage, some time was to elapse between the betrothment and the espousals. In this interval took place the annunciation of the Divine conception to the Virgin.* * In no part is the singular simplicity of the Gospel narrative more striking than in the relation of this inci- dent ; and I should be inclined, for this reason alone, to reject the notion that these chapters were of a later date.f So early does that remarkable characteristic of the evangelic writings develop itself; the manner in which they relate, in the same calm and equable tone, the most extraordinary and most trivial events; the apparent absence either of wonder in the writer, or the desire of producing a strong effect on the mind of the‘reader.J To il- lustrate this, no passage can be more stri- king than the account of her vision : “And the angel came in unto her, and said, Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women. And when she saw him, she was as simple labourers, too humble to be regarded with suspicion. Many families of this lineage may have perished in the exterminating war of Titus, between the birth of Christ and this inquiry of Domitian. In later times the Prince of the Captivity, with what right it would be impossible to decide, traced his descent from the line of the ancient kings. —Conf. Casaubon, Exercit. anti-Baron., ii., p. 17. * Luke, i., 26, 38. f I cannot discover any great force in the critical arguments adduced to disjoin these preliminary chapters from the rest of the narrative. There is a very remarkable evidence of their authenticity in the curious apocryphal book (the Ascensio Isaige, published from the AEthiopic by Archbishop Law- rence).—Compare Gesenius, Jesaias, Einleitung, p. 50. This writing marks its own date, the end of the reign of Nero, with unusual certainty, and con- tains distinct allusions to these facts, as forming in- tegral parts of the life of Christ. The events were no doubt treasured in the memory of Mary, and might by her be communicated to the apostles. t I may be in error, but this appears to me the marked and perceptible internal difference between the genuine and apocryphal Gospels. The latter are mythic, not merely in the matter, but also in their style. troubled at his saying, and cast in her mind what manner of salutation this should be. A nd the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary; for thou hast found favour with God. And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a Son, and shalt call his name Jesus. He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the High- est : and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David : and he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end. Then said Mary unto the angel, How shall thig be, seeing I know not a man ? And the angel answered and said unto her, The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power of the Highest shall overshadow thee: therefore also that holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God. And, behold, thy cousin Elizabeth, she hath also conceived a son in her old age ; and this is the sixth month with her, who was call- ed barren. For with God nothing shall be impossible. And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the Lord ; be it unto me according to thy word. And the angel departed from her/’ The incarnation of the Deity, or the union of some part of the Divine incarnation Essence with a material or hu- ofthe Deity, man body, is by no means an uncommon religious notion, more particularly in the East. Yet, in the doctrine as subsequently developed by Christianity, there seems the same important difference which char- acterizes the whole system of the ancient and modern religions. It is in the former a mythological impersonation of the pow- er, in Christ it is the goodness of the De- ity, which, associating itself with a human form, assumes the character of a repre- sentative of the human race; in whose person is exhibited a pure model of moral perfection, and whose triumph over evil is by the slow and gradual progress of en- lightening the mind, and softening and pu- rifying the heart. The moral purpose of the descent of the Deity is by no means excluded in the religions, in which a sim- ilar notion has prevailed, as neither is that of Divine power, though confining itself to acts of pure beneficence, from the Chris- tian scheme. This seems more particular- ly the case, if we may state anything with certainty concerning those half-mythologi- cal, half-real personages, the Buddh, Gau- tama, or Somalia Codom of the remoter East.* In these systems likewise the * The characteristic of the Budhist religion, which in one respect may be considered (I depre cate misconstruction) the Christianity of the re- moter East, seems a union r.f political with reli-54 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. overbearing excess of human wickedness demands the interference, and the restora- tion of a better order of things is the ob- ject, which vindicates the presence of the imbodied Deity; yet there is invariably a greater or less connexion with the Orien- tal cosmogonical systems; it is the tri- umph of mind over matter, the termination of the long strife between the two adverse principles. The Christian scheme, how- ever it may occasionally admit the current language of the time, as where Christ is' called the “ Light of the World,” yet in its scope and purport stands plear and inde- pendent of all these physical notions : it is original, inasmuch as it is purely, essen- tially, and exclusively a. moral revelation; its sole design to work a moral change ; to establish a new relation between man and the Almighty Creator, and to bring to light the great secret of the immortality of man. Hence the only deviation from the Sirih from course of nature was the birth of a virgin, this Being from a pure virgin.* * gious reformation ; its end to substitute purer mo- rality for the wild and multifarious idolatry into which Brahminism had degenerated, and to break down the distinction of castes. But Budhism ap- pears to be essentially monastic ; and how different the superstitious regard for life in the Budhist from the enlightened humanity of Christianity 1—See Mahony, in Asiat. Research., vii., p. 40. M. Klaproth has somewhere said that, “next to the Christian, no religion has contributed more to ennoble the human race than the Buddha religion.” Compare likewise the very judicious observations of Wm. Humboldt, fiber die ICawi Sprache, p. 95. * According to,a tradition known in the West at an early period, and quoted by Jerom (Adv. Jovin., c. 26), Budh was bom of a virgin. So were the Fohi of China and the Schaka of Thibet, no doubt the same, whether a mythic or a real personage. The Jesuits in China were appalled at finding in the mythology of that country the counterpart of the “ Virgo Deipara.” (Barrow’s Travels in China, i.) There is something extremely curious in the appearance of the same religious notions in remote and apparently quite disconnected countries, where it is impossible to trace the secret manner of their transmission. Certain incidents, for example, in the history of the Indian Crishna, are so similar to those of the life of Christ, that De Guigniaut is al- most inclined to believe that they are derived from some very early Christian tradition. In the present instance, however, the peculiar sanctity attributed to virginity in all countries, where the ascetic prin- ciple is held in high honour as approximating the pure and passionless human being to the Divinity, might suggest such an origin for a Deity in human form. But the birth of Budh seems purely mythic: he was bom from Maia, the virgin goddess of the imaginative world—as it were the Phantasia of the Greeks, who was said by some to have given birth to Homer. The Schaka of Thibet was born from the nymph Lhamoghinpral.—Georgi. Alph. Tibet. Compare Rosenmiiller, das Alte und Neue Morgen- land, v. iv.; on Budh and his birth, Bohlen, i., 312. . I am inclined to think that the Jews, though par- tially Orientalized in their opinions, were the peo- Much has been written on this suDjeet, but it is more consistent with our object to point out the influence of this doctrine upon the human mind, as hence its har- mony with the general design of Christi- anity becomes more manifest. We estimate very inadequately the in fluence or the value of any religion, if we merely consider its dogmas, its precepts, or its opinions. - The impression it makes, the emotions it awakens, the sentiments which it inspires, are perhaps its most vital and effective energies : from these men continually act; and the character of a particular age is more distinctly marked by the predominance of these silent but universal motives, than by the professed creed or prevalent philosophy, or, in gen- eral, by the opinions of the times. Thus none of the primary facts in the history of a widely-extended religion can be without effect on the character of its believers. The images perpetually presented to the mind, work, as it were, into its most inti- mate being, become incorporated with the feelings, and thus powerfully contribute to form the moral nature of the whole race. Nothing could be more appropriate than that the martial Romans should derive their origin from the nursling of the wolf or from the god of war; and whether those fables sprung from the national tempera- ment, or contributed to form it, however these fierce images were enshrined in the national traditions, they were at once the emblem and example of that bold and re- lentless spirit, which gradually developed itself until it had made the Romans the masters of the world. The circumstances of the birth of Christ were as strictly in unison with the design of the religion. This incident seemed to incorporate with the general feeling the deep sense of holi- ness and gentleness which was to char- acterize the followers of Jesus Christ. It was the consecration of sexual purity and maternal tenderness. No doubt by falling in, to a certain degree, with the ascetic spirit of Oriental enthusiasm, the former incidentally tended to confirm the sanctity pie among whom such a notion was least likely to originate of itself. Marriage by the mass of the people was considered in a holy light; and there are traces that the hopes of becoming the mother of the Messiah was one of the blessings which, in their opinion, belonged to marriage ; and, after ali, before we admit the originality of these notions in some of the systems to which they belong, we must ascertain (the most intricate problem in the history of the Eastern religious opinions) their relative an- tiquity, as compared with the Nestorian Christian- ity, so widely prevalent in the East, and the effects of this form of Christianity on the more remote Oriental creeds. Jerome’s testimony is the most remarkable.hiSTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 55 ol celibacy, which for so many ages reign- ed paramount in the Church; and in the days in which the Virgin Mother was as- sociated with her divine Son in the gen- eral adoration, the propensity to this wor- ship was strengthened by its coincidence with the better feelings of our nature, es- pecially among the female sex. Still the substitution of these images for such as formed the symbols of the older religions was a great advance towards that holier and more humane tone of thought and feeling with which it was the professed design of the new religion to imbue the mind of man.* In the marvellous incidents which fol- visit to low, the visit of the Virgin Mother Elizabeth, to her cousinf Elizabeth,J when the joy occasioned by the miraculous conception seemed to communicate itself to the child of which the latter was preg- nant, and called forth her ardent expres- sions of homage ; and in the Magnificat, or song of thanksgiving, into which, like Hannah in the older Scriptures, the Virgin broke forth, it is curious to observe how completely and exclusively consistent every expression appears with the state of,belief at that period; all is purely Jew- ish, and accordant with the prevalent ex- pectation of the national Messiah there is no word which seems to imply any ac- quaintance with the unworldly and purely moral nature of the redemption which was subsequently developed. It may per- haps appear too closely to press the terms of that which was the common, almost the proverbial, language of the devotional * The poetry of this sentiment is beautifully ex- pressed by Wordsworth: Mother ! whose virgin bosom was uncross’d With the least shade or thought to sin allied; Woman, above all women glorified, O’er-tainted Nature’s solitary boast: Purer than foam on central ocean toss’d, Brighter than Eastern skies at daybreak strewn With forced roses, than th’ unblemish’d moon Before her wane begins on heaven’s blue coast, Thy image falls to earth. Yet sure, I ween, Not unforgiven the suppliant here might bind, As to a visible power, in whom did blend All that was mixed and reconciled in thee Of mother’s love and maiden purity, Of high with low, celestial with terrene, f Elizabeth must have been farther removed than a first cousin; for as it is clear that Mary, as well as her husband, were of the line of David, and Elizabeth of the priestly line, the connexion must have been formed in a preceding generation. 1 Luke, i., 39, 56. § Agreeing so far as the fact with Strauss, I should draw a directly opposite inference, the high improbability that this remarkable keeping, this pure Judaism, without the intervention of Christian no- tions, should have been maintained, if this passage had been invented or composed after the complete formation of the Christian scheme. feelings : yet the expressions which* in- timate the degradation of the mighty from their seat, the disregard of the wealthy, the elevation of the lowly and the meek, and respect to the low estate of the poor, sound not unlike an allusion to the rejec- tion of the proud and splendid royal race which had so long ruled the nation, and the assumption of the throne of David by one born in a more humble state.* § After the return of Mary to Nazareth, the birth of John the Baptist ex- Birth of.John cited the attention of the whole the Baptist, of Southern Judaea to the fulfilment of the rest of the prediction.! When the child is about to be named, the dumb father in- terferes ; he writes on a tablet the name by which he desires him to be called, and instantaneously recovers his speech. It is not unworthy of remark, that in this hymn of thanksgiving, the part which was to be assigned to John in the promulgation of the new faith, and his subordination to the unborn Messiah, are distinctly an nounced. Already, while one is but a newborn infant, the other scarcely con- ceived in the womb of his mother, they have assumed their separate stations : the child of Elizabeth is announced as the prophet of the Highest, who shall go ** be- fore the face of the Lord, to prepare his ways.” Yet even here the Jewish notion predominates: the first object of the Mes- siah’s coming is that the children of Israel “ should be saved from their enemies and from the hand of all that hate them ; that they, being delivered from the hand of their ememies, might serve him without fear.”! As the period approaches at which the child of Mary is to be born, an ap- journey to parently fortuitous circumstance Bethlehem summons both Joseph and the Virgin Mother from their residence in the un popular town of Nazareth, in the province of Galilee, to Bethlehem, a small village to the south of Jerusalem.§ Joseph, on the discovery of the pregnancy of his be- * Neander, in his recently-published work, has made similar observations on the Jewish notions in the Song of Simeon.—Leben Jesu, p. 26. t Luke, i., 57, 80. t Even the expression the “ remission of sins,” which to a Christian ear may bear a different sense, to the Jew would convey a much narrower mean- ing. All calamity, being a mark of the Divine dis- pleasure, was an evidence of sin: every mark of Divine favour, therefore, an evidence of Divine for giveness. The expression is frequently used in its Jewish sense in the book of Maccabees.. 1 Macc., iii., 8. 2 Macc., viii., 5, 27, and 29 ; vii., 98. Le Clerc has made a similar observation (note in loc.), but is opposed by Whitby, who, however, does not appear to have been very profoundly acquainted with Jewish phraseology. § Matt., i., 18, 25.56 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. trottied, being a man of gentle* character, had been willing to spare her the rigorous punishment enacted by the lav/ in such cases, and determined on a private dis- solution of the marriage.f A vision, how- ever, warned him of the real state* of the case, and he no longer hesitated, though abstaining from all connexion, to take her to his home; and accordingly, being of the same descent, she accompanied him to Bethlehem. This town, as the birthplace of David, had always been con- secrated in the memory of the Jews with peculiar reverence; and no prediction in the Old Testament appears more distinct than that which assigns Aor the nativity of the great Prince, who was to perpetuate the line of David, the same town which had given birth to his royal ancestor*! The decree of the Emperor Augustus,§ Decree of in obedience to which the whole Augustus, population of Palestine was to be enrolled and registered, has been, and still remains, an endless subject of controver- sy.|| One point seems clear, that the en- * Grotius, in loc. from Chrysostom. f A bill of divorce was necessary, even when the parties were only betrothed, and where the marriage had not actually been solemnized. It is probable that the Mosaic law, which in such cases adjudged a female to death (Deut., xx., 23-25),-was riot at this time executed in its original rigour. It appears from Abarbanel (Buxtorf, de Uivort.), that, in certain cases, a betrothed’ maiden might be di- vorced without stating the cause in the bill of di- vorce. This is the meaning of the word \d6pa, se- cretly. % Micah, v., 2. § Luke, ii., 1,7. 11 The great difficulty arises from the introduc- tion of the name of Cyrenius as the governor, under whose direction the enrolment, or, as it is no doubt mistranslated in our version, the taxation, took place. But it is well known that Cyrenius did not become governor of Syria till several years later. The most usual way of accounting for this difficul- ty, adopted by Lardner and Paley, is the natural one of supposing that Cyrenius conducted the trans- action while holding a subordinate situation in the province, of which he afterward became governor, and superintended a more regular taxation. But Mr. Greswell has recently adduced strong reasons for questioning whether Cyrenius could have been at this time in Palestine; and I agree with him, that such a census must have been made by the native authorities under Plerod. The alternative remains, either to suppose some error in the Gospel of St. Luke as it now stands, or to adopt another version. That followed by Mr. Greswell, notwith- standing his apparent authorities, sounds to me quite irreconcilable with the genius of the Greek lan- guage. There cannot, perhaps, be found a more brief and satisfactory summary of the different opin- ions on this subject than in the common book, Els- ley’s Annotations on the Gospels. Tholuck, jn his answer to Strauss, has examined the question at great,length, p. 162-198. Neander fairly admits the possibility of a mistake in a point of this kind on the part of the evangelists, Leben Jesu, p. 19. Wj'-,h him, I am at a loss to conceive how Dr. Sti mss can imagine a myth in such a plain, prosaic sentence. rolment must have been oi the nature oi x papulation census ; for any property pos- sessed by Joseph or Mary must have been at Nazareth; and the enrolment, which seems to have included both husband and wife, was made at the place where the genealogical registers of the tribes were kept. About this period Josephus gives an account of an oath of allegiance and of fidelity to Caesar and to the interests of the reigning sovereign, which was to be taken by the whole Jewish nation. The affair of this oath is strangely mingled up with predictions of a change of dynasty, and with the expected appearance of a great king, under whose All-powerful reign the most extraordinary events were to take place. Six thousand of the Phari- sees, the violent religious party, resolute- ly refused to take the oath. They were fined, and their fine discharged by the low- born wife of Pheroras, the brother of Her- od, into whose line certain impostors or enthusiasts, pretending to the gift of proph- ecy, had declared that the succession was to pass.* A eunuch, Bagoas, to whom they had promised peculiar and miracu- lous advantages during the reign of the great predicted king,! was implicated in this conspiracy, and suffered death, with many of the obstinate Pharisees and of Herod’s kindred. It is highly probable that the administration of the oath of alle- giance in Josephus, and the census in St. Luke, belong to the same transaction ; for, if the oath was to be taken by all the sub- jects of Herod, a general enrolment would be necessary throughout his dominions ; and it was likely, according to Jewish usage, that this enrolment would be con- ducted according to the established divis- ions of the tribes.! If, however, the ex- pectation of the Messiah had penetrated even into the palace of Herod; if it had been made use of in the intrigues and dis- sensions among the separate branches o 1 * Though inclined to agree with Lardner in sup- posing that the census or population-return men- tioned by St. Luke was connected with the oath of fidelity to Augustus and to Herod, I cannot entei into his notion, that the whole circumstantial and highly credible statement of Josephus is but a ma liciously-disguised accour. t of the incidents which took place at the birth of Christ.—Lardner’s Works, vol. i. (4to edit.), p. 152. t Independent of the nature of this promise, on which I am intentionally silent, the text of Jose- phus (Ant., xvii., 2, 6) is unintelligible as it stands; nor is the emendation proposed by Ward, a friend of Lardner’s, though ingenious, altogether satisfac tory.—Ibid. t The chronological difficulties in this case do not appear to me of great importance, as the whole affair of the oath may have occupied some time, and the enrolment may have taken place somewhat later in the provinces than in the capital.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 57 rns family; if the strong religious faction had! not scrupled to assume the character of divinely-inspired prophets, and to pro- claim an immediate change of dynasty, the whole conduct of Herod, as described by the evangelists, harmonizes in a most singular manner with the circumstances of the times. Though the birth of Jesus might, appear to Herod but as an insignifi- cant episode in the more dangerous tragic plot which was unfolding itself in his own family, yet his jealous apprehension at the very name of a newborn native King would seize at once on the most trifling cause of suspicion ; and the judicial mas- sacre of many of the most influential of the Pharisees, and of his own kindred in Jerusalem, which took place on the dis- covery of this plot, was a fitting prelude for the slaughter of all the children under a certain age in Bethlehem. But whether the enrolment which sum- Binh of moned Joseph and Mary to the town Christ, where the registers of their descent were kept was connected with this oath of fidelity to the emperor and the king, or whether it was only a population-re- turn, made by the command of the em- peror, in all the provinces where the Ro- man sovereignty or influence extended,* it singularly contributed to the completion of the prophecy to which we have allu- ded, which designated the City of David as the birthplace of the Messiah. Those who claimed descent from the families whose original possessions were in the neighbourhood of Bethlehem, crowded the whole of the small town ; and in the sta- ble, of the inn or caravansera was born THE CHILD, whose moral doctrines, if adopted throughout the world, would de- stroy more than half the misery by de- stroying all the vice and mutual hostility of men; and who has been for centuries considered the object of adoration, as the Divine Mediator between God and Man, by the most civilized and enlightened na- tions of the earth. Of this immediate epoch only one incident is recorded ; but, in all the early history of Christianity, no- thing is more beautiful, nor in more per- * This view is maintained by Tholuck, and seems to receive some support from the high authority of Savigny, writing on another subject; it is support- ed by two passages of late writers, Isidore and Cas- siodorus. Augusti siquidem temporibus orbis Ro- rnanus agris divisus censuque descriptus est, ut possessio sua nulli haberetur incerta, quam pro trib- utorum susceperat quantitate solvenda. Of itself, the authority of Cassiodorus, though a . sensible writer, would have no great weight; but he may have read many works unknown to us on this pe- riod of history, of which, we possess singularly im- perfect informp.fi m. II feet unison with the future character of the religion, than the first revelation of its benign principles by voices from Heaven to the lowly shepherds.* The proclama- tion of “ Glory to God, Peace on earth, and good-will towards men,” is not made by day, but in the quiet stillness of the night ;f not in the stately temple of the ancient worship, but among the peaceful pastures ; not to the religious Senate of the Jewish people, or to the priesthood arrayed in all the splendour of public ministration, but to peasants employed in their lowly occupation.;]; In eight days, according to the law, the child was initiated into the race of Abra- ham by the rite of circumcision: and when the forty days of purification, like- wise appointed by the statute, are over, the Virgin Mother hastens to make the customary presentation of the firstborn male in the temple. Her offering is that of the poorer Jewish females, who, while the more wealthy made an oblation of a lamb, were content with the least costly, a pair of turtle doves, or two young pi- geons.^ Only two persons are recorded as having any knowledge of the future destiny of the child, Anna, a woman en- dowed with a prophetical character, and the aged Simeon. That Simeon|| was not 55 Luke, ii, 8, 20. t Neander has well observed, that the modesty of this quiet scene is not in accordance with what might be expected from the fertility and boldness of mythic invention. X The year in which Christ was born is still con- tested. There is still more uncertainty concerning the time of the year, which learned men are still labouring to determine. Where there is and can be no certainty, it is the wisest course to acknowl- edge our ignorance, and not to claim the authority of historic truth for that which is purely conjectu- ral. The two ablest modem writers who have in- vestigated the chronology of the life of Christ, Dr. Burton and Mr. Gres well, have come to opposite conclusions, one contending for the spring, the other for the autumn. Even if the argument of ei- ther had any solid ground to rest on, it would be difficult (would it be worth while?) to extirpate the traditionary belief so beautifully imbodied in Mil- ton’s Hymn : It was the winter wild When the Heaven-born child, &c. Were the point of the least importance, we should, no doubt, have known more about it. Quid tan- dem refert annum et diem exorti luminis ignorare, quum apparuisse illud, et c?ecis hominum mentibus illuxisse constet, neque sit, quod obsistat nobis, ne splendore ac calore ejus utamur.—Mosbeim. There is a good essay in the Opuscula of Jablonski, iii., 317, on the origin of the festivity of Christmas-day £ Luke, ii., 21, 39. il This was the notion of Lightfoot, who, though often invaluable as interpreting the New Testa, ment from Jewish usages, is sometimes misled by his Rabbinism into fanciful analogies and illustia tions,—Hist. Jews, iii., 83, note.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY ft8 the celebrated master of the schools of Jewish learning, the son of Hillel, and the father of Gamaliel, is fairly inferred from the silence of St. Luke, who, though chief- ly writing for the Greek converts, would scarcely have omitted to state distinct- ly the testimony of so distinguished a man to the Messiahship of Jesus. There are other insurmountable historical objec- tions.* Though occurrences among the more devout worshippers in the temple Simeon wpre perhaps less likely to reach ..imeon. ^ car 0f Herod than those in any other part of the city, yet it was impossi- ble that the solemn act of recognising the Messiah in the infant son of Mary, on so public a scene, by a man whose language and conduct was watched by the whole people, could escape observation. Such an acknowledgment, by so high an author- ity, would immediately have been noised abroad ; no prudence could have suppress- ed the instantaneous excitement. Besides this, if alive at this time, Simeon, Ben Hillel, would have presided in the court of inquiry, summoned by Herod, after His bene- the appearance of the Magi. The diction, most remarkable point in the ben- ediction of Simeon is the prediction that the child, who, it would have been sup- posed, would have caused unmingled pride and joy, should also be the cause of the deepest sorro w to his mother, and of the most fearful calamities, as well as of glo- ry, to the nation.f The intercommunion of opinions be- tween the Jewish and Zoroastrian reli- gions throws great light on the visit of TllpMa(ri the Magi, or Wise Men, to Jeru- salem. The impregnation of the Jewish notions about the xMessiah with the Magi an doctrines of the final triumph of Ormusd, makes it by no means improb- able that, on the other side, the national doctrines of the Jews may have worked their way into the popular belief of the * Our first and not least embarrassing difficulty in harmonizing the facts recorded in the several Gospels is the relative priority of the presentation in the temple and the visit of the Magians to Beth- lehem. On one side there appears no reason for the return of the parents and the child, after the presentation, to Bethlehem, where they appear to have had no friends, and where the object of their visit was most probably effected : on the other hand, it is still more improbable that, after the visit of the Magians, they should rush, as it were, into the very jaws of danger, by visiting Jerusalem after the jealousy of Herod was awakened. Yet in both cases, it should be remembered, that Bethlehem was but six miles, or two hours’journey, from Je- rusalem.—Reland, Palestine, p. 424. See, on one side, Schleiermacher’s Essay on St. Luke, p. 47, though I entirely dissent on this point from the ex- planation of this author; on the other, Hug’s In- ■t/oduction. f Matt., ii., 1-12. East, or, at least, into the opinions of those among the Magian hierarchy who had come more immediately into contact with the Babylonian Jews.* From them they may have adopted the expectation of the Great Principle of Light in a human form, and descending, according to ancient proph- ecy, from the race of Israel; and thus have been prepared to set forth at the first ap- pearance of the luminous body by which they were led to Judaea.f The universal usage of the East, never to approach the presence of a superior, particularly a sov- ereign, without some precious gift, is nat- urally exemplified in their costly but port- able offerings of gold, myrrh, and frank- incense. x The appearance of these strangers in Jerusalem at this critical period, Magi in particularly if considered in con- Jerusalem nexion with the conspiracy in the family of Herod and among the religious faction, as it excited an extraordinary sensation through the whole city, would reawaken all the watchfulness of the monarch. The assemblage of the religious authorities, in order that they might judicially declare the place from which the Messiah was expect- ed, might be intended not merely to direct the ministers of the royal vengeance to the quarter from whence danger was to be apprehended, but to force the acknowl- * The communication with Babylonia at this period was constant and regular; so much so, that Herod fortified and garrisoned a strong castle, placed under a Babylonian commander, to protect the caravans from.this quarter from the untameable robbers of the Trachonitis, the district east of the Jordan and of the Sea of Tiberias. f What this luminous celestial appearance yvas has been debated with unwearied activity. I would refer more particularly to the work of Ideler, Hand buch der Chronologie, ii., 399. There will be found, very clearly stated, the opinion of Kepler (adopted by Bishop Miinter), which explains it as a conjunc- tion between Jupiter and Saturn. For my own part, l cannot understand why the words of St. Matthew, relating to such a subject, are to be so rigidly interpreted ; the same latitude of expression may be allowed on astronomical sub- jects as necessarily must be in the Old Testament. The vagueness and uncertainty, possibly the sci- entific inaccuracy, seem to me the inevitable con- sequences of the manner in which such circum- stances must have been preserved, as handed down, and subsequently reduced to writing, by simple per- sons, awe-struck under such extraordinary events. t It is the general opinion that the Magi came from Arabia. Pliny and Ptolemy (Grotius, in loc.) name Arabian Magi; and the gifts were considered the produce of that country. But, in fact, gold, myrrh, and frankincense are too common in the East, and too generally used as presents to a supe- rior, to indicate, with any certainty, the place from whence they came. If, indeed, by Arabia be meant not the peninsula, but the whole district reaching to the Euphrates, this notion may be true; but it is more probable that they came from beyond the Eu- phrates.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 5C) edged interpreter of the sacred writings to an authoritative declaration as to the circumstances of the Messiah’s birth; so, if any event should occur contrary to their version of the prophecies, either to commit them on the side of the ruling powers, or altogether to invalidate the ex- pectation that was dangerously brooding in the popular mind. The subtlety of Herod’s character is as strikingly exhib- ited in his pretended resolution to join the Magians in their worship of the newborn king, as his relentless decision, when the Magians did not return to Jerusalem, in commanding the general massacre of all the infants under the age of two years in Bethlehem and its district.* Egypt, where, by Divine command, the Flight into parents of Jesus took refuge, was Esypt. but a few days’ journey, on a line perpetually frequented by regular cara- vans ; and in this country, those who fled from Palestine could scarcely fail to meet with hospitable reception among some of that second nation of Jews who inhab- ited Alexandrea and its neighbourhood.* On their return from Egypt after the death of Herod (which took place Return to in the ensuing year, though the csaiiiee. parents of Jesus did not leave Egypt till the accession of Archelaus), Joseph, justly apprehensive that the son might inherit the jealousy and relentless disposition oi the father, of which he had already given fearful indications, retired to his former' residence in Galilee, under the less sus- picious dominion of Herod Antipas.f There the general prejudice against Gali- lee might be their best security; and the universal belief that it was in Judaea that that great king was to assume his sov- ereignty, would render their situation less perilous; for it was the throne of the monarch of Judah, the dominion of the ruler in Jerusalem, rather than the gov- ernment of the Galilean tetrarch, which would have been considered in danger from the appearance of the Messiah. APPENDIX TO CH AFTER II. I. RECENT LIVES OF CHRIST. At the time* when this part of the pres- ent work was written, the ultra-rationalist work of Professor Paulus, the Leben Jesu (Heidelberg, 1828), was the most recent publication. Since that time have ap- peared the Life of Jesus, Das Leben Jesu, by Dr. D. F. Strauss (2d edition, Tubingen, 1837), and the counter publication of Ne- ander, Das Leben Jesu (Berlin, 1837): to say nothing of a great number of contro- versial pamphlets and reviews arising out of the work of Dr. Strauss. This work (consisting of two thick and closely-printed volumes of nearly 800 pages each) is a grave and elaborate ex- * The murder of the innocents is a curious in- stance of the reaction of legendary extravagance on the plain truth of the evangelic history. . The Greek Church canonized the 14,000 innocents; and another notion, founded on a misrepresentation of Revelations (xiv., 3), swelled the number to 144,000. The former, at least, was the common belief of the church, though even in our liturgy the latter has in some degree been sanctioned, by retaining the chap- ter of Revelations as the epistle for the day. Even later, Jeremy Taylor, in his Life of Christ, admits the 14,000 without scruple, or, rather, without thought. The error did not escape the notice of the acute adversaries of Christianity, who, im- peaching this extravagant tale, attempted to bring the evangelic narrative into discredit. Yossius, 1 believe, was the first divine who pointed out the monstrous absurdity of supposing such a number of infant children in so small a village —Matth., ii., position of ail extraordinary hypothesis, which Dr. Strauss offers in order to rec- oncile Christianity with the advancing intelligence of mankind, which is weary and dissatisfied with all previous philo- sophical and rationalist theories. Dr. * Some of the rabbinical stories accuse Jesus of haying brought “ his enchantments” out of Egypt (Lightfoot, xi., 45). There is no satisfactory evi- dence to the antiquity of these notions, or, absurd as they_ are, they might be some testimony to the authenticity of this part of the Christian history See also Eisenmenger, i., p. 150. The Jewish fiction of the birth of Jesus is at least as old as the time of Celsus (Origen contra Cels., 1), but bears the impress of hostile malice, in assigning as his parent a Roman soldier. This is the fable which was perpetuated from that time by Jewish animosity, till it assumed its most ob- noxious form in the Toldoth Jesu. How much more natural and credible than the minute detail which so obviously betrays later and hostile inven- tion, the vague inquiry of his own compatriots: “ is not this the carpenter’s son?”—Matt., xiii., 55. The answer of Origen to this Jewish invention is sensible and judicious. The Christians, if such a story had been true, would have invented some- thing more directly opposed to the real truth; and they would not have agreed so far with the relation, but rather carefully suppressed every allusion to the extraordinary birth of Jesus. 'Edvvavro yap dTdkGig ‘ipevdorroieicrdcu dtd to ofyodpa ■yrapddo^ov t?]v iaropcav, Kal pr) uoTrepei aKova'uoc, ovyuara- devdai ore ovk iiTco ovvrjBtiv avOpunotg ydpQV 6 ’Iwove eyevndt]—Contra Cels , i„ 32 f Matth., xi., 19, 23. Luke, xi., 4060 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Strauss solemnly declares that the es- sence of Christianity is entirely independ- ent of his critical remarks. “ The super- natural birth of Christ, his miracles, his resurrection and ascension, remain eternal truths, however their reality as historical facts may be called in question.”* He re- fers to a dissertation at the close of his work, “ to show that the doctrinal con- tents of the Life of Jesus are uninjured; and that the calmness and cold-blooded- ness with which his criticism proceeds in its dangerous operations can only be ex- plained by his conviction that it is not in the least prejudicial to Christian faith.” That dissertation, which opens (t. ii., p. 691) with a singularly eloquent description of the total destruction which this re- morseless criticism has made in the or- dinary grounds of Christian faith and prac- tice, I have read with much attention. But what resting-place it proposes to sub- stitute for Christian faith I have been un- able to discover ; and must acknowledge my unwillingness to abandon the firm ground of historical evidence, to place myself on any sublime but unsubstantial fioud which may be offered by a mystic and unintelligible philosophy; especially as I find Dr. Strauss himself coolly con- templating, at the close of his work, the desolating effects of his own arguments, looking about in vain for the unsubstantial tenets which he has extirpated by his un- compromising logic, and plainly admit- ting that, if he has shattered to pieces the edifice of Christianity, it is not his fault. But Christianity will survive' the criti- cism of Dr. Strauss. 1 would, however, calmly consider the first principles of this work, which appear to me, in many respects, singularly narrow and unphilosophical; by no means formed on an extensive and complete view of the whole case, and resting on grounds which, in my judgment, would be subversive of all history. The hypothesis of Dr. Strauss is, that the whole history of our Lord, as related in the Gospels, is mythic; that is to say, a kind of imaginative amplification of cer- tain vague and slender traditions, the germe of which it is now impossible to trace. These myths are partly what he calls his- torical, partly philosophic, formed with the design of developing an ideal charac- ter of Jesus, and to harmonize that char- acter with the Jewish notions of the Mes- * Christi libernatiirliche .Geburt, seine Wunder, seine Auferstehung und Himrnelfahrt. bleiben ewige Wahrheiten, so sehr ihre Wirklichkeit als histor- ische Facta angezweifelt werden mag—Vorrede, jd* siah. In order to prove this, the whole intermediate part of the work is a most elaborate, and, it would be uncandid not to say, a singularly skilful examination ol the difficulties and discrepances in the Gospels; and a perpetual endeavour to show in what manner and with what de- sign each separate myth assumed its present form. Arguing on the ground of Dr. Strauss, I would urge the following objections, which appear to me fatal to his whole system: First, The hypothesis of Strauss is un- philosophical, because it assumes dog- matically the principal point in dispute. His first canon of criticism is (t. i., p. 103), that wherever there is anything super- natural, angelic appearance, miracle, or interposition of the Deity, there we may presume a myth. Thus he concludes, both against the supernaturalists, as they are called in Germany, and the general mass of Christian believers of all sects in this country, that any recorded interfe- rence with the ordinary and experienced order of causation must be unhistorical and untrue ; and even against the rational- ists, that those wonders did not even ap- parently take place, having been supposed to be miraculous from the superstition or ignorance of physical causes among the spectators : they cannot be even the hon- est, though mistaken, reports of eyewit- nesses. • But, secondly, The belief in some of those supernatural events, e. g., the resur- rection, is indispensable to the existence of the religion ; to suppose that this belief grew up, after the religion was formed, to assume these primary facts as _ after- thoughts, seems to me an absolute impos- sibility. But if they, or any one of them, were integral parts of the religion from its earliest origin, though they may possibly have been subsequently embellished or unfaithfully recorded in the Gospels, their supernatural character is no evidence that they are so. Thirdly, Besides this inevitable infer- ence that the religion could not have sub- sequently invented that which was the foundation of the religion—that these things must have been the belief of the first Christian communities—there is distinct evidence in the Acts of the Apostles (though Dr. Strauss, it seems, would in- volve that book in the fate of the Gospels), in the apostolic Epistles, and in every writ- ten document and tradition, that they were so. The general harmony of these three distinct classes of records as to the main preternatural facts in the Gospels, provesHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY 01 incontestably that they were not the slow growth of a subsequent period, imbodied in narratives composed in the second cen- tury. For, fourthly, Dr. Strauss has by no means examined the evidence for the early existence of the Gospels with the rigid dil- igence which characterizes the rest of his work. I think he does not fairly state that the early notices of the Gospels, in the works of the primitive fathers, show not only their existence, but their general reception among the Christian communi- ties, which imply both a much earlier com- position and some strong grounds for their authenticity. As to the time when the Gospels were composed, his argument seems to me self-destructive. The later he supposes them to have been written, the more impossible (considering that the Christians were , then so widely dissemi- nated in Europe and Asia) is their accord- ance with each other in the same design or the same motives for fiction : if he takes an earlier date, he has no room for his long process of mythic development. In one place he appears to admit that the first three, at least, must have been completed between the death of our Lord and the de- struction of Jerusalem, less than forty years. (I myself consider their silence, or, rather, their obscure and confused pro- phetic allusions to that event, as absolute- ly decisive on this point with regard to all the four.) But is it conceivable that in this narrow period this mythic spirit should have been so prolific, and the prim- itive simplicity of^ the Christian history have been so embellished, and then uni- versally received by the first generation of believers 1 The place, as well as the period of their composition, is encumbered with difficul- ties according to this system. Where were they written! If all, or, rather, the first three, in Palestine, whence their gen- eral acceptance without direct and ac- knowledged authority! If in different parts of the world, their general accept- ance is equally improbable ; their similar- ity of design and object altogether unac- countable. Were they written with this mythic lat- itude by Judaizing or Hellenizing Chris- tians ! If by Judaizing, I should expect to find far more of Judaism, of Jewish tra- dition, usage, and language, as appears to have been the case in the Ebionitish Gos- pel; if by Hellenizing, the attempt to frame the myths in accordance with Jew- ish traditions is inconceivable.* They Ju- Dr. Strauss, for instance asserts all the pas- j daize too little for the Petrine Christians (that is, those who consider the Gospel in some sort a re-enactment of the Mosaic law), too much for the followers of St. Paul, who rejected the law. The other canons of Dr. Strauss seem to me subversive of all history. Every- thing extraordinary or improbable, the pro- phetic anticipations of youthful ambition., complete revolution in individual charac- ter (he appears to allude to the change in the character of the apostles after the res urrection,.usually, and, in my opinion, just- ly considered as one of the strongest ar- guments of the truth of the narrative), though he admits that this canon is to be applied with caution, are presumptive of a mythic character. If discrepances in the circumstances between narratives of the same events, or differences of arrangement in point of time, particularly among rude and inarti- ficial writers, are to be admitted as proof of this kind of fiction, all history is myth- ic ; even the accounts of every transaction in the.daily papers, which are never found to agree precisely in the minute details, are likewise mythic. To these, which appear to me conclu- sive arguments against the hypothesis of Dr. Strauss, I would add some observa- tions, which to my mind are general max- ims, which must be applied to all such dis- cussions. . No religion is in its origin mythic. My- thologists embellish, adapt, modify, ideal ize, clothe in allegory or symbol, received and acknowledged truths. This is a latei process, and addressed to the imagination, already excited and prepared to receive established doctrines or opinions in this new form. But in Christianity (according to Dr. Strauss’s hypothesis), what was the first impulse, the gerrne of all this high- wrought and successful idealization! No- thing more than the existence of a man named Jesus, who obtained a few follow- ers, and was put to death as a malefactor, without any pretensions on his part to a superior character, either as a divine or a divinely-commissioned being, or as the ex- pected Messiah of the Jews. Whatever sages relating to the miraculous birth of Christ (the first chapters of St. Matthew and St. Luke), and those which relate his baptism by St. John, to have •proceeded from two distinct classes of Christians, differing materially, or, rather, directly opposed to each other in their notions of the Messiah, a Juda izing and an anti-docetic sect.— See vol. i., p. 446-448. We must find time not merely for the growth and development of both notions, but for their blending into one system, and the general adoption of that system by the Christian commu nities.62 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. extorted by the necessity of the case, is added to this primary conception of the character of Jesus, in order sufficiently to awaken the human mind to a new religion connected with his name, belief of his mi- raculous powers, of his resurrection, of his Messiahship, even of his more than human virtue and wisdom, tends to verify the de- lineation of his character in his Gospels, as the original object of admiration and belief to his followers; and to anticipate and preclude, as it were, its being a sub- sequent mythic invention. Can the period in which Jesus appeared be justly considered a mythic age '? If by mythic age (and I do not think Dr. Strauss very rigid and philosophical in the use of the term) be meant an age, in which there was a general and even superstitious be- lief in wonders and prodigies, mingled up with much cool incredulity, this cannot be denied. The prodigies which are related by grave historians as taking place at the death of Caesar; those which Josephus, who is disposed to rationalize many of the miracles of the early history of his people, describes during the capture of Jerusalem, are enough, out of the count- less instances which could be adduced, to determine the question. But if the term mythic be more properly applied to that idealization, that investing religious doc- trines in allegory or symbol; above all, that elevating into a deity a man only dis- tinguished for moral excellence (the deifi- cation of the Roman emperors was a po- litical act), this appears to me to be repug- nant to the genius of the time and of the country. Among the Jewish traditions in the Talmud, there is much fable, much par- able, much apologue ; as far as I can dis- cern, nothing, strictly speaking, mythic. Philo’s is a kind of poetico-philosophic ra- tionalism. The later legends of Simon Magus, Alexander in Lucian, and Apollo- nius of Tyana, are subsequent inventions, after , the imaginative impulse given by Christianity, possibly imitative of the Gos- pels.'* I would be understood, however, as lay- ing the least stress upon this argument, as this tendency to imitative excitement and creation .does not depend so much on the age as on the state of civilization, which perhaps in the East has never become c >mpletely exempt from this tendency. But I cannot admit the spurious Gos- pels, which seem to me the manifest off- spring of Gnostic and heretic sects, and to * The nearesc approach to the mythic would perhaps be the kind of divine character assumed by Simon Magus among the Samaritans, and al- luded to in the Acts. have been composed at periods which his- torical criticism might designate from in- ternal evidence, though clearly mythical, to involve the genuine Gospels in the same proscription. To a discriminating and un- prejudiced mind, I would rest the distinc- tion between mythical and lion-mythical on the comparison between the apocry- phal and canonical Gospels. Neander, in my opinion, has exercised a very sound judgment in declining direct controversy with Dr. Strauss ; for contro- versy, even conducted in the calm and Christian spirit of Neander, rarely works conviction, except in those who are al- ready convinced. He has chosen the bet- ter course of giving a fair and candid view of the opposite side of the question, and of exhibiting the accordance of the ordinary view of the origin and authority of the Gospels with sound reason and advanced philosophy. ’ He has dissembled no diffi- culties and appealed to no passions. It affords me much satisfaction to find that, although my plan did not require or admit of such minute investigation, I have anti- cipated many of the conclusions of Nean- der. In many respects, the point of view from which I have looked at the subject is altogether different; and, as I have pre- ferred to leave my own work in its original form, though some of the difficulties and discrepances on which Dr. Strauss dwells may, I trust, be reasonably accounted for in the following chapters of my work, this will be only incidentally ; the full counter- statement, prepared with constant refer- ence to Dr. Strauss’s book, must be sought in the work of Neander. , It accords even less with the design of my work, which is rather to trace the in- fluence and effect of Christian opinions than rigidly to investigate their origin or to establish their truth, to notice the va- rious particular animadversions on Dr. Strauss which might suggest themselves ; yet I have added some few observations on certain.points when they have crossed the course of my narrative. The best answer to Strauss is to show that a clear, consistent, and probable nar- rative can be formed out of that of the four Gospels, without more violence, I will venture to say, than any historian ever found necessary to harmonize four contemporary chronicles of the same events; and with a general accordance with the history, customs, habits, and opinions of the times altogether irrecon- cilable with the poetic character of mythic history. The inexhaustible fertility of German speculation has now displayed itself inHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 63 another original and elaborate work, Die Evangelische Geschichte,. Kritisch und Philosophisch bearbeitet, Yon. Ch. Her- mann Weisse, 2 bande, Leipsic, 1838. Dr. Weisse repudiates the theory of Strauss. If he does not bring us to the cold and dreary conclusion of Strauss, or land us on the Nova Zembla of that writer, he leaves us enveloped in a vague and indis- tinct mist, in which we discern nothing clear, distinct, or satisfactory. The critical system of Weisse rests on two leading points: The assumption of the Gospel of St. Mark as the primitive gospel—a theory which has been advan- ced before, but which no writerhas wrought out with so much elaborate diligence as Weisse—and a hostility which leads to the virtual rejection of the Gospel of St. John as almost entirely spurious. With regard to St. Mark’s Gospel he receives the tradition of Papias, that it was written from the dictation, or, at least, from in- formation obtained from St. Peter. • St. Matthew’s was formed from the incorpo- ration of the Gospel of the Hebrews with the Tioyia, a collection of speeches attribu- ted to our Lord. As to St. John’s, he sub- mits it to the test of his own arbitrary, and it appears to me, however they may be called critical, very narrow and unphil- osophical laws of probability. The theory by which Weisse would rec- oncile and harmonize what he retains of the evangelic history with what he consid- ers the highest philosophy, I must con- fess my inability to comprehend, and must plead as my excuse that he admits it to be unintelligible to those who are not ac- quainted with some of his former philo- sophical works, which I have not at my command. What I do comprehend it would be impossible to explain, as the philosophical language of Germany would, if retained, be entirely without meaning to most readers, and is untranslatable into a foreign tongue. Weisse retains a much larger and more solid substratum of historic fact than Strauss; and, though he may be called a mythic interpreter, his mythic system seems to me entirely different from that of Strauss. With the latter the historic facts are, in general, pure fictions, wrought out of preconceived Jewish notions; with Weisse they are symbolic rather than mythic. In some cases they arise from the mistake of symbolic action for real fact; as, for instance, the notion of the feeding the multitudes in the desert arose out of the mystic language of the Saviour relating to spiritual nourishment by the Bread of Life. In other parts he adopts the language of Yico, which has found so much favour in Germany, but which, I confess, when gravely applied to history, and followed out to an extent, I conceive^ scarcely anticipated by its author, appears to me to be one of the most monstrous improbabilities which has ever passed cur- rent under the garb of philosophy. Indi- vidual historical characters are merely symbols of the age in which they live"; ideal personifications, as it were, of the imagination, without any actual or per- sonal existence. Thus the elder Herod (Weisse is speaking of the massacre of the innocents) is the symbol, the repre- sentation of worldly power. And so the tyrant of the Jews is sublimated into an allegory. _ Weisse, however, in his own sense, dis- tinctly asserts the divinity of the religion and of our Lord himself. I mention this book for several reasons: first, because, although it is written in a tone of bold, and, with us it would seem, presumptuous speculation, and ends, in my opinion, in a kind of unsatisfactory mysticism, it contains much profound and extremely beautiful thought. Secondly, because in its system of in- terpretation it seems to me to bear a re- markable resemblance to that of Philo and the better part of the Alexandrean school: it is to the New Testament what they were to the Old. Lastly, to show that the German mind itself has been startled by the conclusions to which the stem and remorseless logic of Strauss has pushed on the historical criticism of rationalism; and that, even where there is no tendency to return to the old system of religious interpretation, there is not merely strong discontent with the new, but a manifest yearning for a loftier and more consistent harmony be- tween the religion of the Gospels and true philosophy than has yet been effected by any of the remarkable writers who have attempted this reconciliation. II. ORIGIN OF THE GOSPELS. The question concerning the origh, >f the first three Gospels, both before and subsequent to the publication of Bishop Marsh’s Michaelis, has assumed every possible form ; and it may be safely as- serted that no one victorious theory has gained anything like a general assent among the learned. Every conceivable hypothesis has found is advocates; tne64 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. priority of each of the Evangelists has been maintained with erudition and inge- nuity ; each has been considered the pri- mary authority, which has been copied by the others. But the hypothesis of one or more' common sources, from which all three derived their materials (the view supported with so much ingenuity and erudition by the Bishop of Peterborough), has in its turn shared the common fate. This inexhaustible question, though less actively agitated, still continues to occupy the attention of biblical critics in Germa- ny. I cannot help suspecting that the best solution of this intricate problem lies near the surface.* The incidents of the Saviour’s-life and death, the contents of the Gospels, necessarily formed a consid- erable part of the oral teaching, or, if not of the oral teaching, of oral communica- tion, among the first propagators of Chris- tianity.! These incidents would be re- peated, and dwelt upon with different de- grees of frequency and perhaps distinct- ness, according to their relative impor- tance. While, on the one hand, from the number of teachers scattered at least through Palestine, and probably in many other parts of the Roman empire, many varieties of expression, much of that un- intentional difference of colouring which every narrative receives by frequent rep- etition, would unavoidably arise; on the other, there would be a kind of sanctity attributed to the precise expressions of the apostles, if recollected, which would ensure on many points a similarity, a per- * It would be difficult to point out a clearer and more satisfactory exposition of any controversy than that of this great question in biblical criticism, by Mr. Thirlwall, in his preface to Schleiermacher’s Essay on St. Luke. + I have considered the objections urged by Hug, an! more recently, with great force, by Weisse (p. 20, et seq.), to this theory, the more important of which resolve themselves into the undoubted fact, that it was a creed, and not a history, which, in all the accounts we have in the Acts of the Apostles and elsewhere, formed the subject of oral teaching. This is doubtless true; but resting, as the creed did, upon the history, containing, no doubt, in its prim- itive form a very few simple articles, would it not necessarily awaken curiosity as to the historic facts, and would not that curiosity demand, as it were, to be satisfied ? The more belief warmed into piety, the more insatiably would it require, and the more would the teacher be disposed, to gratify this awa- kened interest and eagerness for information on ev- ery point that related to the Redeemer. The for- mal public teaching no doubt confined itself to- the enforcement of the creed, and to combating Jewish or heathen objections, and confuting Judaism or idolatry. But in private intercourse, when the minds of both instructer and hearer were exclusive- ly full of these subjects, would not the development of the history, in more or less detail, be a necessary and unavoidable consequence ? feet identity of language. We cannot sup- pose but that these incidents and events in the life of Christ, these parables and doctrines delivered by himself, thus oral- ly communicated in the course of public teaching and in private, received with such zealous avidity, treasured as of such ines- timable importance, would be perpetually written down, if not as yet in continuous narratives, in numerous and accumulating fragments, by the Christian community, or some one or more distinguished mem- bers of it. They would record, as far as possible, the ipsissima verba of the primi- tive teacher, especially if: an apostle ora personal follower of Jesus. But these records would still be liable to some inac- curacy, from misapprehension or infirmi- ty of memory ; and to some discrepance, from the inevitable variations of language in oral instruction, or communication fre- quently repeated, and that often by differ- ent teachers. Each community or Church,’ each intelligent Christian, would thus pos- sess a more or less imperfect Gospel, which he would preserve with jealous care, and increase with zealous activity, till it should be superseded by some more regular and complete narrative, the au- thenticity and authority of which he might be disposed to admit. The evangelists, who, like St. Luke, might determine to write in order, either to an individual like Theophilus, to some, single church, or to the whole body of Christians, “ those things which were most surely believed among them,” would naturally have ac- cess to, would consult, and avail them- selves of many of those private or more public collections. All the three, or any two, might find many coincidences of ex- pression (if, indeed, some expressions had not already become conventional and es- tablished, or even consecrated forms of language with regard to certain incidents) which they would transfer into their own narrative; on the other hand, incidents would be more or less fully developed, or be entirely omitted in some, while retain- ed in others. Of all points on which discrepances would be likely to arise, there would be none so variable as the chronological or- der and consecutive series of events. The primitive teacher or communicator of the history of the life and death of Jesus, would often follow a doctrinal rather than an historical connexion; and this would, in many instances, be perpetuated by those who should endeavour to preserve in writing that precious information commu- nicated to them by the preacher. HenceHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 05 the discrepances and variations in order and arrangement, more especially, as it may be said Without irreverence, these rude and simple historians, looking more to religious impression than to historic precision, may have undervalued the im- portance of rigid chronological narrative. Thus, instead of one or two primary, either received or unauthoritative, sources of the Gospels, I should conceive that there would be many, almost as many as there were Christian communities, all in them- selves imperfect, but contributing more or less to the more regular and complete nar- ratives extant in our Gospels. The gen- eral necessity, particularly as the apostles and first followers were gradually with- drawn from the scene, would demand a more full and accurate narrative; and these confessedly imperfect collections would fall into disuse, directly as the want was supplied by regular Gospels, compo- sed by persons either considered as divine- ly commissioned, or, at least, as authorita- tive and trustworthy writers. The almost universal acceptance of these Gospels is the guarantee for their general conformity with these oral, traditional, and written records of the different communities, from which if they had greatly differed, they would probably have been rejected; while the same conformity sufficiently accounts for the greater or less fulness, the varia- tion in the selection of incidents, the si- lence on some points, or the introduction of others, in one Gospel alone. Whether or not either of the evangelists saw the work of the other, they made constant use of the same or similar sources of informa- tion, not merely from the personal knowl- edge of the evangelists, but likewise from the general oral teaching and oral commu- nications of the apostles and first preach- ers of Christianity, thus irregularly and in- completely, but honestly and faithfully, registered by the hearers. Under this view, for my own part, I seem rationally to avoid all embarrassment with the diffi- culties of the subject. Iam not surprised at exact coincidences of thought or lan- guage, though followed by, or accompa- nied with, equally remarkable deviations and discrepances. I perceive why one is brief and the other full; why one omits, while the other details, minute circum- stances. I can account for much apparent and some real discrepance. I think that I discern, to my own satisfaction, sufficient cause for diversity in the collocation of different incidents: in short, admitting these simple principles, there flows a natural harmony from the whole, which blends and reunites all. the apparent dis- cords which appear to disturb the minds of others. There is one point which strikes me for- cibly in all these minute and elaborate ar- guments, raised from every word and let- ter of the Gospels, which prevails through* out the whole of the modern German crit- icism. It is, that, following out their rigid juridical examination, the most extreme rationalists are (unknowingly) influenced by the theory of the strict inspiration of the evangelists. Weisse himself has drawn very ably a distinction between ju- ridical and historical truth, that is, the sort of legal truth which we should require in a court of justice, and that which we may expect from ordinary history. But in his own investigations he appears to me con- stantly to lose sight of this important dis- tinction ; no cross-examination in an Eng- lish court of law was ever so severe as that to which every word and shade of ex- pression in the evangelists is submitted. Now this may be just in those who admit a rigid verbal inspiration; but those who reject it, and consider the evangelists merely as ordinary historians, have no right to require more than ordinary his- toric accuracy. The evangelists were, either, I. Divinely inspired in their language and expressions, as well as in the facts and doctrines which they relate. On this the- ory the inquirer may reasonably endeav- our to harmonize discrepances ; but if he fails, he must submit in devout reverence, and suppose that there is some secret way of reconciling such contradictions, which he wants acuteness or knowledge to com- prehend. II. We may adopt a lower view of in- spiration, whether of suggestion or super- intendence, or even that which seems to have been generally received in the early ages, the inflexible love of truth, which, being inseparable from the spirit of Chris- tianity, would of itself be a sufficient guar- antee for fidelity and honesty. Under any of these notions of inspiration (the defini- tion of which word is, in fact, the real dif- ficulty), there would be much latitude for variety of expression, of detail, of chrono- logical arrangement. Each narrative (as the form and language would be uninspi- red) would bear marks of the individual position, the local circumstances, the edu- cation, the character of the writer. III. We may consider the evangelists as ordinary historians, credible merely in proportion to their means of obtaining ac- curate knowledge, their freedom from prej- udice, and the abstract credibility of their statements. If, however, so considered66 HISTuRY OF CHRISTIANITY (as is invariably the case in the German school of criticism), they should undoubt- edly have all the privileges of ordinary his- torians, and, indeed, of historians of a sin- gularly rude and inartificial class. They would be liable to all the mistakes into which such writers might fall; nor would trifling inaccuracies impeach the truth of their general narrative. Take, for in- stance, the introduction of Cyrenius, in re- lation to the census in the beginning of St. Luke’s Gospel; in common historical in- quiry, it would be concluded that the au- thor had made a mistake* as to the name, yet his general truth would remain un- shaken, nor would any one think of build- ing up an hypothesis on so trivial and nat- ural an inaccuracy. But there is scarcely a work of this school without some such hypothesis. I confess that I am constant- ly astonished at the elaborate conclusions wdiich are drawn from trifling discrepan- ces or inaccuracies in those writers, from whom is exacted a precision of language, a minute and unerring knowledge of facts incident to, but by no means forming con- stituent parts of, their narrative, which is altogether inconsistent with the want of respect in other cases shown to their au- thority. The evangelists must have been either entirely inspired, or inspired as to the material parts of their history, or alto- gether uninspired. In the latter, and, in- deed, in the more moderate view of the second case, they would, we may safely say, be read, as other historians of their inartificial and popular character always are; and so read, it would be impossible, I conceive, not to be surprised and con- vinced of their authenticity, by their gen- eral accordance with all the circumstances of their age, country, and personal char- acter. * Non nosdebere arbitrary mentiri quemquam, si pluribus rem quam audierunt vei viderunt reminis- centibus, non eodem modo atque eisdem verbis, eadem tamen res fuerit indicata.: aut. sive mutetur ordo verborum, sive alia pro alii!, quse tamen idem valeant, verba proferantur, sive aliquid vel quod re- cordanti non occurrit, vel quod ex aliis quse dicun- tur possit intelligi minus dicatur, sive aliorum quse magis dicere statuit narrandorum gratia, ut con- gruus temporis modus sufficiat, aliquid sibi non to- tum explicandum, sed ex parte tangendum quisque suscipiat; sive ad illuminandam declarandamque sententiam, nihil quidem rerum, verborum tamen aliquid addat, cui au^oritas narrandi concessa est, sive rem bene tenens, non assequatur quamvis id co- netur. mcmoriter etiam verba qua audivit ad integrum enuntiare—Augustin., De Consens. Evangelist., ii., 28. Compare the whole passage, which coincides with the general view of the fathers as to this ques- tion, in c. 50. St. Augustine seems to admit an in- spiration of guidance or superintendence. In one passage he seems to go farther, but to plunge (with respect be it spoken) into inextricable nonsense, iii., 30 ; see also 48. III. INFLUENCE OF THE MORE IMAGINATIVE INCIDENTS OF THE EARLY EVANGELIC HIS- TORY ON THE PROPAGATION AND MAINTE- NANCE OF THE RELIGION. A curious fact occurs to those who trace the progress of religious opinion, not mere- ly in the popular theology, but in the works of those, chiefly foreign writers, who in- dulge in bolder speculations on these sub- jects. Many of these are men of the pro- foundest learning, and, it would be the worst insolence of uncharitableness to doubt, with the most sincere and ardent aspirations after truth. The fact is this: Certain parts of the evangelic history, the angelic appearances, the revelations of the Deity addressed to the senses ol man (the Angelo-phaniai and Theophaniai, as they have been called), with some, though not with all this class of writers, everything miraculous appears totally in- consistent with historic truth. These in- cidents, being irreconcilable with our ac- tual experience, and rendered suspicious by a multitude of later fictions, which are rejected in the mass'by most Protestant Christians, cannot accord with the more subtle and fastidious intelligence of the present times. Some writers go so far as to assert that it is impossible that an inquiring and reasoning age should receive these supernatural facts as historical veri- ties. But if we look back we find that precisely these same parts of the sacred narrative were dearest to the believers of a more imaginative age ; and they are still dwelt upon by the general mass of Chris- tians with that kind of ardent faith which refuses to break its old alliance with the imagination. It was by this very super- natural agency, if I may so speak, that the doctrines, the sentiments, the moral and religious influence of Christianity were implanted in the mind on the first promulgation of the Gospel, and the reverential feeling thus excited, most powerfully contributed to maintain the efficacy of the religion for at least seven- teen centuries. That which is now to many incredible, not merely commanded the belief, but made the purely moral and spiritual part of Christianity, to which few of these writers now refuse their assent, credible. An argument which appears to me o! considerable weight arises out of these considerations. Admit, as even the ra- tionalist and mythic interpreters seem to do, though in vague and metaphysical terms, the Divine interposition, or, at least, the pre-arrangement, and effective though remote agency of the Deity, in theHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 07 Introduction of Christianity into the world. These passages, in general, are not the vital and essential truths of Christianity, but the vehicle by which these truths were communicated; a kind of language by which opinions were conveyed, and senti- ments infused, and the general belief in Christianity implanted, confirmed, and strengthened. As we cannot but suppose that the state of the world, as well during as subsequent to the introduction of Chris- tianity, the comparative rebarbarization of the human race, the long centuries in which mankind was governed by imagina- tion rather than by severe reason, were within the design, or, at least, the fore- knowledge of all-seeing Providence ; so, from the fact that this mode of communi- cation with mankind was for so long a period so effective, we may not unreason- ably infer its original adoption by Divine Wisdom. This language of poetic inci- dent, and, if I may so speak, of imagery, interwoven, as it was, with the popular belief, infused into the hymns, the ser- vices, the ceremonial of the Church, im- bodied in material representation by paint- ing or sculpture, was the vernacular tongue of Christianity, universally intelligible, and responded to by the human heart, through- out these many centuries. Revelation thus spoke the language, not merely of its own, but of succeeding times; because its design was the perpetuation as well as the first propagation of the Christian re- ligion. Whether, then, these were actual ap- pearances, or impressions produced on the mind of those who witnessed them, is of slight importance. In either case they are real historical facts; they partake of poetry in their form, and, in a certain sense, in their groundwork, but they are imaginative, not fictitious; true, as rela- ting that which appeared to the minds of the relators exactly as it did appear.* Poetry, meaning by poetry such an ima- ginative form, and not merely the form, but the subject-matter of the narrative, as, for instance,, in the first chapters of St. Matthew and St. Luke, was the appropri- ate and perhaps necessary intelligible dia- lect ; the vehicle for the more important truths of the Gospel to later generations. The incidents, therefore, were so ordered, * This, of coarse, does not apply to facts which must have been either historical events or direct fictions, such as the resurrection of Jesus. The reappearance of an actual and well-known bodily form cannot be refined into one of those airy and unsubstantial appearances which may be presented to, or may exist solely through, the imaginative faculty. I would strictly maintain this important distinction. that they should thus live in the thoughts of men; the revelation itself was so ad- justed and Arranged, in order that it might ensure its continued existence throughout this period.* . Could, it may be inquired, a purely rational or metaphysical creed have survived for any length of time du- ring such stages of human -civilization ? I am aware that this may be considered as carrying out what is called accommoda- tion to an unprecedented extent, and that the whole system of what is called ac- commodation is looked upon with great jealousy. It is supposed to compromise, as it were, the truth of the Deity, or, at least, of the revelation; a deception, it is said, or, at least, an illusion, is practised upon the belief of man. I cannot assent to this view. From the necessity of the case, there must be some departure from the pure and essential spirituality of the Deity, in order to communicate with the human race; some kind of condescension from the infinite and inconceivable state of Godhead, to become cognizable, or to enter into any kind of relation with ma- terial and dimly-mental man. All this is, in fact, accommodation; and the adaptation of any appropriate means of addressing, for his benefit, man in any peculiar state of intelligence, is but the wise contrivance, the indispensable condition, which renders that communication either possible, or, at least, effective to its manifest end. Re- ligion is one great system of accommoda- tion to the wants, to the moral and spirit- ual advancement of mankind; and I can- not but think that, as it has so efficaciously adapted itself to one state of the human mind, so it will to that mind during all its progress ; and it is of all things the most remarkable in Christianity, that it has, as it were, its proper mode of addressing with effect every age and every conceiv- able state of man. Even if (though I con- ceive it impossible) the imagination should t By all those who consider the knowledge of these circumstances to have reached the evange- lists (by whatever notion of inspiration they may be guarantied) through the ordinary sources of in- formation, from the reminiscences of Mary herself, or from those of other contemporaries, it would be expected that these remote incidents would be related with the greatest indistinctness, without mutual connexion or chronological arrangement, and different incidents be preserved by different evangelists. This is precisely the case: the very marvellousness of the few circumstances thus pre- served accounts in some degree for their preserva- tion, and, at the same time, for the kind of dimness and poetic character with which they are clothed. They are too slight and wanting in particularity to give the idea of invention: they seem like a few scattered fragments preserved from oral tradition.68 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. entirely wither from the human soul, and a severer, faith enter into an exclusive alliance with pure reason, Christianity would still have its moral perfection, its rational promise of immortality, its ap- proximation to the one pure, spiritual, in- comprehensible Deity, to satisfy that rea- son, and to infuse those sentiments oi dependance, of gratitude, of love to God, without which human society must fall to ruin, and the human mind, in humiliating desperation, suspend all its noble activity, and care not to put forth its sublime and eternal energies CHAPTER IIL COMMENCEMENT OF THE PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS: Nearly thirty years had passed away Period to the since the birth in Bethlehem, assumption during which period there is but or public one incident recorded, which c arac er. coujd direct the public attention to the Son of Mary.* All religious Jews made their periodical visits to the capital at the three great festivals, especially at the Passover. The more pious women, though exempt by the law from regular attendance, usually accompanied their husbands or kindred. It is probable that, at the age of twelve, the children, who were then said to have assumed the rank of “ Sons of the Law,” and were considered responsible for their obedience to the civil and religious institutes of the nation, were first permit- ted. to appear with their parents in the metropolis, to be present, and, as it were, to be initiated in the religious ceremonies.f Accordingly, at this age, Jesus went up visit to Je- with his parents at the festival to rusaiem. Jerusalem;{ but on their return, after the customary residence of seven days, they had advanced a whole day’s journey without discovering that the youth was not to be found in the whole caravan, or long train of pilgrims, which probably comprised almost all the religious inhabitants of the populous northern prov- * There is no likelihood that the extant apocry- phal Gospel of the Infancy contains any traditional truth. This work, in my opinion, was evidently composed with a controversial design, to refute the sects which asserted that Jesus was no more than an ordinary child, and that the Divine nature de- scended upon him at his baptism. Hence his child- hood is represented as fertile in miracles as his manhood; miracles which are certainly puerile enough for that age. But it is a curious proof of the vitality of popular legends, that many of these stories are still current, even in England, in our Christmas carols, and in this form are disseminated among our cottages. f Lightfoot. Wetstein, in loc. “A child was free from presenting himself in the temple at the three feasts, until (according to the school of Hil- lel) he was able, his father taking him by the hand, to go up with him intf the mount of the temple.”— Lightfoot, x., 71. t Luke, ii., 41, 52. inces. In the utmost anxiety they re- turned to Jerusalem, and, after three days,* found him in one of the chambers, within the precincts of the temple, set apart for public instruction. In these schools, the wisest and most respected of the rabbis or teachers, were accustomed to hold their sittings, which were open to all who were desirous of knowledge. Jesus was seat- ed, as the scholars usually were ; and at his familiarity with the law, and the depth and subtlety of his questions, the learned men were in the utmost astonishment: the phrase may, perhaps, bear the stronger sense, they were “ in an ecstasy of ad- miration.” This incident is strictly in ac- cordance with Jewish usage. The more promising youths were encouraged to the early development and display of their ac- quaintance with the Sacred Writings and the institutes of the country. Josephus the historian relates, that in his early youth he was an object of wonder, for his precocious knowledge, with the Wise Men, who took delight in examining and devel- oping his proficiency in the subtler ques- tions of the law. Whether the impres- sion of the transcendent promise of Jesus was as deep and lasting as it was vivid, we have no information; for, without re- luctance, with no more than a brief and mysterious intimation that public instruc- tion was the business imposed upon him by his Father, he returned with his parents to his remote and undistinguished home. The Law, in this, as in all such cases, har- monizing with the eternal instincts of na- ture, had placed the relation of child and parent on the simplest and soundest prin- ciples. The authority of the parent was unlimited, while his power of inflicting punishment on the person, or injuring the fortunes of the child by disinheritance, was controlled; and while the child, on the * According to Grotius, they had advanced one day’s journey towards Galilee, returned the second, and found him the third: in loc.69 HISTORY* OF CHRISTIANITY. one Band, was bound to obedience by the strongest sanctions, on the other the duty of maintaining and instructing his offspring was as rigidly enforced upon the father. The youth then returned to the usual sub- jection to his parents; and for nearly eighteen years longer we have no knowl- edge that Jesus was distinguished among the inhabitants of Nazareth, except by his exemplary piety, and by his engaging de- meanour and conduct, which acquired him the general good-will. The law, as some suppose, prescribed the period of thirty years for the assumption of the most im- portant functions; and it was not till he had arrived at this age that Jesus again emerged from his obscurity;* nor does it appear improbable that John had previous- ly commenced his public career at the same period in his life. During these thirty years, most impor- Poiitieai rev- tant revolutions had taken place elutions du- in the public administration of rin<; the pre- affairs in Judaea, and a deep ceding period. ^ chaQge had been slowly working in the popular mind. The stirring events which had rapidly succeed- ed each other were such as no doubt might entirely obliterate any transient im- pressions made by the marvellous circum- stances which attended the birth of Jesus, if indeed they had obtained greater pub- licity than we are inclined to suppose. As the period approached in which the new Teacher was to publish his mild and benignant faith, the nation, wounded in their pride, galled by oppression, infuri- ated by the promulgation of fierce and tur- bulent doctrines more congenial to their temper, became less and less fit to receive any but a warlike and conquering Messiah. Reign of The reign of Archelaus, or, rath- Archeiaus. er, the interregnum, while he awaited the ratification of his kingly pow- ers from Rome, had commenced with a bloody tumult, in which the royal soldiery had attempted to repress the insurrection- ary spirit of the populace. The passover had been interrupted: an unprecedented and ill-omened event! and the nation, as- sembled from all quarters, had been con- strained to disperse without the comple- tion of the sacred ceremony.f After the tyrannical reign of Archelaus as ethnarch for more than nine years, he had been Reduction banished into Gaul, and Judaea to a Roman was reduced to a Roman prov- provmce. ince, under a governor (procura- * Or entering on his thirtieth year. According to the Jewish mode of computation, the year, the week, or the day which had commenced was in- cluded in the calculation.—Lightfoot. t Hist, of the Jews, ii., 112 tor) of the equestrian order, who was sub- ordinate to the President of Syria. But the first Roman governors, having taken up their residence in Herod’s magnificent city on the coast, Caesarea, the municipal government of Jerusalem had apparently fallen into the hands of the native author- ities. The Sanhedrin of seventy- Sanhedrin> one, composed of the chief priests and men learned in the law, from a court of judicature, to which their functions were chiefly confined, while the executive was administered by the kings, had be- come a kind of senate. Pontius Pilate, the first of the Roman governors, who, if he did not afflict the capital with the spec- tacle of a resident foreign ruler, seems to have visited it more frequently, was the first who introduced into the city the u idolatrous” standards of Rome, and had attempted to suspend certain bucklers, bearing an image of the emperor, in the palace of Herod.* In his time the San- hedrin seems to have been recognised as a sort of representative council of the na- tion. But the proud and unruly people could not disguise from itself the humili- ating consciousness that it was reduced to a state of foreign servitude. Through- out. the country the publicans, the The pub- farmers or collectors of the tribute Ilcans- to Rome, a burden not less vexatious in its amountf and mode of collection than of- fensive to their feelings, were openly ex- ercising their office. The chief priest was perpetually displaced at the order of the Roman prefect, by what might be jealous or systematic policy, but which had all the appearance of capricious and insulting vi- olence.;}; They looked abroad, but with- out hope. The country had, without any advantage, suffered all the evils of insurrec insurrectionary anarchy. At the tions- period between the death of Herod and the accession of his sons, adventurers of all classes had taken up arms, and some of the lowest, shepherds and slaves, whether hoping to strike in with the popular feel- ing, and, if successful at first, to throw the whole nation on their side, had not scru- pled to assume the title and ensigns of royalty. These commotions had been suppressed; but the external appearance, of peace was but a fallacious evidence of the real state of public feeling. The reli- gious sects which had long divided the na- * Hist, of the Jews, ii., 132. f About this period Syria and Judaea petitioned for a remission of tribute, which was described as intolerably oppressive.—Tac., Ann , ii., 42. $ There wpre twenty-eight, says Josephus, from the time of Herod to the burning of the temple by Titus.—Ant., xx., 810 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. tion, those of the Pharisees and Saddu- cees, no longer restrained by the strong hand of power, renewed their conflicts : sometimes one party, sometimes the oth- er, obtained the high-priesthood, and pre- dominated in the Sanhedrin; while from the former had sprung up a new faction, in whose tenets the stern sense of national degradation, which rankled in the hearts of so many, found vent and expression. The sect of Judas the Gaulonite, or, as Judas the he was called, the Galilean, may Galilean. considered the lineal inheritors of that mingled spirit of national independ- ence and of religious enthusiasm which had in early days won the glorious tri- umph of freedom from the Syro-Grecian kings, and had maintained a stern though secret resistance to tho later Asmoneans and to the Idumean dynasty. Just before the death of Herod, it had induced the six thousand Pharisees to refuse the oath of allegiance to the king and to his imperial protector, and had probably been the se- cret incitement in the other acts of resist- ance to the royal authority. Judas the Galilean openly proclaimed the unlawful- ness, the impiety of God’s people submit- ting to a. foreign yoke, and thus acknowl- edging the subordination of the Jewish theocracy to the empire of Rome. The payment of tribute, which began to be en- forced on the deposition of Archelaus, ac- cording to his tenets, was not merely a base renunciation of their liberties, but a sin against their God. To the doctrines of this bold and eloquent man, which had been propagated with dangerous rapidity and success, frequent allusion's are found in the Gospels. Though the Galileans slain by Pilate may not have been of this sect, yet probably the Roman authorities would look with more than usual jealousy on any appearance of tumult arising in the province which was the reputed birth- place of Judas ; and the constant attempts to implicate Jesus with this party appear in their insidious questions about the law- fulness of paying tribute to Caesar. The subsequent excesses of the Zealots, who were the doctrinal descendants of Judas, and among whom his own sons assumed a dangerous and fatal pre-eminence, may show that the jealousy of the rulers was not groundless; and indicate, as will here- after appear, under what unfavourable im- pressions with the existing authorities, on account of his coming from Galilee, Jesus was about to enter on his public career. Towards the close of this period of John the thirty years, though we have no Baptist, evidence to fix a precise date, while Jesus was growing up in the ordinary course of nature in the obscurity of the Galilean town of Nazareth, which lay to the north of Jerusalem, at much the same distance to the south John had arrived at maturity, and suddenly appeared as a pub- lic teacher, at first in the desert country in the neighbourhood of Hebron, but speed- ily removed, no doubt for the facility of administering the characteristic rite, from which he was called the Baptist, at all seasons, and with the utmost publicity and effect.* In the southern desert of J’u.daea the streams are few and scanty, probably in the summer entirely dried up. The nearest large body of water was the Dead Sea. Besides that the western banks of this great lake are mostly rugged and pre- cipitous, natural feeling, and, still more, the religious awe of the people, would have shrunk from performing sacred ablutions in those fetid, unwholesome, and accursed waters.f But the banks of the great na- tional stream, the scene of so many mir- acles, offered many situations in every respect admirably calculated for this pur- pose. The Baptist’s usual station was near the place Bethabara, the ford of the Jordan, which tradition pointed out as that where the waters divided before the ark? that the chosen people might enter into the promised land. Here, though the ad- jacent region towards Jerusalem is wild and desert, the immediate shores of the river offer spots of great picturesque beau- ty. The Jordan has a kind of double channel. In its summer course, the shelv- ing banks, to the top of which the waters reach at its period of flood, are. covered with acacias and other trees of great lux- uriance ; and amid the rich vegetation and grateful shade afforded by these scenes, the Italian painters, with no less truth than effect, have delighted to represent the Bap- tist surrounded by listening multitudes, or performing the solemn rite of initiation. The teacher himself partook of the ascetic character of the more solitary of the Es~ senes, all of whom retired from the tumult and license of the city, some dwelt alone in remote hermitages, and not rarely pre- tended to a prophetic character. His rai- ment was of the coarsest texture, of camel’s hair; his girdle (an ornament often of 4he greatest richness in Oriental cos- tume, of the finest linen or cotton, and em- broidered with silver or gold) was of un- tanned leather ;* his food the locustsJ and * Matt., iii., 1-12. Mark, i., 2-8. Luke, iii,, 1-38. i The Aulon, or Valley of the Jordan, is mostly desert. ALarifivec rr\v VevvrjGap (jlegtjv, hreira 7co?i?i7]v avaperpovfzevog hprpiiav elg rrjv ’A ccpaA- rlrtv e^eigi lipvTjv.— Joseph., B. T. iii., 10,1. t That locusts are no uncommon food is so wellHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 71 wild honey, of which there is a copious supply both in ilie open and the wooded regions in which he had taken up his abode. No question has been more strenuously debated than the origin of the rite baptism. |3aptjsm> The practice of the external washing of the body, as emble- matic of the inward purification of the soul, is almost universal. The sacred Ganges cleanses all moral pollution from the In- dian; among the Greeks and Romans even the murderer might, it was supposed, wash the blood “ clean from his hands and in many of their religious rites, lus- trations or ablutions, either in the running- stream or in the sea, purified the candidate for divine favour, and made him fit to ap- proach the shrines of the gods. The per- petual similitude and connexion between the uncleanness of the body and of the soul, which ran through the Mosaic law, and had become completely interwoven with the common language and sentiment, the formal enactment of ablutions in many cases, which either required the cleansing of some unhealthy taint, or more than usual purity, must have familiarized the mind with the mysterious effects attributed to such a rite ; and of all the Jewish sects, that of the Essenes, to which, no doubt, popular opinion associated the Baptist, were most frequent and scrupulous in their ceremonial ablutions. It is strongly asserted on the one hand, and denied with equal confidence on the other, that bap- tism was in general use among the Jews as a distinct and formal rite ; and that it was by this ceremony that the Gentile proselytes, who were not yet thought worthy of circumcision, or, perhaps, re- fused to submit to it, were imperfectly in- itiated into the family of Israel.f Though there does not seem very conclusive evi- dence in the earlier rabbinical writings to the antiquity, yet there are perpetual al- lusions to the existence of this rite, at least at a later period; and the argument that, after irreconcilable hostility had been de- clared between the two religions, the Jews would be little likely to borrow their dis- tinctive ceremony from the Christians, applies with more than ordinary force. Nor, if we may fairly judge from the very known from all travellers in the East, that it is un- necessary to quote any single authority. There is a kind of bean, called in that country the locust- bean, which some have endeavoured to make out to have been the food of John. * Ah nimium faciles, qui tristia crimina ceedis Tolli fluminea posse putatis aqua.—Ovid. t Lightfoot, Harmony of Evang., iii., 38; iv., 407, &c. Danzius, in Meuschen, Talmudica, &c. Schoetgen and Wetstein, in loc. rapid and concise narrative of the evan- gelists, does the public administration of baptism by John appear to have excitea astonishment as a new and unprecedented rite. For, from every quarter, all ranks and sects crowded to the teaching Multitudes and to partake in the mystic who attend ablutions performed by the hlspreachlIlg Baptist. The stream of the Jordan re- flected the wondering multitudes of every class and character, which thronged around him with that deep interest and high-wrought curiosity, which could not fail to be excited, especially at such a crisis, by one who assumed the tone and authority of a divine commission, and seemed, even if he were not hereafter to break forth in a higher character, to renewr in his person the long silent and inter- rupted race of the ancient prophets. Of all those prophets Elijah was held in the most profound reverence by the descend- ants of Israel.f He was the representa- tive of their great race of moral instruct- ors and interpreters of the Divine Will, whose writings (though of Elijah nothing remained) had been admitted to almost equal authority with the law itself, were read in the public synagogues, and, with the other sacred books, formed the canon of their Scripture. A mysterious intima- tion had closed this hallowed volume of the prophetic writings, announcing, as from the lips of Malachi, on which the fire of prophecy expired, a second coming of Elijah, which it should seem popular belief had construed into the personal re- appearance of him who had ascended into heaven in a car of fire. And where, and at what time, and in what form was he so likely to appear, as in the desert, by the shore of the Jordan, at so fearful a * Some of the strange notions about Elias may be found in Lightfoot, Harm, of Evang., iv , 399. Compare Rcclesiast., xlviii, 10,11. “ Elias, who is written of for reproofs in these times, to appease the anger of him that is ready for wrath (or before wrath TrpoOvfxov, or 7rpd Mpou), to turn the heart of the father to the son, and to restore the tribes of Jacob. Blessed are they that see thee, and are adorned with love ; for we too shall live the life.'1* * In the English translation the traditionary allusion is obscured. “ In that day, when the Lord shall deliver Israel, three days before the coming of the Messiah, Elias shall come, and shall stand on the mountains of Israel mourning and wailing concern- ing them, and saying. How long will ye stay in the dry and wasted land? And his voice shall be heard from one end of the world to the other; and after that he shall say unto them, ‘ Peace Cometh to the world, as it is written (Isaiah, lii., 7), How beauti- ful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace.’”— Jalkut Schamuni,fol. 53, c. 6. Quoted in Bertholdt. See other quotations. Schoetgen, Hor. Heb., ii., 533, 534. Justin. Dial., cum Tryph.72 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. crisis in the national destinies, and in the wild garb and with the mortified demean- our so frequent among the ancient seers 1 The language of the Baptist took the bold, severe, and uncompromising tone of those delegates of the Most High. On both the great religious factions he denounced the same maledictions, from both demanded the same complete and immediate reform- ation. On the people he inculcated mutual charity; on the publicans, whom he did not exclude from his followers, justice ; on the soldiery,* humanity, and abstinence from all unnecessary violence and pillage. These general denunciations against the vices of the age, and the indiscriminate enforcement of a higher moral and re- ligious standard, though they might gall the consciences of individuals or wound the pride of the different sects, yet, as clashing with no national prejudice, would excite no hostility which could be openly avowed ; while the fearless and impartial language of condemnation was certain to secure the wonder, the respect, the venera- tion of the populace. But that which no doubt drew the whole Expectation population in such crowds to the oythe Mes- desert shores of the Jordan, was 8ia1, the mysterious yet distinct as- sertion that the “ kingdom of Heaven was at hand ;”f that kingdom of which the be- lief was as universal as of the personal coming of the Messiah ; and as variously coloured by the disposition and tempera- ment of every class and individual, as the character of the sovereign who was thus to assume dominion. All anticipated the establishment of an earthly sovereignty, but its approach thrilled the popular bosom with mingled emotions. The very proph- ecy which announced the previous appear- ance of Elijah, spoke of the “great and dreadful day of the Lord,” and, as has been said, according to the current belief, fear- ful calamities were to precede the glorious * Michaelis has very ingeniously observed, that these men are described not merely as soldiers (cTpajmrai), but as on actual service (arparevojxivot); and has conjectured that they were part of the forces of Herod Antipas, who was at this time at war, or preparing for war, with Aretas, king of Arabia. Their line of march would lead them to the ford of the Jordan. f This phrase is discussed by Kuinoel, vol. i., p. 73. According to its Jewish meaning, it was equiv- alent'to the kingdom of the Messiah (the kingdom of God or of Heaven), Schoetgen, Hor. Hebr., p. 1147, which was to commence and endure for ever, when the law was to be fully restored, and the immutable theocracy of God’s chosen people re-established for eternity. In its higher Christian sense .it assumed the sense of the moral dominion to be exercised by Christ over his subjects in this life; that dominion which is to be continued over his faithful in the state of immortal existence beyond the grave. days of the Messiah : nor was it till after a dark period of trial that the children of Abraham, as the prerogative of their birth, the sons of God,* the inheritors of his kingdom, were to emerge from their ob- scurity ; their theocracy to be re-estab- lished in its new and more enduring form ; the dead, at least those who were to share in the first resurrection, their own ances- tors, were to rise; the solemn judgment was to be held ; the hostile nations were to be thrust down to hell; and those only of the Gentiles, who should become pros- elytes to Judaism, were to be admitted to this earthly paradisiacal state.f The language of the Baptist at once fell in with and opposed the popular feeling; at one instant it raised, at the next it cross- * Compare Justin Martyr, Dial. 433, ed. Thirlby. Grotius on Matt., x., 28 ; xiv., 2. James, ii , 14. Whitby on Acts, i., 23. Jortin’s Discourses, p. 26. t See Wetstein, in loc. The following passage closely resembles the language of John : “ Whose fan is in his hand, and he will thoroughly purge his floor, and gather his wheat into the garner; but he will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire.”— Matt., iii., 12. The Jer. Talmud adduces Isaiah, xvi., 12. “ The morning cometh and also the night; it shall be morning to Israel, but night to the na- tions of the world.” (Taanith, fol. 64, 1.) “The threshing is come : the straw they cast into the fire, the chaff unto the wind, but preserve the wheat in the floor, and every one that sees it, takes it and kisses it. So the nations of the world say, The world was made for our sakes ; but Israel say to them, Is it not written, But the people shall be as the burning of the lime-kiln, but Israel in the time to come (z. author of the narrative, St. John.* Simon, to whom his brother communi- cates the extraordinary tidings, immediate- ly follows, and on him Jesus bestows a new name, expressive of the firmness of his character. All these belonged to the same village, Bethsaida, on the shore of the Lake of Gennesareth. On the depar- ture of Jesus, when he is returning to Gal- ilee, he summons another, named Philip. Philip, like Andrew, hastened away to im- part the tidings to Nathanael, not improb- ably conjectured to be the apostle Barthol- omew (the son of Tolmai or Ptolemy), a man of blameless character, whose only doubt is that the Messiah should come from a town of such proverbial disrepute as Nazareth.f But the doubts of Nathan- ael are removed by the preternatural knowledge displayed by Jesus of an inci- dent which he could not have witnessed; and this fifth disciple, in like manner, does homage to the Messiah, under his titles “the Son of God, the King of Israel.” Yet this proof of more than human knowl- edge Jesus declares to be as nothing in comparison with the more striking signs of the Divine protection and favour, which he asserts, under the popular and signifi- cant image of the perpetual intervention of angels, that his chosen followers are here- after to witness. Jesus had now commenced his career: Jesus corn- disciples had attached themselves mences his to this new master, and his claim teachei*as a t0 a Divine mission must neces- sarily be accompanied by the signs and wonders which were to ratify the appearance of the Messiah. Yet even his miraculous powers had nothing of the imposing, the appalling, or public charac- ter looked for, no doubt, by those who ex- pected that the appeal would be made to their senses and their passions, to their terror and their hope, not to the more tranquil emotions of gratitude and love. But of this more hereafter. The first miracle of Jesus was the First miracle, changing the water into wine Anti-Essenian. at the marriage feast at Cana in Galilee.J This event, however, was not merely remarkable as being the first occasion for the display of supernatural power, but as developing in some degree the primary principles of the new religious revelation. The attendance of Jesus at a marriage festival, his contributing to the festive hilarity, more particularly his sanctioning the use of wines on such oc- * John, i., 37-42. t Id , i, 43-51. t Id , ii., 1-L1. casions, at once separated and set him apart from that sect with which he was most likely to be confounded. John no doubt passed with the vulgar for a stricter Essene, many of whom, it has been before said, observed the severest morality, and in one great point differed most widely from all their brethren. They disregarded the ceremonies of the law, even the solemn national festivals, and depreciated sacri- fices. Shut up, in short, in their own monastic establishments, they had sub- stituted observances of their own for those of the Mosaic institutes. In all these points, John, who nowhere appears to have visited Jerusalem, at least after his assumption of the prophetic office (for his presence there would doubtless have ex- cited much commotion), followed the Es- senianpractice. Like them,he was severe, secluded, monastic, or, rather, eremitical in his habits and language. But among the most marked peculiarities of the Es- senian fraternity was their aversion to marriage. Though some of the less rigid of their communities submitted to this in- evitable evil, yet those who were of higher pretensions, and doubtless of higher esti- mation, maintained inviolable celibacy, and had fully imbibed that Oriental prin- ciple of asceticism which proscribed all indulgence of the gross and material body as interfering with the purity of the im- maculate spirit. The perfect religious being was he who had receded to the ut- most from all human passion; who had withdrawn his senses from all intercourse with the material world, or, rather, had estranged his mind from all objects of sense, and had become absorbed in the silent and ecstatic contemplation of the Deity.* This mysticism was the vital principle of the Essenian observances in Judsea, and of those of the Therapeutae, or Contemplatists, in Egypt, the lineal ancestors of the Christian monks and her- mits. By giving public countenance to a marriage ceremony, still more by sanc- tioning the use of wine on such occasions (for wine was likewise proscribed by Es- senian usage), Jesus thus, at the outset of his career, as he afterward placed him- * It may be worth observing (for the connexion of Jesus with the Essenes has been rather a favour- ite theory), that his illustrations, so perpetually drawn from the marriage rite and from the vine- yard, would be in direct opposition to the Essenian phraseology. All these passages were peculiarly embarrassing to the Gnostic ascetics. Noluit Marcion sub imagine Domini a nuptiis redeuntis Christum cogitari “detestatorum nuptiarum,” he rejected from his Gospel, Luke, xiv., 7-11. See the Gospel of Marcion by Hahn, in Thilo. Cod. Apoc. Nov. Testam , p 444 and 449.78 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. self in direct opposition to the other pre- vailing sects, so he had already receded from the practice of these recluse mystics, who formed the third, and, though not in numbers, yet in character and influence, by no means unimportant religious party. After this event in Cana,* Jesus, with his mother, his brethren, and some of his disciples, took up their abode, not in their ; native town of Nazareth, but in the village ^ of Capernaum,f which was situ-' apernaum. ate(j not far from the rising city of Tiberias, on the shore of the beautiful lake, the Sea of Gennesareth. It was called the Village of Comfort, or the Love- ly Village, from a spring of delicious water, and became afterward the chief residence of Jesus, and the great scene of his won- derful works.J The Passover approached,§ the great First passo- festival || which assembled, not ver, a.d. 27. only from all parts of Pales- tine, but even from remoter regions, the more devout Jews, who at this period of the year constantly made their pilgrimage to the Holy City : regular caravans came from Babylonia and Egypt; and no doubt, as we shall explain hereafter, considerable numbers from Syria, Asia Minor, and the other provinces of the Roman empire. There can be no doubt that at least vague rumours of the extraordinary transactions which had already'excited public attention towards Jesus of Nazareth must have preceded his arrival at Jerusalem. The declaration of the Baptist, however neither himself nor many of his immediate dis- ciples might attend the feast, could not but have transpired. Though the single miracle wrought at Cana might not have been distinctly reported at Jerusalem— * Maundrell places Cana northwest of Nazareth ; it was about a day’s journey from Capernaum. Josephus (De Vita Sua) marched all night from Cana, and arrived at Tiberias in the morning, f John, ii., 12. i Among the remarkable and distinctive pecu- liarities of the Gospel of St. John, is the much greater length at which he relates the events which occurred during the earlier visits of Jesus to Jeru- salem, about which the other evangelists are either entirely silent or extremely brief. I cannot help suspecting a very natural reason for this fact, that John was then the constant companion of his Mas- ter during these journeys, and that the other apos- tles were much less regular in their attendance upon him during these more distant excursions, especially at the earlier period. The Gospel of. St. John (some few passages omitted) might be de- scribed as the acts of Jesus in Jerusalem and its neighbourhood. § John, ii., 13. H Many writers suppose that about half a year passed between the baptism of Jesus and this pass- over. This is possible ; but it appears tome that there is no evidence whatever as to the length of the neriod. though the few disciples who may have followed him from Galilee, having there disseminated the intelligence of his con- duct and actions, might have been lost in the multitude and confusion of the crowd- ed city—though, on the other hand, the. impressions thus made would be still farther counterbalanced by the general prejudice against Galilee, more especially against a Galilean from Nazareth, still the son of Mary, even at his first ap- jeSus at pearance in Jerusalem, seems to Jerusalem, have been looked on with a kind of rev- erential awe. His actions were watched ; and though both the ruling powers, and as yet, apparently, the leading Pharisees kept aloof—though he is neither molested by the jealousy of the latter, nor excites the alarm of the former, yet the mass of the people already observed his words and his demeanour with anxious interest. The conduct of Jesus tended to keep up this mysterious uncertainty, so likely to work-on the imagination of a people thus ripe for religious excitement. He is said to have performed “ many miracles,” but these, no doubt, were still of a private, secret, and unimposing character; and on all other points he maintains the utmost reserve, and avoids with the most jealous precaution any action or language which might directly commit him with the rulers or the people. One act alone was public, commanding, and authoritative. The outer The Tem- court of the Temple had become, pie a mart, particularly at the period of the greatest solemnity, a scene of profane disorder and confusion. As the Jews assembled from all quarters of the country, almost of the world, they were under the necessity of purchasing the victims for their offerings on the spot; and the rich man who could afford a sheep or an ox, or the poor who was content with the humbler oblation of a pair of doves, found the dealer at hand to supply his wants. The traders in sheep, cattle, and pigeons had therefore been permitted to establish themselves within the precincts of the Temple, in the court of the Gentiles ;* and a line of shops (taber- nae) ran along the outer wall of the inner court. Every Jew made an annual pay- ment of a half-shekel to the’Temple ; and as the treasury, according to ancient usage, only received the coin of Palestine,! those * John, ii., 14, 25. f According to Hug, “ the ancient imposts which were introduced before the Roman dominion were valued according to the Greek coinage, e.g., the taxes of the temple, Matt., xvii., 24. Joseph., B J. vii., 6, 6. The offerings were paid in these, Mark, xii., 42. Luke, xxi., 2. A payment which pro-HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 79 who came from distant provinces were obliged to change their foreign money, the relative value of which was probably lia- ble to considerable fluctuation. It is evi- dent, from the strong language of Jesus, that not only a fair and honest, but even a questionable and extortionate traffic was conducted within the holy precincts. Nor is it impossible that even in the Temple courts trade might be carried on less con- nected with the religious character of the place. Throughout the East, the periodi- cal assemblages of the different tribes of the same descent at some central temple, is intimately connected with commercial views.* The neighbourhood of the Holy Place is the great fair or exchange of the tribe or nation. Even to the present day, Mecca, at the time of the great concourse of worshippers at the tomb of the Prophet, is a mart for the most active traffic among the merchant pilgrims, who form the car- avans from all quarters of the Mohamme- dan world.f We may conceive how the deep and awful stillness which ought to have pre- vailed within the inner courts, dedicated to the adoration of the people—how the quiet prayer of the solitary worshipper, and the breathless silence of the multitude, while the priests were performing the more im- portant ceremonies, either offering the na- tional sacrifice or entering the Holy Place, must have been interrupted by the close neighbourhood of this disorderly market. How dissonant must have been the noises of the bleating sheep, the lowing cattle, the clamours and disputes, and all the tu- mult and confusion thus crowded into a space of no great extent. No doubt the feelings of the more devout must long be- fore have been shocked by this desecra- tion of the holy precincts ; and when Je- Expuision of sus commanded the expulsion these traders. 0f these traders out of the court of the Temple, from the almost unresist- ing submission with which they abandon- ed their lucrative posts at the command of one invested in no public authority, and who could have appeared to them no more than a simple Galilean peasant, it is clear ceeded from the Temple treasury was made ac- cording to the ancient national payment, by weight, Matt., xxvi., 15. [This is very doubtful.] But in common business, trade, wages, sale, &c., the assis, and denarius, and Roman coin were usual, Matt., x., 29. Luke, xii., 6. Matt., xx., 2. Mark, xiv., 5. John, xii, 5 ; vi., 7. The more modern state taxes are likewise paid in the coin of the nation which exercises at the time the greatest authority, Matt., xxii., 19. Mark, xii., 15. Luke, xx., 24.”— Vol. i., p. 14. After all, however, some of these words may be translations. * Heeren, Ideen, passim. t Burckhardt, Travels in Arabia. that this assertion of the sanctity of the Temple must have been a popular act with'the majority of the worshippers.* Though Jesus is said personally to have exerted himself, assisting with a light scourge, probably, in driving out the cattle, it is not likely that if he had stood alone, either the calm and commanding dignity of his manner, or even his appeal to the authority of the Sacred Writings, which forbade the profanation of the Temple as a place of merchandise, would have over- powered the sullen obstinacy of men en- gaged in a gainful traffic, sanctioned by ancient usage. The same profound ven- eration for the Temple, which took such implacable offence at the subsequent lan- guage of Jesus, would look with unallayed admiration on the zeal for “the Fathers House,” which would not brook the intru- sion of worldly pursuits or profane noises within its hallowed gates. Of itself, then, this act of Jesus might not amount tO the assumption Of Expectations authority over the Temple of raised by this God : it was, perhaps, no more event' than a courageous zealot for the law might have done ;f but, combined with the for- mer mysterious rumours about his char- acter and his miraculous powers, it in- vested him at once in the awful charactei of one in whose person might appear the long-desired, the long-expected Messiah. The multitude eagerly throng around him, and demand some supernatural sign of his Divine mission. The establishment of the Lav/ had been accompanied, according to the universal belief, with the most terrific demonstrations of Almighty power: the rocking of the earth, the blazing of the mountain. Would the restoration of the Theocracy in more ample power and more enduring majesty be unattended with the same appalling wonders ? The splendid images in the highly figurative writings of the prophets, the traditions, among the mass of the people equally authoritative, had prepared them to expect the coming of the Messiah to be announced by the obedient elements. It would have been * I think these considerations make it less im- probable that this event should have taken place on two separate occasions, and under similar circum- stances. The account of St. John places this inci- dent at this period of our Lord’s life; the other evangelists during his last visit to Jerusalem. 1 confess, indeed, for my own part, that even if it be an error of chronological arrangement in one or other of the evangelists, my faith in the historical reality of the event would not be in the least shaken. + Legally only the magistrate (£. e, the Sanhe- drin) or a prophet could rectify abuses in the Tern pie of God. A prophet must, show his commission by some miracle or prediction.—-Grotius and Whitby.80 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. difficult, by the most signal convulsions of nature, to have come up to their high- wrought expectations. Private acts of benevolence to individuals, preternatural cures of diseases, or the restoration of dis- ordered faculties, fell far beneath the no- tions of men, blind, perhaps, to the moral beauty of such actions. They required public, if we may so speak, national mira- cles, and those of the most stupendous na- ture. To their demand, Jesus calmly an- swered by an obscure and somewhat orac- ular allusion to the remote event of his own resurrection, the one great “ sign” of Christianity, to which it is remarkable that Christ constantly refers when required to ratify his mission by some public miracle.* The gesture, by which he probably con- fined his meaning to the temple of his body, which, though destroyed, was to be raised up again in three days, was seen, indeed, by his disciples, yet even by them but imperfectly understood; by the peo- ple in general his language seemed plainly to imply the possible destruction of the Temple. An appalling thought, and feebly counterbalanced by the assertion of his power to rebuild it in three days ! This misapprehended speech struck on Reverence of the most sensitive chord in the the Jews for high-strung religious tempera- the Temple. ment Qf Jewish people. Their national pride, their national exist- ence, were identified with the inviolability of the Temple. Their passionate and zealous fanaticism on this point can scarce- ly be understood but after the profound study of their history. In older times, the sad and loathsome death of Antiochus Kpiphanes; in more recent, the fate of Crassus, perishing amid the thirsty sands of the desert, and of Pompey, with his head- less trunk exposed to the outrages of the basest of mankind on the strand of Egypt, had been construed into manifest visita- tions of the Almighty, in revenge for the plunder and profanation of his Temple. Their later history is full of the same spir- it ; and even in the horrible scenes of the fatal siege of Titus, this indelible passion survived all feelings of nature or of hu- manity : the fall of the 'Temple was like the bursting of the heart of the nation. From the period at which Herod the Great had begun to restore the dilapidated work of Zorobabel, forty-six years had elapsed, and still the magnificence of the king, or the wealth and devotion of the principal among the people, had. found some new work on which to expend those incalculable riches, which, from these sources, the tribute of the whole nation and the donations of the pious continued to pour into the Temple treasury. And this was the building of which Jesus, as he was understood, could calmly contemplate the fall, and daringly promise the immedi- ate restoration. 'To their indig- Their expec- nant murmurs, Jesus, it should taiions disap- seem, made no reply. The ex- pointed' planation would perhaps have necessarily led to a more distinct prediction of his own death and resurrection than it was yet expedient to make, especially on so public a scene. But how deeply this mis- taken speech sunk into the popular mind may be estimated frbm its being adduced as the most serious charge against Jesus at his trial; and the bitterest scorn with which be was followed to his crucifixion exhausted itself in a fierce and sarcastic allusion to this supposed assertion of power. Still, although with the exasperated multitude the growing veneration of Jesus might be checked by this misapprehended speech, a more profound impression had been made among some of the more think- ing part of the community. Already one member, if not more, of the Sanhedrin began to look upon him with interest, per- haps with a secret inclination to espouse his doctrines. That one, named Nicodemus, determined to satis- lco emub‘ fy himself by a personal interview as to the character and pretensions of the new Teacher.* Nicodemus had hitherto been connected with the Pharisaic party, and he dreaded the jealousy of that powerful sect, who, though not yet in declared hos- tility against Jesus, watched, no doubt, his motions with secret aversion; for they could not but perceive that he made no advances towards them, and treated with open disregard their minute and austere observance of the literal and tra- ditionary law, their principles of separa- tion from the “ unclean” part of the com- munity, and their distinctive dress and deportment. The popular and accessible demeanour of Jesus showed at once that he had nothing in common with the spirit of this predominant religious faction. Nic- odemus therefore chooses the dead of the night to obtain his secret interview with Jesus; he salutes him with a title, that of rabbi, assumed by none but those who were at once qualified and authorized to teach in public; and he recognises at once his Divine mission, as avouched by his ’wonderful works. But, with astonish- ment almost overpowering, the Jewish Compare Matt., xii., 40. * John, iii., 1, 21HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 81 ruler hears the explanation of the first principles of the new religion. When the heathen proselyte was admitted into Juda- ism, he was considered to be endowed with new life : he was separated from all his former connexions ; he was born again to higher hopes, to more extended knowl- edge, to a more splendid destiny.* But now, even the Jew of the most unim- peachable descent from Abraham, the Jew of the highest estimation, so as to have been chosen into the court of Sanhe- drin, and who had maintained the strict- est obedience to the law, in order to be- come a member of the new community, required a change no less complete. He was to pass through the ceremony em- blematic of moral purification. To him as to the most unclean of strangers, bap- tism was to be the mark of his initiation into the new faith ; and a secret internal transmutation was to take place by Divine agency in his heart, which was to com- municate a new principle of moral life. Without this, he could not attain to that which he had hitherto supposed either the certain privilege of his Israelitish descent, or, at least, of his conscientious adherence to the law. Eternal life, Jesus declared, was to depend solely on the reception of the Son of God, who, he not obscurely in- timated, had descended from heaven, was present in his person, and was not univer- sally received only from the want of moral fitness to appreciate his character. This light was too pure to be admitted into the thick darkness which was brood- ing over the public mind, and rendered it impenetrable by the soft and quiet rays of the new doctrine. Jesus, in short, almost without disguise or reservation, announced himself to the wondering ruler as the Mes- siah, while, at the same time, he enigmat- ically foretold his rejection By'the people. The age was not ripe for the exhibition of the Divine Goodness in his person; it still yearned for a revelation of the terri- * A Gentile proselyted, and a slave set free, is.as a child new born : he must know no more of his kindred.—Maimonides. Lightfoot. Harm. Ev. This notion of a second moral birth is by no means uncommon in the East. The Sanscrit namo of a Brahmin is dwija, the twice born.—Bopp., Gloss. Sanscr. L ble, destructive, revengeful Power of the Almighty: a national deity which should imbody, as it were, the prevailing senti- ments of the nation. Nor came he to ful- fil that impious expectation of Jewish pride, the condemnation of the world, oi all Gentile races, to the worst calamities, while on Israel alone his blessings were to be showered with exclusive bounty.1* Tie came as a common benefactor, as a universal Saviour, to the whole human race. Nicodemus, it should seem, left the presence of Jesus, if not a decided convert, yet impressed with still deeper reverence. Though never an avowed disciple, yet, with other members of the Sanhedrin, he was only restrained by his dread of the predominant party: more than once we find him seizing opportunities of showing his respect and attachment to the teachei whose cause he had not courage openly to espouse; and perhaps his secret in- fluence, with that of others similarly dis- posed, may for a time have mitigated oi obstructed the more violent designs of the hostile party. Thus ended the first visit of Jesus to Jerusalem since his assumption of a pub- lic character. His influence had in one class, probably, made considerable, though secret progress ; with others, a dark feel- ing of hostility had been more deeply rooted ; while this very difference of sen- timent was likely to increase the general suspense and interest afe to the future development of his character. As yet, it should seem, unless in that most private interview writh Nicodemus, he had not openly avowed his claim to the title of the Messiah : an expression of St. John,f “ he did not trust himself to them,” seems to imply the extreme caution and reserve which he maintained towards all the con- verts which he made during his present visit to Jerusalem. * Q.uae sequuntur inde a versiculo decimo septimo proprie ad Judseos spectant, et haud dubie dicta sunt a Domino contra opinionem illam impiam et in genus hnmanum iniquam, cum existimarent Mes- siam non nisi Judaicurn populum liberaturum, re- liquas vero gentes omnes suppliciis atrocissimis affecturum, pemtusque perdituruin esse.—Titman, Mel. in Joan , p. 128. f Jchn, ii , 24, ovk imarsvev lavrov; be did nol trust himself to them, he c.id not commit himself..82 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. CHAPTER IV. PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS FROM THE FIRST TO THE SECOND PA 3SOVER. On the dispersion of the strangers from Departure the metropolis at the close of the from Jem- Passover, Jesus, with his more saiem. immediate followers, passed a short time in Judsea, where such multi- tudes crowded to the baptism administer- ed by his disciples, that the adherents of John began to find the concourse to their master somewhat diminished. The Bap- tist had removed his station to the other side of the Jordan, and fixed himself by a stream, which afforded a plentiful supply of water, near the town of Salim, in Persea. The partisans of John, not, it should seem, without jealousy, began, to dispute con- cerning the relative importance of the baptism of their master, and that of him whom they were disposed to consider his rival. But these unworthy feelings were strongly repressed by John. In terms still more emphatic, he reasserted his own sec- ondary station: he was but the para- nymph, the humble attendant on the bride- groom, Christ the bridegroom himself: his doctrine was that of earth, that of Christ was from Heaven ; in short, he openly an- nounces Jesus as the Son of the Almighty Father, and as the author of everlasting life.* * * * § The career of John was drawing to a John the close. His new station in Peraea Baptist, was within the dominions of Her- and Herod. 0(j Antipas. On the division of the Jewish kingdom at the death of Herod the Great, Galilee and Perasa had formed the tetrarchate of Antipas. Herod was engaged in a dangerous war with Aretas, king of Arabia Petraca, whose daughter he had married. But, having formed an in- cestuous connexion with the wife of his brother, Herod Philip, his Arabian queen indignantly fled to her father, who took up arms to revenge her wrongs against her guilty husband.f How far Herod could depend in this contest on the loyalty of his subjects was extremely doubtful. It is possible he might entertain hopes that the repudiation of a foreign alliance, ever hateful to the Jews, and the union with a branch of the Asmonean line (for Herodias was the daughter of Herod the Great, by Mariamne), might counterbal- ance in the popular estimation the injus- * John, iii., 22, 36. t Luke, iii., 19. Matt., xiv., 3, 5. Mark, vi, 17,20 tice and criminality of his marriage with his brother's wife.* The influence of John (according to Josephus) was almost unlimited. The subjects, and even the soldiery, of the tetrarch crowded with de- vout submission around the prophet. On his decision might depend the wavering loyalty of the whole province. But John denounced with open indignation the royal incest, and declared the marriage with a brother’s wife to be a flagrant violation of the law. Herod, before long, ordered him to be seized and imprisoned in the strong fortress of Machaerus, on the remote bor- ders of his transjordanic territory. Jesus, in the mean time, apprehensive of the awakening jealousy of the Phari- sees, whom his increasing success infla- med to more avowed animosity, left the borders of Judaea, and proceeded on his re- turn to Galilee.f The nearer Jesus passes road lay through the province of through sa- Samaria.J The mutual hatred ^-[^o/the between the Jews and Samari- Jews and tans, ever since the secession of Samaritans. Sanbaliat, had kept the two races not merely distinct, but opposed to each other with the most fanatical hostility. This animosity, instead of being allayed by time, had but grown the more inveterate, and had recently been imbittered by acts, according to Josephus, of wanton and un- provoked outrage . on the Samaritans. During the administration of Coponius, certain of this hateful race, early in the morning on one of the days of the Pass- over, had stolten into the Temple at Jeru- salem, and defiled the porticoes and courts by strewing them with dead men’s bones : an abomination the most offensive to the Jewish principles of cleanliness and sanctityStill later, they had frequently taken advantage of the position in which their district lay, directly between Judaea and Galilee, to interrupt the concourse of the religious Galileans to the capital. || Jealous that such multitudes should pass * This natural view of the subject appears to me to harmonize the accounts in the Gospels with that of Josephus. Josephus traces the persecution of the Baptist to Herod’s dread of popular tumult and insurrection, without mentioning the real cause of that dread, which we find in the evangelic narra tive. f Matt., iv., 12. Mark, i., 14. Luke, iv., 14. t John, iv., 1, 32 § Hist, of the Jews, ii., 130. || Ibid.. ].VHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. heir sacred mountain, Gerizim, to wor- ship in the Temple at Jerusalem, they often waylaid the incautious pilgrim, and thus the nearest road to Jerusalem had become extremely- insecure. Our history will show how calmly Jesus ever pursued his course through these conflicting elements of society, gently endeavoured to allay the implacable schism, and set the example of that mild and tolerant spirit so beautifully imbodied in his precepts. He passed on in quiet security through the dangerous district, and it is remarkable that here, safe from the suspicious vigilance of the Phar- isaic party, among these proscribed aliens from the hopes of Israel, he, more distinct- ly and publicly than he had hitherto done, avowed his title as the Messiah, and de- veloped that leading characteristic of his religion, the abolition of all local and na- tional deities, and the promulgation of one comprehensive faith, in which the great Eternal Spirit was to be worshipped by all mankind in “ spirit and in truth.” There was a well* near the g'ates of Sichem, a name which by the Jews had been long perverted into the opprobrious term Sichar.f This spot, according to im- memorial tradition, the patriarch Jacob had purchased, and here were laid the bones of Joseph, his elder son, to whose descendant, Ephraim, this district had been assigned. Sichem lay in a valley between the two famous mountains Ebal and Geri- zim, on which the law was read, and rati- fied by the acclamations of the assembled tribes; and on the latter height stood the rival temple of the Samaritans, which had so long afflicted the more zealous Jews by its daring opposition to the one chosen sanctuary on Mount Moriah. The well bore the name of the patriarch; and while his disciples entered the town to pur- chase provisions,! a traffic from which probably few, except the disciples of Christ, would not have abstained,§ except * Tradition still points to this well, about a mile distant from the walls of Sichar, which Maundrell supposes to have extended farther. A church was built, over it by the Empress Helena, but it is now entirely destroyed. “ It is dug in a firm rock, and contains about three yards in diameter, and thirty- five in depth, five of which we found full of water.” —Maundrell, p. 62. f From a Hebrew word meaning a “ lie” or an u idol.” The name had no doubt grown into com- mon use, as it could not be meant by the evange- lists in an offensive sense. t According to the traditions, they might buy of them, use their labour, or say amen to their bene- dictions (Beracoth, i., §), lodge in their towns, but not receive any gift or kindness of them.—Buxtorf, Lex Talm., 1370. Lightfoot, in loc. $ Probably the more rigid would have refrained, even from this permitted intercourse, unless in cases of absolute necessity. in extreme necessity, Jesus reposed by its margin. It was the sultry hour of noon, about twelve o’clock,* when a woman, as is the general usage in the East, where the females commonly resort to the wells or tanks to obtain water for all domestic uses, approached the well. Jesus, whom she knew not to be her countryman, either from his dress, or perhaps his dialect or pronunciation, in which the inhabitants of the Ephraimitish district of Samaria dif fered both from the Jews and Galileans, to her astonishment, asked her for water to quench his thirst. For, in general, the lip of a Jew, especially a Pharisaic Jew, would have shrunk in disgust from the purest element in a vessel defiled by the hand of a Samaritan. Drawing, as usual, his similitudes from the present circum- stances, Jesus excites the wonder of the woman by speaking of living waters at his command, waters which were tb nourish the soul for everlasting life : he increases her awe by allusions which show more than mortal knowledge of her own private history (she was living in concubinage, having been married to five husbands), and at length clearly announces that the local worship, both on Gerizim and at Jerusa- lem, was to give place to a more sublime and comprehensive faith. The astonished woman confesses her belief that, on the coming of the Messiah, ' truths equally wonderful may be announced. Jesus, for the first time, distinctly and unequivocally declares himself to be the Messiah.f On the return of the disciples from the town, their Jewish prejudices are immediately betrayed at beholding their master thus familiarly conversing with a woman of the hateful race : on the other hand, the intel- ligence of the woman runs rapidly through the town, and the Samaritans crowd forth in eager interest to behold and listen to the extraordinary teacher. The nature and origin of the Samaritan belief in the Messiah is even a Samaritan more obscure question than that belief in the of the Jews.J That belief was Messiah- * This is the usual opinion. Dr. Townson, in his ingenious argument to prove that the hours of John are not Roman or Jewish, but Asiatic, ad- duces this passage as in his favour, the evening be- ing the usual time at which the women resort to the wells. On the other hand it is observed that noon was the usual time of dinner among the Jews, and the disciples probably entered the town for provis- ions for that meal. f Leclerc observes that Jesus spoke with more- freedom to the woman of Samaria, as he had no fear of sedition, or violent attempts to make him a king. —On John, iv., 26. t Bertholdt, ch. vii., which contains extracts from the celebrated Samaritan letters, and refer- ences to the modern writeis-who have translated84 HISTORY UF CHRISTIANITY. evidently more clear and defined than the vague expectation which prevailed throughout the East, still it was probably, like that of the Jews, by no means dis- tinct or definite. It is generally supposed that the Samaritans, admitting only the law, must have rested their hope solely on some ambiguous or latent prediction in the books of Moses, who had foretold the coming of another and a mightier prophet than himself. But, though the Samaritans may not have admitted the authority of the prophets as equal to that of the law; though they had not installed them in the regular and canonized code of their sacred books, it does not follow that they were unacquainted with them, or that they did not listen with devout belief to the more general promises, which by no means limited the benefits of the Mes- siah’s coming to the local sanctuary of Jerusalem, or to the line of the Jewish kings. There appear some faint traces of a belief in the descent of the Messiah from the line of Joseph, of which, as be- longing to the tribe of Ephraim, the Sa- maritans seem to have considered them- selves the representatives.* * Nor is it im- probable, from the subsequent rapid prog- ress of the doctrines of Simon Magus, which were deeply impregnated with Orientalism,! that the Samaritan notion of the Messiah had already a strong Magian or Babylonian tendency. On the other hand, if their expectations rested on less definite grounds, the Samaritans were unenslaved by many of those fatal preju- them and discussed their purport. Quse vero fuerit spei Messianse ratio neque ex hoc loco, neque ex ullo alio antiquiore monumento accuratius inteliigi potest, et ex recentiorum dernum Samaritanorum epistolis innotuit. Atque his testibus prophetam quemdam illuslrem venturum esse sperant, cui ob- servaturi sint populi ac credituri in ilium, et in legem et in montem Garizim, qui fidem Mosa'icam evecturus sit, tabernaculurn restituturus in monte Garizim, populurn sunm beaturus, postea moriturus et sepeliendus apud Joseptfbm (i. e., in tribu Ephraim). Quo tempore venturus sit, id nemini prajter Deum cognitum esse. Gesenius, in his note to the curious Samaritan poems which he has pub- lished (p. 75), proceeds to say that his name is to be “ Hasch-hab or Hat-hab,” which he translates conversor (converter), as converting the people to a higher state of religion. The Messiah Ben Joseph of the Rabbins, he observes, is of a much later date. Quotations concerning the latter may be found in Eisenmenger, ii., 720. * We still want a complete and critical edition of the Samaritan chronicle (the Liber Josuae), which may throw light on the character and tenets of this remarkable branch of the Jewish nation. Though in its present form a compa~atively modern com- pilation, it appears to me,, from the fragments hitherto edited, to contain manifest vestiges of very ancient tradition. See an abstract at the end of Hottinger’s Dissertationes anti Morinianse. f Mosheim, ii., 19. dices of the Jews, which so completely temporalized their notions of the Messiah, and were free from that rigid and exclusive pride which so jealously appropriated the Divine promises. If the Samaritans could not pretend to an equal share in the splen- did anticipations of the ancient prophets, they were safer from their misinterpreta- tion. They had no visions of universal dominion ; they looked not to Samaria or Sichem to become the metropolis of some mighty empire. They had some legend of the return of Moses to discover the sacred vessels concealed near Mount Gerizim,* but they did not expect to see the banner raised, and the conqueror go forth to beat the nations to the earth, and prostrate mankind before their re-estab- lished theocracy. They might even be more inclined to recognise the Messiah in the person of a purely religious reformer, on account of the overbearing confidence with which the rival people announced their hour of triumph, when the Great King should erect his throne on Zion, and punish all the enemies of the chosen race, among whom the “ foolish people,” as they were called, “who dwelt at Sichem,”i would not be the last to incur the terrible vengeance. A Messiah who would dis- appoint the insulting hopes of the Jews would, for that very reason, be more ac- ceptable to the Samaritans. The Samaritan commonwealth was gov - erned, under the Roman suprem- Samaritan acy, by a council or sanhedrin: Sanhedrin, but this body had not assumed the preten- sions of a divinely-inspired hierarchy; nor had they a jealous and domineering sect, like that of the Pharisees, in posses- sion of the public instruction, and watch- ing every new teacher who did not wear the garb, or speak the Shibboleth of their faction, as guilty of an invasion of their peculiar province. But, from whatever cause, the reception of Jesus among the Samaritans was strongly contrasted with that among the Jews. They listened with reverence, and entreated him to take up his permanent abode within their province; and many among them distinctly acknowl- edged him as the Messiah and Saviour of the world. Still, a residence longer than was ne- cessary in the infected air, as the Jews would suppose it, of Samaria, would have strengthened the growing hostility of the * Hist, of the Jews, ii., 135. f There be two manner of nations which my heart abhorreth, and the third is no nation. They that sit upon the mountain of Samaria, and they that dwell amons; the Philistines, and that foolish people that dwell at Sichem.—Ecr.lesiast.. l.,25,20.Hid TORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ruling powers, a/,d of the prevailing sect among the Jews. After two days, there- fore, Jesus proceeded on his journey, re- entered Galilee, and publicly assumed, in that province, his office as the teacher of Second mira- a new religion. The report of a cie in Caper- second, a more public, and more naum. extraordinary miracle than that before performed in the town of Cana, tended to establish the fame of his actions in Jerusalem, which had been disseminated by those Galileans who had returned more quickly from the Passover, and had ex-, cited a general interest to behold the per- son of whom such wonderful rumours were spread abroad A The nature of the mira* ele, the healing a youth who lay sick at Capernaum, about twenty-five miles dis- tant from Cana, where he then was; the station of the father, at whose entreaty he restored the son to health (he was probably on the household establishment of Herod), could not fail to raise the ex- pectation to a higher pitch, and to prepare the inhabitants of Galilee to listen with eager deference to the new doctrines.! One place alone received the son of Nazareth Mary with cold and inhospita- Inhospii.able ble unconcern, and rejected his reception or claims with indignant violence esiis. —his native town of Nazareth. The history of this transaction is singular- ly true to human nature % Where Jesus was unknown, the awestruck imagination of the people, excited by the fame of his wonderful works, beheld him already ar- rayed in the sanctity .of a prophetical, if not of a Divine, mission. Nothing in- truded on their thoughts to disturb their reverence for the commanding gentleness of his demeanour, the authoritative per- suasiveness of his language, the holiness of his conduct, the celebrity of his mira- cles : he appeared before them in the pure and unmingled dignity of his public char- acter. But the inhabitants of Nazareth had to struggle with old impressions, and to exalt their former Jfamiliarity into a feeling of deference or veneration. In Nazareth he had been seen from his child- hood ; and though gentle, blameless, popu- lar, nothing had occurred, up to the period of his manhood, to place him so much above the ordinary level of mankind. His father’s humble station and employment had, if we may so speak, still farther un- dignified the person of Jesus to the mind of his fellow-townsmen. In Nazareth Jesus * Matt., iv., 13, 17. Mark, i., 14, 15. Luke, iv., 14,15. John, iv., 43-45. f John, iv., 4C-54. t Luke, iv., 16-30. There appears to be an al- lusion (John, iv., 44) to this incident, which may have taken place before the second miracle. 83 was still the “ carpenter’s son.” We think, likewise, that we discover in the language of the Nazarenes something of local jeal- ousy against the more favoured town of Capernaum. If Jesus intended to assume a public and distinguished character, why had not his native place the fame of his splendid works I why was Capernaum honoured, as the residence of the new prophet, rather than the city in which he had dwelt from his youth 1 ' It was in the synagogue of Nazareth, where Jesus had hitherto been Jesus in tlie a devout listener, that he stood synagogue, up in the character of a Teacher. Ac- cording to the usage, the chazan or minis- ter of the synagogue,* whose office it was to deliver the volume of the law or the prophets appointed to be read to the per- son to whom that function had fallen, or who might have received permission from the rulers of the synagogue to address the congregation, gave it into the hands of Je- sus. Jesus opened on the passage in the beginning of the 16th chapter of Isaiah,f by universal consent applied to the coming of the Messiah, and under its beautiful im- ages describing with the most perfect truth the character of the new religion. It spoke of good tidings to the poor, of con- solation in every sorrow, oft deliverance from every affliction : “ He hath anointed me to preach the Gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the broken hearted; to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind ; to set at liberty them that are bound.”. It went on, as it were, to announce the instant fulfil- ment of the prediction, in the commence- ment of the “ acceptable year of the Lord;” but before it came to the next clause, which harmonized ill with the benign character of the new faith, and spoke of “ the day of vengeance,” he broke off and closed the book. He proceeded, probably at some length, to declare the immediate approach of these times of wisdom and peace. * It is said that on the Sabbath the law was read in succession by seven persons—a priest, a Levite, and five Israelites—and never on any other day by less than three. The prophets were read by any one; in general, one of the former readers, whom the minister might summon to the office. f It is of some importance to the chronology of the life of Christ, to ascertain whether this periodic or portion was that appointed in the ordinary course of reading, or one selected by Jesus. But we can- not decide this with any certainty ; nor is it clear that the distribution of the lessons, according to the ritual of that period, was the same with the present liturgy of the Jews. According to that, the 16th chapter of Isaiah would have been read about the end of August. Macknight and some other harmo- nists lay much stress on this point.86 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. The whole assembly was in a state of pleasing astonishment at the ease of his delivery, and the sweet copiousness of his language ; they could scarcely believe that it was the youth whom they had so often seen, the son of an humble father, in their streets, and who had enjoyed no advan- tages of learned education. Some of them, probably either by their counte- nance, or tone,* or gesture, expressed their « incredulity, or even their contempt, for Joseph’s son; for Jesus at once declared his intention of performing no miracle to satisfy the doubts of his unbelieving coun- trymen : “ No prophet is received with honour in his own country.” This avow- ed preference of other places before the dwelling of his youth ; this refusal to grant to Nazareth any share in the fame of his extraordinary works, imbittered, perhaps, by the suspicion that the general prejudice against their town might be strengthened, at least not discountenanced, as it might have been, by the residence of so distin- guished a citizen within their walls ; the reproof so obviously concealed in the words and conduct of Jbsus, mingled, no violence doubt, with other fanatical mo- oftheNaz- tives, wrought the whole assem- arenes. a 0f phrensy, that they expelled Jesus from the syna- gogue. Nazareth lies in a valley, from which a hill immediately rises ; ,they hur- ried him up the slope, and were preparing to cast him down from the abrupt cliff on the other side, when they found that the intended victim of their wrath had disap- peared. Jesus retired to Capernaum, which from Capernaum this time became, as it were, his the chief headquarters.'* ' This place was residence of admirably situated for his pur- pose, both from the facility of communication, as well by land as by the lake, with many considerable and flourish- ing towns, and of escape into a more se- cure region in case of any threatened per- secution. It lay towards the northern ex- tremity of the Lake or Sea of Gennesa- reth.f On the land side it was a centre from which the circuit of both Upper and Lower Galilee might begin. The count- less barks of the fishermen employed upon the lake, many of whom became his ear- liest adherents, could transport him with the utmost ease to any of the cities on the western bank; while, if danger approach- * Luke, iv., 31, 32. f This is the usual position of Capernaum, but it rests on very uncertain grounds, and some cir- cumstances would induce me to adopt Lightfoot’s opinion, that it was much nearer to the southern end of the lake. ed from Herod or the ruling powers of Galilee, he had but to cross to the opposite shore, the territory, at least at the com- mencement of his career, of Philip, the most just and popular of the sons of Her- od, and which, on his death, reverted to the Roman government. Nor was it an un- favourable circumstance that he had most likely secured the powerful protection of the officer attached to the court of Herod, whose son he had healed, and who proba- bly resided at Capernaum. The first act of his public career was the permanent attachment to his Apostles person, and the investing in the chosen, delegated authority of teachers of the new religion, four out of the twelve who after- ward became the apostles. Andrew and Peter were originally of Bethsaida, at the northeastern extremity of the lake, but the residence of Peter appears to have been at Capernaum. James and John were brothers, the sons of Zebedee.* All these men had united themselves to Jesus im- mediately after his baptism ; the latter, if not all, had probably attended upon him during the festival in Jerusalem, but had returned to their usual avocations. Jesus saw them on the shore of the lake : two of them were actually employed in fishing; the others, at a little distance, were mend- ing their nets. At the well-known voice of their master, confirmed by the sign of the miraculous draught of fishes,f which impressed Peter with so much awe, that he thought himself unworthy of standing in the presence of, so wonderful a Being, they left their ships and followed him into the town ; and though they appear to have resumed their occupations, on which, no doubt, their humble livelihood depended, it should seem that from this time they might be considered as the regular at- tendants of Jesus. The reception of Jesus in the synagogue of Capernaum was very differ- tiesus in the ent from that which he encoun- synagogue o* tered in Nazareth. He was aPemaum* heard on the regular day of teaching, the Sabbath, not only undisturbed, but with in- creasing reverence and awe.J And, in- deed, if the inhabitants of Nazareth were offended, and the Galileans in general as- tonished at the appearance of the humble Jesus in the character of a public teacher, the tone and language which he assumed was not likely to allay their wonder. The remarkable expression, 44 he speaks as one + Matt., iv., 22. Mark, i., 17-20. Luke, v., 1-11. f This supposes, as is most probable, that Lus^ v., 1-11, refers to the same transaction. t Luke. iv.. 31-38. Mark, i.. 21, 2?HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. having authority and mot as the scribes,” seems to imply more than the extraordi- nary power and persuasiveness of his lan- guage. The ordinary instructers of the people, His mode of whether under the name of f-remnfromf" scribes> lawyers, or rabbis, rest- that of the ed their whole*claim to the pub- Rabbins. lie attention on the established Sacred Writings. They were the conser- vators, and, perhaps, personally ordained interpreters of the law, with its equally sa- cred traditionary comment; but they pre- tended to no authority not originally de- rived from these sources. They did not stand forward as legislators, but as accred- ited expositors of the law; not as men di- rectly inspired from on high, but as men who, by profound study and intercourse with the older wise men, were best en- abled to decide on the dark, or latent, or ambiguous sense of the inspired writings ; or who had received, in regular descent, the more ancient Cabala, the accredited tradition. Although, therefore, they had completely enslaved the public mind, which reverenced the sayings of the mas- ters or rabbis equally with the original text of Moses and the prophets ; though it is quite clear that the spiritual rabbinical dominion, which at a later period estab- lished so arbitrary a despotism over the understanding of the people, was already deeply rooted, still the basis of their su- premacy rested on the popular reverence for ’the sacred writings. “ It is written,” was the sanction of all the rabbinical de- crees, however those decrees might misin- terpret the real meaning of the law, or “ add burdens to the neck of the people,” by no means intended by the wise and hu- mane lawgiver. Jesus came forth as a public teacher in a new and opposite character. His au- thority rested on no previous revelation, excepting as far as his Divine commission had been foreshown in the law and the prophets. He prefaced his addresses with the unusual formulary, “ I say unto you.” Perpetually displaying the most intimate familiarity with the Sacred Writings, in- stantly silencing or baffling his adversaries by adducing, with the utmost readiness and address, texts of the law and. the prophets according to the accredited inter- pretation, yet his ordinary language evi- dently assumed a higher tone. He was the direct, immediate representative of the wisdom of the Almighty Father; he ap- peared as equal, as superior to Moses ; as the author of a new revelation, which, al- though it was not to destroy the law, was in a certain sense to supersede it, by the introduction of anew and. original faith Hence the implacable hostility manifested against Jesus, not merely by the fierce, the fanatical, the violent, or the licentious, bv all who might take offence at the purity and gentleness of his precepts, but by the better and more educated among the peo- ple, the scribes, the lawyers, the Pharisees. Jesus at once assumed a superiority not merely over these teachers of the law, this acknowledged religious aristocracy, whose reputation, whose interests, and whose pride were deeply pledged to the maintenance of the existing system, but he set himself above those inspired teachers, of whom the rabbis were but the inter- preters. Christ uttered commandments which had neither been registered on the tablets of stone, nor defined in the more minute enactments in the book of Leviti- cus. He superseded at once by his simple word all that they had painfully learned,- and regularly taught as the eternal, irre pealable word of God, perfect, complete, enduring no addition. Hence „ their perpetual endeavours to hostility of- commit Jesus with the multi- lhe oLiimny tude, as disparaging or infrin- teachers- ging the ordinances of Moses ; endeavours which were perpetually baffled on his part by his cautious compliance with the more important observances, and, notwithstand- ing the general bearing of his teaching to- wards the development of a higher and in- dependent doctrine,* his uniform respect for the letter as well as the spirit of the Mosaic institutes. But as the strength of the rabbinical hierarchy lay in the pas- sionate jealousy of the people about the law, they never abandoned the hope of convicting Jesus on this ground, notwith- standing his extraordinary works, as a false pretender to the character of the Messiah. At all events, they saw clearly that it was a struggle for the life and death of their authority. Jesus once acknowl- edged as the Christ, the whole fabric of their power and influence fell at once. The traditions, the Law itself, the skill of the scribe, the subtlety of the lawyer, the profound study of the rabbi, or the teacher in the synagogue and in the school, be- came obsolete: and the pride of superior wisdom, the long-enjoyed defence, the blind obedience with which the people had listened to their decrees, were gone by for ever. The whole hierarchy were to cede * Compare the whole of the Sermon on the Mount, especially Matt., v., 20-45—the parables of the leaven and the grain of mustard seed—the fre- quent intimations of the comprehensiveness of the “ kingdom of God,” as contrasted with the Jewish theocracy *88 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. at once their rank and estimation to an humble and uninstructed peasant from Galilee, a region scorned by the better ed- ucated for its rudeness'and ignorance,* and from Nazareth, the most despised town in the despised province. Against such deep and rooted motives for animosity, which combined and kn.it together every feeling of pride, passion, habit, and interest, the simple and engaging demeanour of the Teacher, the beauty of the precepts, their general harmony with the spirit, however they might expand the letter of the law, the charities they breathed, the holiness they inculcated, the aptitude and imagin- ative felicity of the parables under which they were couched, the hopes*they excited, the fears they allayed, the blessings and consolations they promised, all which makes the discourses of Jesus so confess- edly superior to human morality,, made little impression on this class, who in some respectsj as the most intellectual, might be considered as in the highest state of advancement, and therefore most likely to understand the real spirit of the new religion. The authority of Jesus could not coexist with that of the Scribes and Pharisees ; and this was the great princi- ple of the fierce opposition and jealous hostility with which he was in general encountered by the best instructed teach- ers of the people. In Capernaum, however, no resistance seems to have been made to his success : the synagogue was open to him on every Sabbath; and wonderful cures, that of a demoniac in the synagogue itself, that of Simon’s wife’s mother, and of many others within the same town, established and strengthened his growing influence.! From Capernaum he set forth to make a Progress regular progress through the whole through populous province of Galilee, which oaiiiee. was crowded, if we are to receive the account of Josephus, with flourishing towns and cities beyond almost any other region of the world.J According to the Populousness statements of this author, the of Galilee. number of towns, and the pop- * See in the Compendium of the Talmud by Pin- ner of Berlin, intended as a kind of preface to an edition and translation of the whole Talmudical b >oks, the curious passage (p. 60) from the Erubin, m which the Jews and Galileans are contrasted. I'he Galileans did not preserve the pure speech, therefore did not preserve pure doctrine—the Gali- leans had no teacher, therefore no doctrine—the Galileans did not open the book, therefore they had no doctrine. f Mark, i., 23-28. Luke, iv., 33-37. Matt., viii., 14, 15. Mark, i, 29-31. Luke, iv., 28-39. t Matt., iv., 23-25. Mark, i , 32-39. Luke iv.. 40-44.* ulation of Galilee, id a district of between fifty and sixty miles in length, and be- tween sixty and seventy in breadth, was no less than 204 cities and villages, the least of which contained 15,000 souls.* Reckoning nothing for smaller communi- ties, and supposing each town and village to include the adjacent district, so as to allow of no scattered inhabitants in the country, the population of the province would amount to 3,060,000; of these probably much the larger proportion were of Jewish descent, and spoke a harshe dialect of the Aramaic than that which prevailed in Judaea, though in many of the chief cities there was a considerable num- ber of Syrian Greeks and of other foreign races.f Each of these towns had one or more synagogues, in which the people met for the ordinary purposes of worship, while the more religious attended regular- ly at the festivals in Jerusalem. The province of Galilee, with Peraaa, He.rod formed the tetrarchate of Herod Antipas. Antipas, who, till his incestuous marriage, had treated the Baptist with respect, if not with deference, and does not appear at first to have interfered with the pro- ceedings of Jesus. Though at one time decidedly hostile, he appears neither to have been very active in his opposition, nor to have entertained any deep or violent animosity against the person of Jesus, even at the time of his final trial. No doubt Jerusalem and its adjacent province were the centre and stronghold of Jewish religious and political enthusiasm; the pulse beat stronger about the heart than at the extremities. Nor, whatever per- sonal apprehensions Herod might have entertained of an aspirant to the name of the Messiah, whom he might suspect of temporal ambition, was he likely to be ac- tuated by the same jealousy as the Jew- ish Sanhedrin of a teacher who confined himself to religious instruction.J His power rested on force, not on opinion; on the strength of his guards and the pro- tection of Rome, not on the respect which belonged to the half religious, half politi- * Josephi Vita, ch. xlv. B. J., 111-111, 2. f According to Strabo, Galilee was full of Egyp tians, Arabians, and Phoenicians, lib. xvi. Josephus states of Tiberias in particular, that it was inhabited by many strangers; Scythbpolis was almost a Greek city. In Caesarea and many of the other towns, .the most dreadful conflicts took place, at the com- mencement of the war, between the two races.— Hist, of the Jews, ii., 196-198. t The supposition of Grotius, adopted by Mr.* Greswell, that Herod was absent at Rome during the interval between the imprisonment and the death of John, and therefore during the first prog ress of eesus, appears highly probable.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 89 cal pre-eminence of the rulers in Jerusa- lem. That which made Jesus the more odious to the native government in Judaea, his disappointment of their hopes of a temporal Messiah, and his announcement of a revolution purely moral and religious, would allay the fears and secure the in- difference of Herod; to him Christianity, however imperfectly understood, would •appear less dangerous than fanatical Juda- ism. The Pharisees were in considerable numbers, and possessed much influence over the minds of the Galileans ;* but it was in Judaea that this overwhelming fac- tion completely predominated, and swayed the public opinion with irresistible power. Hence the unobstructed success of Jesus in this remoter region of the Holy Land, and the wisdom of selecting that part of the country where, for a time at least, he might hope to pursue unmolested his , career of blessing. During this unmolested first progress he seems to have through Gal- passed from town to town un- llee‘ interrupted, if not cordially wel- comed. Either astonishment, or prudent caution, which dreaded to offend his nu- merous followers; or the better feeling which had not yet given place to the fiercer passions ; or a vague hope that he might yet assume all that they thought wanting to the character of the Messiah, not only attracted around him the popula- tion of the towns through which he passed, but as he approached the borders, the in- habitants of Decapods (the district beyond the Jordan), of Judaea, and even of Jeru- salem, and the remoter parts of Peraea, thronged to profit both by his teaching, and by the wonderful cures which were wrought on all who were afflicted by the prevalent diseases of the country.f How singular the contrast (familiarity with its circumstances, or deep and early reverence, prevent us from appreciating it justly) between the peaceful progress of the Son of Man, on the one hand heal- ing maladies, relieving afflictions, resto- ring their senses to the dumb or blind; on the other, gently instilling into the minds of the people those pure, and humane, and gentle principles of moral goodness, to which the wisdom of ages has been able to add nothing, and every other event to which it can be compared in the his- . tory of human kind. Compare wiX'authors the men who have at different of other rev- periods wrought great and bene- oiutions. ficiai revolutions in the civil or the moral state of their kind; or those mythic personages, either deified men or * Luke, v ,17. f Matt., iv., 25. M humanized deities, which appear as the parents, or at some marked epoch in the history of different nations, imbodying the highest notions of human nature or Divine perfection to which the age or the people had attained; compare all these, in the most dispassionate spirit, with the impersonation of the Divine Goodness in Jesus Christ. It seems a conception, notwithstanding the progress in moral truth which had been made among the more intellectual of the Jews and the nobler reasoners among the Greeks, so completely beyond the age, so opposite to the prevalent expectations of the times, as to add no little strength to the belief of the Christian in the Divine origin of his faith. Was the sublime notion of the Universal Father, the God of Love, and the exhibition of as much of the Divine nature as is intelligible to the limited faculties of man, his goodness and benef- icent power, in the “ Son of Man,” first developed in the natural progress of the human mind among the peasants of Gali- lee V* Or, as the Christian asserts with more faith and surely not less reason, did the great Spirit, which created and ani- mates the countless worlds, condescend to show this image and reflection of his own inconceivable nature for the benefit of one race of created beings, to restore them to, and prepare them for, a higher and eternal state of existence 1 The synagogues, it has been said, ap- pear to have been open to Jesus Teaches in during the whole of his progress the syna- through Galilee ; but it was not goguesand m within the narrow walls of ne <>pei1 air these buildings that he confined his instruc- tions. It was in the open air, in the field, or in th® vineyard, on the slope of the hill, or by the side of the lake, where the deck of one of his followers’ vessels formed a kind of platform or tribune, that he de- lighted to address the wondering multi- tudes. His language.teems with allusions to external nature, which, it has often been observed, seem to have been drawn from objects immediately around him. It would be superfluous to attempt to rival, and un- just to an author of remarkable good sense and felicity of expression to alter the lan- guage in which this peculiarity of Christ’s teaching has already been de- Mannerofhl, scribed: “ In the spring our Surges Saviour went into the fields and Quotation sat down on a mountain, and from ortm' made the discourse which is recorded in St. Matthew, and which is full of observa- * Compare the observations at the end of the first chapter.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 30 lions arising from the tilings which offered themselves to his sight. For when he ex- horted his disciples to trust in God, he bade them behold the fowls of the air, which were then flying about them, and were fed by Divine Providence, though they did 4 not sow nor reap, nor gather into barns.’ He bade them take notice of the lilies of the field which were then blown, and were so beautifully clothed by the same power, and yet 4 toiled not’ like the husbandmen who were then at work. Being in a place where they had a wide prospect of a cultivated land, he bade them observe how God caused the sun to shine, and the rain to descend upon the fields and gardens, even of the wicked and ungrate- ful. And he continued to convey his doc- trine to them under rural images, speaking of good trees and corrupt trees ; of wolves in sheep's clothing; of grapes not growing upon thorns, nor figs on thistles ; of the folly of casting precious things to dogs and swine; of good measure pressed down, and shaken together, and running over. Speaking at the same time to the people, many of whom were fishermen and lived much upon fish, he says, What man of you will give his son a serpent if he ask a fish ? Therefore, when he said in the same dis- course, Ye are the light of the world; a city that is set on a hill, and cannot be hid, it is probable that he pointed to a city within their view, situated upon the brow of a hill. And when he called them the salt of the earth, he alluded, perhaps, to the hus- bandmen, who were manuring the ground: and when he compared every person who observed his precepts to a man who built a house upon a rock, which stood firm; and every one who slighted his word to a man who built a house upon the sand, which was thrown down by the winds and floods—when he used this comparison, ’tis not improbable that he had before his eyes houses standing upon high ground and houses standing in the valley in a ruinous condition, which had been destroyed by inundations.”* It was on his return to Capernaum, ei- Sermon on ther at the close of the present or the Mount. 0f a later progress through Gali- lee, that among the multitudes who had gathered around him from all quarters, he ascended an eminence, and delivered in a long continuous address the memorable Sermon on the Mount.f It is not our cle- * Jortin’s Discourses. The above is quoted and the idea is followed out at. greater length and with equal beauty in Bishop Law’s Reflections on the Life of Christ, at the end of his Theory of Religion. f Scarcely any passage is more perplexing to the harmonist of the Gospels than the Sermon on the sign to enter at length on the trite, though, in our opinion, by no means exhausted subject of Christian morality, principles ot We content ourselves with in- Christian dicating some of those charac- raorallt>'- teristic points which belong, as it were, to the historical development of the new re- ligion, and cannot be distinctly compre- hended unless in relation to the circum- stances of the times: I. The i. Not in morality of Jesus was not in unison with unison with the temper or feel- the age' ings of his age. II. It was universal mo- rality, adapted for the wdiole human race, and for every period of civilization. III. It was morality grounded on broad and simple principles, which had hitherto nev- er been laid down as the basis of human action. I. The great principle of the Mo- saic theocracy was the strict apportion- ment of temporal happiness or calamity, at least to the nation, if not to the indi- vidual, according to his obedience or his rebellion against the Divine laws. The natural consequence of this doctrine seem- ed to be, that prosperity was the invari- able sign of the Divine approval, adversity of disfavour. And this, in the tim e of Jesus, appears to have been carried to such an ex- treme, that every malady, every infirmity was an evidence of sin in the individual, or a punishment inherited from his guilty fore- fathers. The only question which arose about the man born blind was, whether his affliction was the consequence of his own or his parents’ criminality: he bore in his calamity the hateful evidence that he was accursed of God. This principle was per- petually struggling with the belief in a fu- ture state, and an equitable adjustment of the apparent inequalities in the present life, to which the Jewish mind had gradu- ally expanded ;*and with the natural hu- manity inculcated by the spirit of the Mo- saic law towards their own brethren. But if the miseries of this life were an ev- idence of the Divine anger, the blessings were likewise of his favour.* Hence the Mount, which appears to be inserted at two differ- ent places by St. Matthew and St. Luke. That the same striking truths should be delivered more than once in nearly the same language, or even that the same commanding situation should be more than once selected from which to address the peo- ple, appears not altogether improbable; but the difficulty lies in the accompanying incidents, which are almost the same, and could scarcely have happened twice. No writer who insists on the chronological order of the evangelists has, in my judgment, removed the difficulty. On the whole, though I have inserted my view of Christian mo rality as derived from this memorable discourse, in this place I am inclined to consider the chronology of St. Luke more accurate.—Matt., v., vi., vii. Luke, vi., 20, to the end. * Compare Mosheim, ii.. 12. He considers thisHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 91 prosperous, the wealthy, those exempt from human suffering and calamity, were accustomed to draw even a more false and dangerous line of demarcation than in or- dinary cases between themselves and their humble and afflicted brethren. The natural haughtiness which belonged to such superiority acquired, as it were, a Divine sanction ; nor was any vice in the Jewish character more strongly reproved by Jesus, or more hostile to his reception as the Messiah. For when the kingdom of Heaven should come—when the theoc- racy should be restored in more than its former splendour—who so secure of its inestimable blessings as those who were already marked and designated by the Di- vine favour! Among the higher orders, the expectation of a more than ordinary share in the promised blessings might practically be checked from imprudently betraying itself, by the natural timidity of those who have much to lose, and by their reluctance to hazard any political convul- sion. Yet nothing could be more inex- plicable, or more contrary to the universal sentiment, than that Jesus should disre- gard the concurrence, and make no par- ticular advances towards those who form- ed the spiritual as well as the temporal aristocracy of the nation ; those whose possession of the highest station seemed in a great degree to prove their designa- tion for such eminence by the Almighty. “ Have any of the rulers believed in him !”* * was the contempfuous, and, as they conceived, conclusive argument against his claims adduced by the Pharisees. Je- sus not only did not condescend to favour, he ran directly counter to this prevailing notion. He announced that the kingdom of Heaven was peculiarly prepared for the humble and the afflicted ; his disciples were chosen from the lowest order; and it was not obscurely intimated that his ranks would be chiefly filled by those who were undistinguished by worldly prosper- ity. Yet, on the other hand, there was nothing in his language to conciliate the passions of the populace, no address to the envious and discontented spirit of the needy to inflame them against their supe- riors. Popular, as he was, in the highest sense of the term, nothing could fte farther removed than the Prophet of Nazareth from the demagogue. The “ kingdom of feelingalmost exclusively prevalent among the Sad- ducees; but from many passages of our Lord’s dis- courses with the Pharisees, it should seem to have been almost universal. Pauperes et miseros exis- timare debebant Deum criminibus et peccatis of- fendisse, justamque ejus ultionem sentire. * John, vii., 48. Heaven” was opened only to those who possessed and cultivated the virtues oi their lowly station: meekne'ss, humility, resignation, peacefulness, patience ; and it was only because these virtues were most prevalent in the humbler classes that the new faith was addressed to them. The more fierce and violent of the popu- lace rushed into the ranks of the zealot, and enrolled themselves among the parti- sans of Judas the Galilean. They throng- ed around the robber chieftain, and secret- ly propagated that fiery spirit of insurrec- tion which led at length to the fatal war. The meek and peaceful doctrines of Jesus found their way only into meek and peace- ful hearts ; the benevolent character of his miracles touched not those minds which had only imbibed the sterner, not the hu- maner, spirit of the Mosaic law. Thus it was lowliness of character, rather than of station, which qualified the proselyte for the new faith; the absence, in short, of all those fierce passions which looked only to a conquering, wide-ruling Messiah : and it was in elevating these virtues to the highest rank, which to the many of all or- ders was treason against the hopes of Is- rael and the promises of God, that Jesus departed most widely from the general sentiment of his age and nation. He went still farther ; he annihilated the main prin- ciple of the theocracy—the administration of temporal rewards and punishments in proportion to obedience or rebellion—a notion which, though, as we have said, by no means justified by common experience, and weakened by the growing belief in an- other life, nevertheless still held its ground in the general opinion. Sorrow, as in one sense the distinguishing mark and portion of the new religion, became sacred; and the curse of God w7as, as it wrere, removed from the afflictions of mankind. His own disciples, he himself, were to undergo a fearful probation of suffering, which could only be secure of its reward in another life. The language of Jesus confirmed the truth of the anti-Sadducaic belief of the greater part of the nation, and assumed the certainty of another state of existence, concerning which, as yet, it spoke the cur- rent language ; but which it was hereafter to expand into a more simple and univer- sal creed, and mingle, if it may be so said, the sense of immortality with all the feel- ings and opinions of mankind. II. Nor was it to the different classes of the Jews alone that the uni- itsuniver- versal precepts of Christian mo- sality- rality expanded beyond the narrow and exclusive notions of the age and people. Jesus did not throw down the barrier92 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. which secluded the Jews from the rest of mankind, but he shook it to its base. Christian morality was not that of a sect, a race, or a nation, but of universal man : though necessarily delivered at times in Jewish language, couched under Jewish iigures, and illustrated by local allusions, in its spirit it was diametrically opposite to Jewish. However it might make some provisions suited only to the peculiar state of the first disciples, yet in its essence it may be said to be comprehensive as the human race, immutable as the nature of man. It had no political, no local, no temporaly precepts ; it was, therefore, neither liable to be abrogated by any change in the condition of man, nor to fall into disuse, as belonging to a passed and obsolete state of civilization. It may dwell within its proper kingdom, the heart of man, in every change of political rela- tion : in the monarchy, the oligarchy, the republic. It may domesticate itself in any climate, amid the burning sands of Africa, or the frozen regions of the North; for it has no local centre, no temple, no Caaba, no essential ceremonies impracticable un- der any conceivable state of human ex- istence. In fact it is, strictly speaking, no law; it is no system of positive enact- ments ; it is the establishment of certain principles, the enforcement of certain dis- positions, the cultivation of a certain tem- per of mind, which the conscience is to apply to the ever-varying exigences of time and place. This appears to me to be the distinctive peculiarity of Christian morals, a characteristic in itself most re- markable, and singularly so when we find this free and comprehensive system ema- nating from that of which the mainspring was its exclusiveness. III. The basis of this universality in its original Christian morals was the broad principles. and original principles upon which it rested. If we were to glean from the later Jewish writings, from the beautiful aphorisms of other Oriental na- tions, which we cannot fairly trace to Christian sources, and from the Platonic and Stoic philosophy, their more striking precepts, we might find, perhaps, a coun- terpart to almost all the moral sayings of Jesus. But the same truth is of different importance as an unconnected aphorism, and as the groundwork of a complete sys- tem. No doubt the benevolence of the Creator had awakened grateful feelings, and kindled the most exquisite poetry of expression in the hearts and from the lips of many before the coming of Christ; no doubt general humanity had been impress- ed upon mankind in the most vivid and earnest language. But the Gospel first placed these two great principles as the main pillars of the new moral structure : God the universal Father, mankind one brotherhood; God made known through the mediation of his Son, the image and humanized type and exemplar of his good- ness ; mankind of one kindred, and there- fore of equal rank in the sight of the Creator, and to be united in one spiritual commonwealth. Such were the great principles of Christian morals, shadowed forth at first, rather than distinctly an- nounced, in condescension to the preju- dices of the Jews, who, if they had been found worthy of appreciating the essential spirit of the new religion—if they had're- ceived Jesus as the promised Saviour— might have been collectively and nation- ally the religious parents and teachers of mankind. Such was the singular position of Jesus with regard to his countrymen; Conduct of the attempt to conciliate them jesUs with to the new religion was to be regard to m fairly made; but the religion, coun,rymen' however it might condescend to speak their language, could not forfeit or com- promise, everr-for such an end, its primary and essential principles. Jesus therefore pursues his course, at one time paying the utmost deference, at another unavoidably offending the deep-rooted prejudices of the people. The inveterate and loathsome nature of the leprosy in Syria, the deep abhorrence with which the wretched vic- tim of this disease was cast forth from all social fellowship, is well known to all who are even slightly acquainted with the Jew- ish law and usages. One of these Healing miserable beings appealed, and not the leper, in vain, to the mercy of Jesus.* He was instantaneously cured ; but Jesus, whether to authenticate the cure and to secure the readmission of the outcast into the rights and privileges of society, from which he was legally excluded,! or, more probably, lest he should be accused of interfering with the rights or diminishing the dues of the priesthood, enjoined him to preserve the strictest secrecy concerning the cause * Matt., viii., 2-4. Mark, i., 40-45. Luke, v., 12-1G. * I have retained what may be called the moral connexion of this cure with the Sermon on the Mount; if- the latter is inserted, as in St. Luke, after the more solemn inauguration of the Twelve, this incident will retain, perhaps, its present place, but lose this moral connexion.—See Luke, v., 12- 15. f 1 am inclined to adopt the explanation of Gro tius, that “ the testimony” was to be obtained frorpi the priest, before he knew that he had been healed by Jesus, lest, in his jealousy, he should declare , the cure imperfect.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 03 of his cure; to submit to the regular ex- amination of his case by the appointed authorities, and on no account to omit the second customary offering. The second miracle, incident was remarkable for its pub- licity, as having taken place in a crowded house, in the midst of many of the scribes, who were, at this period at least, not friendly to Jesus.* The door of the house being inaccessible on account of the crowd, the sick man was borne in his couch along the fiat terrace roofs of the adjacent build- ings (for in the East the roofs are rarely pointed or shelving), and let down through an aperture, which was easily made, and of sufficient dimensions to admit the bed, into the upper chamber,! where Jesus was seated in the midst of his hearers. Jesus complied at once with their request to cure the afflicted man, but made use of a new and remarkable expression, “ Thy sins are forgiven thee,” which, while it coincided with the general notion that such diseases were the penalties of sin, nevertheless, as assuming an unprecedent- ed power, that which seems to belong to the Deity alone, struck his hearers, more especially the better instructed, the scribes, with astonishment. Their wonder, how- ever, at the instantaneous cure, for the present, overpowered their indignation, yet no doubt the whole transaction tended to increase the jealousy with which Jesus began to be beheld. • The third incident! jarred on a still more The pub- sensitive chord in the popular feel- licans. jng# On no point were all orders among the Jews so unanimous as in their contempt and detestation of the publicans. Strictly speaking, the persons named in the evangelists were not publicans. These were men of property, not below the equestrian order, who farmed the public revenues. Those in question were the * Matt., ix., 2-8. Mark, ii., 1-12. Luke, v., 18-26. t Or they may merely have enlarged the door of communication with tne terrace roof. f Matt., ix., <1 Mark, ii., 13, 14. Luke, v., 27, 28. agents of these contractors, men, often freed slaves, or of low birth and station, and throughout the Roman world prover- bial for their extortions, and in Judoaa still' more hateful, as among the manifest signs of subjugation to a foreign dominion. The Jew who exercised the function of a publi- can was, as it were, a traitor to the na- tional independence. One of these, Mat- thew, otherwise called Levi, was summon- ed from his post as collector, perhaps at the port of Capernaum, to become one of the most intimate followers of Jesus ; and the general astonishment was still farther increased by Jesus entering familiarly into the house, and* even partaking of food with men thus proscribed by the universal feel- ing ; and, though not legally unclean, yet no doubt held in even greater abhorrence by the general sentiment of the people. Thus ended the first year of the public life of Jesus. The fame of his Close of first wonderful works ; the authority year of public with which he delivered his llfe‘ doctrines; among the meeker and more peaceful spirits, the beauty of the doctrines themselves; above all, the mystery which hung over his character and pretensions, had strongly excited the interest of the whole nation. From all quarters—from Galilee, Persea, Judoea, and even the remo- ter Idumea—multitudes approached him with eager curiosity. On the other hand, his total secession from, or, rather, his avowed condemnation of, the great pre- vailing party, the Pharisees, whiie his doc- trines seemed equally opposed to the less numerous yet rival Saddueaie faction; his popular demeanour, which had little in common with the ascetic mysticism of the Essenes; his independence of the ruling authorities ; above all, notwithstanding his general deference for the law, his manifest assumption of a power above/he law, had no doubt, if not actively arftyed against him, yet awakened to a secret and brood- ing animosity the interests and passions of the more powerful and influential throughout the country.94 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. CHAPTER V. SECOND YEAR OF THE PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS. The second year of the public life of a n 28 Christ opened, as the first, with Passover, his attendance at the Passover.* Jesus in He appeared again amid the as- jerusaiem. semb}e(j populace of the whole race of Israel, in the place where, by com- mon consent, the real Messiah was to as- sume his office, and to claim the allegiance of the favoured and chosen people of God.f Change in ^ is clear that a considerable popular change had taken place in the sentiment. p0pU}ar sentiment, on the whole, at least with the ruling party, unfavoura- ble to Jesus of Nazareth. The inquisi- tive wonder, not unmingled with respect, which on the former occasion seemed to have watched his words and actions, had turned to an unquiet and jealous vigilance, and a manifest anxiety on the part of his opponents to catch some opportunity of weakening his influence over the people. The* misapprehended speech concerning the demolition and restoration of the Tem- ple probably rankled in the recollection of many; and rumours no doubt, and those most likely inaccurate and misrepresent- ed, must have reached Jerusalem of the mysterious language in which he had spoken of his relation to the Supreme Be- ing. The mere fact that Galilee had been chosen, rather than Jerusalem or Judaea, for his assumption of whatever distin- guished character he was about to sup- port, would work, with no doubtful or disguised animosity, among the proud and jealous inhabitants of the metropolis. Nor was his conduct, however still cau- tious, without farther inevitable collision with some of the most inveterate preju- dices of his countrymen. The first year the only public demonstration of his supe- riority had been the expulsion of the * My language on this point is to be taken with some latitude, as a certain time elapsed between the baptism of Jesus and the first Passover. I adopt the opinion that the feast in the 5th chap- ter of St. John (verse 1) was a Passover. This view is not without objection, namely, the long in- terval of nearly a whole year, which would be over- leaped at once by the narrative of St. John. But if this Gospel was intended to be generally supple- mentary to the rest, or, as it seems, intended espe- cially to relate the transactions of Jerusalem, omit- ted by the other evangelists, this total silence on the intermediate events in Galilee would not be al- together unaccountable. t John, v., 1-15. buyers and sellers from the temple, nod his ambiguous and misinterpreted speech about that sacred edifice. His converse tion with Nicodemus had probably not transpired, or, at least, not gained general publicity ; for the same motives which would lead the cautious Pharisee to con- ceal his visit under the veil of night, would induce him to keep within his own bosom the important and startling truths, which perhaps he himself did not yet clearly' comprehend, but which, at all events, were so opposite to the principles of his sect, and so humiliating to the pride of the ruling and learned oligarchy. During his second visit, however, at the same solemn period of national assem- blage, Jesus gave a new cause of aston- ishment to his followers, of offence to his adversaries, by an act which could not but excite the highest wonder and the strong- est animadversion. This was Breach of no less than an assumption of authority to dispense with the erence for observance of the Sabbath. Of the Sabbath. all their institutions, which, after having infringed or neglected for centuries of cold and faithless service, the Jew#, on the re- turn from the Captivity, embraced with passionate and fanatical attachment, none had become so completely identified with the popular feeling, or had been guarded by such minute and multifarious provis- ions, as the Sabbath., 1 n the early days of the Maccabean revolt against Antiochus, the insurgents, having been surprised on a Sabbath, submitted to be tamely butchered rather than violate the sanctity of the day even by defensive warfare. And though the manifest impossibility of recovering or maintaining their liberties against the in- roads of hostile nations had led to a relax- ation of the law as far as self-defence, yet, during the siege of Jerusalem by Pompey, the wondering Romans discovered that, although on the seventh day the garrison would repel an assault, yet they would do nothing to prevent or molest the enemy in carrying on his operations in the trenches. Tradition, “ the hedge of the law,” as it was called, had fenced this institution with more than usual care • it had noted with jealous rigour almost every act of bodily exertion within the capacity of man, ar- ranged them under thirty-nine heads.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 95 winch were each considered to compre- hend a multitude of subordinate cases, and against each and every one of these had solemnly affixed the seal of Divine con- demnation. A Sabbath day’s journey was a distance limited to 2000 cubits, or rath- er less than a mile; and the carrying any burden was especially denounced as among the most flagrant violations of the law. This Sabbatic observance was the stronghold of Pharisaic rigour; and, en- slaved as the whole nation was in volun- tary bondage to those minute regulations, in no point were they less inclined to struggle with the yoke, or wore it with greater willingness and pride. There was a pool,* situated most likely Heaiin<* of to t^e north of the Temple, near the sick man the sheep-gate, the same, proba- ?ep1oolof bly, through which the animals e les d’ intended for sacrifice were usu- ally brought into the city. The place was called Beth-esda (the house of mercy), and the pool was supposed to possess remark- able properties for healing diseases. At certain periods there was a strong com- motion in the waters, which probably bub- bled up from some chymical cause con- nected with their medicinal effects. Pop- ular belief, or rather, perhaps, popular lan- guage, attributed this agitation of the sur- face to the descent of an angel ;f for. of course the regular descent of a celestial being, visible to the whole city, cannot for an instant be supposed. Around the pool were usually assembled a number of dis- eased persons, blind or paralytic, who awaited the right moment for plunging into the water, under the shelter of five porticoes, which had been built, either by private charity, or at the public cost, for the general convenience. Among these lay one who had been notoriously afflicted for thirty-eight years by some disorder which deprived him of the use of his limbs.} It was in vain that he had watch- ed an opportunity of relief; for, as the sick person who first plunged into the water when it became agitated seems to have exhausted its virtues, this helpless and friendless sufferer was constantly thrust * John, v., 1-15. f The verse relating to the angel is rejected as spurious by many critics, and is wanting in some manuscripts. Perhaps it was silently rejected from a reluctance to depart from the literal interpreta- tion ; and, at the same time, the inevitable convic- tion that, if taken literally, the fact must have been notorious and visible to all who visited Jerusalem. —Grotius. Lightfoot. Doddridge, in loc. t We are not, of course, to suppose, as is assu- med by some of the mythic interpreters, that the man had been all this time waiting for a cure at this place. aside, or supplanted by some more active rival for the salutary effects of the spring. Jesus saw and had compassion on the af- flicted man, commanded him to rise, and, that he might show the perfect restoration of his strength, to take up the pallet on which he had lain, and to bear it away. The carrying any burden, as has been said, was specifically named as one of the most heinous offences against the la>v: and the strange sight of a man thus openly violating* the statute in so public a place, could not but excite the utmost attention. The man was summoned, it should seem, before the appointed authorities, and ques- tioned about his offence against public de- cency and the established law. His de- fence was plain and simple ; he acted ac- cording to the command of the wonderful person who had restored his limbs with a word, but who that person was he had no knowledge ; for immediately after the mi- raculous cure, Jesus, in conformity with his usual practice of avoiding whatever might lead to popular tumult, had quietly withdrawn from the wondering crowd. Subsequently, however, meeting Jesus in the temple, he recognised his benefactor, and it became generally known that Jesus was both the author of the cure and of the violation of the Sabbath. Jesus, in his turn, was called to account for his conduct. The transaction bears the appearance, if not of a formal arraignment Judicial in_ before the high court of the San- vestigution hedrin, at least of a solemn and °rthecasc. regular judicial inquiry. Yet, as no ver- dict seems to have been given, notwith- standing the importance evidently attach- ed to the affair, it may be supposed either that the full authority of the Sanhedrin was yet wanting, or that they dared not, on such insufficient evidence, condemn with severity one about wffiom the popu- lar mind was at least divided. The de- fence of Jesus, though apparently Defence not given at full length by the of Jesus, evangelist, was of a nature to startle and perplex the tribunal: it was full of mys- terious intimations, and couched in lan- guage which it is difficult to decide how far it was familiar to the ears of the more learned. It appeared at once to strike at the literal interpretation of the Mosaic commandment, and, at the same time, to draw a parallel between the actions of Jesus and those of God.* On the Sab- bath the beneficent works of the iUnughty Father are continued as on any other day; there is no period of rest to Him whose active power is continually employed in * John, v., 16-47.96 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. upholding, animating, maintaining in its uniform and uninterrupted course the uni- verse which he has created. The free course of God’s blessing knows no pause, no suspension.* It is far from improbable that the healing waters of Bethesda oc- casionally showed their salutary virtues on the Sabbath, and might thus be an ac- knowledged instance of the unremitting benevolence of the Almighty. In the same manner, the benevolence of Jesus disdained to be confined by any distinc- tion of days ; it was to flow forth as con- stant and unimpeded as the Divine bounty. The indignant court heard with astonish- ment this aggravation of the offence. Not only had Jesus assumed the power of dis- pensing with the law, but, with what ap- peared to them profane and impious bold- ness, he had instituted a comparison be- tween himself and the great ineffable De- ity. With one consent they determine to press with greater vehemence the capital charge. The second defence of Jesus is at once •Second more full and explicit, and more defence of ala’rming to the awestruck assem- Jesus. bly. It amounted to an open as- sumption of the title and offices of the .Messiah; the Messiah in the person of the commanding and fearless, yet still, as they supposed, humble Galilean who stood before their tribunal. It commenced by expanding and confirming that parallel which had already sunk so deep into their minds. The Son was upon earth, as it were, a representation of the power and mercy of the invisible Father—of that great Being who had never been compre- hensible to the senses of man. It pro- ceeded to declare his Divine mission and his claim to Divine honour, his investment with power, not only over diseases, but over death itself. From thence it passed to the acknowledged offices of the Mes- siah, the resurrection, the final jugdment, the apportionment of everlasting life. All these recognised functions of the Messiah wefe assigned by the Father to the Son, and that Son appeared in his person. In confirmation of these as yet unheard-of pretensions, Jesus declared that his right to honour and reverence rested not on his own assertion alone. He appealed to the testimony which had been publicly borne * If the sublime maxim which was admitted in the school of Alexandrea had likewise found its way into the synagogues of Judeea, the speech of Jesus (my Father worketh hitherto, and I work), in its first clause, appealed to principles acknowledged by his auditory. “God,” says Philo, “never ceases from action; but as it is the property of fire to burn, of snow to chill, so to act (or to work) is the in- alienable function of the Deity.”—De Alleg., lib. ii. to his character by John the Baptist. The prophetic authority of John had been, if not universally, at least generally recog- nised ; it had so completely sunk'into the popular belief, that, as appears in a sub- sequent incident, the multitude would have resented any suspicion thrown even by their acknowledged superiors on one thus established in their respect and veneration, and perhaps farther endeared by the per- secution which he was now suffering un- der the unpopular tetrarch of Galilee. He appealed to a more decisive testimony, the public miracles which he had wrought, concerning which the rulers seem scarcely yet to have determined on their course, whether to doubt, to deny, or to ascribe them to daemoniacal agency. Finally, he appealed to the last unanswerable author- ity, the sacred writings, which they held in such devout reverence; and distinctly asserted that his coming had been pre- figured by their great.lawgiver, from the spirit, at least, if not" from the express letter of whose sacred laws they were de- parting, in rejecting his claims to the title and honours of the Messiah. There is an air of conscious, superiority in the whole of this address, which occasionally rises to the vehemence of reproof, to solemn expostulation, to authoritative admonition, of which it is difficult to estimate the im- pression upon a court accustomed to issue their judgments to a trembling and humili- ated auditory. But of their subsequent proceedings we have no infor- Dlmcult po. mation whether the Sanhedrin siiion of the hesitated or feared to proceed; sanhedrin, whether they were divided in their opin- ions, or could not reckon upon the support of the people ; whether they doubted their own competency to take so strong a meas- ure without the concurrence or sanction of the Roman governor; at all events, no attempt was made to secure the person of Jesus. He appears, with his usual cau- tion, to have retired towards the safer province of Galilee, where the Jewish senate possessed no authority, and where Herod, much less under the Pharisaic in- fluence, would not think it necessary to .support the injured dignity of the Sanhe- drin in Jerusalem; nor, whatever his politi- cal apprehensions, would he entertain the same sensitive terrors of a reformer who confined his views to the religious im- provement of mankind. But from this time commences the de dared hostility of the Pharisaic Hostility ot party against Jesus. Every op- theTharisau- portunity is seized of detecting {Slow hirru him in some farther violation of Sfio Galilee the religious statutes. We now perpetuHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 97 ally find the Pharisees watching his foot- steps, and, especially on the Sabbath, lay- ing hold of every pretext to inflame the popular mind against his neglect or open defiance of their observances. Nor was their jealous vigilance disappointed. Jesus calmly pursued on the Sabbath, as on every other day, his course of be- nevolence. A second and a third time, immediately after his public arraignment, that which they considered the inexpiable offence was renewed, and justified in terms which were still more repugnant to their inveterate prejudices. The Passover was scarcely ended, and, with his-disciples, he was probably travelling homeward, when the first of these incidents occurred. New viola- On the first Sabbath after the tion of the second day of unleavened bread, Sabbath, tpe disciples, passing through a field, of corn, and being hungry, plucked some of the ears of corn, and, rubbing them in their hands, eat the grain.* This, ac- cording to Jewish usage, was no violation of the laws of property, as, after the wrave- offeringhad been made in the Temple, the harvest was considered to be ripe : and the humane regulation of the lawgiver permitted the stranger who was passing through a remote district thus to satisfy his immediate wants. But it was the Sabbath, and the act directly offended against another of the multifarious pro- visions of Pharisaic tradition. The vin- dication of his followers by their master took still higher ground: it not merely ad- duced the example of David, who, in ex- treme want, had not scrupled, in open vio- lation of the law, to take the shewbread, which was prohibited to all but the priest- y order, and thus placed his humble dis- ciples on a level with the great king, whose memory was cherished with the most devout reverence and pride, but dis- tinctly asserted his own power of dispen- sing with that which was considered the eternal, the irreversible commandment— he declared himself Lord of the Sabbath. Rumours of this dangerous innovation accompanied him into Galilee. Whether some of the more zealous Pharisees had followed him during his journey, or had accidentally returned at the same time from the Passover, or whether, by means of that intimate and rapid correspondence likely to be maintained among the mem- bers of an ambitious and spreading sect, they had already communicated their ap- prehensions of danger and their animosity against Jesus, they already seem to have arrayed against him in all parts the vigil- * Matt., xii., 1-8. Mark ii., 23-28. Luke, vi., 1-5. ance and enmity of their brethren. It was in the public synagogue, in some town which he entered on his return to Galilee, in the face of.the whole assem- bly, that a man with a withered hand re- covered the strength of his limb at the commandment of Jesus on the Sabbath day.* And the multitude, instead of being inflamed by the zeal of the Pharisees, ap- pear at least to have been unmoved by then- angry remonstrances. They heard without disapprobation, if they did not openly tes- tify their admiration, both of the power and goodness of Jesus ; and listened to the simple arguments with which he silenced his adversaries, by appealing to their own practice in extricating their own property or delivering their own cattle from jeop- ardy on the sacred day.f The discomfited Pharisees endeavour- ed to enlist in their party the followers, perhaps the magistracy of Herod, and to organize a formidable opposition to the growing influence of Jesus. So success- ful was their hostility, that Jesus Jegus wi(h seems to have thought it pru- draws be- dent to withdraw for a short yondtheSea time from the collision. He ot Gaillee' passed towards the lake, over which he could at any time cross into the district which was beyond the authority both of Herod and of the Jewish Sanhedrin.J A bark attended upon him," which might transport him to any quarter he might de- sire, and on board of which he seems to have avoided the multitudes which con- stantly thronged around, or, seated on the deck, addressed with greater convenience the crowding hearers who lined the shores. Yet concealment, or, at least, jeSus retires less frequent publicity, seems from public now to have been his object vievv‘ for, when some of those insane persons the daemoniacs as they were called, openly addressed him by the title of Son of God, Jesus enjoins their silence,|| as though he were yet unwilling openly to assume this title, which was fully equivalent to that of the Messiah, and which, no doubt, was al- ready ascribed to him by the bolder and less prudent of his followers. The same injunctions of secrecy were addressed to others who at this time were relieved or cured by his beneficent power; so that one evangelist considers that the cautious and unresisting demeanour of Jesus, thus avoiding all unnecessary offence or irrita- tion, exemplified that characteristic of the Messiah so beautifully described by * Matt., xii., 9-14 Mark, iii., 1-6. Luke, vi., 6-11. f Matt., xii., 15-21. Mark, iii., 7-12. t Mark, iii, 7. § Matt.,xii., 16. || Mark, iii., 11, 12. N.98 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Isaiah,* * * § “ He shall neither strive nor cry, neither shall any man hear his voice in the streets ; a bruised reed shall he not break, and smoking* flax shall he not quench, till he send forth judgment unto victory.” This persecution, however, continues Reappears at but a short time, and Jesus ap- oapernaum. pears again openly in Caperna- um and its neighbourhood. After a night passed in solitary retirement, he takes the Organization decided step of organizing his ofhiis foi- followers, selecting and solemn- iowers. jy inaugurating a certain num- ber of his more immediate disciples, who were to receive an authoritative commis- sion to disseminate his doctrines.f Hith- erto he had stood, as it were, alone: though doubtless some of his followers had attended upon him with greater zeal and assiduity than others, yet he could scarcely be considered as the head of a regular and disciplined community. The twelve apostles, whether selected with that view, could not but call to mind the number of the tribes of Israel. Of the earlier lives of these humble men, little can be gathered beyond the usual avoca- tions of some among them ; and even tra- dition, for o'nce, preserves a modest and almost total silence. They were of the lower, though perhaps not quite the low- est, class of Galilean peasants. What previous education they had received we can scarcely conjecture ; though almost all the Jews appear to have received some kind of instruction in the history, the re- ligion, and the traditions of the nation. The twelve First among the twelve appears apostles. Simon, to whom Jesus, in allu- sion to the firmness of character which he was hereafter to exhibit, gave a name, or rather, perhaps, interpreted a name by which he was already known, Cephas,J the Rock ; and declared that his new reli- gious community was to rest on a founda- tion as solid as that name seemed to sig- nify. Andrew, his brother, is usually asso- ciated with Peter. James and John§ re- * Matt., xii., 19, 20. + Mark, iii., 13-19. Luke, vi., 12-19. % The equivocal meaning of the word was, no doubt, evident in the original Aramaic dialect spo- ken in Galilee. The French alone of modern lan- guages exactly retains it. “ Vous etes Pierre, et sur cette pierre.” The narrative of St. John as- cribes the giving this appellative to an earlier peri- od.—See suprh, p. 77. § John must have been extremely young when chosen as an apostle; there is so constant a tradi- tion of his being alive at a late period in the first century, that the fact can scarcely be doubted. Je- rome may perhaps have overstrained the tradition “ ut autern sciamus Johannen turn fuisse puerum, cum a Jesu electus est, manifestissime docent ec- clesiasticaB historic, quod usque ad TraKni vixerit imperium.,,— Hieronym. in Joum , i., 1. ceivedthe remarkable name of Boanerges, the Sons of Thunder, of which it is not easy to trace the exact force ; for those who bore it do not appear remarkable among their brethren either for energy o) vehemence: the peculiar gentleness oi the latter, both in character and in the style of his writings, would lead us to doubi the correctness of the interpretation gen- erally assigned to the appellation. The two former were natives of one town, Bethsaida ; the latter either of Bethsaida or Capernaum, and obtained their liveli- hood as fishermen on the Lake of Gennes- areth, the waters of which were extraor- dinarily prolific in fish of many kinds. Matthew or Levi, as it has been said, was a publican. Philip was likewise of Beth- saida ; Bartholomew, the son of Tolmai or Ptolemy, is generally considered to have been the same , with Nathaniel, and was distinguished, before his knowledge of Je- sus, by the blamelessness of his character, and, from the respect in which he was held, may be supposed to have been of higher reputation, as of a better instructed class. Thomas or Didymus (for the Syr- iac and Greek words have the same signi- fication), a twin, is remarkable in the sub- sequent history for his coolness and re- flecting temper of mind. Lebbeus, or Thaddeus, or Judas, the brother of James, are doubtless the same person ; Judas in Syriac is Thaddai. Whether Lebbaios is derived from the town of Lebba, on the sea- coast of Galilee, or from a word denoting the heart, and, therefore, almost synon- ymous with Thaddai, which is interpreted the breast, is extremely doubtful. James, the son of Cleophas or Alpheus, concern- ing whom and his relationship, to Jesus there has been much dispute. • His father Cleophas was married to another Mary, sister of Mary the mother of Jesus, to whom he would therefore be cousin-ger- man. But whether he is the same with the James who in other places is named the brother of the Lord—the term of broth- er, by Jewish usage, according to one opin- ion, comprehending these closer ties of kindred—and whether either of these two, or which, was the James who presided over the Christian community in Jerusa- lem, and whose cruel death is described by Josephus, must remain among those questions on which we can scarcely ex- pect farther information, and cannot, there- fore, decide with certainty. Simon the Canaanite was so called, not, as has been supposed, from the town of Cana, still less from his Canaanitish descent, but from a Hebrew word meaning a zealot, to which fanatical and dangerous body this apostleHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 99 had probably belonged, before he joined the more peaceful disciples of Jesus. The last was Judas Iscariot, perhaps so named from a small village named Iscara, or, more probably, Carioth, a town in the tribe of Judah. It was after the regular inauguration of the twelve in their apostolic office that, according to St. Luke, the Sermon on the Mount was delivered, or some second out- line of Christian morals repeated in nearly Healing of similar terms. Immediately af- the centuri- ter, as JeSUS returned to Caper- on’s servant. naum? a cure was wrought, both from its circumstances and its probable influence on the situation of Jesus, highly worthy of remark.* * * * § It was in favour of a centurion, a military officer of Galilean descent, probably in the service of Herod, and a proselyte to Judaism, for he could scarcely have built a synagogue for Jew- ish worship unless a convert to the reli- gion.f This man was held in such high es- timation, that the Jewish elders of the city, likewise, it should seem, not unfavour- ably disposed towards Jesus, interceded in his behalf. The man himself appears to have held the new teacher in such pro- found reverence, that in his humility he did not think his house worthy of so illus- trious a guest, and expressed his confi- dence that a word from him would be as. effective, even uttered at a distance, as the orders that he was accustomed to issue to his soldiery. Jesus not only complied with his request by restoring his servant to health, but took the opportunity of de- claring that many Gentiles, from the most remote quarters, would be admitted within the pale of the new religion, to the exclu- sion of many who had no title, but their descent from Abraham. Still there was nothing, at least in the earlier part of this declaration, directly contrary t o the estab- lished opinions; for at least the more lib- eral Jews were not unwilling to entertain the splendid ambition of becoming the re- ligious instructers of the world, provided the world did homage to the excellence and Divine institution of the Law ; and at all times the Gentiles, by becoming Jews, either as proselytes of the age, if not pros- elytes by circumcision, might share in most, if not in all, the privileges of the chosen people. This incident was likewise of importance, as still farther strength- ening the interest of Jesus with the ruling authorities and with another powerful offi- cer in the town of Capernaum. A more extraordinary transaction followed. As * St. Matthew as well as St. Luke places this cure as immediately following the Sermon on the Mount f Matt., viii., 5-13. Luke, vii., 1-10. yet, Jesus had claimed authority over the most distressing and obstinate maladies ; he now appeared invested with power over death itself. As he entered the Raising the town of Nain, between twenty widow’s son. and thirty miles from Capernaum, he met. a funeral procession, accompanied with circumstances of extreme distress. It was a youth, the only son of a widow, who was borne out to burial; so great was the calamity, that it had excited the general interest of the inhabitants. Jesus raises the youth from his bier, and re- stores him to the destitute mother.* The fame of this unprecedented miracle was propagated with the utmost rapidity through the country; and still vague, yet deepening rumours that a prophet had ap- peared ; that the great event which held the whole nation in suspense was on the instant of fulfilment, spread throughout the whole province. It even reached the remote fortress of Machserus, in which John was still closely guarded, though it seems the free access of his followers was not prohibited.f John commis- Messaged sioned two of his disciples to in- John the quire into the truth of these won- Baptlst- derful reports, and to demand of Jesus himself whether he was the expected Messiah. But what was the design of John in this message to Jesus 1 The question is not without difficulty. Was it for the satisfaction of his own doubts or those of his followers Was it that., in apprehension of his approaching death, he would consign his disciples to the care of a still greater instructer I Was it that he might attach them before his death to Je- sus, and familiarize them with conduct, in some respects, so opposite to his own Essenian, if not Pharisaic habits'! He might foresee the advantage that would be taken by the more ascetic to alienate his followers from Jesus, as a teacher who fell far below the austerity of their own; and who, accessible to all, held in no respect those minute observances which the usage of the stricter Jews, and the example of their master, had arrayed in indispensable sanctity. Or was it that John himself,, having languished for nearly a year in his remote prison, began to be impatient for the commencement of that splendid epoch,§ of which the whole nation, even the apostles of Jesus, both before and af- ter the resurrection, had by no means * Luke, vii., ] 1-18. f Matt., xi., 2-30. Luke, vii., 17-35. i Whitby. Doddridge, in loc. § Hammond inclines to this view, as does .Tor* tin ; Discourses on the Truth of the Christian Re- ligion.100 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. abandoned their glorious, worldly, and Jewish notions! Was John, like the rest of the people, not yet exalted above those hopes which wTere inseparable from the national mind! If he is the king, why does he hesitate to assume his kingdom'! If the Deliverer, why so tardy to com- mence the deliverance! “If thou art in- deed the, Messiah (such may appear to have been the purport of the Baptist’s mes- sage), proclaim thyself at once; assume thy state ; array thyself in majesty ; dis- comfit the enemies of holiness and of God! My prison doors will at once burst open ; my trembling persecutors will cease from their oppressions. Herod himself will yield up his usurped authority ; and even the power of Rome will cease to afflict the redeemed people of the Almighty !” What, on the other hand, is the answer of Jesus! It harmonizes in a remarkable manner with this latter view. It declares at once, and to the disappointment of these temporal hopes, the purely moral and re- ligious nature of the dominion to be estab- lished by the Messiah. He was found dis- playing manifest signs of more than human power, and to these peaceful signs he ap- peals as the conclusive evidence of the commencement of the Messiah’s kingdom, the relief of diseases, the cessation of sor- rows, the restoration of their lost or de- cayed senses to the deaf or blind, the equal admission of the lowest orders to the same religious privileges with those more espe- cially favoured by God. The remarkable words are added, “ Blessed is he that shall hot be offended in mehe that shall not consider irreconcilable with the splendid promises of the Messiah’s kingdom, my jowly condition, my calm and unassuming course of mercy and love to mankind, my total disregard of worldly honours, my re- fusal to place myself at the head of the people as a temporal ruler. Violent men, more especially during the disturbed and excited period since the appearance of John the Baptist, would urge on a kingdom of violence. How truly the character of the times is thus described, is apparent from the single fact, that shortly after- ward the people would have seized Jesus himself and forced him to assume the royal title, if he had not withdrawn himself from his dangerous adherents. This last ex- pression, however, occurs in the subse- quent discourse of Jesus, after his disci- ples had departed, when in those striking images he spoke of the former concourse of the people to the Baptist, and justified it by the assertion of his prophetic charac- ter. It was no idle object which led them Into the wilderness, to see, as it were, “ a reed shaken by the wind,” nor to behold any rich or luxurious object; for such they would have gone to the courts of their sovereigns. Still he declares the meanest of his own disciples to have attained some moral superiority, some knowledge, prob- ably, of the real nature of the new reli- gion, and the character and designs of the Messiah, which had never been possessed by John. With his usual rapidity of transition, Jesus passes at once to his moral instruction, and vividly shows that, whether severe or gentle, whether more ascetic or more popular, the teachers of a holier faith had been equally unacceptable. The general multitude of the Jews had re- jected both the austerer Baptist and him- self, though of so much more benign and engaging demeanour. The whole dis- course ends with the significant words, “ My yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Nothing, indeed, could offer a more striking contrast to the secluded Co be_ and eremitical life of John, than tween Jesus the easy and accessible manner and John the with which Jesus mingled with BaptiSt‘ all classes, even with his bitterest oppo- nents, the Pharisees. He accepts the in- vitation of one of these, and enters into his house to partake of refreshment.* Here a woman of dissolute life found her way into the chamber where the feast was held; she sat at his feet, anointing him, according to Eastern usage, with a costly unguent, which was contained in a box of alabaster ; she wept bitterly, and with her long locks wiped away the falling tears. The Pharisees, who shrunk not only from the contact, but even from the approach, of all whom they considered physically or morally unclean, could only attribute the conduct of Jesus to his ignorance of her real character. The reply of Jesus inti- mates that his religion was intended to reform and purify the worst, and that some of his most sincere and ardent believers might proceed from those very outcasts of society from whom Pharisaic rigour shrunk with abhorrence. After this, Jesus appears to have made another circuit through the towns and vil lages of Galilee. On his return to Caper naum, instigated, perhaps, by his adversa- ries, some of his relatives appear to have believed, or pretended to believe, that he was out of his senses ; and, therefore, at- tempted to secure his person. This scheme failing, the Pharisaic party, who had been deputed, it. should seem, from Jerusalem to watch his conduct, endeav- * Luke, vii., 36-50; xi. H-26HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 101 our to avail themselves of that great prin- ciple of Jewish superstition, the belief in the power of evil spirits, to invalidate his growing authority.* On the occasion of the cure of one of those lunatics, usually , ■ called daemo.niacs.f who was seme macs. dumb and blind, they ac- cused him of unlawful dealings with the spirits of evil. It was by a magic influ- ence, obtained by a secret contract with Beelzebub, the chief of the powers of darkness, or by secretly invoking his All- powerful name, that he reduced the sub- ordinate daemons to obedience. The an- swer of Jesus struck them with confu- sion. Evil spirits, according to their own creed, took delight in the miseries and crimes of men ; his acts were those of the purest benevolence: how gross the incon- sistency to suppose that malignant spirits would thus lend themselves to the cause of human happiness and virtue. Another more personal argument still farther con-, founded his adversaries. The Pharisees were professed exorcists ; j if, then, exor- * Matt., xii., 22-45. Mark, iii., 19-30. t l have no scruple in avowing my opinion on the subject of the dsemoniacs to be that of Joseph Mede, Lardner, Dr. Mead, Paley, and all the learned mod- ern writers. It was a kind of insanity not unlikely to be prevalent among a people peculiarly subject to leprosy and other cutaneous diseases; and no- thing was more probable than that lunacy should take the turn and speak the language of the prevail ing superstition of the times. As the belief in witch- craft made people fancy themselves witches, so the belief in possession made men of distempered minds fancy themselves possessed. The present case, in- deed, seems to have been one rather of infirmity than lunacy: the afflicted person was blind and dumb; but such cases were equally ascribed to malignant spirits,- There is one very strong rea* son, which 1 do not remember to have seen urged with'sufficient force, but which may have contrib- uted to induce Jesus to adopt the current language on this point. The disbelief in these spiritual in- fluences was one^of the characteristic tenets of the unpopular sect of the Sadducees, A departure from the common language, or the endeavour to correct this inveterate error, would have raised an imme- diate outcry against him from his watchful and malignant adversaries as an unbelieving Sadducee. Josephus mentions a certain herb which had the power of expelling daemons, a fact which intimates that it was a bodily disease. Kuinoel, in Matt., iv., 24, referring to the latter fact, shows that in Greek authors, especially Hippocrates, madness and de- moniacal possession are the same ; and quotes the various passages in the New Testament where the same language is evidently held ; as, among many others, John, x., 20. Matt., xvii., 15. Mark, v., 15 I have again the satisfaction of finding myself to have arrived at the same conclusion as Neander. t The rebuking subordinate daemons, by the in- vocation of a more powerful name, is a very ancient and common form of superstition. The later anti- Christian writers among the Jews attribute the power of Jesus over evil spirits to his having ob- tained the secret, and dared to utter the ineffable name, '“the Senuham-phorash.” To this name cism, or the ejection of these evil spirits, necessarily implied unlawful dealings with the world of darkness, they were as open to the charge as he whom they accused. They had, therefore, the alternative of renouncing their own pretensions, “or of admitting that those of Jesus were to be judged on other principles. It was, then, blasphemy against the Spirit of God to ascribe acts which bore the manifest im- press of the Divine Goodness in their es- sentially beneficent character to any other source but the Father of Mercies ; it was an offence which argued such total obtuse- ness of moral perception, such utter inca- pacity of feeling or comprehending the beauty either of the conduct or the doc- trines of Jesus, as to leave no hope that they would ever be reclaimed from their rancorous hostility to his religion, or be qualified for admission into the pale and to the benefits of the new faith. The discomfited Pharisees now demand a more public and undeniable sign P{iarisees of his Messiahship,* which alone demand a could justify the lofty tone assu- sign- med by Jesus. A second time Jesus ob- scurely alludes to the one great future sign of the new faith—his resurrection; and, refusing farther to gratify their curi- osity, he reverts, in language of more than usual energy, to the incapacity of the age and nation to discern the real and intrinsic superiority of his religion. The followers of Jesus had now been organized into a regular sect or party. Another incident distinctly showed that he no longer stood alone ; even the social duties, which up to this time he had, no doubt, discharged with .the utmost affec- tion, were to give place to the sublimer objects of his mission. While he sat en- circled by the multitude of his Conduct of disciples, tidings were brought Jesus to his that his mother and his breth- reIatives- ren desired to approach him.f But Jesus refused to break off his occupation; he declared himself connected by a closer tie even than that of blood with the great moral family of which he was to be the parent, and with which he was to stand wonderful powers over the whole invisible world are attributed by the Jewish Alexandrean writers, Artapanus and Ezekiel, the tragedian; and it is not impossible that the more superstitious Phari- sees may have hoped to reduce Jesus to the dilem- ' ma either of confessing that he invoked the name of the prince of the demons, or secretly uttered that which it was still more criminal to make use of for such a purpose, the mysterious and unspeak- able Tetra gramma ton—See Eisenmenger, i., 154. According to Josephus, the art of exorcism descend- ed from King Solomon.—Antiq., viii., 2. * Matt., xii., 38-45. f Matt., xii., 46-49. Mark, iii., 31-35.102 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. in the most intimate relation, He was the chief of a fraternity, not connected by common descent or consanguinity, but by a purely moral and religious bond ; not by any national or local union, but bound to- gether by the one strong but indivisible link of their common faith. On the in- crease, the future prospects, the final des- tiny of this community, his discourses now dwell, with frequent but obscure al- lusions.* * * * § His language more constantly assumes the form of parable. Nor dra es- was this merely in compliance with the genius of an Eastern people, in order to convey his instruction in a form more attractive, and, therefore, both more immediately and mo -e permanently im- pressive ; or, by awakening the imagina- tion, to stamp his doctrines more deeply on the memory, and to incorporate them with the feelings. These short and lively apologues were admirably adapted to sug- gest the first rudiments of truths which it was not expedient openly to announce. Though some of the parables have a pure- ly moral purport, the greater part deliver- ed at this period bear a more or less cov- ert relation to the character and growth of the new religion; a subject which, avowed without disguise, would have re- volted the popular mind, and clashed too directly with their inveterate nationality. Yet these splendid, though obscure anti- cipations singularly contrast with occa- sional allusions to his own personal des- titution : “ The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man hath not where to lay his head.”! For, with the growth and organization of his followers, he seems fully aware that his dangers increase; he now frequently changes his place, passes from one side of the lake to the other, and even endeav- ours to throw a temporary concealment over some of his most extraordinary mir- acles. During one of these expeditions across the lake, he is in danger from one of those sudden and violent tempests which often disturb inland seas, particularly in Rebukes mountainous districts. He re- the storm, bukes the storm, and it ceases. On the other side of the lake, in the dis- trict of Gadara, occurs the remarkable scene of the daemoniacs among the tombs, Destruc- an(^ t^le ^ier(^ sw“le 5 on]y tionofthe act in the whole life of Jesus in swine. the ]east, repugnant to the uni- form gentleness of his disposition, which would shrink from the unnecessary de- * Matt,, xiii. Mark, \v., 1-34. Luke, viii., 1-18. f Matt., viii., 18-27. Mark, iv., 35-41. Luke, viii., 22-25. struction even of the meanest and mo& loathsome animals.* On his return from this expedition to Capernaum took place the healing of the woman with the issue of the blood, and the raising of Jairus’s daughter.! Concerning the latter, as like- wise concerning the relief of two blind men,J he gives the strongest injunctions of secrecy, which, nevertheless, the active zeal of his partisans seems by no means to have regarded. But a more decisive step was now ta- ken, than the organization of the The apostles new religious community. The sent out. twelve apostles were sent out to dissemi- nate the doctrines of Jesus throughout the whole of Galilee.§ They were invested with the power of healing diseases ; with cautious deference to Jewish feeling, they were forbidden to proceed beyond the borders of the Holy Land, either among the Gentiles or the heretical Samaritans; they were to depend, on the hospitality of those whom they might address for their subsistence ; and he distinctly anticipates the enmity which they would perpetually encounter, and the dissension which would be caused, even in the bosom of families, by the appearance of men thus acting on a commission unprecedented and unrec- ognised by the religious authorities of the nation, yet whose doctrines were of such intrinsic beauty, and so full of exciting promise. It was most likely this open proclama- tion, as it were, of the rise of a conduct new and organized community, «f i^rod. and the greater publicity which this simul- taneous appearance of two of its delegates in the different towns of Galilee could not but give to the growing influence of Jesus, that first attracted the notice of the gov- ernment. Up to this period, Jesus, as a remarkable individual, must have been well known by general report; by this measure he stood in a very different char- acter, as the chief of a numerous fraternity. There were other reasons, at this critical period, to excite the apprehensions and jealousy of Herod. During the short in- terval between the visit of John’s disciples to Jesus and the present time, the tetrarch * The moral difficulty of this transaction has al- ways appeared to me greater than that of reconci- ling it. with the more rational view of dsemoniacism. Both are much diminished, if not entirely removed, by the theory of Kninoel, who attributes to the lu - natics the whole of the conversation with Jesus, and supposes that their driving the herd of swine down the precipice was the last paroxysm in which their insanity exhausted itself. —Matt., viii., 28-34. Mark, v , 1-20. Luke, viii., 26-39. f Luke, viii., 40-56. f Matt., xx , 27-31. § Matt., x. Mark, vi.. 7 13. Lake, ix., 1-6,HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ioa Death of John had at B. ugth, at the instigation me Baptist. of his wife, perpetrated the mur- der of the Baptist. Whether his reluct- ance to shed unnecessary blood, or his prudence, had as yet' shrunk from this crime, the condemnation of her marriage oOuld not but rankle in the heart of the wife. The desire of revenge would be strengthened by a feeling of insecurity, and an apprehension of the precariousness of a union, declared, on such revered authority, null and void. As long as this stern and respected censor lived, her in- fluence over her husband, the bond of marriage itself, might, in an hour of pas- sion or remorse, be dissolved. The com- mon crime would cement still closer, per- haps for ever, their common interests. The artifices of Herodias, who did not scruple to make use of the beauty and grace of her daughter to compass her end, had extorted from the reluctant king, in the hour of festive carelessness—the .cele- bration of Herod’s birthday—the royal promise, which, whether for good or for evil, was equally irrevocable.* * * § * The head of John the Baptist was the reward for the dancing of the daughter. of Herodias. j Whether the mind of Herod, like that of his father,J was disordered by his crime, and the disgrace and discomfiture of his arms contributed to his moody terrors; or whether some popular rumour of the reappearance of John, and that Jesus was the murdered prophet restored to life, had obtained currency, indications of hostility from the government seem to have put Jesus upon his guard.§ For no sooner had he been rejoined by the apostles, than he withdrew into the desert country about Bethsaida, with the prudence which he now thought fit to assume, avoiding any sudden collision with the desperation or the capricious violence of the tetrarch. But he now filled too important a place Je^us with_ in the public mind to remain con- draws from cealed so near his customary Galilee. residence and the scene of. his extraordinary actions. The multitude thronged forth to trace his footsteps, so * Matt., xiv., 1-12. Mark, vi., 14-29. Luke, ix., 7-9. t Josephus places the scene of this event in Machserus. Macknight would remove the prison of John to Tiberias. But the circumstances of the war may have caused the court to be held in this strong frontier town, and the feast may have been intended chiefly for the army, the “ Chiliarchs” of St. Mark. X According to Josephus, the Jews ascribed the discomfiture of Herod’s army by Aretas, king of Arabia, to the wrath of Heaven for the murder of John. § Matt., xiv., 13, 14. Mark, vi., 30-34. Luke, ix., 10, 11. John, vi., 1, 2. that five thousand persons had preoccu- pied the place of his retreat; and so com- pletely were they possessed by profound religious enthusiasm, as entirely to have forgotten the difficulty of obtaining pro- visions in that desolate region. The man- ner in which their wants were The muUi. preternaturally supplied, and the tudos fed i» whole assemblage fed by five the desert loaves and two small fishes, wound up at once the rising enthusiasm to the highest pitch. It could not but call to the mind of the multitude the memorable event in their annals, the feeding the whole nation in the desert by the multiplication of the manna.* Jesus, then, would no longer confine himself to those private and more unimposing acts of beneficence, of which the actual advantage was limited to a single object, and the ocular evidence of the fact to but few witnesses. Here was a sign performed in the presence of many . thousands, who had actually participated in the miraculous food. This, then, they supposed, could not but be the long-desired commencement of his more public, more national career. Behold a second Moses ! behold a Leader of the people, under whom they could never be afflicted with want! behold at length the Prophet, under whose government the people \yere to enjoy, among the other blessings of the Mes- siah’s reign, unexampled, uninterrupted plenty.f Their acclamations clearly betrayed their intentions; they would Enthusiasm brook no longer delay; they of the people would force him to assume the royal title ; they would proclaim him, whether con- senting or not, the King of Israel.J Jesus withdrew from the midst of the dangerous tumult, and till the next day they sought him in vain. On their return to Caper- * Matt., xiv., 15-23. Mark, vi., 35-45. Luke, ix., 12-17. John, vi., 3-14. f He made manna to descend for them, in which were all manner of tastes; and every Israelite found in it what his palate was chiefly pleased with. If he desired fat in it, he had it. In it the young men tasted bread ; the old men, honey: and the children, oil. So it shall be in the world to come (the days of the Messias); he shall give Israel peace, and they shall sit down and eat in the garden of Eden ; all nations shall behold their condition ; as it is said, “ Behold my servants shall eat, but ye shall be hungry.”—Isaiah, lxv. Kambain in San- hed., cap. 10. Many affirm that the hope of Israel is, that Mes- siah should come and raise the dead; and they shall be gathered together in the garden of Eden, and shall eat and drink, and satiate themselves all the days of the world . . . ; and that there are houses built all of precious stones, beds of silk and rivers flowing with wine and spicy oil.—Shen otll F abba, sect. 25. Lightfoot, in loc., vol. xii., 29.1 X John, vi., 15.104 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. naum-, they found that he had crossed the lake, and entered the city the evening be- fore. Their suspense, no doubt, had not been allayecUby his mysterious disappear- ance on the other side of the lake. The circumstances under which he had passed over,* if communicated by the apostles co the wondering multitude (and, unless positively prohibited by their master, they could not have kept silence on so won- derful an occurrence), would inflame still farther the intense popular agitation. While the apostles were passing the lake in their boat, Jesus had appeared by their side, walking upon the waters. When, therefore, Jesus entered the syn- jesua in ihe agogue of Capernaum,"no doubt synagogue of the crisis was immediately ex- lapernaum. pecje(j. at length he will avow himself; the declaration of his dignity must now be made ; and where with such propriety as in the place of the public wor- ship, in the midst of the devout and ado- ring people If The calm, the purely reli- gious language of Jesus was a deathblow to these high-strung hopes. The object of his mission, he declared in explicit terms, was not to confer temporal bene- fits ; they were not to follow him with the hope that they would obtain without la- bour the fruits of the earth, or be secured against thirst and hunger: these were mere casual and incidental blessings.J The real design of the new religion was the improvement of the moral and spirit- ual condition of man, described under the strong but not unusual figure of nourish- ment administered to the soul. During the whole of his address, or, rather, his conversation with the different parties, the popular opinion was in a state of fluctua- tion ; or, as is probable, there were two distinct parties, that of the populace, at first more favourable to Jesus, and that of the Jewish leaders, who were altogeth- er hostile. The former appear more hum- bly to have inquired what was 'demanded by the new teacher in order to please God : of them Jesus required faith in the Mes- siah. The latter first demanded a new sign,§ but broke out into murmurs of dis- approbation when “the carpenter’s son” began in his mysterious language to speak of his descent, his commission from his Father, his reascension to his former inti- mate communion with the Deity; still more when he seemed to confine the hope of everlasting life to those only who were fitted to receive it; to those whose souls * Matt., xiv., 24-33. Mark, vi., 47-53. John, vi., 16-21. + John, vi., 22-71. + Ibid., 26-29. $ Ibid., 30. would receive the inward nutriment, of his doctrines. No word in the whole address fell in with their excited, their passionate hopes * however dark, however ambigu- ous his allusions, they could not warp or misinterpret them into the confirmation o 1 their splendid views. Not only did they appear to discountenance the immediate, they gave no warrant to the remote, ac- complishment of their visions of the Mes- siah’s earthly power and glory.* At all events, the disappointment was universal; his own adherents, baffled and sinking at once from their exalted hopes, cast off their unambitious, their inexplicable Lead- er; and so complete appears to have been the desertion, that Jesus demanded of the twelve whether they too would abandon his cause, and leave him to his fate. In the name of the apostles, Peter replied that they had still full confidence in his doctrines, as teaching the way to eternal life; they still believed him to be the promised Messiah, the Son of God. Je- sus received this protestation of fidelity with apparent approbation, but intimated that the time would come when one even of the tried and chosen twelve would prove a traitor.f * There is some difficulty in placing the conver- sation with the Pharisees (Matt., xv., 1-20. Mark,' vii., 1-23), whether before or after the retreat of Je- sus to the more remote district. The incident, though characteristic, is n.ot of great importance, and seems rather to have been a private inquiry of certain members of the sect, than the public appeal of persons deputed for that purpose. f The wavering and uncertainty of the apostles, and, still more, of the people, concerning the Mes- siahship of Jesus, is urged by Strauss as an argu- ment for the later invention and inconsistency of the Gospels. It has always appeared to me one of those marks of true nature and of inartificial com- position which would lead me to a conclusion di- rectly opposite. The first intimation of the defer- ence and homage shown to him by John at his bap- tism, grows at once into a welcome rumour that the Christ has appeared. Andrew imparts the joy- ful tidings to his brother. “We have found the Messias, which is, being interpreted, the Christ;” so Philip, verse 46. But though Jesus, in one part of the Sermon on the Mount, speaks of himself as the future judge, in general his distinct assumption of that character is exclusively to individuals in private, to the Samaritan woman (John, iv., 26-42), and in more ambiguous language, perhaps, in his private examination before the authorities in Jerusalem (John, v., 46). Still the manner in which he assu- med the title and asserted his claims was so totally opposite to Jewish expectation ; he appeared to de- lay so long the open declaration of his Messiahship, that the populace constantly fluctuated in their opinion, now ready by force to make him a king (John, vi, 15), immediately after this altogether de- serting him, so that even the apostles’ faith is se- verely tried. (Compare with John, vi., 69, Luke, ix., 20, Matt., xvi., 16, Mark, viii., 29, where it appears that rumours had become prevalent, that, though not the Messiah, he was either a prophet or a forp.105 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Thus the public life of Jesus closed its second year. On one side endangered by the zeal of the violent, on the other en- feebled by the desertion of so many of his followers, Jesus, so long as he spoke the current language about the Messiah, might he instantly taken at his word, and against his will be set at the head of a daring in- surrection ; immediately that he departed from it, and rose to the sublimer tone of a purely religious teacher, he excited the most violent animosity even among many of his most ardent adherents. Thus his influence at one moment was apparently most extensive, at the next was confined to but a small circle. Still, however, it held the general mind in unallayed sus- pense ; and the ardent admiration, the at- tachment of the few, who were enabled to appreciate his character, and the ani- mosity of the many, who trembled at his progress, bore testimony to the command- ing character and the surprising works of Jesus of Nazareth. CHAPTER YI. THIRD YEAR OF THE PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS. The third Passover had now arrived plover s* *nce Jesus °f Nazareth had ap- assover. peare(j as a public teacher, but, as it should seem, his u appointed hour” was not yet come; and, instead of de- scending with the general concourse of the whole nation to the capital, he remains in Galilee, or, rather, retires to the remotest extremity of the country ; and, though he approaches nearer to the northern shore of the lake, never ventures down into the populous region in which he more usually fixed his residence. The avowed hos- tility of the Jews, and their determination to put him to death; the apparently grow- ing jealousy of Herod, and the desertion of his cause, on one hand, by a great num- ber of his Galilean followers, who had taken offence at his speech in the syna- gogue of Capernaum, with the rash and intemperate zeal of others, who were pre- pared to force him to assume the royal title, would render his presence at Jerusa- lem, if not absolutely necessary for his designs, both dangerous and inexpedient.* But his absence from this Passover is still more remarkable, if, as appears highly probable, it was at this feast that the event occurred which is alluded to in St. Lukef as of general notoriety, and at a runner of the Messiah). The real test of the fidel- ity of the apostles was their adherence, under all the fluctuation of popular opinion, to this convic- tion, which at last, however, was shaken by that which most completely clashed with their precon- ceived notions of the Messiah, his ignominious death, and undisturbed burial. As a corrective to Strauss on this point, I would recommend the work of one who will not be sus- pected of loose and inaccurate reasoning—Locke on the Reasonableness of Christianity. * The commencement of the 7th chapter of St. John’s Gospel appears to me to contain a manifest reference to his absence from this Passover. t John, vii., 1. . O later period was the subject of a con- versation between Jesus and his Mass of disciples, the slaughter of cer- the Galileans tain Galileans in the Temple of at Jerusalem by the Roman gov- over‘ ernor.* The reasons for assigning this fact to the period of the third Passover ap- pear to have considerable weight. Though at all times of the year the Temple was open, not merely for the regular morning and evening offerings, but likewise for the private sacrifices of more devout worship- pers, such an event as this massacre was not likely to have occurred, even if Pilate was present at Jerusalem at other times, unless the metropolis had been crowded with strangers, at least in numbers suffi- cient to excite some apprehension of dan- gerous tumult; for Pontius Pilate, though prodigal of blood if the occasion seemed to demand the vigorous exercise of power, does not appear to have been wantonly sanguinary. It is therefore most proba- ble that the massacre took place during some public festival; and, if so, it must have been either at the Passover or Pente- cost, as Jesus was present at both the later feasts of the present year, those of Tabernacles and of the Dedication: nor does the slightest intimation occur of any disturbance of that nature at either.f Who * Luke, xiii., 1. f The point of time at which the notice of this transaction is introduced in the narrative of St. Luke, may appear irreconcilable with the opinion that it took place so far back as the previous Pass- over. This circumstance, however, admits of an easy explanation. The period at which this fact is introduced by St. Luke, was just before the last fatal visit to Jerusalem. Jesus had now expressed his fixed determination to attend the approaching Passover; he was actually on his way to the me- tropolis It was precisely the time at which some who might take an interest in his personal safety^ might, think it well to warn him of his danger,106 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. these Galileans were, whether they had been guilty of turbulent or seditious con- duct, or were the innocent victims of the governor’s jealousy, there is no evidence. It Las been suggested, not without plausi- bility. that they were of the sect of Judas the Galilean ; and, however they may not have been formally enrolled as belonging to this sect, they may have been in some degree infected with the same opinions; more especially, as properly belonging to the jurisdiction of Herod, these Galileans would scarcely have been treated with such unrelenting severity, unless impli- cated, or suspected to be implicated, in some designs obnoxious to the Roman sway. If, however, our conjecture be right, had he appeared at this festival, Jesus might have fallen undistinguished in a general massacre of his countrymen, by the direct interference of the Roman governor, and without the guilt of his re- jection and death being attributable to the rulers or the nation of the Jews. Yet, be this as it may, during this period Concealment of the life of Jesus it is most of Jesus. difficult to trace his course ; his rapid changes have the semblance of con- cealment. At one time he appears at the extreme border of Palestine, the district immediately adjacent to that of Tyre and Sidon ; he then seems to have descended again towards Bethsaida, and the desert country to the north of the Sea of Tibe- rias; he is then, again, on the immediate frontiers of Palestine, near the town of Caesarea Philippi, close to the fountains of the Jordan. The incidents which occur at almost all these places coincide with his singular situation at this period of his life, and perpetually bear almost a direct reference to the state of public feeling at this par-: The svro- ticular time. His conduct to- Phcenician wards the Greek or Syro-Phceni- vy°rnan. cjan woman may illustrate this.* Those who watched the motions of Jesus with the greatest vigilance, either from These persons may have been entirely ignorant of his intermediate visits to Jerusalem, which had been sudden, brief, and private. He had appeared unexpectedly; he had withdrawn without notice. They may have supposed, that, having been absent at the period of the massacre in the remote parts of the country, he might be altogether unacqu-ainted with the circumstances, or, at'least, little impressed with their importance ; or even, if not entirely ig- norant, the*y might- think it right to remind him of the dangerous commotion which had taken place at the preceding festival, and to intimate the possi- bility that, under a governor so reckless of human life as Pilate had shown himself, and by recent cir- cumstances not predisposed towards the Galilean name, he was exposing himself to most serious peril. * Matt., xv., 21-28. Mark, vii., 24-30 attachment or animosity, must have De* held him with astonishment, at this period, when every road was crowded with trav- ellers towards Jerusalem, deliberately pro- ceeding in an opposite direction; thus, at the time of the most solemn festival, moving, as it were, directly contrary to the stream, which flowed in one current towards the capital. There appears at one time to have prevailed among some an obscure- apprehension, which, though only expressed during one of his later visits to Jerusalem,* might have begun to creep into their minds at an earlier period; that, after all, the Saviour might turn his back on his ungrateful and inhospitable country, or, at least, not fetter him sell with the exclusive nationality inseparable from their conceptions of the true Mes- siah. And here, at this present instant, after having excited their hopes to the utmost by the miracle which placed him, as it were, on a level with their lawgiver, and having afterward afflicted them with bitter disappointment by his speech in the synagogue—here, at the season of the Passover, he was proceeding towards, if not. beyond, the borders of the Holy Land, placing himself, as it were, in direct com- munication with the imcircumcised, and imparting those blessings to strangers and aliens which were the undoubted, inalien- able property of the privileged race. At this juncture, when he was upon the borders of the territory of Tyre and Sidon, a woman of heathen extraction,! having- heard the fame of his miracles, determined to have recourse to him to heal her daugh- ter, who was suffering under diabolic pos- session. Whether adopting the common title which she had heard that Jesus had assumed, or from any obscure notion of the Messiah, which could not but have penetrated into the districts immediately bordering on Palestine, she saluted him by his title of Son of David, and implored his mercy. In this instance alone, Jesus, who on all other occasions is described as prompt and forward to hear the cry of the afflicted, turns, at first, a deaf and. regard- less ear to her supplication : the mercy is, as it were, slowly and reluctantly wrung from him. The secret of this apparent but unusual indifference to suffering no * John, vii., 35. f She is called in one place a Canaanite, in an- other a Syro-Phoenician and a Greek. She was probably of Phoenician descent, and the Jews con- sidered the whole of the Phoenician race as descend- ed from the remnant of the Canaanites, who were not extirpated. She was a Greek as distinguished from a Jew, for the Jews divided mankind into Jews and Greeks, as the Greeks did into Greeks and Barbarians.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 107 doubt lies in the ci .■cumstances of the case. Nothing would h?we been so repugnant to Jewish prejudice, especially at this junc- ture, as his admitting at once this recog- nition of his title, or his receiving and re- warding the homage of any stranger from the blood of Israel, particularly one de- scended from the accursed race of Canaan. The conduct of the apostles shows their harsh and Jewish spirit. They are in- dignant at her pertinacious importunity ; they almost insist on her peremptory dis- missal. That a stranger, a Canaanite, should share in the mercies of their mas- ter, does not seem to have entered into their thoughts : the brand of ancient con- demnation was upon her; the hereditary hatefulness of the seed of Canaan marked her as a lit object for malediction, as the appropriate prey of the evil spirits, as without hope of blessing from the God of Israel. Jesus himself at first seems to countenance this exclusive tone. He de- clares that he is sent only to the race of Israel; that dogs (the common and oppro- brious term by which all religious aliens were* described) could have no hope of sharing in the blessings jealously reserv- ed for the children of Abraham. The humility of the woman’s reply, u Truth, Lord, but the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from the master’s table,” might almost disarm the antipathy of the most zealous Jew. That the Gentiles might receive a kind of secondary and inferior benefit from their Messiah, was by no means in oppo- sition to the vulgar belief; it left them in full possession of their exclusive religious dignity, while it was rather flattering to their pride than debasing to their preju- dices, that, with such limitation, the power of their Redeemer should be displayed among the Gentile foreigners. By his condescension, therefore, to their preju- dices, Jesus was enabled .to display bis own benevolence, without awakening, or confirming, if already awakened, the quick suspicions of his followers. After this more remote excursion, Je- Jesus stiii in sus appears again, for a short partial con- time, nearer his accustomed res- ceaiment. j^ence ; but still hovering, as it were, on the borders, and lingering rather in the wild, mountainous region to the north and east of the lake, than descend- ing to the more cultivated and populous districts to the west.* JBut here his fame follows him ; and even in these desert re- gions, multitudes, many of them bearing their sick and afflicted relatives, perpet- * This may be assigned to the period between the Passover and the Pentecost. ually assemble around him.* His coin duct displays, as it were, a continual strug- gle between his benevolence and his cau- tion : he seems as if he could not refrain from the indulgence of his goodness, while, at the same time, he is aware that every new cure may reawaken the dangerous enthusiasm from which he had so recently withdrawn himself. In the hill country of Decapolis, a deaf and dumb man is re- stored to speech; he is strictly enjoined, though apparently without effect, to pre serve the utmost secrecy. A second time the starving multitude in the desert appeal to his compassion. They are again mi raculously fed ; but Jesus, as though re- membering the immediate consequences of the former event, dismisses them at once, and, crossing in a boat to Dalma- nutha or Magdala, places, as it were, the lake between himself and their indiscreet zeal or irrepressible gratitude.f At Mag- dala he again encounters some of the Pharisaic party, who were, perhaps, re- turned from the Passover. They reiter- ate their perpetual demand of some sign which may satisfy their impatient incre- dulity, and a third time Jesus repels them with an allusion to the great “ sign” of his resurrection.^ As the Pentecost draws near, he again retires to the utmost borders of the land. He crosses back to Bethsaida, where a blind man is restored to sight, with the same strict injunctions of concealment.^ He then passes to the neighbourhood of Caesarea Philippi, at the extreme verge of the land, a modern town, recently built on the site of the older, now named Paneas, situated almost close to the fountains of the Jordan.|| Alone with his immediate disciples in this secluded region, he begins to unfold more distinctly, both his real character and his future fate, to their wondering ears. It is difficult to conceive perplexity oi the state of fluctuation and em- the apostles, barrassment in which the simple minds of the apostles of Jesus must have been con- tinually kept by what must have appeared the inexplicable, if not contradictory, con- duct and. language of their master. At one moment he seemed entirely to lift the veil from his own character; the next, it fell again, and left them in more than their former state of suspense. Now all is clear, distinct, comprehensible ; then, again, dim, doubtful, mysterious. Here their hopes are elevated to the highest, * Matt., xv.. 29-31. Mark, vii., 31-37. t Matt., xv., 32-39. Mark, viii., 1-9. t Matt, xvi., 1_12. Mark, viii., 11-22 $ M*rk, viii., 22-26. || Mark, viii., 27.108 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. and all their preconceived notions of the greatness of the Messiah seem ripening into reality ; there, the strange foreboding of his humiliating fate, which he commu- nicates with more than usual distinctness, thrills them with apprehension. Their own destiny is opened to their prospect, crossed with the same strangely mingling lights and shadows. At one time they are promised miraculous endowments, and seem justified in all their ambitious hopes of eminence and distinction in the ap- proaching kingdom ; at the next, they are warned that they must expect to share in the humiliations and afflictions of their teacher. Near Caesarea Philippi Jesus questions Jesus near his disciples as to the common Caesarea view of his character. By some, Philippi, jj. seemSj ]ie was supposed to be John the Baptist restored from the dead; by others, Elias, who was to reappear on earth previous to the final revelation of the Messiah ; by others, Jeremiah, who, according to a tradition to which we have before alluded, was to come to life : and when the ardent zeal of Peter recognises him under the most sacred title, which was universally considered as appropriated to the Messiah, “the Christ, the Son of the Living God,” his homage is no longer de- clined ; and the apostle himself is com- mended in language so strong, that the pre-eminence of Peter over the rest of the twelve has been mainly supported by the words of Jesus employed on this occa- sion. The transport of the apostles »at this open and distinct avowal of his char- acter, although at present confined to the secret circle of his more immediate adhe- rents, no doubt before long to be publicly proclaimed, and asserted with irresistible power, is almost instantaneously checked ; the bright, expanding prospects change in a moment to the gloomy reverse, when Jesus proceeds to foretel to a greater number of his followers* his approaching lamentable fate, the hostility of all the rulers of the nation, his death, and that which was probably the least intelligible part of the whole prediction—his resur- rection.! The highly-excited Peter can- not endure the sudden and unexpected re- verse ; he betrays his reluctance to be- lieve that the Messiah, whom he had now, he supposed, full authority to array in the highest temporal splendour which his im- agination could suggest, could possibly apprehend so degraded a doom. Jesus not only represses the ardour of the apos- * Mark, viii., 34. f Matt., xvi., 21-28. Mark, viii., 31; ix., 1. Luke, iv., 18-27, ! tie, but enters at some length into the | earthly dangers to which his disciples would be exposed, and the unworldly na- ture of Christian reward. They listened, but how far they comprehended these sub- lime truths must be conjectured from their subsequent conduct. It was to minds thus preoccupied, on one hand full of unrepressed hopes of the instantaneous revelation of the Messiah in all his temporal greatness, on the other, embarrassed with the apparently irrecon- cilable predictions of the humiliation of their Master, that the extraordinary scene of the Transfiguration was pre- The Trans- sented.* Whatever explanation figuration, we adopt of this emblematic vision, its purport and its effect upon the minds of the three disciples who beheld it remain the same.f .Its significant sights and sounds manifestly announced the equality, the superiority of Jesus to the founder, and to him who may almost be called the restorer of the Theocracy, to Moses the lawgiver, and Elias the representative of the prophets. These holy personages had, as it were, seemed to pay homage to Jesus; they had vanished, and he alone had remained. The appearance of Moses and Elias at the time of the Messiah was strictly in accordance with the general tradition and when, in his astonishment, Peter proposes to make there three of those huts or cabins of boughs which the Jews were accustomed to run up as tem- porary dwellings at the time of the Feast of the Tabernacles, lie seems to have sup- posed that the spirits of the lawgiver and the prophet were to make their permanent residence with the Messiah, and that this mountain was to be, as it were, another sacred place, a second Sinai, from which the new kingdom was to commence its dominion and issue its mandates. The other circumstances of the transac- tion, the height on which they stood, their own half-waking state, the sounds from heaven (whether articulate voices or thun- der, which appeared to give the Divine as- sent to their own preconceived notions of * Tradition has assigned this scene to Mount Tabor, probably for no better reason than because Tabor is the best known and most conspicuous height in the whole of Galilee. The order of the narrative points most distinctly to the neighbour- hood of Caesarea Philippi, and the Mons Paneus is a much more probable situation. f Matt., xvii., 1-21; Mark, ix., 2-29. Luke,ix., 28-42. % Dixit sanctus benedictus Mosi, sicut vitam tuam dedisti pro Israele in hoc seculo, sic tempore futuro, tempore Messise, qnando mittam ad eos Eliam prophetam vos duo venietis simuL—Debar. Rab., 293. Compare Lightfoot, Schoetgen, and Eisenmenger, in loco.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. the Messiah), the wonderful change in the appearance of Jesus, the glittering cloud which seemed to absorb the two spirits, and leave Jesus alone upon the mountain —all the incidents of this majestic and mysterious scene, whether presented as dreams before their sleeping, or as visions . before their waking senses, tended to ele- vate still higher their already exalted no- tions of their master. Again, however, they appear to have been doomed to hear a confirmation of that which, if their re- luctant minds had not refused to entertain the humiliating thought, would have de- pressed them to utter despondency. A fter healing the dsemoniac, whom they had in vain attempted to exorcise, the assurance of his approaching death is again renewed, and in the clearest language, by their master.* From the distant and the solitary scenes where these transactions had taken place, Jesus now returns to the populous district about Capernaum. On his entrance into Tribute the city, the customary payment of money. hajf a shekel for the maintenance of the Temple, a capitation tax which was levied on every Jew, in every quarter of the world, is demanded of Jesus.f How, then, will he act, who but now declared himself to hi? disciples as the Messiah, the Son of God % Will lie claim his privilege of exemption as the Messiah 1 Will the Son of God contribute to the maintenance of the Temple of the Father 1 or will the long-expected public declaration at length take place 1 Will the claim of immunity virtually confirm his claim to the privi- leges of his descent% He again reverts to his former cautious habit of never unne- cessarily offending the prejudices of the people ; he complies with the demand, and the. money is miraculously supplied. But on the minds of the apostles the Contention of recent scenes are still working ttie apostles, with unallayed excitement. The dark, the melancholy language of their Master appears to pass away and leave no impression upon their minds ; while every circumstance which animates or exalts is treasured with the utmost care ; and in a'short time, on their road to Capernaum, they are fiercely disputing among them- selves their relative rank in the instanta- neously expected kingdom of the Messiah.} * Matt, xvii., 22, 23. Mark, ix., 30-32. Luke, ix., 44, 45. f Matt., xvii., 24-28. X It is observable that the ambitious disputes of the disciples concerning primacy or preference, usually .follow the mention of Christ’s death and 'resurrection.—Luke, ix., 44-46. Matt, xx., 18-20. Luke, xxii., 22-24. They had so strong a prepos- session that the resurrection of Christ {which they t<*> doubt understood in a purely Jewish sense, compare- 10R The beauty, of the significant action b}’ which Jesus repressed the rising emotions of their pride, is heightened by consider- ing it in relation to the immediate circum- stances.* Even now, at this crisis of their exaltation, he takes a child, Jesus com- places it in the midst of them, and declares that only those in tjon of tiio * such a state of innocence and apostles, docility are qualified to become members of the new community. Over such hum- ble and blameless beings, over children, and over men of childlike dispositions, the vigilant providence of God would watch with unsleeping care, and those who in- jured them would be exposed to his strong displeasure.f The narrow jealousy of the apostles, which would have prohibited a stranger from making use of the name of Jesus for the purpose of exorcism, w7as rebuked in the same spirit: all who would embrace the cause of Christ were to be encouraged rather than discountenanced. Some of the most striking sentences, and one parable which illustrates, in the most vivid manner, the extent of Christian for- giveness and mutual forbearance, close, as it were, this period of the Saviour’s life, by instilling into the minds of his fol- lowers, as the time of the final collision with his adversaries approaches, the mild- er and more benignant tenets of the evan- gelic religion. The Passover had come, and Jesus had remained in the obscure borders Feast of Tab- of the land ; the Pentecost had ernacies. passed away, and the expected public as- sumption of the titles and functions of the Messiah had not yet been made. The autumnal Feast of Tabernacles} is at hand; his incredulous brethren again as- semble around him, and even the impatient disciples can no longer endure the sus- pense : they urge him with almost imperi- ous importunity to cast off at length his prudential, his mysterious reserve ; at least to vindicate the faith of his follow- ers, and to justify the zeal of his partisans, by displaying those works, which he seem- ed so studiously to conceal among the ob- scure towns of Galilee, in the crowded metropolis of the nation, at some great period of national assemblage.§ In order to prevent any indiscreet proclamation of Mark, ix , 10) should introduce the earthly kingdom of the Messiah, that no declaration of our Lord could remove it from their minds: they always “ understood not what was spoken.”—Lightfoot, in loco. * Matt, xviii., 1-6. Mark, ix., 33-37 t Matt., xviii., 6-10. Mark, ix., 37. | On the fifteenth day of the seventh month,— Deut., xxiii., 39-43. About the end of our Septem her or the beginning of October. § John, vii., 2, to viii., 59.110 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. his app\ oach, or any procession of his fol- lowers through the country, and probably lest the rulers should have time to organize their hostile measures, Jesus disguises under ambiguous language his intention of going up to Jerusalem ; he permits his brethren, who suppose that he is still in Galilee, to set forward without him. Still, however, his movements are the subject of anxious inquiry among the assembling multitudes in the capital; and many secret and half-stifled murmurs among the Gali- leans, some exalting his virtues, others representing him as a dangerous disturber of the public peace, keep up the general curiosity about his character and designs.* Jesus in the a sudden, in the midst of the Temple at festival, he appears in the Tem- Jerusaiem. p]Gj ail(] takes his station as a public teacher. The rulers seem to have been entirely off their guard ; and the mul- titude are perplexed by the bold and, as yet, uninterrupted publicity with which a man, whom the Sanhedrin were well known to have denounced as guilty of a capital offence, entered the court of the Temple, and calmly pursued his office of instructing the people. The fact that he had taken on himself that office was of it- self unprecedented and surprising to many. As we have observed before, he belonged to no school, he had been bred at the feet of none of the recognised and celebrated teachers, yet he assumed superiority to all, and arraigned the whole of the wise men of vainglory rather than of sincere piety. His own doctrine was. from a : higher source, and possessed more un- < deniable authority. He even boldly an- < ticipated the charge, which he knew would ' be renewed against him, his violation of ’ the Sabbath by his works of mercy. He : accused them of conspiring against his 1 life; a charge which seems to have ex- ] cited indignation as well as astonishment.! < The suspense and agitation of the assem- i hi age are described with a few rapid but i singularly expressive touches. It was part 1 of the vague popular belief that the Mes- 1 siah would appear in some strange, sud- i den, and surprising manner. The circum- i stances of his coming were thus left to ' the imagination of each to fill up, accord- i ing to his own notions of that which was I striking and magnificent. But the extra- c ordinary incidents which attended the birth > of Jesus were forgotten, or had never been 1 generally known; his origin and extrac- t lion were supposed to be ascertained : he s appeared but as the legitimate descendant c of an hu ruble Galilean family; his ackno wl- t - edged brethren were ordinary and undis- t tinguished men. “ We know this man 3 whence he is ; but when Christ cometh ? no man knoweth whence he is.” His i mysterious allusions to his higher descent 5 were heard with mingled feelings of in- i dignation and awe. On the multitude his , wonderful works had made a favourable ; impression, which was not a little in- ; creased by the inactivity and hesitation ; of the rulers. The Sanhedrin, Perplexity of ■ in which the Pharisaic party the sanhedrin, still predominated, were evidently unpre- ■ pared, and had concerted no measures either to counteract his progress in the public mind, or to secure his person. Their authority in such a case was probably, in the absence of the Roman prefect, or with- out the concurrence of the commander of the Roman guard in the Antonia., by no means clearly ascertained. With every desire, therefore, for his apprehension, they at first respected his person, and their non-interference was mistaken fpr connivance, if not as a sanction for his proceedings. They determine at length on stronger measures; their officers are sent out to arrest the offender, but seem to have been overawed by the tranquil dig- nity and commanding language of Jesus, and were, perhaps, in some degree controll- ed by the manifest favour of the people.* On the great day of the feast, the agita- tion of the assembly, as well as the per- plexity of the Sanhedrin, is at its height. Jesus still appears publicly; he makes a striking allusion to the ceremonial of the day. Water was drawn from the hallow- ed fountain of Siloah, and borne into the Temple with the sound of the trumpet and with great rejoicing. “ Who,” say the rabbins, “ hath not seen the rejoicing on the drawing of. this water, hath seen no rejoicing at all.” They sang in the pro- cession, “with joy shall they draw water from the wells of salvation.”! In the midst of this tumult, Jesus, according to his custom, calmly diverts the attention to the'great moral end of his own teach- ing, and, in allusion to the rite, declares that from himself are to flow the real living waters of salvation. The ceremony al- most appears to have been arrested in its progress; and open discussions of his claim to be considered as the Messiah di vide the wondering multitude. The San hedrin find that they cannot depend On their own officers, whom they accuse of surrendering themselves to the popular deception, in favour of one condemned by the rulers of the. nation. Even within ♦ John, vii.. JJ-13 t Id., 19-24. John, vii., 32. f Id. ib., 32-39. Lightfoot, in luc.History of Christianity. ill their council, Nicodemus, the secret pros- elyte of Jesus, ventures to interfere in his behalf; and though, with the utmost cau- tion, he appeals to the law, and asserts the injustice of condemning Jesus without a hearing (he seems to have desired that Jesus might be admitted publicly to plead his own cause before the Sanhedrin), he is accused by the more violent of leaning to the Galilean party—the party which bore its own condemnation in the simple fact of adhering to a Galilean prophet. The council dispersed without coming to any decision. On the next day, for the former transac- Woman tions had taken place in the earlier taken in part of the week, the last, the most a UI®ry* crowded and solemn day of the festival, a more insidious attempt is made, whether from a premeditated or fortuitous circumstance, to undermine the growing popularity of Jesus; an attempt to make him assume a judicial authority in the case of a woman taken in the act of adultery. Such an act would probably have been re- sisted by the whole Sanhedrin as an inva- sion of their province ; and as it appeared that he must either acquit or condemn the criminal, in either case he would give an advantage to his adversaries. If he in- clined to severity, they might be able, not- withstanding the general benevolence of his character, to contrast their own leni- ency in the administration of the law (this was the characteristic of the Phar- isaic party which distinguished them from the Sadducees, and of this the Rab- binical writings furnish many curious illus- trations) with the rigour of the new teach- er, and thus to conciliate the naturally compassionate feelings of the people, vhich would have been shocked by the inusual spectacle of a woman suffering death, or even condemned to capital pun- ishment, for such an offence.* If, on the other hand, he acquitted her, he abrogated the express letter of the Mosaic statute ; and the multitude might be inflamed by this new evidence of that which the ruling- party had constantly endeavoured to instil into their minds, the hostility of Jesus to the law of their forefathers, and his secret design of abolishing the whole long-rev- erenced and heaven-enacted code. No- thing can equal, if the expression may be ventured, the address of Jesus in extri- cating himself from this difficulty; his * Grotius has a different view : Ut eurn accusa- rent ant apud Romanos incirninutae majestatis, ant apud populum imminutse libertatis. That they mi"ht accuse him to the Romans of encroaching on their authority, or to the people of surrendering their rights and independence. turning the current of popular odium, or even contempt, upon his assailants; the manner in which, by summoning them to execute the law, he extorts a tacit confes- sion of their own loose morals : “ He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her” (this being the office of the chief accuser) ; and finally shows mercy to the accused, without in the least inval- idating the‘decision of the law against the crime, yet not without the most gentle and effective moral admonition. After this discomfiture of his opponents, Jesus appears to have been per- jeSusteach- mitted to pursue his course of e* in tne teaching undisturbed, until new Temple’ circumstances occurred to inflame the re- sentment of his enemies. He had taken his station in a part of the Temple court called the Treasury. His language be- came more mysteiious, yet, at the same time, more authoritative; more full of those allusions to his character as the Messiah,Ho his Divine descent, and at length to his pre-existence. The former of these were in some degree familiar to the popular conception ; the latter, though it entered into the higher notion of the Messiah, which was prevalent among those who entertained the loftiest views of his character, nevertheless, from the man- ner in which it was expressed, jarred with the harshest discord upon the popular ear. They listened with patience to Jesus while he proclaimed himself the light of the world: though they questioned his right to assume the title of “ Son of the Heav- enly Father” without farther witness than he had already produced, they yet permit- ted him to proceed in his discourse : they did not interrupt him when he still farther alluded, in dark and ambiguous terms, to his own fate : when he declared that God was with him, and that his doctrines were pleasing to the Almighty Father, a still more favourable impression was made, and many openly espoused his belief; but when he touched on their rights and priv- ileges as descendants of Abraham,' the sub- ject on which, above all, they were most jealous and sensitive, the collision became inevitable. He spoke of their freedom, the moral freedom from the slavery or their own passions, to which they were to be exalted by the revelation of the truth; but freedom was a word which to them only bore another sense. They broke it; at once with indignant denial that the race of Abraham, however the Roman troops were guarding their Temple, had ever for- feited their national independence.* He * John, viii, 33.112 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. spoke as if the legitimacy of their descent from Abraham depended not on their he- reditary genealogy, but on the moral evi- dence of their similarity in virtue to theiy great forefather. The good, the pious, the gentle Abraham was not the father of those who were meditating the murder of an innocent man. If their fierce and san- guinary dispositions disqualified them from being the children of Abraham-* how much more from being, as they boasted, the adopted children of God ; the spirit of evil, in whose darkest and most bloody temper they were ready to act, was rather the parent of men with dispositions so diabol- ic.* At this their wrath bursts forth in more unrestrained vehemence ; the worst and most bitter appellations by which a Jew could express his hatred, were heaped on Jesus; he is called a Samaritan, and declared to be under dasmoniac possession. But when Jesus proceeded to assert his title to the Messiahship, by proclaiming that Abraham had received some intima- tion of the future great religious revolu- tion to be effected by him ; when he was “not fifty years old” (that is, not arrived at that period when the Jews, who assu- med the public offices at thirty, were re- leased from them on account of their age), declared that he had existed before Abra- ham ; when he thus placed himself, not merely on an equality with, but asserted his immeasurable superiority to, the great father of their race ; when he uttered the awful and significant words which identi- fied him, as it were, with the great self- existent Deity, “ Before Abraham was, I am,” they immediately rushed forward to crush‘without trial, without-farther hear- ing, him whom they considered the self- convicted blasphemer. As there was al- ways some work of building or repair go- ing on within the Temple, which was not considered to be. finished till many years after, these instruments for the fulfilment of the legal punishment were immediately at hand; and Jesus only escaped from be- ing stoned on the spot by passing, during the wild and frantic tumult, through the midst of his assailants, and withdrawing from the court of the Temple. But even in this exigency he pauses at Healing the no great distance to perform an blind man. act of mercy.'f There was a * John, viii,, 44. f I hesitate at the arrangement of no passage in the whole narrative more than this history of the blind man. Many harmonists have placed it du- ring the visit of Jesus to Jerusalem at, the Feast of Dedication. The connexion in the original, how- ever, seems more natural, as a continuation of the Preceding incident; yet at first sight it seems ex- man, notoriously blind from his birth, who seems to have taken his accustomed sta- tion in some way leading to the Temple. Some of the disciples of Jesus had accom- panied him, and perhaps, as it were, cov- ered his retreat from his furious assail- ants ; and as by this time, probably, being safe from pursuit, they stopped near the place where the blind man stood. The ■whole history of the cure of this blind man is remarkable, as singularly illustra- tive of Jewish feeling and opinion, and on account both of the critical juncture at which it took place, and the strict judicial investigation which it seems to have un- dergone before the hostile Sanhedrin. The common popular belief ascribed every malady or affliction to some sin, of which it was the direct and providential punish- ment : a notion, as we have before hinted, of all others the most likely to harden the bigoted heart to indifference, or even con- tempt and abhorrence of the heaven-visit- ed, and, therefore, heaven-branded sufferer. This notion, which, however, was so over- powered, by the strong spirit of national- ism as to obtain for the Jews in foreign countries the admiration of the heathen for their mutual compassion towards each other, while they had no kindly feeling for strangers, no doubt, from the language of Jesus on many occasions, exercised a most pernicious influence on the general character in their native land, where the lessons of Christian kindliness and human- ity appear to have been as deeply needed as they were unacceptable. But how was this notion of the penal nature of all suffer- tremely improbable that Jesus should have time, during his hurried escape, to work this miracle: and, still more, that he should again encounter his enraged adversaries without dangerous or fatal con- sequences. We may, however, suppose that this incident took place without the Temple, probably in the street leading down from the Temple to the Valley of Kidron and to Bethany, where Jesus spent the night. The attempt to stone him was an outburst, of popular tumult: it is clear that he had been guilty of no offence legally capital, or it would have been urged against him at his last trial, since witnesses could not have been wanting -0 hi? words : and it seems quite clear that, however they might, have been glad to have availed themselves of any such ebullition of popular violence, as a court, the Sanhedrin, divided and in awe of the Roman power, was constrained to proceed with regularity and according to the strict letter of the law. Mac knight would place the cilre immediately after the escape from the Temple; the recognition of the man, and the subsequent proceedings, during the visit at the Dedication. But, in fact, the popular feeling seems to have been in a perpetual state of fluctuation ; at one instant their indignation was in- flamed by the language of Jesus; at the next, some one of his extraordinary works seems to have caused as strong a sensation, at least with a considerable party, in his favour.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 113 mg to be reconciled with the fact of a man being born subject to one of*the most grievous afflictions of our nature—the want of sight 1 They were thus thrown back upon those other singular notions which prevailed among the Jews of that period : either his fathers or himself must have* sinned. Was it, then, a malady in- herited from the guilt of his parents! or was the soul, having sinned in a pre-exist- ent state, now expiating its former of- fences in the present form of being 1 This notion, embraced by Plato in the West, was more likely to have been derived by the Jews from the East,* where it may be regularly traced from India through the different Oriental religions. Jesus at once corrected this inveterate error; and, having anointed the eyes Of the blind man with clay, sent him to wash in the celebrated pool of Siloam, at no great distance from the street of the Temple. The return of the blind man restored to sight excited so much astonishment, that the by-standers began to dispute whether he was really the same who had been so long familiarly known. The man set their doubts at rest by declaring himself to be the same. The Sanhedrin, now so actively watching the actions of Jesus, and, indeed, inflamed to the utmost resentment, had no course but, if possible, to invalidate the effect of such a miracle on the public mind ; they hoped either to detect some collusion between the parties, or to throw suspicion on the whole transaction: at all events, the case was so public, that they could not avoid bringing it under the cognizance of their tribunal.! The man was summoned, and, as it happened to have been the Sabbath, the stronger Pharisaic party were in hopes of getting rid of the question altogether by the immediate decision, that a man guilty of a violation of the law could not act under the sanction of God. But a con- siderable party in the Sanhedrin were still either too prudent, too just, or too much impressed by the evidence of the case to concur in so summary a sentence. This decision of the council appears to have led to. a more close investigation of the whole transaction. The first object appears to * It may be traced in the Egypto-Jewish book of lue Wisdom of Solomon, viii., 19, 20. The Phari- sees’ notion of the transmigration of souls may be found in Josephus, Ant., xviii., 1. t It is a curious coincidence, that anointing a blind man’s eyes on the Sabbath is expressly for oidden m the Jewish traditiqnal law —Kuinoel, m ioc. According to Grotius, opening the eyes of the blind was an acknowledged sign of the Messiah. —Midrash in Psalm cxlvi., 8. Isa,, xlii., 7, It was a miracle never known to be wrought by Moses or bv any other prophet P have been, by questioning the man him- self, to implicate him as an adherent of Jesus, and so to throw discredit upon his testimony. The man, either from caution, or ignorance of the character assumed by Jesus, merely replied that he believed him to be a prophet. Baffled on this point, the next step of the. Pharisaic party is to inquire into the nature of the malady and the cure. The parents of the blind man are examined ; their deposition simply af- firms the fact of their son having been born blind, and having received his sight; for it was now notorious that conduct of the Sanhedrin had threatened the .sanhedrin, all the partisans of Jesus with the terrible sentence of excommunication; and the timid parents, trembling before this awful tribunal, refer the judges to their son for all farther information on this perilous question. The farther proceedings of the Sanhe drin are still more remarkable : unable to refute the fact of the miraculous cure, they endeavour, nevertheless, to withhold from Jesus all claim upon the gratitude of him whom he had relieved, and all participa- tion in the power with which the instan- taneous cure was wrought. The man is exhorted to give praise for the blessing to God alone, and to abandon the cause of Jesus of Nazareth, whom they authorita- tively denounce as a sinner. He rejoins, with straightforward simplicity, that he simply deposes to the fact of his blindness, and of his having received his sight: on such high questions as the character of Jesus, he presumes not at first to dispute with the great legal tribunal, with the chosen wisdom of the nation. Wearied, however, at length with their pertinacious examination, the man seems to. discover the vantage ground on which he stands ; the altercation becomes more spirited on his part, more full of passionate violence on theirs. He declares that he has al- ready again and again repeated the cir- cumstances of the transaction, and that it is in vain for them to question him farther, unless, they are determined, if the truth of the miracle should be established, to ac- knowledge the Divine mission of Jesus. This seems to have been the object at which the more violent party in the San- hedrin aimed; so far to throw him off his guard as to make him avow himself the', partisan of Jesus, and by this means.,to. shake his whole testimony. On stant they begin to revile him, to appeal to the popular clamour, to declare.him.,a\ secret adherent of Jesus while theyvw;ere the steadfast disciples or Mc&ei '' Gqd was acknowledged to have spoken by.114 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Moses, and to compare Jesus with him was inexpiable impiety : Jesus, of whose origin they professed themselves ignorant. The man rejoins in still bolder terms, “ Why, herein is a marvellous thing, that ye know not from whence he is, but yet he hath opened mine eyes.” He continues in the same strain openly to assert his conviction that no man, unless commis- sioned by God, could work such wonders. Their whole history, abounding, as it did, with extraordinary events, displayed no- thing more wonderful than that which had so recently taken place in his person. This daring and disrespectful language excites the utmost indignation in the whole as- sembly. They revert to the popular opin- ion, that the blindness with which the man was born was a proof of his having been accursed of God. “ Thou wast altogether born in sin, and dost thou teach us 1” God marked thy very birth, thy very cradle, with the indelible sign of his displeasure ; and therefore the testimony of one branded by the wrath of Heaven can be of no value. Forgetful that, even on their own principle, if, by being born blind, the man was manifestly an object of the Divine anger, his gaining his sight was an evi- dence equally unanswerable of the Divine favour. But, while they traced the hand of God in the curse, they refused to trace it in the blessing; to close the eyes was a proof of Divine power, but to open them none whatever. The fearless conduct, however, of the man appears to have united the divided council; the formal and terrible sentence of excommunication was pronounced, probably for the first time, against any adherent of Jesus. The evan- gelist concludes the narrative, as if to show that the man was not as yet a declared disciple of Christ, with a second interview between the blind man and Jesus, in which Jesus openly accepted the title of the Mes-' siah, the Son of God, and received the homage of the now avowed adherent. Nor did Jesus discontinue his teaching on account of this declared interposition of the Sanhedrin; his manifest superiority throughout this transaction rather appears to have caused a new schism in the coun- cil, which secured him from any violent measures on their part until the termina- tion of the festival. Another collision takes place with some of the Pharisaic party, with whom he now seems scarcely to keep any measure : he . openly denounces them as misleading the people, and declares himself the “ one true Shepherd.” Whither Jesus retreated after this conflict with the ruling powers, we have no distinct information ; most proba- bly, however, into Galilee nor is it pos- sible with certainty to assign those events, which filled up the period between the autumnal Feast of Tabernacles and that of the Dedication of the Temple, which took place in the winter. Now, however, Jesus appears more distinctly to have avowed his determination not to remain in his more concealed and private charac- ter in Galilee; but, when the occasion should demand, when, at the approaching Passover, the whole nation should be as- sembled in the metropolis, he would con- front them, and at length bring his accept- ance or rejection to a crisis.f He now, at times at least, assumes greater state ; messengers are sent before him to pro- claim his arrival in the different towns and villages; and, as the. Feast of Dedication draws near, he approaches the N borders of Samaria, and sends JNearfeam‘,ru forward some of his followers into a neigh- bouring village to announce his approach.^ Whether the Samaritans may have enter- tained some hopes, from the rumour of his former proceedings in their country, that, persecuted by the Jews, and avow- edly opposed to the leading parties in Jeru- salem, he might espouse their party in the national quarrel, and were therefore in- stigated by disappointment as well as jeal- ousy ; or whether it was merely an acci- dental outburst of the old irreconcilable feud, the inhospitable village refused to receive him.§ The disciples were now elate with the expectation of the approach- ing crisis ; on their minds all the dispirit- ing predictions of the fate of their Master * From this period, the difficulty of arranging a consistent chronological narrative out of the sep- arate relations of the evangelists increases to the greatest degree. Mr. Greswell, to establish his sys- tem, is actually obliged to make Jesus, when the Samaritans refuse to receive him because “ his face was as though he would go to Jerusalem,” to be travelling in the directly opposite direction. He likewise, in my opinion, on quite unsatisfactory grounds, endeavours to prove that the “village of Martha and Mary was not Bethany.” Any arrange- ment which places (Luke, x., 38-42) the scene in the house of Mary and Martha after the raising of Lazarus, appears highly improbable. f By taking the expression of St. Luke, “ he steadfastly set his face to go to Jerusalem,” in this more general sense, many difficulties, if not avoided, are considerably diminished. $ Luke, ix., 51-5C. § The attendance of the Jews at the Feast of the Dedication, a solemnity of more recent institu- tion, was not unlikely to be still more obnoxious to the possessors of the rival temple than the.other great national feasts. This consideration, in the want of more decisive grounds, may be some argu- ment for placing this event at the present period. I find that Doddridge had before suggested this al- lusion. The inhabitants of Ginea (Josephus, Ant., xx , ch. 6) fell on certain Galileans proceeding to Jerusalem for one of the feasts, and slew many ot them.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 115 passed away without the least impression; they were indignant that their triumphant procession should be arrested; and with these more immediate and peculiar mo- tives mingled, no doubt, the implacable spirit of national hostility. They thought that the hour of vengeance was now come; that even their gentle Master would resent, on these deadliest foes of the race of Is- real, this deliberate insult on his dignity; that, as he had in some respects resem- bled the ancient prophets, he would now not hesitate to assume that fiercer and more terrific majesty, with which, accord- ing to their ancient histories, these holy men had at times been avenged; they en- treated their Master to call down fire from heaven to consume the village. Jesus simply replied by a sentence which at once established the incalculable differ- ence between his own religion and that which it was to succeed. This sentence, most truly sublime and most character- istic of the evangelic religion, ever since the establishment of Christianity has been struggling to maintain its authority against the still-reviving Judaism, which, insep- arable, it should seem, from uncivilized and unchristian man, has constantly endeav- oured to array the Deity rather in his at- tributes of destructive power than of pre- serving mercy : “ The Son of Man is not 2ome to destroy men’s lives, buy to save /hem.!’ So speaking, he left the inhospi- table Samaritans unharmed, and calmly passed to another village. It appears to me probable that he here left the direct road to the metropolis through Samaria, and turned aside to the district about Scythopolis and the valley of the Jordan, and most likely crossed into Pereea.* From hence, if not before, he sent out his messengers with greater regularity ;f and, it might seem, to keep up some resemblance with the established institutions of the nation, he chose the number of Seventy, a number already sanctified in the notions of the people as that of the great Sanhedrin of the nation, who deduced their o wn origin and author- ity from the Council of Seventy establish- ed by Moses in the wilderness. The Sev- enty, after a short absence, returned and made a favourable report of the influence which they had obtained over the people. J The language of Jesus, both in his charge to his disciples and in his observations on the report of their success, appears to * After the visit to Jerusalem at the Feast of the Dedication, he went again (John, x., 40) into the ''ountry beyond Jordan; he must therefore have Doen there before the Feast. ♦ Luke, x., 1-16. t h>id., 17-20. indicate the still approaching crisis; it should seem that even the towns in which he had wrought his mightiest works, Cho- razin, Bethsaida, and Capernaum, at least the general mass of the people and the influential rulers,now had declared against him. They are condemned in terms of unusual severity for their blindness ; yet among the meek and humble he had a still increasing hold; and the days were now at hand which the disciples were per- mitted to behold, and for which the wise and good for many ages had been looking forward with still baffled hopes.* It was during the absence of the Seven- ty, or immediately after their Feast of the return, that Jesus,-who perhaps ^sus aiSn had visited, in the interval, many m jerusa- towns and villages both of Gal- lem. ilee and Peraea, which his central position near the Jordan commanded, descended to the winter Festival of the Dedication.! Once it is clear that he drew near to Je- rusalem, at least as near as the village of Bethany; and, though not insensible to the difficulties of this view, we cannot but think that this village, about two miles’ distance from Jerusalem, and the house of the relations of Lazarus, was the place where he was concealed during both his two later unexpected and secret visits to the metropolis, and where he, in general, passed the nights during the week of the last Passover.J His appearance at this festival seems to have been, like the for- mer, sudden and unlooked-for. The mul- titude probably at this time was not so great, both on account of the season, and because the festival was kept in other pla- * Luke, x., 24. The parable of the good Samar- itan may gain in impressiveness if considered in connexion with the recent transactions in Samaria, and as perhaps delivered during the journey to Je- rusalem, near the place where the scene is laid: the wild and dangerous country between Jericho and Jerusalem. t This feast was instituted by Judas Maccabeus, I Macc., iv., 52-56. It was kept on the 25th of the month Cisleu, answering to our 15th of December. The houses were illuminated at night during the whole period of the feast, which lasted eight days. —John, x., 22-39. ! In connecting Luke, x., 38-42, with John, x., 22-39, there is the obvious difficulty of the former evangelist mentioning the comparatively unimpor- tant circumstance which he relates, and being en- tirely silent about the latter. But this objection is common to all harmonies of the Gospels. The si- lence of the three former evangelists concerning the events in Jerusalem is equally remarkable un der every system, whether, according, to Bishop Marsh and the generality of the great German scholars, we suppose the evangelists to have com- piled from a common document, or adhere to any of the older theories, th^t each wrote either entire- ly independently or $s supplementary to the prece- ding evangelists.116 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ces besides Jerusalem,* though, of course, with the greatest splendour and concourse .in the Temple itself. Jesus was seen walking in one of the porticoes or arcades which surrounded the outer court of the Temple, that to the east, which, from its greater splendour, being formed of a triple instead of a double row of columns, was called by the name of Solomon’s. The leading Jews, whether unprepared for more violent measures, or with some in- sidious design, now address him, seem- ingly neither in a hostile nor unfriendly tone. It almost appears that, having be- fore attempted force, they are now incli- ned to try the milder course of persuasion; their language sounds like the expostula- tion of impatience. Why, they inquire, does he thus continue to keep up this strange excitement 1 Why thus persist in endangering the public peace 1 Why does he not avow himself at once 1 Why does he not distinctly assert himself to be the Christ, and by some signal, some public, some indisputable evidence of his being the Messiah, at once set at rest the doubts, and compose the agitation of the troubled nation 1 The answer of Jesus is an ap- peal to the wonderful works which he had already wrought; but this evidence the Jews, in their present state and disposi- tion of mind, were morally incapable of appreciating. He had already avowed himself, but in language unintelligible to their ears; a few had heard him, a few would receive the reward of their obedi- ence, and those few were, in the simple phrase, the sheep who heard his voice. But, as he proceeded, his language assu- med a higher, a more mysterious tone. He spoke of his unity with the great Fa- ther of the worlds. “ I and my Father are one.”f However understood, his words sounded to the Jewish ears so like direct blasphemy, as again to justify on the spot the summary punishment of the law. Without farther trial, they prepared to stone him where he stood. Jesus ar- rested their fury on the instant by a calm appeal to the manifest moral goodness, as well as the physical power, of the Deity displayed in his works. The Jews, in plain terms, accused him of blasphemous- ly ascribing to himself the title of God. He replied by reference to their sacred books, in which they could not deny that the Divine name was sometimes ascribed to beings of an inferior rank; how much less, therefore, ought they to be indignant at that sacred name being assumed by him, in whom the great attributes of Di- * Lightfcot, in loco. f John, x , 30. vmity, both the power and the goodness had thus manifestly appeared. His won- derful works showed the intercommunion of nature in this respect between himself and the Almighty. This explanation, fai beyond their moral perceptions, only ex: cited a new burst of fury, which Jesus eluded, and, retiring again from the capi- tal, returned to the district beyond the Jordan. The three months which elapsed be- tween the Feast of Dedication periodhe- and the Passover* were no doubt tween the occupied in excursions, if not in Dedication regular progresses, through the and the different districts of the Holy Passover- Land, on both sides of the river, which his central position, near one of the most cel- ebrated fords, was extremely well suited to command. Wherever he went, multi- tudes assembled around him ; and at one time the government of Herod was seized with alarm, and Jesus received informa- tion that his life was in danger, and that he might apprehend the same fate which had befallen John the Baptist if he re- mained in Galilee or Peraea, both which districts were within the dominions of Herod. It is remarkable that this intelli- gence came from some of the Pharisaic party,| whether suborned by Herod, thus peacefully, and without incurring any far- ther unpopularity, to rid his dominions of one who might become either the design- ing or the innocent cause of tumult and confusion (the reflection of Jesus on the crafty character of _ HerodJ may confirm the notion that the Pharisees were acting under his insidious direction), or whether the Pharisaic party were of themselves desirous to force Jesus, before the Pass- over arrived, into the province of Judaea, where the Roman government might ei- ther, of itself, be disposed to act with de- cision, or might grant permission to the Sanhedrin to interpose its authority with the utmost rigour. But it was no doubt in this quarter that he received intelligence of a very different nature, that led to one of his preternatural works, which of itself * Luke, xi., xii., xiii., to verse 30, also to xviii , 34. Matt., xix., xx., to verse 28. Mark, x., 1-31. f Luke, xii., 31-35. t Wetstein has struck out the character of Her- od with great strength and success: “Hie, ut plerique ejus temporis principes et prsesides, mores ad exemplum Tiberii imperatoris, qui nullain ex virtutibus suis magis quam dissimulationem dilige bat, composuit; tunc autem erat armosa vulpes, cum jam triginta annos principatum gessisset, et diversissimas personas egisset, personam servi apud Tiberium, domini apud Galileam, amici Sejano, Ar- tabano, fratribus suis Archelao, Philippo, Herodi al- teri, quorum studia erarit diversissima, et inter se et a studiis Herodis ipsius.”—In loe.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 117 was the most extraordinary, and evidently made the deepest impression upon the public mind.* The raising of Lazarus may he considered the proximate cause of the general conspiracy for his death, by throwing the popular feeling more deci- dedly on his side, and thereby deepening the fierce animosity of the rulers, who now saw that they had no alternative but to crush him at once, or to admit his tri- umph. We have supposed that it was at the Raising of house of Lazarus, or of his rela- Lazarus. tives, in the village of Bethany, that Jesus had passed the nights during his recent visits to Jerusalem: at some distance from the metropolis he receives information of the dangerous illness of that faithful adherent, whom he seems to have honoured with peculiar attachment. He at first assures his followers, in ambig- uous language, of the favourable termina- tion of the disorder; and, after two days’ delay, notwithstanding the remonstrances of his disciples, who feared that he was precipitately rushing, as it were, into the toils of his enemies, and who resolve to accompany him, though in acknowledged apprehension that his death was inevita- ble, Jesus first informs his disciples of the actual death of Lazarus, yet, nevertheless, persists in his determination of visiting Bethany. On his arrival at Bethany, the dead man, who, according to Jewish usage, had no doubt been immediately buried, had been four days in the sepulchre. The house was full of Jews, who had come to console, according to their custom, the af- flicted relatives ; and the characters as- signed in other parts of the history to the two sisters are strikingly exemplified in their conduct on this mournful occasion. The more active Martha hastens to meet Jesus, laments his absence at the time of her brother’s death, and, on his declara- tion of the resurrection of her brother, re- verts only to the general resurrection of mankind, a truth imbodied in a certain sense in the Jewish creed. So far Christ answers in language which intimates his own close connexion with that resurrec- tion of mankind. The gentler Mary falls at the feet of Jesus, and, with many tears, expresses the same confidence of his pow- er, had he been present, of averting her brother’s death. So deep,1 however, is their reverence, tint neither of them ven- tures the slightest word of expostulation at his delay; nor does either appear to have entertained the least hope of farther relief. The tears of Jesus himself appear to confirm the notion that the case is ut- terly desperate ; and some of the Jews, in a less kindly spirit, begin to murmur at his apparent neglect of a friend, to whom, nevertheless, he appears so tenderly at- tached. It should seem that it was in the presence of some of these persons, by no means well-disposed to his cause, that Je- sus proceeded to the sepulchre, summoned the dead body to arise, and was obeyed. The intelligence of this inconceivable event spread with the utmost rapidity to Jerusalem : the Sanhedrin was instantly summoned, and a solemn debate com- menced, finally to decide on their future proceedings towards Jesus. It had now become evident that his progress in the popular belief must be at once arrested, or the power of the Sanhedrin, the influence of the Pharisaic party, was lost for ever. With this may have mingled, in minds en- tirely ignorant of the real nature of‘the new religion, an honest and conscientious, though blind dread of some tumult or in- surrection taking place, which would give the Romans an excuse for wresting away the lingering semblance of national inde- pendence, to which they adhered with such passionate attachment. The high- priesthood was now filled by Caiaphas, the son-in-law of Annas or Ananus ; for the Roman governors, as has been said, since the expulsion of Archelaus, either in the capricious or venal wantonness of power, or from jealousy of his authority, had perpetually deposed and reappointed this chief civil and religious magistrate of the nation. Caiaphas threw the weight of his official influence into the scale of the more decided and violent party; and endeavoured, as it were, to give an ap- pearance of patriotism to the meditated crime, by declaring the expediency of sac- rificing one life, even though innocent, for the welfare of the whole nation.* His language was afterward treasured in the memory of the Christians, as inadvertently prophetic of the more extensive benefits derived to mankind by the death of their Master. The death of Jesus was deliber- ately decreed; but Jesus for the present avoided the gathering storm, withdrew from the neighbourhood of the metropolis, and retired to Ephraim, on the border of Judaea, near the wild and mountainous region which divided Judaea from Sa- maria.f * John, xf, 1-46. * John, xi., 47-53. f Ibid., 54.118 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. CHAPTER VIL THE LAST PASSOVER.—THE CRUCIFIXION. The Passover rapidly approached ; the Last Pass- roads from all quarters were al- °ver- ready crowded with the assem- bling worshippers. It is difficult for those who are ignorant of the extraordinary power which local religious reverence holds over Southern and Asiatic nations, to imagine the state of Judaea and of Je- rusalem at the time of this great periodi- cal festival.* The rolling onward of countless and gathering masses of popu- lation to some of the temples in India; the caravans from all. quarters of the Eastern world, which assemble at Mecca during the Holy Season; the multitudes which formerly flowed to Loretto or Rome at the great ceremonies, when the Roman Catholic religion held its unenfee- bled sway over the mind of Europe, do not surpass, perhaps scarcely equal, the sudden, simultaneous confluence, not of the population of a single city, but of the whole Jewish nation, towards the capital of Judaea at the time of the Passover. Dispersed as they were throughout the world, it was not only the great mass of the inhabitants of Palestine, but many foreign Jews, who thronged from every quarter—from Babylonia, from Arabia, from Egypt, from Asia Minor and Greece, from Italy, probably even from Gaul and Spain. Some notion of the density and vastness of the multitude may be formed from the calculation of Josephus, who, having ascertained the number of paschal lambs sacrificed on one of these solemn .occasions, which amounted to 256,500,f and assigning the ordinary number to a company who could partake of the same victim, enumerated the total number of the pilgrims and residents in Jerusalem at 2,700,000. Through all this concourse of the whole Jewish race, animated more or less profoundly, according to their pe- culiar temperament, with the same na- tional and . religious feelings, rumours about the appearance, the conduct, the pretensions, the language of Jesus, could * Mvpioi airo pvpLov offov ttoIsqv, oi jusv Sta YVC, oi 6e dia e% avaroTirjg Kal dvoeog, kal ap/cTOv Kal fiearjpdplac, KaO’ eKaarriv koprrjv ek to lepov KaTaipovoiv.—Philo, de Monarch., 821. 1 Or, according to Mr. Gres well’s reading, 266,500, not but have spread abroad, and be com- municated with unchecked rapidit)7-. The utmost anxiety prevails throughout the whole crowded city and its neighbour- hood, to ascertain whether this new prophet—this more, perhaps, than proph- et—will, as it were, confront at this sol- emn period the assembled nation, or, as on the last occasion, remain concealed in the remote parts of the country. The Sanhedrin are on their guard, and strict injunctions are issued that they may re- ceive the earliest intelligence of his ap- proach, in order that they may arrest him before he has attempted to make any im- pression on the multitude.* Already Jesus had either crossed the Jordan, or descended from the hill coun- try to the north. He had passed through Jericho, where he had been recognised by two blind men as the Son of David, the title of the Messiah, probably the most prevalent among the common people and, instead of disclaiming the homage he had rewarded the avowal by the res- toration of their sight to the suppliants.f On his way from Jericho to Jerusalem, but much nearer to the metropo- lis, he was hospitably received acc ens' in the house of a wealthy publican named Zaccheus, who had been so impressed with the report of his extraordinary char- acter, that, being of small stature, he had climbed a tree by the roadside to see him pass by; and had evinced the sin- cerity of his belief in the just and gener- ous principles of the new faith, both by giving up at once half of his property to the poor, and offering the amplest, restitu- tion to those whom he might have op- pressed in the exercise of his function as a publican.J It is probable that Jesus passed the night, perhaps the whole of the Sabbath, in the house of Zaccheus, and set forth, on the first day of the week, through the villages of Bethphage and Bethany to Jerusalem. Let us, however, before we trace his progress, pause to ascertain, if possible, the actual state of feeling at this precise period among the different ranks and or- ders of the Jews. * John, xi., 55, 57. t Matt., xx , 30. Mark, x., 46. Luke, xviik, 35 j Luke, xix , 1-10.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 119 jesus of Nazareth had now, for three years, assumed the character of a public teacher ; his wonderful works were gen- erally acknowledged; all, no doubt, con- sidered him as an extraordinary being; but whether he was the Messiah still, as it were, hung in the balance. .His lan- guage, plain enough , to those who could comprehend the real superiority, the real divinity of his character, was necessarily dark and ambiguous to those who were insensible to the moral beauty of his words and actions. Few, perhaps, be- yond his more immediate followers, look- ed upon him with implicit faith; many with doubt, even with hope ; perhaps still greater numbers, comprising the more turbulent of the lower class, and almost all the higher and more influential, with incredulity, if not with undisguised ani- mosity. For, though thus for three years he had kept the public mind in suspense as to his being the promised Redeemer, of those circumstances to which the pop- ular passions had looked forward as the only certain signs of the Messiah’s com- ing ; those which, among the mass of the community, were considered inseparable from the commencement of the kingdom of heaven—the terrific, the awful, the na- tional—not one had come to pass. The deliverance of the nation from the Ro- man yoke was as remote as ever; the governor had made but a short time, per-,, haps a year, before, a terrible assertion of his supremacy, by defiling the Temple itself with the blood of the rebellious or unoffending Galileans. The Sanhedrin, imperious during his absence, quailed and submitted whenever the tribunal of Pilate was erected in the metropolis. The pub- licans, those unwelcome remembrancers of the subjugation of the country, were still abroad in every town and village, lev- ying the hateful tribute ; and, instead of joining in the popular clamour against these agents of a foreign rule, or even reprobating their extortions, Jesus had treated them with his accustomed equa- ble gentleness ; he had entered familiarly into their houses ; one of his constant followers, one of his chosen twelve, was of this proscribed and odious profession. Thus, then, the fierce and violent, the ah sectshos- avowed or the secret partisans me to Jesus. 0f the Galilean Judas, and all who, without having enrolled themselves in his sect, inclined to the same opinions, if not already inflamed against Jesus, were at least ready to take fire on the in- stant that his success might appear to en- danger their schemes and visions of inde- pendence : and their fanaticism once in- flamed, no considerations of humanity or justice would arrest its course or assuage its violence. To every sect Jesus had been equally uncompromising; to the Pharisees he had always pro- ThePhar- clsCimed the most undisguised op- im- position ; and if his language rises from its gentle and persuasive, though authori- tative tone, it is ever in inveighing against the hypocrisy, the avarice, the secret vices of this class, whose dominion over the public mind it was necessary to shake with a strong hand; all communion with whose peculiar opinions it was incumbent on the teacher of purer virtue to disclaim in the most unmeasured terms.* But this hostility to the Pharisaic party was likely to operate unfavourably to the cause of Jesus, not only with the party itself, but with the great mass of the lower orders. If there be in man a natural love of inde- pendence both in thought and action, there is among the vulgar, especially in a nation so superstitious as the Jews, a reverence, even a passionate attachment to religious tyranny. The bondage in which the mi- nute observances of the traditionists, more like those of the Brahminical Indians than the free and more generous institutes of their lawgiver, had fettered the whole life of the Jew, was nevertheless a source of satisfaction and pride; and the offer of deliverance from this inveterate slavery would be received by most with unthank- fulness or suspicion. Nor can any teach- er of religion, however he may appeal to the better feelings and to the reason, with- out endangering his influence over the common people, permit himself to be out- done in that austerity which they ever consider the sole test of favour and sin- cerity. Even those less enslaved to the traditionary observances, the law- The law- yers (perhaps the religious ances- yers- tors of the Karaites!), who adhered more closely, and confined their precepts to the sacred books, must have trembled and re- coiled at the manner in which Jesus as- sumed an authority above that of Moses or the prophets. With the Sad- The sad- ducees Jesus had come less fre- ducees- quently into collision: it is probable that this sect prevailed chiefly among the aris- tocracy of the larger cities and the me- tropolis, while Jesus in general mingled with the lower orders ; and the Sadducees were less regular attendants in the syna- * Luke, xi., 39-54. + The Karaites among the later Jews were the Protestants of Judaism (see Hist, of Jews, iii., p.‘ 223). It is probable that a party of this nature ex- isted much earlier, though by no means numerous or influential.120 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. gogues and schools, where he was wont to deliver his instructions. ■ They, in all likelihood, were less possessed than the rest of the nation with the expectation of the Messiah; at all events, they rejected as innovations not merely the Babylonian notions about the angels and the resurrec- tion, which prevailed in the rest of the community, but altogether disclaimed these doctrines, and professed themselves adherents of the original simple Mosaic Theocracy. Hence, though on one or two occasions they appear to have joined in the general confederacy to arrest his prog- ress, the Sadducees in general would look on with contemptuous indifference ; and although the declaration 01 eternal life mingled with the whole system of the teaching of Jesus, yet it was not till his resurrection had become the leading arti- cle of the new faith—till Christianity was thus, as it were, committed in irreconci- lable hostility with the main principle of their creed—that their opposition took a more active turn; and, from the accidental increase of their weight in the Sanhedrin, came into perpetual and terrible collision with the apostles. The only point of union which the Sadducaic party would possess with the Pharisees would be the most extreme jealousy of the abrogation of the law, the exclusive feeling of its su- perior sanctity, wisdom, and irrepealable authority: on this point the spirit of na- tionality would draw together these two conflicting parties, who would vie with each other in the patriotic, the religious vigilance with which they would seize on any expression of Jesus which might im- ply the abrogation of the divinely-inspired institutes of Moses, or even any material innovation on the strict letter. But, be- sides the general suspicion that Jesus was assuming an authority above, in some cases contrary to, the law, there were other tri- fling circumstances which threw doubts on that genuine and unconstrained Juda- ism which the nation in general would have imperiously demanded from their Messiah. There seems to have been some apprehension, as we have before stated, of his abandoning his ungrateful countrymen, and taking refuge among a foreign race.; and his conduct towards the Samaritans was directly contrary to the strongest Jewish prejudices. On more than one in- stance, even if his remarkable conduct and language during his first journey through Samaria had not transpired, he had avow- edly discountenanced that implacable na- tional hatred, which no one can ever at- tempt to allay without diverting it, as it were, on his own head. He had adduced I the example of a Samaritan, as the only one of the ten lepers* who showed either ! gratitude to his benefactor or piety to God ; and in the exquisite apologue of the good Samaritan, he had placed the Priest and the Levite in a most unfavourable light, as contrasted with the descendant of that hated race. Yet there could be no doubt that he had already avowed himself to be the Jesurthe Messiah : his harbinger, the Bap- Mes,siali- tist, had proclaimed the rapid, the instan- taneous approach of the kingdom of Christ: of that kingdom Jesus himself hao spoken as commencing, as having already commenced; but whene were the outward, the visible, the undeniable signs of sover- eignty! He had permitted himself, both in private and in public, to be saluted as the Son of David, an expression which was equivalent to a claim to the hereditary throne of David : but still, to the common eye, he appeared the same lowly and un- royal being as when he first set forth as a teacher through the villages of Galilee. As to the nature of this kingdom, even to his closest followers, his language was most perplexing and contradictory. An unworldly kingdom, a moral dominion, a purely religious community, held together only by the bond of common faith, was so unlike the former intimate union of civil and religious polity, so diametrically op- posite to the first principles of their The- ocracy, as to he utterly unintelligible. The real nature and design of the new re- ligion seemed altogether beyond their comprehension; and it is most remarkable to trace it, as it slowly, dawned on the minds of the apostles themselves, and gradually, after the death of Jesus, extend- ed its horizon till it comprehended all mankind within its expanding view. To be in the highest sense the religious an- cestors of mankind ; to be the authors, or, at least, the agents in the greatest moral revolution which has taken place in the world; to obtain an influence over the human mind, as much more extensive than that which had been violently ob- tained by the arms of Rome, as it was more conducive to the happiness of the human race ; to be the teachers and dis- seminators of doctrines, opinions, senti- ments, which, slowly incorporating them- selves, as it were, with the intimate es- sence of man’s moral being, were to work a gradual but total change : a change which, as to the temporal as well as the eternal destiny of our race, to those who look forward to the simultaneous progress * Luke, xvii., 18,HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 121 of human civilization and the genuine re- ligion of Jesus, is yet far from complete ; all this was too high, too remote, too mys- terious for the narrow vision of the Jew- ish people. They, as a nation, were bet- ter prepared, indeed, by already possessing the rudiments of-the new faith, for becom- ing the willing agents in this Divine work; on the other hand, they were in some re- spects disqualified by that very distinc- tion, which, by keeping them in rigid se- clusion from the rest of mankind, had ren- dered them, as it were, the faithful depos- itaries of the great principles of religion, the Unity of God. The peculiar privilege with which they had been intrusted for the benefit of mankind, had become, as it were, their exclusive property: nor were they willing indiscriminately to commu- nicate to others this their own distinctive prerogative. Those, for such doubtless there were, who pierced, though dimly, through the veil—the more reasoning, the more ad- vanced, the more philosophical—were lit- tle likely to espouse the cause of Jesus with vigour and resolution. Persons of, this character are usually too calm, dis- passionate, and speculative to be the ac- tive and zealous instruments jin a great religious revolution. It is probable that most of this class were either far gone in Oriental mysticism, or, in some instances, in the colder philosophy of the Greeks. For these Jesus was as much too plain and popular, as he was too gentle and peaceable for the turbulent. He was scarcely more congenial to the severe TheEs- and ascetic practices of the Essene senes, than to the fiercer followers of the Galilean Judas. Though the Essene might admire the exquisite purity of his moral teaching, and. the uncompromising firm- ness with which he repressed the vices of all ranks and parties; however he might be prepared for the abrogation of the cer- emonial law, and the substitution of the religion of the heart for that of the preva- lent outward forms, on his side he was too closely bound by his own monastic rules: his whole existence was recluse and contemplative. His religion was so altogether unfitted for aggression, as, how- ever apparently it might coincide with Christianity in some material points, in fact its vital system was repugnant to that of the new faith. Though, after strict in- vestigation, the Essene would admit the numerous candidates who aspired to unite themselves with his ccenobitic society, in which no one, according to Pliny’s ex- pression, was born, but which was always full, he would never seek proselytes, or use any active means for disseminating his principles ; and it is worthy of remark, that almost the only quarter of Palestine which Jesus does not appear to have vis- ited is the district near the Dead Sea, where the agricultural settlements of the Essenes were chiefly situated. While the mass of the community were hostile to Jesus, from his deficiency in the more imposing, the warlike, the destruc- tive signs of the Messiah’s power and glory; from his opposition to the genius and principles of the prevailing sects ; from his want of nationality, both as re- garded the civil independence and the ex- clusive religious superiority of the race of Abraham ; and from their own general in- capacity for comprehending the moral sub- limity of his teaching, additional, and not less influential motives conspired to in-, flame the animosity of the Ru- _ , lers. Independent of the dread of innovation, inseparable from establish- ed governments, they could not but dis- cern the utter incompatibility of their own rule with that of an unworldly Messiah.' They must abdicate at once, if not their civil office as magistrates, unquestionably their sovereignty over the public mind ; retract much which they had been teach- ing on the authority oTtheir fathers, the wise men; and submit, with the lowest and most ignorant, to be the humble scholars of the new Teacher. With all this mingled, no doubt, a real apprehen- sion of offending the Roman power. They could not but discern on how precarious a foundation rested, not only the feeble shadow of national independence, but even the national existence. A single mandate from the emperor, not unlikely to be pre- cipitately advised and relentlessly carried into execution, on the least appearance of tumult, by a governor of so decided a char- acter as Pontius Pilate, might annihilate at once all that remained of their civil, and even of their religious constitution. If we look forward, we find that, during the whole of the period which precedes the last Jewish war, the ruling authorities of the nation pursued the same cautious pol- icy. They were driven into the insurrec- tion, not by their own deliberate determi- nation, but by the uncontrollable fanati- cism of the populace. To every overture of peace they lent a willing ear; and their hopes of an honourable capitulation, by which the city might be spared the hor- rors of a storm, and the Temple be secured from desecration, did not expire till their party was thinned by the remorseless sword of the Idumean and the assassin, and the Temple had become the stronghold122 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. of one of the contending factions. Reli- gious fears might seem to countenance this trembling apprehension of the Roman power, for there is strong ground, both in Josephus and the Talmudic writings, for believing that the current interpretation of the phrophecies of Daniel designated the Romans as the predestined destroy- ers of the Theocracy.* And, however the more enthusiastic might look upon this only as one of the inevitable calamities which was to precede the appearance and final triumph of the Messiah, the less fer- vid faith of the older and more influential party was far more profoundly impressed with the dread of the impending ruin than elated with the remoter hope of final res- toration. The advice of Cai'aphas, there- fore, to sacrifice even an innocent, man for the safety of the state, would appear to them both sound and reasonable policy. We must imagine this suspense, this demeanour agitation of the crowded city, or of Jesus. we shall be unable fully to enter into the beauty of the calm and unosten- tatious dignity-with which Jesus pursues his course through the midst of this ter- rific tumult. He preserves the same equable composure in the triumphant pro- cession into the Temple and in the Hall of Pilate. Everything indicates his tran- quil conviction of his inevitable death; he foretels it, with all its afflicting circum- stances, to his disciples, incredulous al- most to the last to this alone of their Master’s declarations. At every step he feels himself more inextricably within the toils ; yet he moves onward with the self- command of a willing sacrifice, constant- ly dwelling, with a profound though chas- tened melancholy, on his approaching fate, and intimating that his death was neces- sary, in order to secure indescribable ben- efits for his faithful followers and for man- kind. Yet there is no needless exaspera- tion of his enemies ; he observes the ut- most prudence, though he seems so fully aware that his prudence can be of no avail; he never passes the night within the city ; and it is only by the treachery of one of * It is probable that, in the allusion of Jesus to the “ abomination of desolation,” the phrase was already applied by the popular apprehensions to some impending destruction by the Romans. Tov avrov tpotcov AavlrjXog feat 7Tepl rfiv Pw- ficutiv 7j-yep.ovLag av£-ypa'ipe> nal on viz' avrtiv eprj- acjd^oerai.—Ant., x., 2,7; and in the Bell. Jud., iv., 6, 3, the 7zpo(j)7/T8ia Kara rrjqKarptSog, referred to this interpretation of the verses of the prophet.— Compare Babyl. Talm., Gemara, Masseck Nasir, c. 5, Masseck Sanhedrin, c. 11. Jerusalem Tal- mud, Masseck Kelaim, c. 9. Bertholdt on Daniel, p.585. Compare, likewise, Jortin’s Eccl. Hist., i., 69. his followers that the Sanhedrin at length make themselves masters of his person. The Son of Man had now arrived at Bethany, and we must endeav- Difficu]ty ol our to trace his future proceed- chronoio-p- ings in a consecutive course ;* cal arran°re- but if it has been difficult t,o dis- menl‘ pose the events of the life of Jesus in the order of time, this difficulty increases as we approach its termination. However embarrassing this fact to those who re- quire something more than historical cred- ibility in the evangelical narratives, to those who are content with a lower and more rational view of their authority, it throws not the least suspicion on their truth. It might almost seem, at the pres* ent period, that the evangelists, con founded, as it were, and stunned with the deep sense of the importance of the crisis, however they might remember the facts, had in some degree perplexed and confu- sed their regular order. At Beth- jeSus m any he took up his abode in the Bethany, house of Simon, who had been a leper, and, it is not improbably conjectured, had been healed by the wonderful power of Jesus.f Simon was, in all likelihood, closely connected, though the degree of relationship is not intimated, with the family of Lazarus, for Lazarus was pres- ent at the feast, and it was conducted by Martha his sister. The fervent devotion of their sister Mary had been already in- dicated on two occasions ; and this pas- sionate zeal, now heightened by gratitude for the recent restoration of her brother to life, evinced itself in her breaking an alabaster box of very costly perfume, and anointing his head,} according, as we'have seen on a former occasion, to a usage not uncommon in Oriental banquets. It is possible that vague thoughts of the royal character, which she expected that Jesus was about to assume, might mingle with those purer feelings which led her to pay this prodigal homage to his person. The mercenary character of Judas now begins to be developed. Judas had been ap- pointed a kind of treasurer, and intrusted with the care of the common purse, from which the scanty necessities of the hum- ble and temperate society had been de- frayed, and the rest reserved for distribu- tion among the poor. Some others of the disciples had been seized with ast’on- * Matt., xxi., 1. Mark, xi., 1. Luke, xix., 28. John, xii., 1. f Matt., xxvi., 1-13. Mark, xiv., 3-9. John, xii., 1-11. (We follow St.John’s narrative in placing Lliis incident at the present period.) t See Psalm xxv., 5. Horat., Carm., ii., 11, 16. Martial, iii., 12, 4.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 123 ishment at this unusual and seemingly unnecessary waste of so valuable a com- modity : but Judas broke out into open remonstrance ; and, concealing his own avarice under the veil of charity for the poor, protested against the wanton prodi- gality. Jesus contented himself with praising the pious and affectionate devo- tion of the woman, and, reverting to his usual tone of calm melancholy, declared that, inadvertently, she had performed a more pious office, the anointing his body for his burial. The intelligence of the arrival of Jesus Jesus enters at Bethany spread rapidly to the Jerusalem in city, from which it was not quite triumph. two miles distant. Multitudes thronged forth to behold him : nor was Jesus the only object of interest; for the fame of the resurrection of Lazarus was widely disseminated, and the strangers in Jerusalem were scarcely less anxious to behold a man who had undergone a fate so unprecedented. Lazarus, thus an object of intense inter- est to the people,*-became one of no less jealousy to the ruling authorities, the ene- mies of Jesus. His death was likewise decreed, and the magistracy only awaited a favourable opportunity for the execution of their edicts. But the Sanhedrin is at first obliged to remain in overawed and trembling inactivity. The popular senti- ment is so decidedly in favour of Jesus of Nazareth, that they dare not venture to oppose his open, his public, his triumph- ant procession into the city, or his en- trance, amid the applauses of the wonder- ing multitude, into the Temple itself. On the morning of the second day of the Monday, week,f Jesus is seen, in the face of Nisan 2’ day, approaching one of the gates March. 0f ^ cjty vvhich looked towards Mount Olivet.f In avowed conformity to a celebrated prophecy of Zachariah, he appears riding on the yet unbroken colt of an ass ; the procession of his follow- ers, as he descends the side of the Mount of Olives, escort him with royal honours, and with exclamations expressive of his title of the Messiah, towards the city: many of them had been witnesses of the resurrection of Lazarus, and no doubt proclaimed, as they advanced, this extra- ordinary instance of power. They are met$ by another band advancing from the city, who receive him with equal homage, strew branches of palm and even their garments in his way ; and the Sanhedrin * John, xii., 9-11. f John, xii., 12. t Matt.., xxi., 1—10. Mark, xi., 1-10. Luke, xix., 29-40 John xii., 12-19. $ John, xii., 18. could not but hear within the courts of the Temple, the appalling proclamation, “ Hosannah, blessed is the King of Israel, that cometh in the name of the Lord.” Some of the Pharisees, who had mingled with the multitude, remonstrate with Je- sus, and command him to silence what, to their ears, sounded like the profane, the impious adulation of his partisans. Un- interrupted, and only answering that, if these Were silent, the stones on which he trod would bear witness, Jesus still ad- vances ; the acclamations become y< t louder; he is hailed as the Son of David, the rightful heir of David’s kingdom ; and the desponding Pharisees, alarmed at the complete mastery over the public mind which he appears to possess, withdraw ; for the present their fruitless opposition. On the declivity of the hill he pauses to behold the city at his feet, and something of that emotion, which afterward is ex- pressed with much greater fulness, be- trays itself in a few brief and emphatic sentences, expressive of the future miser- able destiny, of the devoted Jerusalem.* The whole crowded city is excited by this increasing tumult ; anxious inquiries about the cause, and the intelligence that it is the entrance of Jesus of Nazareth into the city, still heighten the universal suspense ;f and, even in the Tern-. Aceiama- ple itself, where perhaps the reli- tons in the gion of the place, or the expecta- Temple- tion of some public declaration, or perhaps of some immediate sign of his power, had caused a temporary silence among his older followers, the children prolong the acclamations and as the sick, the infirm, the afflicted with different mala- dies, are brought to him to be healed, and are restored at once to health or the use of their faculties, at every instance of the power and goodness of Jesus the same uncontrolled acclamations from the young- er part of the multitude are renewed with increasing fervour. Those of the Sanhedrin who are present, though they do not attempt at this immedi- ate juncture to stem the torrent, venture to remonstrate against the disrespect to the sanctity of the Temple, and demand of Jesus to silence what, to their feelings, sounded like profane violation of the sacred edifice. Jesus replies, as usual, with an apt quotation from the sacred writings, which declared that even the voices of children and infants might be raised, with- out reproof, in praise and thanksgiving to God. * Luke, xix., 41-44. f Matt, xxi., 10, ih t Ibid., 15.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. m Among the multitudes of Jews who as- The cr^ei-s sem^cd at the Passover, there e ,ieexs. were usna][y many proselytes who were called Greeks* (a term in Jew- ish language of as wide signification as that of barbarians with the Greeks, and including all who were not of Jewish de- scent). Some of this class, carried away by the general enthusiasm towards Jesus, expressed an anxious desire to be admitted to his presence. It is not improbable that these proselytes might be permitted to advance no farther than the division in the outer Court of the Gentiles, where certain palisades were erected, with in- scriptions in various languages, prohibiting the entrance of all foreigners; or, even if' they were allowed to pass this barrier, they may have been excluded from the court of Israel, into which Jesus may have passed. By the intervention of two of the apostles, their desire is made known to Jesus, who, perhaps as he passes back through the outward court, permits them to approach. No doubt, as these proselytes shared in the general excitement towards the person of Jesus, so they shared in the general expectation of the immediate, the instantaneous commencement of the splendour, the happiness of the Messiah’s kingdom. To their surprise, either in an- swer to or anticipating their declaration to this effect, instead of enlarging on the glory of that great event, the somewhat ambiguous language of Jesus dwells, at first, on his approaching fate, on the severe trial which awaits the devotion of his fol- lowers ; yet on the necessity of this hu- miliation, this dissolution to his final glory, and to the triumph of his beneficent re- ligion. It rises at length into a devotional address to the Father, to bring immediate- ly to accomplishment all his promises, for the glorification of the Messiah. As he was yet speaking, a rolling sound was heard in the heavens, which the unbeliev- ing part of the multitude heard only as an accidental burst of thunder; to others, however, it seemed an audible, a distinct, or, according to those who adhere to the strict letter, the articulate voicef of an angel, proclaiming the Divine sanction to the presage of his future glory. Jesus continues his discourse in a tone of pro- founder mystery, yet evidently declaring the immediate discomfiture of the “ Prince of this world,” the adversary of the Jew- * John, xii., 20, 43. f Kuinoel, in loc. Some revert to the Jewish superstition of the Bath-Kol, or audible voice from heaven ; but the more rational of the Jews inter- pret this Bath-Kol as an impression upon the mind .rather than on the outward senses. ish people and of the human race, his own departure from the world, and the im- portant consequences which were to ensue from that departure. After his death, his religion was to be more attractive than during his life. u I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me.” Among the characteristics of the Messiah which were deeply rooted in the general belief, was the eternity of his reign; once revealed, he was revealed for ever; once established in their glorious, their para- disiacal state, the people of God, the sub- jects of the kingdom, were to be liable to no change, no vicissitude. The allusions of Jesus to his departure, clashing with this notion of his perpetual presence, heightened their embarrassment; and, leaving them in this state of mysterious suspense, he withdrew unperceived from the multitude, and retired again with his own chosen disciples to the village of Bethany. The second morning Jesus returned to Jerusalem. A fig-tree stood by Cursingtiie the wayside, of that kind well barren Tig- known in Palestine, which, du- tree- ring a mild winter, preserve their leaves, and with the early spring put forth and ripen their fruit,* Jesus approached the tree to pluck the fruit; but, finding that it bore none, condemned it to perpetual bar- renness. This transaction is remarkable, as al- most the only instance in which Jesus adopted that symbolic mode of teaching by action rather than by language, so peculiar to the East, and so frequently ex- emplified in the earlier books, especially of the Prophets. For it is difficult to con- ceive any reason either for the incident itself, or for its admission into the evan- gelic narrative at a period so important, unless it was believed to convey some profounder meaning. The close moral analogy, the accordance with the common phraseology between the barren tree, dis- qualified by its hardened and sapless state from bearing its natural produce, and the Jewish nation, equally incapable of bear- ing the fruits of Christian goodness, formed a most expressive, and, as it were, living apologue. On this day Jesus renews the remark- able scene which had taken second day place at the first Passover. The ^ Jerusalem. * There are three kinds of figs in Palestine : 1. The early fig, which blossoms in March, and ripens its fruit in June ; 2. The Kerman, which shows its fruit in June, and ripens in August; and, 3. The kind in question.—See Kuinoel, in loco. Pliny, H. N., xvi., 27. Theophr., 3, 6. Shaw’s Travels. Matt, xxi,, 18, 19. Mark, xi., 12, 14.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 125 customary traffic, the tumult and confu- sion, which his authority had restrained for a short time, had been renewed in the courts of the Temple; and Jesus again expelled the traders from the holy pre- cincts, and, to secure the silence and the sanctity of the whole enclosure, prohibited the carrying any vessel through the Tem- ple courts.* Through the whole of this day the Sanhedrin, as it were, rested on their arms ; they found, with still increas- ing apprehension, that every hour the mul- titude crowded with more and more anx- ious interest around the Prophet of Naz- areth ; his authority over the Temple courts seems to have been admitted with- out resistance ; and probably the assertion of the violated dignity of the Temple was a point on which the devotional feelings would have been so strongly in favour of the Reformer, that it would have been highly dangerous and unwise for the ma- gistrates to risk even the appearance either of opposition or of dissatisfaction. The third morning arrived. As Jesus The third passed to the Temple, the fig-tree, Ua>r- the symbol of the Jewish nation, stood utterly withered and dried up. But, as it were, to prevent the obvious infer- ence from the immediate fulfilment of his malediction—almost the only destructive act during his whole public career, and that on a tree by the wayside, the common property—Jesus mingles with his promise of power to his apostles to perform acts as extraordinary, the strictest injunctions to the milder spirit inculcated by his pre- cept and his example. Their prayers were to be for the forgiveness, not for the providential destruction, of their enemies. The Sanhedrin had now determined on Deputation the necessity of making an effort from the to discredit- Jesus with the more rulers. and more admiring multitude. A deputation arrives to demand by what au- thority he had taken up his station, and was daily teaching in the Temple ; had ex- pelled the traders, and, in short, had usurp- ed a complete superiority over the accred- ited and established instructors of the peo- ple If The self-command and prompti- tude of Jesus caught them, as it were, in their own toils, and reduced them to the utmost embarrassment. The claim of the Baptist to the prophetic character had been generally admitted and even passion- ately asserted; his death had, no doubt, still farther endeared him to all who de- tested the Herodian rule, or who admired * Matt., xxi., 12, 13. Luke, xix., 45, 46. Mark, Xk, 15, 17. t Matt, xxi., 23-27. Mark, xi., 27-34. Luke, xx. 1-8. the uncompromising boldness with which he had condemned iniquity even upon the throne. The popular feeling would have resented an impeachment on his prophetic dignity. When, therefore, Jesus demand- ed their sentence as to the baptism f John, they had but the alternative of ac* knowledging its Divine sanction, and so tacitly condemning themselves for not having submitted to his authority, and even for not admitting his testimony in fa- vour of Jesus ; or of exposing themselves, by denying it, to popular insult and fury. The self-degrading confession of their ig- norance placed Jesus-immediately on the vantage ground, and at once annulled their right to question or to decide upon the au- thority of his mission : that right which was considered to be vested in the San- hedrin. They were condemned to listen to language still more humiliating. In two striking parables, that’of the Lord of the Vineyard and of the Marriage Feast.,* Jesus not obscurely intimated the rejec- tion of those labourers who had been first summoned to the work of God; of those guests who had been first invited to the nuptial banquet; and the substitution of meaner and more unexpected 'guests or subjects in their place. The fourth dayf arrived; and once more Jesus appeared in the Temple The fourth with a still increasing concourse da^- of followers. No unfavourable impression had yet been made on the popular mind by his adversaries; his career is yet un- checked, his authority unshaken. His enemies are now fully aware of their own desperate situation; the appre- hension of the progress of Jesus unites the most discordant parties into one for- midable conspiracy; the Pharisaic, the Sadducaic, and the Herodian factions agree to make common cause against the common enemy: the two national sects, the Traditionists and the Anti-tradition- ists, no longer hesitate to accept the aid of the foreign or Herodian faction. J The He- Some suppose the Herodians to rodians- have been the officers and attendants on the court of Herod, then present at Jeru- * Matt., xxi., 28, to xxii., 14. Mark, xii., 1-12. Luke, xx., 9-18. f There is considerable difficulty in ascertaining the events of the Wednesday. It does not appear altogether probable that Jesus should have remain- ed at Bethany in perfect inactivity or seclusion du- ring the whole of this important day : either, there- fore,'as some suppose, the triumphant entry into Jerusalem took place on the Monday, not on the Sunday, according to the common tradition of the church; or, as here stated, the collision with his various adversaries spread over the succeedingday. t Matt., xxii, 15-22. Mark, xii., 13-17. Luke, xxi., 19-26.120 HISTORY OF CHRISTIAN!' salera; but the appellation more probably includes all those who, estranged from the more inveterate Judaism of the nation, and having, in some degree, adopted Grecian habits and opinions, considered the peace of the country best secured by the govern- ment of the descendants of Herod, with the sanction and under the protection of Rome.* They were the foreign faction, and, as such, in general, in direct opposi- tion to the Pharisaic, or national party. But the success of Jesus, however at pres- ent it threatened more immediately the vuling authorities in Jerusalem, could not but endanger the Galilean government of Herod. The object, therefore, was to im- plicate Jesus with the faction, or, at least, to tempt him into acknowledging opinions similar to those of the Galilean dema- gogue, a seheme the more likely to work on the jealousy of the Roman government, if it was at the last Passover that the ap- prehension of tumult among the Galilean strangers had justified, or appeared to jus- tify, the massacre perpetrated by Pilate. The plot wras laid with great subtlety ; for either way Jesus, it appeared, must com- mit himself. The great test of the Gali- lean opinion was the lawfulness of tribute to a foreign power, which Judas had boldly declared to be, not merely a base compromise of the national independence, but an impious infringement on the first principles of their theocracy. But the in- dependence, if not the universal dominion of the Jews, was inseparably bound, up with the popular belief in the Messiah. Jesus, then, would either, on the question of the lawfulness of tribute to Caesar, con- firm the bolder doctrines of the Galilean, and so convict himself, before the .Ro- mans, as one of that dangerous faction; or he would admit its legality, and so an- nul at once all his claims to the character of the Messiah. Not in the least thrown off his guard by the artful courtesy, or, rather, the adulation of their address, Je- sus appeals to the current coin of the coun- try, which, bearing the impress of the Ro- man emperor, was in itself a recognition of Roman supremacy.! * Of all notions on the much-contested point of the Herodians, the most improbable is that which identifies them with the followers of the Galilean Judas. The whole policy of the Herodian family was in diametrical hostility to those opinions. They maintained their power by foreign influence, and, with the elder Herod, had systematically at- tempted to soften the implacable hostility of the nation by the introduction of Grecian manners. Their object, accordingly, was. to convict Jesus of the Galilean opinions, which they themselves held in the utmost detestation. t The latter part of the sentence, “Render The Herodian or political party thus discomfited, the Sadducees advan- The sad- ced to the encounter. Nothing ducees- can appear more captious or frivolous than their question with regard to the future possession of a wife in another state of being, who had been successively mar- ried to seven brothers, according to the Levirate law. But, perhaps, considered in reference to the opinions of the time, it will seem less extraordinary. The Sadducees, no doubt, had heard that the resurrection, and the life to come, had formed an essential tenet in the teaching of Jesus. They concluded that liis no- tions on these subjects were those gener- ally prevalent among the people. But, it the later Rabbinical notions of the happi- ness of the renewed state of existence were current, or even known in their gen- eral outline, nothing could be more gross or unspiritual :* if less voluptuous, they were certainly not less strange and un- reasonable, than those which, perhaps, were derived from the same source—the Paradise of Mohammed. The Sadducees were accustomed to contend with these disputants, whose paradisiacal state, to be established by the Messiah after the resurrection, was but the completion of those temporal promises in the book ot Deuteronomy, a perpetuity of plenty, fer- tility, and earthly enjoyment.f The an- swer of Jesus, while it declares the cer- tainty of another state of existence, care- fully purifies it from all these corporeal and earthly images; and assimilates man, in another state of existence, to a higher order of beings. And in his concluding inference from the passage in Exodus, in which God is described as the God ot Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the allusion may perhaps be still kept up. The tem- poral and corporeal resurrection of the common Pharisaic belief was to take place only after the coming of the Mes- siah ; yet their reverence for the fathers of the race would scarcely allow even the therefore unto Caesar the things that are Cassar’s,” and “ to God the things that are God’s,” refers, m all probability, to the payment of the Temple trib- ute, which was only received in the coin of the country. Hence, as before observed, the money changers in the Temple. — Matt., xxii., 23-33. Mark, xii., 18-27. Luke, xx., 27-38. * It is decided, in the Sohar on Genesis, fol. 24, col. 96, “ that woman, who has married two hus- bands in this world, is restored to the first in the world to come.”—Schoetgen, in loco. f Josephus, in his address to his countrymen, mingles up into one splendid picture the Metemp- sychosis and the Elysium of the Greeks. In Scho- etgen, in loco, may be found extracts from the Tal- mud of a purer character, and more resembling the language of our Lord.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 127 fcfadducee. to suppose their total extinc- tion. The actual, the pure beatitude of the Patriarchs, was probably an admitted point; if not formally decided by their teachers, implicitly admitted, and fervent- ly embraced by the religious feelings of the whole people. But if, according to the Sadducaic principle, the soul did not exist independent of the body, even Abra- ham, Isaac, and Jacob had shared the' common fate, the favour of God had ceased with their earthly dissolution; nor, in the time of Moses, could he be justly described as the God of those who in death had sunk into utter annihilation. Although now engaged in a common cause, the hostility of the Pharisaic party to the Sadducees could not but derive gratification from their public discomfi- ture. One scribe of their party is so struck by the superiority of Jesus, that, though still with something of an insidi- ous design, he demands in what manner he should rank the commandments, which, in popular belief, were probably of equal dignity and importance.* But when Je- sus comprises the whole of religion under the simple precepts of the love of God and the love of man, he is so struck with the sublimity of the language, that he does not hesitate openly to espouse his doctrines. Paralyzed by this desertion, and warn- The Phari- ed by the discomfiture of the sees- two parties which had preceded them in dispute with Jesus, the Pharisees appear to have stood wavering and un- certain how to speak or act. Jesus seizes the opportunity of still farther weakening their authority with the assembled multi- tude ; and, in his turn, addresses an em- barrassing question as to the descent of the Messiah.f The Messiah, according to the universal belief, would be the heir and representative of David : Jesus, by a reference to the second Psalm, which was considered prophetic of the Redeemer, forces them to confess that, even accord- ing to their own authority, the kingdom of the Messiah was to be of far higher dignity, far wider extent, and administer- ed by a more exalted sovereign than Da- vid, for even David himself, by their own admission, had called him his Lord. The Pharisees withdrew in mortified si- lence, and for that time had abandoned all hope of betraying him into any incautious or unpopular denial by their captious ques- * Matt., xxii, 34 40. Mark, xii, 28-40. Luke, xx., 39-40. f Matt., xxii, 41-46. Mark, xii., 35-37. Luke, xx., 39-44. tions. But they withdrew unmoved by the wusdom, unattracted by the beauty, unsubdued by the authority of Jesus. After some delay, during which the beautiful incident of his approving the charity of the poor widow,* who cast her mite into the treasury of the Temple, took place, he addressed the wondering multi- • tude (u for the common people heard him gladly”!) in a grave and solemn denuncia- tion against the tyranny, the hypocrisy, the bigoted attachment to the most mi- nute observances, and, at the same time, the total blindness to the spirit of religion, which actuated that great predominant party. He declared them possessed with the same proud and inhuman spirit which had perpetually bedewed the city with the blood of the Prophets.J Jerusalem had thus for ever rejected the mercy of God. This appalling condemnation was, as it were, the final declaration of war against the prevailing religion; it declared that the new doctrines could not harmonize with minds so inveterately wedded to their own narrow bigotry; but even yet the people were not altogether estranged from Jesus ; ' and in that class in which the Pharisaic interest had hitherto despotically ruled, it appeared, as it were, trembling for its ex- istence. And now everything indicated the ap- proaching, the immediate crisis. The crisis Although the populace were so in the fate decidedly, up to the present in- ofJesus‘ stant, in his favour; though many of the ruling party were only withholden by the dread of that awful sentence of excommu- nication, which inflicted civil, almost reli- gious death,§ from avowing themselves his disciples, yet Jesus never entered the Temple again: the next time he appeared before the people was as a prisoner, as a condemned malefactor. As he left the Temple, a casual expression of admiration from some of his followers at the magnif- icence and solidity of the building, and the immense size of the stones of which it was formed, called forth a prediction of its im- pending ruin, which was expanded to four of his apostles into a more detailed and circumstantial description of its appalling fate, as he sat, during the evening, upon the Mount of Olives.|| It is impossible to conceive a spectacle * Mark, xii., 40-44. Luke, xxi., 1-4. + “ And the common people heard him gladly.” —Mark, xii., 37. t Matt., xxiii. Mark, xii., 38-40. Luke, xx., 45-47.' < § See Hist, of the Jews, vol. iii., p. 111-147. I! Matt., xxiv., xxv. Mark, xiii. Luke, xxi., 5* 38.12S HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. of greater natural or moral sublimity, than Jesus on the Saviour seated on the slope the Mount of the Mount of Olives, and thus of ouves. }00king down, almost for the last time, on the whole Temple and city of Jerusalem, crowded as it then was with near three millions of worshippers. It Evening was evening, and the whole ir- viewofjeru- regular outline of the city, rising sMeni and from the deep glens which en- ie ernp e. cjrcje(j ^ on ap sjdes, might be distinctly traced. The sun, the significant emblem of the great Fountain of moral light, to which Jesus and his faith had been perpetually compared, may be ima- gined sinking behind the western hills, while its last rays might linger on the broad and massy fortifications on Mount Sion, on the stately palace of Herod, on the square tower, the Antonia, at the cor- ner of the Temple, and on the roof of the Temple, fretted all over with golden spikes, which glittered like fire; while below, the colonnades and lofty gates would cast their broad shadows over the courts, and afford that striking contrast between vast masses of gloom and gleams of the richest light, which only an evening scene like the pres- ent can display. Nor, indeed (even with- out the sacred and solemn associations connected with the holy city), would it be easy to conceive any natural situation in the world of more impressive grandeur, or likely to be seen with greater advantage under the influence of such accessaries, than that of Jerusalem, seated, as it was, upon hills of irregular height, intersected by bold ravines, and hemmed in almost on all sides by still loftier mountains, and it- self formed, in its most conspicuous parts, of gorgeous ranges of Eastern architec- ture, in all its lightness, luxuriance, and vc riety. The effect may have been height- ened by the rising of the slow volumes of smoke from the evening sacrifices, while, even at the distance of the slope of Mount Olivet, the silence may have been faintly broken by the hymns of the worshippers. Yet the fall of that splendid edifice was Necessity for inevitable ; the total demolition the destruc- 0f a][ those magnificent and Temple at time-hallowed structures might Jerusalem, not be averted. It was neces- sary to the complete development of the designs of Almighty Providence for the welfare of mankind in the promulgation of Christianity. Independent of all other reasons, the destruction certainly of the Temple, and, if not of the city, at least of the city as the centre and metropolis of a people, the only true and exclusive wor- shippers of the one Almighty Creator, seemed essential to the progress of the new faith. The universal and compre- hensive religion to be promulgated by Christ and his apostles, was grounded on the abrogation of all local claims to pecu- liar sanctity, of all distinctions-of one na- tion above another, as possessing any es- pecial privilege in the knowledge or favour of the Deity. The time was come when “ neither in Jerusalem nor on the mount- ain of Gerizim” was the great Universal Spirit to be worshipped with circumscri- bed or local homage. As long, however, as the Temple on Mount Moriah remained hallowed by the reverence of ages, sanc- tified, according to the general belief, for perpetuity, by the especial command of God, as his peculiar dwelling-place, so long, among the Jews at least, and even among other nations, the true principle of Christian worship might be counteracted .by the notion of the inalienable sanctity of this one place- Judaism would scarce- ly be entirely annulled as long as the Tem- ple rose in its original majesty and vener- ation. Yet, notwithstanding this absolute ne- cessity for its destruction, not- Jesus contem- withstanding that it thus stood, ^ne^the as it were, in the way of the nnu^rianer progress of human improve- Jerusalem, ment and salvation, the Son of Man does not contemplate its ruin without emotion. And, in all the superhuman beauty of the character of Jesus, nothing is more affect- ing and impressive than the profound mel- ancholy with which he foretels the future desolation of the city, which, before two days were passed, was to reek with his own blood. Nor should we do justice to this most remarkable incident in his life, if we should consider it merely as a sud- den emotion of compassion, as the natural sensation of sadness at the decay or disso- lotion of that which has long worn the as- pect of human grandeur. It seems rather a wise and far-sighted consideration, not merely of the approaching guilt and future penal doom of the city, but of the remoter moral causes, which, by forming the na- tional character, influenced the national destiny; the long train of events, the won- derful combination of circumstances, which had gradually wrought the Jewish people to that sterner frame of mind, which was about to display itself with such barbarous, such fatal ferocity. Jesus might seem not' merely to know what was in man, but how it entered into man’s heart and mind. Iiis* was Divine, charity, enlightened by infinite wisdom In fact, there was an intimate mora’ connexion between the murder of Jesus and the doom of the Jewish city. It wasHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ±29 the same national temperament, the same characteristic disposition of the people, which now morally disqualified them “ from knowing,55 in the language of Christ, !t the things which belonged unto their peace,” which forty years after- ward committed them in their deadly and ruinous struggle with the masters of the world. Christianity alone could have sub- The ruin of dued or mitigated that stubborn ihe Jews ihe fanaticism, which drove them at o?nuiSrence length to their desperate colli- eharacter. sion with the arms of Rome. As Christians, the Jewish people might have subsided into peaceful subjects of the universal empire. They might have lived, as the Christians did, with the high and inalienable consolations of faith and hope under the heaviest oppressions ; and calmly awaited the time when their ho- lier and more beneficent ambition might be gratified by the submission of their ru- lers to the religious dominion founded by Christ and his apostles. They would have slowly won that victory by the pa- tient heroism of martyrdom, and the steady perseverance in the dissemination of their faith, which it was madness to hope that they could ever obtain by force of arms. As Jews, they were almost sure, sooner or later, to provoke the im- placable vengeance of their foreign rulers. The same vision of worldly dominion, the same obstinate expectation of a temporal Deliverer, which made them unable to comprehend the nature of the redemption to be wrought by the presence, and the kingdom to be established by the power, of Christ, continued to the end to mingle with their wild and frantic resistance. In the rejection and murder of Jesus, immediate the rulers, as their interests and causes of the authority were more immedi- Jesus by the ately endangered, were more Jews. deeply implicated than the peo- ple ; but, unless the mass of the people had been blinded by these false notions of the Messiah, they would not have de- manded, or, at least, with the general voice, assented to the sacrifice of Jesus. The progress of Jesus at the present pe- riod in the public estimation, his transient, popularity, arose from the enforced admi ration of his commanding demeanour, the notoriety of his wonderful works, per- haps—for such language is always accept- able to the common ear—from his bold animadversions on the existing authori- ties ; but it was no dpubt supported in the mass of the populace by a hope that even yet he would conform to the popular views of the Messiah’s character. Their present brief access of faith would not R have stood long against the continued dis- appointment of that hope; and it was no doubt by working on the reaction of this powerful feeling that the Sanhedrin were able so suddenly, and, it almost appears, so entirely, to change the prevailing sen- timent. Whatever the proverbial versa- tility of the popular mind, there must have been some chord strung to the most sen- sitive pitch, the slightest touch of which would vibrate through the whole frame of society, and madden at least a command- ing majority to their blind concurrence in this revolting iniquity. Thus in the Jew- ish nation, but more especially in the prime movers, the rulers and the heads of the Pharisaic party, the murder of Jesus was ah act of unmitigated cruelty; but, as we have said, u arose out of the generally fierce and bigoted spirit which morally incapacitated the whole people from discerning the evidence of his mis- sion from heaven, in his acts of Divine goodness as well as of Divine power. It was an act of religious fanaticism ; they thought, in the language of Jesus himself, that they were “ doing God service” when they slew the Master, as much as after- ward when they persecuted his followers.. When, however, the last, and, as far as the existence of the nation, the most fatal display of this fanaticism took place,, it was accidentally allied with nobler mo- tives, with generous impatience of opr pression, and the patriotic desire of na- tional independence. However desperate and frantic the struggle against such irre- sistible power, the unprecedented tyranny of the later Roman procurators, Festus, Albinus, and Florus, might almost have justified the prudence of manly and reso- lute insurrection. Yet in its spirit and origin it was the same; and it is well known that even to the last, during the most sanguinary and licentious tumults in the Temple as well as the city, they never entirely lost sight of a deliverance from Heaven: God, they yet thought, would interpose in behalf of his chosen people. In short, the same moral state of the people (for the rulers, for obvious reasons, were less forward in the resist- ance to the Romans), the same tempera- ment and disposition, now led them to re- ject Jesus and demand the release of Barabbas, which, forty years later, pro- voked the unrelenting vengeance of Titus, and deluged the streets with the blood of their own citizens. Even after the death ; of Jesus this spirit might have been al- layed, but only by a complete abandon- ment of all the motives which led to his crucifixion—by the general reception of130 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Christianity in all its meekness, humility, and purity—by the tardy substitution of the hope of a moral for that of temporal dominion, This, unhappily, was not the case: but it must be left to Jewish history to relate how the circumstances of the times, instead of assuaging or subduing, exasperated the people into madness ; in- stead of predisposing to Christianity, con- firmed the inveterate Judaism, and led at length to the accomplishment of their an- ticipated doom- Altogether, then, it is evident that it was this brooding hope of sovereignty, at least of political independence, moulded up with religious enthusiasm, and lurk- ing, as it were, in the very heart’s core of the people, which rendered it impossi- ble that the pure, the gentle, the humane, the unworldly and comprehensive doc- trines of Jesus should be generally re- ceived, or his character appreciated by a nation in that temper of mind ; and the nation who could thus incur the guilt of his death were prepared to precipitate themselves to such a fate as at length it suffered. Hence political sagacity might perhaps have anticipated the crisis, which could only be averted by that which was mor- ally impossible, the simultaneous conver- sion of the whole people to Christianity. Distinctness Yet the distinctness, the minute- with which ness, the circumstantial accura- 'ly-rSi cy with which the prophetic out- of1 Jerusa-81 line of the siege and fall of Je- lem. rusalem is drawn, bear, perhaps, greater evidence of more than human fore- knowledge than any other in the sacred volume : and, in fact, this profound and far-sighted wisdom, this anticipation of the remote political consequences of the reception or rejection of his doctrines, supposing Jesus but an ordinary human being, would be scarcely less extraordi- nary than prophecy itself. Still, though determined, at all hazards, Embarrass- to suppress the growing party ment of the of Jesus, the Sanhedrin were Sanhedrin. ,greatjy embarrassed as to their course of proceeding. Jesus invariably passed the night without the walls, and only appeared during the daytime, though with the utmost publicity, in the Temple. His seizure in the Temple, especially du- ring the festival, would almost inevitably lead to tumult, and (since it was yet doubtful on which side the populace would array themselves) tumult as inev- itably to the prompt interference of the Roman authority. The procurator, on the slightest indication of disturbance, without inquiring into the guilt or inno- cence of either party, might coerce both with equal severity; or, even without farther examination, let loose the guard, always mounted in the gallery which con- nected the fortress of Antonia with the northwestern corner of the Temple, to mow down both the conflicting parties in indiscriminate havoc. He might ' thus mingle the blood of all present, as he had done that of.the Galileans, with the sacri- ficial offerings. To discover, then, where Jesus might be arrested without commo- tion or resistance from his followers, so reasonably to be apprehended, the treach- ery of one of his more immediate disci- ples was absolutely necessary ; yet this was an event, considering the command- ing influence possessed by Jesus over his followers, rather to be desired than ex- pected. On a sudden, however, appeared within their court one of the chosen Treachery Twelve, with a voluntary offer arid of assisting them in the apprehension of his Master.* Much ingenuity has been displayed by some recent writers in at- tempting to palliate, or, rather, to account for, this extraordinary conduct of Judas ; but the language in which Jesus spake of the crime appears to confirm the common opinion of its enormity. It has been sug- gested, either that Judas might expect Je- sus to put forth his power, even after his apprehension, to elude or to escape from his enemies, and thus his avarice might calculate on securing the reward without being an accomplice in absolute murder, at once betraying his Master and defraud- ing his employers. According to others, still higher motives may have motives ot mingled with his love of gain : Judas- he may have supposed that, by thus in- volving Jesus in difficulties otherwise in- extricable, he would leave him only the alternative of declaring himself openly and authoritatively to be the Messiah, and so force him to the tardy accomplishment, of the ambitious visions of his partisans. It is - possible that the traitor may not have contemplated, or may not have per- mitted himself clearly to contemplate, the ultimate consequences of his crime : he may have indulged the vague hope, that, if Jesus were really the Messiah, he bore, if we may venture the expression, “ a charmed life,” and was safe in his inhe- rent immortality (a notion, in all likeli- hood, inseparable from that of the Deliv- erer) from the malice of his enemies. If he were not, the crime of his betrayal * Matt,, xxvi., 14-1C. Mark, xiv . 10-1L Luke xxii., 2-6.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 131 would not bo of very great importance. There were other motives which would concur with the avarice of Judas : the re- buke which he had received when he ex- postulated about the waste of the oint- ment,, if it had not excited any feeling of exasperation against his Master, at least showed that his character was fully un- derstood by him. He must have felt him- self out of his element among the more honest and sincere disciples ; nor can he have been actuated by any real or pro- found veneration for the exquisite perfec- tion of a character so opposite to his own : and, thus insincere and doubting, he may have shrunk from the approaching crisis, and, as he would seize any means of ex- tricating himself from that cause which had now become so full of danger, his covetousness would direct him to those means which would at once secure his own personal safety, and obtain the price, the thirty pieces of silver,* set by public proclamation on the head of Jesus. Nor is the desperate access of remorse, which led to the public restitution of the reward and to the suicide of the traitor, irreconcilable with the unmitigated hei- nousness of the treachery. Men meditate a crime, of which the actual perpretation overwhelms them with horror. The gen- eral detestation, of which, no doubt, Judas could not but be conscious, not merely among his former companions, the follow- ers of J esus, but even among the multitude; the supercilious coldness of the Sanhedrin, who, having employed him as their instru- ment, treat his recantation with the most contemptuous indifference, might over- strain the firmest, and work upon the basest mind; and even the unexampled sufferings and tranquil endurance of Jesus, however he may have calmly surveyed them when distant, and softened and sub- dued by his imagination, when present to his mind in their fearful reality, forced by the busy tongue of rumour upon his ears, * The thirty pieces of silver (shekels) are esti- mated at 31. 10s. 8<2. of our present money. It was the sum named in the law (Fxod., xxi, 32) as the value of the life of a slave ; and it has been supposed that the Sanhedrin were desirous of showing their contempt for Jesus by the mean price that they offered for his head. Perhaps, when we are embarrassed at the small- ness of the sum covenanted for and received by Judas, we are imperceptibly influenced by our own sense of the incalculable importance of those con- sequences which arose out of the treachery of Ju- das. The service which he performed for this sum was, after all, no more than giving informa- tion as to the time and place in which Jesus might be seized among a few disciples without fear of popular tumult, conducting their officers to the snot where he might be found, and designating his person when they arrived at that spot. perhaps not concealed from his sight, might drive him to desperation little short of insanity.* It was on the last eveningf b&t one be- fore the death of Jesus that the .fatal compact was made: the ThePassove*- next day, the last of his life, Jesus deter- mines on returning to the city to celebrate the Feast of the Passover: his disciples are sent to occupy a room prepared for the purpose.J His conduct and language before and during the whole repast clear- ly indicate his preparation for inevitable death.§ His washing the feet of his dis- ciples, his prediction of his betrayal, his intimation to Judas that he is fully aware of his design, his quiet dismissal of the traitor from the assembly, his institution of the second characteristic ordinance of the new religion, his allusions in The Last that rite to the breaking of his Supper, body and the pouring forth of his blood, his prediction of the denial of Peter, his final address to his followers, and his prayer before he left the chamber, are all deeply impregnated with the solemn mel- ancholy, yet calm and unalterable com- posure, with which he looks forward to all the terrible details of his approaching, his almost immediate sufferings. To his followers he makes, as it were, the vale- dictory promise, that his religion would not expire at his death; that his place would be filled by a mysterious Comforter who was to teach, to guide, to console. This calm assurance of approaching death in Jesus is the more striking when contrasted with the inveterately Jewish notions of the Messiah’s kingdom, whicn * Matt., xxvi., 17-29. Mark, xiv., 12-25. Luke, vii., 38. John, xiii., to end of xvii. f After two days was the Passover, in Jewish phraseology implies on the second day after. $ All houses, according to Josephus, were freely open to strangers during the Passover; no payment was received for lodging. The Talmudic writings confirm this : “ The master of the family received the skins of sacrifices. It is a custom that a man leave his earthen jug, and also the skin of his sacri- fice, to his host.”—The Gloss. The inhabitants did not let out their houses at a price to them that came up to the feasts, but granted them to them gratis.— Lightfoot, vol. x.,44. 5 Of all difficulties, that concerning which we arrive at the least satisfactory conclusion is the apparent anticipation of the Passover by Christ. The fact is clear that Jesus celebrated the Pass- over on the Thursday, the leading Jews on the Fri- day ; the historical evidence of this in the Gospels is unanswerable, independent of all theological rea- soning. The reason of this difference is and must, we conceive, remairn undecided. Whether it was an act of supreme authority assumed by Jesus, whether there was any schism about the right day, whether that schism was between the Pharisaic and anti-Pharisaic party, or between the Jews and Galileans, all is purely conjectural.132 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. even yet possess the minds of the apostles. They are now fiercely contesting* for their superiority in that earthly dominion, which even yet they suppose on the eve of its commencement. Nor does Jesus at this time altogether correct these er- roneous notions, but in some degree falls into the prevailing language, to assure them of the distinguished reward which awaited his more faithful disciples. After inculcating the utmost humility by an al- lusion to the lowly fraternal service which he had just before performed in washing their feet, he describes the happiness and glory which they are at length to attain by the strong, and, no doubt, familiar imagery of their being seated on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel. The festival was closed, according to the usage, with the second part of the Hallel,f the Psalms, from the 113th to the 118th inclusive, of which the former were customarily sung at the commencement, the latter at the end of the paschal supper. Jesus, with his disciples, again departed from the room in the cityj where the feast had been held, probably down the street of the Temple, till they came to the valley: they crossed the brook of Kedron, and be- gan to ascend the slope of the Mount of Olives. Within the city no open space was left for gardens but the whole neigh- bourhood of Jerusalem was laid out in en- closures for the convenience and enjoy- ment of the inhabitants. The historian of the war relates, not without feelings of poignant sorrow, the havoc made among these peaceful retreats by the devastating Ipproaches of the Roman army.|| Jesus Jesus in the turned aside into one of these garden or enclosures,^ which, it should Gethsemane. seem from the subsequent his- tory, was a place of customary retreat, well known to his immediate followers. The early hours of the night were passed by him in retired and devotional medita- tion, while the weary disciples are over- powered by involuntary slumber. Thrice Jesus returns to them, and each time he finds them sleeping. But to him it was no hour of quiet or repose. In the solitary garden of Gethsemane, Jesus, who in pub- * Luke, xxii., 24-30. t Buxtorf, Lex. Talmudica, p. 613. Lightfoot, in loco. | Matt, xxvi., 30-56. Mark, xiv., 32-52. Luke, xxii., 39-53. John, xviii., I. § Lightfoot’s derivations of some of the places on Mount Olivet are curious: Beth-hana, the place of dates; Beth-phage, the place of green figs; Geth- semane, the place of oil-presses. 11 Hist, of the Jews, iii,, 15. f Matt., xxvi., 36-46. Mark, xiv., 32-42. Luke, xxii., 41-46. John, xviii., 1. lie, though confronting danger and suffer- ing neither with stoical indifference, nor with the effort of a strong mind working itself up to the highest moral courage, but with a settled dignity, a calm and natural superiority, now, as it were, endured the last struggle of human nature. The whole scene of his approaching trial, his inevita- ble death, is present to his mind, and for an instant he prays to the Almighty Father to release him from the task, which, how- ever of such importance to the welfare ol mankind, is to be accomplished by such fearful means. The next instant, however, the momentary weakness is subdued, and though the agony is so severe that the sweat falls like large drops of blood to the ground, resigns himself at once to the will of God. Nothing can heighten the terrors of the coming scene so much as its effect, in anticipation, on the mind of Jesus himself. The devotions of Jesus and the slum- bers of his followers, as midnight Betrayal approached, were rudely interrupt- of Jesus, ed.* Jesus had rejoined his now awaken- ed disciples for the last time; he had commanded them to rise, and be prepared for the terrible event. Still, no doubt, in- credulous of the sad predictions of their Master, still supposing that his unbounded power would secure him from any attempt of his enemies, they beheld the garden filled with armed men, and gleaming with lamps and torches. Judas advances and makes the signal which had been agreed on, saluting his Master with the customa- ry mark of respect, a kiss on the cheek, for which he receives the calm but severe rebuke of Jesus for thus treacherously abusing this mark of familiarity and at- tachment : “ Judas, betrayest thou the Son of Man with a kiss I” The tranquil dignity of Jesus overawed the soldiers who first approached; they were most likely ignorant of the service on which they were employed ; and when Jesus an- nounces himself as the object of their search, they shrink back in astonishment, and fall to the earth. Jesus, however, covenanting only for the safe dismissal of his followers, readily surrenders himself to the guard. The fiery indignation of Peter, who had drawn his sword, and en- deavoured, at least by his example, to in- cite the few adherents of Jesus to resist- ance, is repressed by the command of his Master : his peaceful religion disclaims all alliance with the acts or the weapons of the violent. The manj* whose ear had * Matt., xxvi., 47-56. Mark, xiv., 43-50. Luke, xxii., 47-53. John, xviii., 2-11. t It is a curious observation of Semler, that StHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 133 been struck off was instantaneously heal- jesus led ed; and Jesus, with no more than prisoner to a brief and calm remonstrance the cay. against this ignominious treat- ment, against this arrestation, not in the face of day, in the public Temple, but at night, and with arms in their hands, as though he had been a robber, allows him- self to be led back, without resistance, into the city. His panic-stricken follow- ers disperse on all sides, and Jesus is left, forsaken and alone, amid his mortal ene- mies. The caprice, the jealousy, or the pru- dence of the Roman government, we have before observed, had in no point so fre- quently violated the feelings of the subject The high- nation as in the deposition of the priest. high-priest, and the appointment of a successor to the office, in whom they might hope to place more implicit confi- dence. The stubbornness of the people, revolted by this wanton insult, persisted in honouring with the title those whom they could not maintain in the post of author- ity ; all who had borne the office retained, in common language, the appellation of high-priest, if indeed the appellation was not still more loosely applied. Probably the most influential man in Jerusalem at this time was Annas or Ananus, four of whose sons in turn either had been, or were subsequently, elevated to that high dignity, now filled by his son-in-law Cai- aphas. The house of Annas was the first place* House of to which Jesus was led, either that Annas, the guard might receive farther instructions, or perhaps as the place of the greatest security, while the Sanhedrin was hastily summoned to meet at that un- timely hour, towards midnight or soon af- ter, in the house of Caiaphas. Before the houses of the more wealthy in the East, or, rather, within the outer porch, there is usually a large square open court, in which public business is transacted, par- ticularly by those who fill official stations. Into such a court, before the palace of Caiaphas, Jesus was led by the soldiers; and Peter, following unnoticed amid the throng, lingered before the porch until John, who happened to be familiarly known to some of the high-priest’s servants, ob- tained permission for his entrance.f • The first process seems to have been a private examination,{ perhaps while the John alone gives the name of the servant of the high-priest, Malchus; and John, it appears, was known to some of the household of the chief magis- trate. * John, xviii, 12-14. f Ibid., 15-19. t Matt., xxvi., 57. Mark, xiv., 55-64. Luke, xxii., 54. rest of the Sanhedrin w^ere as- First inter- sembling, before the high-priest, rogatory. He demanded of Jesus the nature of his doctrines and the character of his disci- ples. Jesus appealed to the publicity of hi° teaching, and referred him to his hear- ers for an account of the tenets which he had advanced. He had no secret doc- trines, either of tumult or sedition; he had ever spoken “ in public, in the synagogue or in the Temple.” And now the fearful scene of personal insult and violence be gan. An officer of the high-priest, en raged at the calm composure with which Jesus answered the interrogatory, struck him on the mouth (beating on the mouth, sometimes with the hand, more often with a thong of leather or a slipper, instill a common act of violence in the East).* He bore the insult with the same equable placidity: “ If I have ^spoken evil, bear witness of the evil; but if well, why smitest thou me ?” The more formal ar- raignment began :f and, howev- Second more er hurried and tumultuous the public inter- meeting, the Sanhedrin, either ro=alor>'- desirous that their proceedings should be conducted with regularity, or, more likely, strictly fettered by the established rules of their court, perhaps by no means unan- imous in their sentiments, were, after all, in the utmost embarrassment how to ob- tain a legal capital conviction. Witnesses were summoned, but the immutable prin- ciples of the law, and the invariable prac- tice of the tribunal, required, on every case of life and death, the agreement of two witnesses on some specific charge. Many were at hand, suborned by the enemies of Jesus, and hesitating at no falsehood; but their testimony was so confused, or bore so little on any capital charge, that the court was still farther perplexed. At length two witnesses deposed to the mis- apprehended speech of Jesus, at his first visit to Jerusalem, relating to the destruc- tion of the Temple. But even their dep- ositions were so contradictory, that it was scarcely possible to venture on a convic- tion upon such loose and incoherent state- ments. Jesus, in the mean time, preserv- ed a tranquil and total silence. He nei- ther interrupted nor questioned the wit- nesses ; he did not condescend to place himself upon bis defence. Nothing, there- fore, remainedJ but to question the pris- * John, xviii., 20-24. t Matt., xxvi., 59-66. Mark, xiv., 55-64. Luke, xxii., 66-71. John, xviii., 19-24. t Some have supposed that there were two ex- aminations in different places before the Sanhedrin: one more private, in the house of Caiaphas; anoth er more public, in the Gazith, the chamber in the134 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. oner, and, if possible, to betray him into criminating himself. The high-priest, rising to give greater energy to his ad- dress, and adjuring him in the most solemn manner, in the name of God, to answer the truth, demands whether he is indeed the Messiah, the Christ, the Son of the Living God. Jesus at once answers in the affirmative, and adds a distinct allu- sion to the prediction of Daniel,* * then uni- versally admitted to refer to the reign of the Messiah. His words may be thus Tesns ac- paraphrased: “Ye shall know knowledges me for that mighty King descri- him,®-lhthe bed by the prophet; ye shall Messia . knovv me wRen my great, eternal, and imperishable kingdom shall be estab- lished $>n the ruins of your theocracy.” The secret joy of the high-priest, though Conduct of perhaps his devout horror was the high- not altqgether insincere, was pnest. disguised by the tone and ges- ture of religious indignation which he as- sumed. He rent his clothes ; an act con- sidered indecorous, almost indecent, in the high-priest, unless justified by an outrage against the established' religion so flagrant and offensive as this declaration of Jesus.f He pronounced his speech (strangely, in- deed, did its lofty tone contrast with the appearance of the prisoner) to be direct and treasonable blasphemy. The whole court, either sharing in the indignation, or hurried away by the vehement gesture and commanding influence of the high-priest, hastily passed the fatal sentence, and de- clared Jesus guilty of the capital crime. The insolent soldiery (as he was with- Jesusinsult- drawn from the court) had now ed by the full license, and perhaps more soldiery. tkan tj]e pcense? 0f their supe- riors to indulge the brutality of their own dispositions. They began to spit on his face—in the East the most degrading in- sult ; they blindfolded him, and struck him with the palms of their hands, and, in their miserable merriment, commanded him to display his prophetic knowledge by Temple where the Sanhedrin usually sat. But the account of St. John, the most particular of the whole, says expressly (xviii., 28) that he was car- ried directly from the house of Caiaphas to the Prastorium^of Pilate. * The allusion to this prophecy (Dan., vii., 13, 14) is manifest. f They who judge a blasphemer first bid the witness to speak out plainly what he hath heard ; and when he speaks it, the judges, standing on their feet, rend their garments, and do not sew them up again.—Sanhed.,i., 7,10, and Babyl. Gemar., in loc. The high-priest was forbidden to rend his gar- ments in the case of private mourning for the dead. —Lev., x., 6; xxi., 10. In the time of public ca- lamity he did.—1 Mac., xi., 71. Joseph., B. J., ii., 26, 27, detecting the hand that was raised against him.* The dismay, the despair which had seized upon his adherents is most strong- ly exemplified by the denial of Peter. The zealous disciple, after he had obtained admittance into the hall, stood warming himself, in the cool of the dawning morn- ing, probably by a kind of brazier.f He was first accosted by a female servant, who charged him with being an accom- plice of the prisoner : Peter de- Denial ot nied the charge with vehemence, Peter* and retired to the portico or porch in front of the palace. A second time, another fe- male renewed the accusation: with still more angry protestations Peter disclaim- ed all connexion with his master; and once, but unregarded, the cock crew. An hour afterward, probably about this time, after the formal condemnation, the charge was renewed by a relation of the man whose ear he had cut off. His harsh Gal- ilean pronunciation had betrayed him as coming from that province; but Peter now resolutely confirmed his denial with an oath. It was the usual time of the second cock-crowing, and again it was distinctly heard. Jesus, who was probably at that time in the outer hall or porch, in the midst of the insulting soldiery, turned his face towards Peter, who, overwhelmed with shame and distress, hastily retreated from the sight of his deserted master, and wept the bitter tears of self-reproach and humiliation. But, although the Sanhedrin had thus passed their sentence, there remained a serious obstacle before it could be carried into execution. On the con- Question of tested point, whether the Jews, right of under the Roman government, drfr>Snflic4 possessed the power of life and capital pun- death, j it is not easy to state the lshment- question with brevity' and distinctness. Notwithstanding the apparently clear and distinct recognition of the Sanhedrin, that they had not authority to put any man to death notwithstanding the remarkable concurrence of rabbinical tradition with this declaration, which asserts that the na- tion had been deprived of the power of life and death forty years before the de- struction of the eity,[[ many of the most * Matt., xxvi., 67, 68. Mark, xiv., 65. Luke, xxii., 63, 65. t Matt., xxvi, 58, 69, 75. Mark, xiv., 54, 66,72. Luke, xxii., 54-62. John, xviii., 15, 16. % The question is discussed in all the commen- tators.—See Lardner, Credib., i, 2 ; Basnage, b. v., c. 2; Biscoe on the Acts, c. 6; note to Law’s Theory, 147; but, above all, Krebs, Observat. in Nov. Test., 64-155; Rosenmuller, and Kuinoel, in loc. $ John, xviii ,31. if Traditio est quadraginta annos ante excidiutaHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. .earned writers, some, indeed, of the ablest of the fathers,* from arguments arising out of the practice of Roman provincial juris- prudence, and from later facts in the evan- gelic history and that of the Jews, have supposed that, even if, as is doubtful, they were deprived of this power in civil, they retained it in religious cases. Some have added, that even in the latter, the ratifica- tion of the sentence by the Roman govern- or, or the permission to carry it into ex- ecution, was necessary. According to this view, the object of the Sanhedrin was to bring the case before Pilate as a civil charge; since the assumption of a royal title and authority implied a design to cast off the Roman yoke. Or, if they retained the right of capital punishment in religious cases, it was contrary to usage, in the pro- ceedings of the Sanhedrin, as sacred as law itself, to order an execution on the day of preparation for the Passover, f As, then, they dared not violate that usage, and as delay was in every way dangerous, either from the fickleness of the people, who, having been momentarily wrought up to a pitch of deadly Animosity against Jesus, might again, by some act of power or goodness on his part, be carried away back to his side ; or, in case of tumult, from the unsolicited intervention of the Romans, their plainest course was to obtain, if pos- sible, the immediate support and assist- ance of the government. In my own opinion, formed upon the Real reia- study of the contemporary Jew- Sanhedrin power of the San- to thegav- hedrin, at this period of political eminent, change and confusion, on this, as well as on other points, was altogether un- defined. Under the Asmonean princes, the sovereign, uniting the civil and reli- gious supremacy, the high-priesthood with the royal power, exercised, with the San- hedrin as his council, the highest political and civil jurisdiction. Herod, whose au- thority depended on the protection of Rome, and was maintained by his wealth, lempli, ablatnm fuisse jus vitas et mortis.—Hieros. Sanhed., fol. 18, 1; ib„ fol. 242. Quadraginta an- uis ante vastatum templum, ablata sunt judicia ekpitalia ab Israele. There is, however, some doubt about the reading and translation of this pas- sage. Wagenseil reads four for forty. Selden (De JSvn.) insists that the judgments were not taken away, but interrupted and disused. * Among the ancients, Chrysostom and Augus- tine; among the moderns, Lightfoot., Lardner, Krebs, Rosenmuller, Kuinoel. The best disquisi- tion on that side of the question appears to me that of Krebs; on the other, that of Basnage. t Cyril and Augustine, with whom Kuinoel is inclined to agree, interpret the words of St. John, “ It is not lawful for us to put any man to death,” by subjoining, “ on the day of the Passover.” and in part by foreign mercenaries, al- though he might leave to the Sanhe- drin, as the supreme tribunal, the judicial power, and, in ordinary religious cases, might admit their unlimited jurisdiction, •yet no doubt watched and controlled their proceedings with the jealousy of an Asiatic despot, and practically, if not formally, subjected all their decrees to his revision: at least he would not have per- mitted any encroachment on his own su- preme authority. In fact, according to the general tradition of the Jews, he at one time put the whole Sanhedrin to death : and since, as his life advanced, his tyranny became more watchful and sus- picious, he was more likely to diminish than increase the powers of the national tribunal. In the short interval of little more than thirty years which had elapsed since the death of Herod, nearly ten had been occupied by the reign of Archelaus. On his deposal, the Sanhedrin had proba- bly extended or resumed Ps original func- tions, but still the supreme civil authority rested in the Roman procurator. All the commotions excited by the turbulent ad- venturers who infested the country, or by Judas the Galilean and his adherents, would fall under the cognizance of the civil governor, and were repressed by hi.s' direct interference. Nor can capital re- ligious, offences have been of frequent oc- currence, since it is evident that the rigour of the Mosaic Law had been greatly re- laxed, partly by the tendency of the ago, which ran in a counter direction to those acts of idolatry against which the Mosaic statutes were chiefly framed, and left few crimes obnoxious to the extreme penalty. Nor, until the existence of their polity and religion was threatened, first by the prog- ress of Christ, and afterward of his reli- gion, would they have cared to be armed with an authority which it was rarely, if ever, necessary or expedient to put forth in its full force.*- * It may be worth observing, that not mere] ,r were the Pharisaic and Sadducaic party at issue on the great question of the expediency of the severe administration of the law, which implied frequency of capital punishment, the latter party being noto- riously sanguinary in the execution of public jus- tice ; but even in the Pharisaic party one school, that of Hillei, was accused (Jost, Geschichte der Israeliter [and Algem. Geschichte der Israelitischen Volkes, ii. band, s. 61, f.]) by the rival school oJ dangerous lenity in the administration of the law, and of culpable unwillingness to inflict the punish- ment of death. The authority of them, says Lightfoot (from the rabbins), was not taken away by the Romans but rather relinquished by themselves. The slothful- ness of the council destroyed its own authority. Hear it justly upbraided in this matter: the conn-136 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. This, then, may have been, strictly That of Je- speaking, a new case, the first and un1 re- hac* occurred since the re- cedentedre duction of Judaea to a Roman case. province. The Sanhedrin, from whom all jurisdiction in political cases was withdrawn, and who had no recent precedent for the infliction of capital pun- ishment on any religious charge, might think it more prudent (particularly during this hurried and tumultuous proceeding, which commenced at midnight, and must be despatched with the least possible de- lay) at once to disclaim any authority which, however the Roman governor seemed to attribute to them, he might at last prevent their carrying into execution. Motives of All the other motives then oper- ate rulers in ating on their minds would con- fheiJapowegr cur in favour °f this course of proceeding: their mistrust of the people, who might attempt a rescue from their feeble and unrespected officers, and could only, if they should fall off to the other side, be controlled by the dread of the Roman military; and the reluc- tance to profane so sacred a day by a pub- lic execution, of which the odium would thus be cast on their foreign rulers. It was clearly their policy, at any cost, to secure the intervention of Pilate, as well to ensure the destruction of their victim as to shift the responsibility from their own head upon that of the Romans. They might, not unreasonably, suppose that Pilate, whose relentless disposition had been shown in a recent instance, would not hesitate at once, and on their authority, on the first intimation of a dan- gerous and growing party, to act without farther examination or inquiry, and with- out scruple add one victim more to the robbers or turbulent insurgents who, it appears, were kept in prison, in order to be executed as a terrible example at that period of national concourse. It should seem that, while Jesus was Jesus before sent in chains to the Prsetorium piiate. 0f piiate, whether in the Anto- nia, the fortress adjacent to the Temple, or in part of Herod’s palace, which was connected with the mountain of the Tem- ple by a bridge over the Tyropaeon, the council adjourned to their usual place of assemblage, the chamber called Gazith, within the Temple. A deputation only accompanied the prisoner, to explain and support the charge; and here probably it was that, in his agony of remorse, Judas cil which puts one to death in seven years is called “ destructive.” R. Lazar Ben Azariah said, which nuts one to death in sevf ^ty y ears.—Lightfoot, in ioc. brought back the reward that he Remorse had received ;* and when the as- and death sembly, to his confession of his ofJudas- crime in betraying the innocent blood, re- plied with cold and contumelious uncon- cern, he cast down the money on the pavement, and rushed away to close his miserable life. Nor must the character- istic incident be omitted, the Sanhedrin, who had not hesitated to reward the ba- sest treachery, probably out of the Temple funds, scruple to receive back and replace in the sacred treasury the price of blood. The sum, therefore; is set apart for the purchase of a field for the burial of stran- gers, long known by the name of Acel- dama, the field of blood.f Such is ever the absurdity, as well as the heinousness, of crimes committed in the name of reli- gion. The first emotion of Pilate at this strange accusation from the great Astonisll. tribunal of the nation, however myntoY rumours of the name and influ- 1>ilate- ence of Jesus had no doubt reached his ears, must have been the utmost astonish- ment. To the Roman mind the Jewish character was ever an inexplicable prob- lem. But if so when they were seen scattered about and mingled with the countless diversities of races of discord- ant habits, usages, and religions which thronged to the metropolis of the wrorld, or.were dispersed through the principal cities of the empire; in their own coun- try, where there was, as it were, a con- centration of all their extraordinary na- tional propensities, they must have ap- peared in still stronger opposition to the rest of mankind. To the loose manner in which religious belief hung on the greater part of the subjects of the Roman empire, their recluse and uncompromising attachment to the faith of their ancestors offered the most singular contrast. Every- where else the temples were open, the rites free to the stranger by race or coun- try, who rarely scrupled to do homage to the tutelar deity of the place. The Jewish Temple alone received, indeed, but with a kind of jealous condescension, the offer- ings even of the emperor. Throughout the rest of the world religious enthusiasm might not be uncommon, here and there, in individual cases, particularly in the * Matt., xxvii., 3-10. + The sum appears extremely small for the pur- chase of a field, even should we adopt the very probable suggestion of Kuionel, that it was a field in which the fuller’s earth had been worked out, and which was therefore entirely barren and un- productive.—Kuionel, in loc. Matt., xxvii., 2-14 Mark, xiv., 1-5, Luke, xxiii., 1-6. John, xviiv 28-38.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 137 East: the priests of some of the mystic religions at times excited a considerable body of followers, and drove them blind- fold to the wildest acts of superstitious phrensy; but the sudden access of reli- gious fervour was, in general, as transient as violent; the flame burned with rapid and irresistible fury, and went out of it- self. The Jews stood alone (according to the language and opinion of the Ro- man world) as a nation of religious fanat- ics ; and this fanaticism was a deep, a set- tled, a conscientious feeling, and formed— —an essential and inseparable part—the groundwork of their rigid and unsocial character. Yet even to one familiarized by a res- idence of several years with the Jewish nation, on the present occasion the con- duct of the Sanhedrin must have appear- ed utterly unaccountable. This senate, or municipal body, had left to the Roman governor to discover the danger and sup- press the turbulence of the robbers and insurgents against whom Pilate had taken such decisive measures. Now, however, they appear suddenly seized with an ac- at the con- cess of loyalty for the Roman duct or the authority, and a trembling appre- Sanhednn: jiension 0f least invasion of the Roman title to supremacy. And against whom were they actuated by this unwonted caution, and burning with this unprecedented zeal? Against a man who, as far as he could discover, was a harm- less, peaceful, and benevolent enthusiast, who had persuaded many of the lower orders to believe in certain unintelligible doctrines, which seemed to have no rela- tion to the government of the country, and were, as yet, no way connected with insurrectionary movements. In fact, he could not but clearly see that they were enemies of the influence obtained by Je- sus over the populace; but whether Jesus or the Sanhedrin governed the religious feelings and practices of the people, was a matter of perfect indifference to the Roman supremacy. The vehemence with which they press- at the na- ed the charge, and the charge it- ture of the self, were equally inexplicable, charge. When Pilate referred back, as it were, the judgment to themselves, and of- ereu to leave Jesus to be punished by the existing law; while they shrunk from that responsibility, and disclaimed, at least over such a case and at such a season, the pow- er of life and death,* they did not in the least relax the vehement earnestness of their, persecution. Jesus was accused of assuming the title of King of the Jews, and with an intention of throwing off the S5 Roman yoke. But, however little Pilate may have heard or understood his doc- trines, the conduct and demeanour of Christ weire so utterly at variance with such a charge ; the only intelligible article in the accusation, his imputed prohibition of the payment of tribute, so unsupport- ed by proof, as to bear no weight. This redoubted king had been seized by the emissaries of the Sanhedrin, perhaps Ro- man soldiers placed under their orders ; had been conveyed without resistance, through the city; his few adherents, mostly unarmed peasants, had fled at the instant of his capture ; not the slightest tumultuary movement had taken place during his examination before the high- priest, and the popular feeling seemed rather at present incensed against him than inclined to take his part. To the mind of Pilate, indeed, accus- tomed to the disconnexion of Thede uta_ religion and morality, the more tion refuse "to striking contradiction in the communicate conduct of the Jewish rulers from feafof may not have appeared alto- legal defiie- gether so extraordinary. At ment- the moment when they were violating the great, eternal, and immutable principles of all religion, and infringing on one of the positive commandments of the law, by persecuting to death an innocent man, they were withholden by religious scruple from entering the dwelling of Pilate ; they were endangering the success of their cause, lest this intercourse with the un- clean stranger should exclude them from the worship of their God: a worship for which they contracted no disqualifying defilement by this deed of blood. The deputation stood without the hall of Pilate ;* and not even their animosity against Jesus could induce them to depart from that superstitious usage, to lend the weight of their personal appearance to the solemn accusation, or, at all events, to deprive the hated object of their persecution of any advantage which he might receive from undergoing his examination without being confronted with his accusers. Pilate seems to have paid so much respect to their usages, that he went out to receive their charge, and to inquire the nature of the crime for which Jesus was denounced. The simple question put to Jesus, on his first interrogatory nefore Pi- Examination late, was whether he claimed before. Pilate, the title of King of the Jews.f The an- swer of Jesus may be considered as an appeal to the justice and right feeling ol the governor. “ As Roman prefect, have * John, xviii., 28. f Id., 33-37.138 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. you any cause for suspecting me of am- bitious or insurrectionary designs'? do you entertain the least apprehension of my seditious demeanour? or are you not rather adopting the suggestions of my enemies, and lending yourself to their unwarranted animosity ?” Pilate disclaims ail com- munion with the passions or the preju- dices of the Jewish rulers ; but Jesus had been brought before him, denounced as a dangerous disturber of the public peace, and he was officially bound to take cog- nizance of such a charge. In the rest of the defence of Christ, the only part intel- ligible to Pilate would be the unanswer- able appeal to the peaceful conduct of his followers. When Jesus asserted that he was a king, yet evidently implied a moral or religious sense in his use of the term, Pilate might attribute a vague meaning to his language, from the Stoic axiom, I am a king when I rule myself,* and thus give a sense to that which otherwise would have sounded in his ears like unintelligi- ble mysticism. His perplexity, however, must have been: greatly increased when Jesus, in this perilous hour, when his life trembled, as it were, on the balance, de- clared that the object of his birth and of his life was the establishment of “ the truth.” “ To this end was 1 born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness to the truth. Every one that is of the truth heareth my voice.” That the peace of a nation or the life of an individual should be endangered on ac- count of the truth or falsehood of any sys- tem of speculative opinions, was so dia- metrically opposite to the general opinion and feeling of the Roman world, that Pi- late, either in contemptuous mockery, or with the merciful design of showing the utter harmlessness and insignificance of such points, inquired what he meant by truth ; what truth had to do with the pres- ent question; with a question of life and death, with a capital charge brought by the national council before the supreme tribunal. Apparently despairing, on one side, of bringing him, whom he seems to have considered a blameless enthusiast, to his senses ; on the other, unwilling To attach so much importance ,to what ap- peared to him in so'different a light, he wished at once to put an end to the whole Pilate en- affair- He abruptly left Jesus, leavours to and went out again to the Jew- ,ave Jesus, deputation at the gate (now * Art summum sapiens uno minor est J^ve, dives Liber, honoratus, pulcher. Rex denique regum. Hor, Ep. ii., 1, 106. Comp. Sat. i., 3, 125. At pueri ludentes, rex eris, intuit, .Si recfce facies.—Epist. i,, 1, 59. perhaps increased by a greater number ot the Sanhedrin), and declared his conviction of the innocence of Jesus. At this unexpected turn, the Sanhedrin burst into a furious clamour, clamours of reiterated their vague, perhaps tie accusers, contradictory, and, to the ears of Pilate, unintelligible or insignificant charges, and seemed determined to press the conviction with implacable animosity. Pilate turned to Jesus, who had been led out, to demand his answer to these charges. Jesus stood collected, but silent, and the astonishment of Pilate was still farther heightened. The only accusation which seemed to bear any meaning, imputed to Jesus the raising tu- multuous meetings of the people through- out the country, from Judaea to Galilee.* This incidental mention of Galilee, made, perhaps, with an invidious design of awa- kening in the mind of the governor the re- membrance of the turbulent character of that people, suggested to Pilate a course by which he might rid himself of the em- barrassment and responsibility of this strange transaction. It has been conjec- tured, not without probability, that the massacre of Herod’s subjects was the cause of the enmity that existed between the tetrarch and the Roman governor. Pilate had now an opportunity at once to avoid an occurrence of the same nature, in which he had no desire to be implicated, and to make overtures of reconciliation to the native sovereign. He was indifferent about the fate of Jesus, provided he could shake off all actual concern in his death ; or he might suppose that Herod, uninfected with the inexplicable enmity of the chief priests, might be inclined to protect his innocent subject.f The fame of Jesus had already excited the curiosity of Herod, but his jeSus sent curiosity was rather that which to Herod, sought amusement or excitement from the powers of an extraordinary wonder- worker, than that which looked for infor- mation or improvement from a wise mor- al, or a divinely-commissioned religious teacher. rl he circumstances of the inter- view, which probably took place in the presence of the tetrarch and his courtiers, and into which none of the disciples of Jesus could find their way, are not rela- ted. The investigation was long; but Je- sus maintained his usual unruffled silence, and at the close of the examina- jesus sern tion he was sent back to Pilate. bac* with By the murder of John, Herod insult’ had incurred deep and lasting unpopulari- ty ; he might be unwilling to increase his * Luke, xxiii., 5. t Id , 5-12.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY l;pj character for cruelty by the same conduct towards Jesus, against whom, as he had not the same private reasons for requiring his support, he had not the same bitter- ness of personal animosity; nor was his sovereignty, as has before been observed, endangered in the same manner as that of the chief priests, by the progress of Jesus. Herod therefore might treat with derision what appeared to him a harmless assump- tion of royalty, and determine to effect, by contempt and contumely, that degrada- tion of Jesus in the estimation of the peo- ple which his more cruel measures in the case of John had failed to accomplish. With his connivance, therefore, if not un- der his instructions, his soldiers (perhaps some of them, as those of his father had been, foreigners, Gaulish or Thracian “bar- barians) were permitted or encouraged in every kind of cruel and wanton insult. They clothed him, in mockery of his roy- al title, in a purple robe, and so escorted him back to Pilate, who, if he occupied part of the Hcrodion, not the Antonia, was close at hand, only in a different quarter of the same extensive palace. The refusal of Herod to take cognizance of the charge renewed the embarrassment of Pilate, but a way yet.seemed open to extricate himself from his difficulty. There was a custom, that, in honour of the great festival, the Passover, a prisoner should be set at liberty at the request of the peo- ple.* The multitude had already become clamorous for their annual privilege. Among the half-robbers, half-insurgents who had so long infested the province of Judaea and the whole of Palestine, there' „ ,. was a celebrated bandit named JBarabbas, who, probably m some insurrectionary tumult, had been guilty of murder. Of the extent of his crime we are ignorant; but Pilate, by selecting the worst case, that which the people could not but consider the most atrocious and offensive to the Roman government, might desire to force them, as it were, to demand the release of Jesus. Barabbas had been undeniably guilty of those overt acts of insubordination which they endeavoured to infer as necessary consequences of the teaching of Jesus. He came forth, therefore, to the outside of his praetorium, and, having declared that neither himself nor Herod could dis- cover any real guilt in the prisoner who had been brought before them, he appeal- ed to them to choose between the con- demned insurgent and murderer, and the * Matt., xxvii., 15-20. Mark, xv., 6-11. Luke, xxiii., 13-19. John, xviii., 39, blameless prophet of Nazareth. The high-priests had now wrought the people to madness, and had most likely crowded the courts round Pilate’s quarters with their most zealous and devoted partisans. The voice of the governor was drowned with an instantaneous burst of acclama- tion, demanding the release of Barabbas. Pilate made yet another ineffectual at- tempt to save the life of the innocent man. He thought, by some punishment short of death, if not to awaken the com- passion, to satisfy the animosity of the people.* The person of Jesus was given up to the lictors, and scourging with rods, the common Roman punishment for minor offences, was inflicted with merciless se- verity. The soldiers platted a Jesus crown. crown of thorns, or, as IS ed Willi thorns thought, of some prickly plant, aund shown io as it is scarcely conceivable 1 epeope‘ that life could have endured if the temples had been deeply pierced by a circle of thorns.f In this pitiable state Jesus was again led forth, bleeding with the scourge, his brow throbbing with the pointed crown ; and dressed in the purple robe of mock- ery, to make the last vain appeal to the compassion, the humanity of the people. The wild and furious cries of “ Crucify him, crucify him,” broke out on all sides. In vain Pilate commanded them to be the executioners of their own sentence, and reasserted his conviction of the innocence of Jesus. In vain he accompanied his as- sertion by the significant action of wash- ing his hands in the public view, as if to show that he would contract no guilt or defilement from the blood of a blameless man.J He was answered by the awful imprecation, Plis.blood be upon The people us and-upon our children.” The demand his deputies of the Sanhedrin press- erucifixlon- ed more earnestly the capital charge of blasphemy. u He had made himself the Son of God.”§ This inexplicable accusa- tion still more shook the resolution of Pilate, who, perhaps at this instant, was farther agitated by a message from his wife. Claudia Procula (the law intercession which prohibited the wives of of Pilate’s the provincial rulers from ac- Wlfe* companying their husbands to the seat of their governments now having fallen into disuse) had been permitted to reside with her husband Pilate in Palestine.®j[ The * Luke, xxiii., 16. John, xix., 1-5. f It should seem, says Grotius, that the mocker} was more intended than the pain. Some suppose the plant, the naba or nabka of the Arabians, with many small and sharp spikes, which would be pain- ful, but not endanger life.—Hasselquist’s Travels. t Matt., xxvii., 24, 25. § John, xix., 7. Matt., xvxii., 19-23. This law had -fallen into140 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. stem justice of the Romans had guarded by this law against the baneful effects of female influence. In this instance, had Pilate listened to the humaner counsels of his wife, from what a load of guilt would he have delivered his own con- science and his province ! Aware of the proceedings which had occupied Pilate during the whole night, perhaps in some way better acquainted with the character of Jesus, she had gone to rest; but her sleep, her morning slumbers, when vis- ions were supposed to be more than ordi- narily true, were disturbed by dreams of the innocence of Jesus, and the injustice and inhumanity to which her husband might lend his authority. The prisoner was withdrawn into the guardroom, and Pilate endeavoured to ob- tain some explanation of the meaning of this new charge from Jesus himself. He made no answer, and Pilate appealed to his fears, reminding him that his life and death depended on the power of the pre- fect. Jesus replied, that his life was only in the power of Divine Providence, by whose permission alone Pilate enjoyed a temporary authority.* * But touched, it may seem, by the exertions of Pilate to save him, with all his accustomed gentle- ness he declares Pilate guiltless of his Last inter- blood, in comparison with his be- rogatory of trayers and persecutors among his Jesus. own countrymen. This speech still farther moved Pilate in his favour. But the justice and the compassion of the Romans gave way at once before the fear of weakening his interest or endangering his personal safety with his imperial mas- ter. He made one effort more to work on the implacable people; he was answered with the same furious exclamations, and with menaces of more alarming import. They accused him of indifference to the stability of the imperial power: “ Thou art not Cassar’s friend :”f they threatened to report his conduct, in thus allowing the title of royalty to be assumed with impu- nity, to the reigning Caesar.’ That Caesar was the dark and jealous Tiberius. Up to this period the Jewish nation, when they had complained of the tyranny of their na- tive sovereigns, had ever obtained a fa- vourable hearing, at Rome. Even against Herod the Great their charges had been received, they had been admitted to a pub- lic audience ; and though their claim to na- tional independence at the death of that neglect in the time of Augustus ; during the reign of Tiberius it was openly infringed, and the motion of Csecina in the Senate to put it more strictly in force produced no effect.—Tac., Ann., iii., 33. * John; xix., 8-11. f Ibid., 12. sovereign had not been allowed, Archelaus had received his government with limited powers, and, on the,complaint of the peo- ple, had been removed from his throne. In short, the influence of that attachment to the Caesarean family,* which had ob- tained for the nation distinguished privi- leges both from Julius and Augustus, had not yet been effaced by that character of turbulence and insubordination which led to their final ruin. In what manner such a charge of not being “ Caesar’s friend” might be misrepre- sented or aggravated, it was impossible to conjecture; but the very strangeness of the accusation was likely to work on the gloomy and suspicious mind of Tiberius; and^the frail tenure by which Pilate held his ‘favour at Rome is shown by his igno- minious recall and banishment some years after, on the complaint of the Jewish people ; though not, it is true, for an act of indis- creet mercy, but one of unnecessary cru- elty. The latent and suspended decision of his character reappeared in all its cus- tomary recklessness.- The life of one man, .however blameless, was not for an instant to be considered when his own advancement, his personal safety, were in peril: his sterner nature resumed the as- cendant ; he mounted the tribunal, which was erected on a tesselated pavement near the prsetorium.f and passed the solemn, the irrevocable sentence. It might condem- almost seem that, in bitter mock- nation of ery, Pilate for the last time de- Jesus' manded, “Shall I crucify your king l” “ We have no king but CaBsar,” was the answer of the chief priests. Pilatfe yielded up the contest; the murderer was com- manded to be set at liberty, the just man surrendered to crucifixion. The remorseless soldiery were at hand, and instigated, no doubt, by the influence, by the bribes of the susUby°the* Sanhedrin, carried the sentence populace and into effect with the most savage soldiery‘ and wanton insults. They dressed him * Compare Hist, of the Jews, ii., 74. f We should not notice the strange mistake of the learned German, Hug, on this subject, if it had not been adopted by a clever writer in a populai journal. Hug has supposed the XiOSarpurov (per haps the tesselated) stone pavement on which Pi late’s tribunal was erected, to be the same which was the scene of a remarkable incident mentioned by Josephus. During the siege of the Temple, a centurion, Julianus, charged on horseback, and forced his way into the inner court of the Temple his horse stepped up on the pavement (XiQdarpwTav), and he fell. It is scarcely credible that any writei acquainted with Jewish antiquities, or the structure of the Temple, could suppose that the Roman gov- ernor would raise his tribunal within the inviolable precincts of the inner court.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 141 ap m all the mock semblance of royalty (he had already the purple robe and the crown) ; a reed was now placed in his hand for a sceptre; they paid him their insulting homage; struck him with the palms of their hands ; spit upon him ; and then stripping him of his splendid attire, dressed him again in his own simple rai- ment, and led him out to death.* * * * § The place of execution was without the gates. This was the case in most towns ; and in Jerusalem, which, according to tra- dition, always maintained a kind of re- semblance to the camp iq the wilderness,! as criminal punishments were forbidden to defile the sacred precincts, a field beyond the walls was set apart and desecrated for this unhallowed purpose.! Hitherto we have been tempted into some detail, both by the desire of ascer- taining the state of the public mind, and the motives of the different actors in this unparalleled transaction, and by the ne- cessity of harmonizing the various circum- stances related in the four separate nar- ratives. As we approach the appalling close, \ye tremble lest the colder process of explanation should deaden the solemn and harrowing impression of the scene, or weaken the contrast between the wild and tumultuous uproar of the triumphant ene- mies and executioners of the Son of Man, with the deep and unuttered misery of the few faithful adherents who still followed his footsteps : and, far above all, his own serene, his more than human composure, the dignity of suffering, which casts so far into the shade every example of human Circumstan- heroism. Yet in the most tri- ces of the fling incidents there is so much cruci xion. an(j reality, so remarkable an adherence to the usages of the time, and to the state of public feeling, that we can- not but point out the most striking of these particulars. For, in fact, there is no sin- gle circumstance, however minute, which does not add to the truth of the whole de- scription, so as to stamp it (we have hon- estly endeavoured to consider it with the * Matt., xxvii., 27-30. Mark, xv., 15-20. f Numbers, xv., 35. 1 Kings, xxi., 13. He- brews, xiii., 12. Extra urbem, patibulum. Plau- tus. See Grotius. t It is curious to trace on what uncertain grounds rest many of our established notions relating to in- cidents in the early history of our religion. No one scruples to speak in the popular language of “ the Hill of Calvaryyet there appears no evidence, which is not purely legendary, for the assertion that Calvary was on a hill. ' The notion arose from the fanciful interpretation of the word Golgotha, the place of a scull, which was thought to imply some resemblance in its form to a human scull; but it is far more probably derived from having been strewn with the remains of condemned malefactors. calmest impartiality) with an impression of credibility, of certainty, equal to, if not surpassing, every event in the history of man. The inability of Jesus (exhausted by a sleepless night, by the length of the trial, by insults and bodily pain, by the scourging and blows) to bear his own cross (the constant practice of condemned crim- inals) ;* the seizure of a Cyrenian, from a province more numerously colonized by Jews than any other, except Egypt and Babylonia, as he was entering the city, and, perhaps, was known to be an adherent of Jesus, to bear his cross ;f the customa- ry deadening potion of wine and myrrh,! which was given to malefactors previous to their execution, but which Jesus, aware of its stupifying or intoxicating effect, and determined to preserve his firmness and self-command, but slightly touched with his lips; the title, the King§ of the Jews, in three languages,|| so strictly in accord- ance with the public usage of the time; the division and casting lots for his gar- ments by the soldiers who executed him (those wTho suffered the ignominious pun- ishment of the cross being exposed en- tirely naked, or with nothing more than was necessary for decency) ;®[f all these particulars, as well as the instrument of execution, the cross, are in strict unison with the well-known practice of Roman criminal jurisprudence. The execution of the two malefactors, one on each side of Jesus, is equally consonant with their or- dinary administration of justice, particu- larly in this ill-fated province. Probably before, unquestionably at a later period, Jerusalem was doomed to behold the long line of crosses on which her sons were left by the relentless Roman authorities to struggle with slow and agonizing death. In other circumstances, the Jewish na- tional character is equally conspicuous. This appears even in the conduct of the malefactors. The fanatical Juda- The two ism of one, not improbably a fol- maiefac- lower, or infected with the doc- tors# trines of the Gaulonite, even in his last ag- ony has strength enough to insult the pretender to the name of a Messiah who * Hence the common term “ furcifer.” Pat.ibu lum ferat per urbem, deinde affigatur cruci.—Plauti, frag. f Mark, xv., 21. Luke., xxiii., 26. 7 Matt., xxvii., 34. Mark, xv., 23. The rabbins say, wine with frankincense. This potion was given by the Jews out of compassion to criminals. § Luke, xxiii., 38. John, xix., 19, 20. || The inscriptions on the palisades which divided the part of the Temple court which might be entered by the Gentiles from that which was oper only to the Jews, were written, with the Roman sanction, in the three languages, Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. IT Matt., xxvii., 35. Mark, xv., 24. Luke, xxiii. 34. John, xix., 23, 24.142 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. yet. has not the power to release himself and his fellow-sufferers from death. The other, of milder disposition, yet in death in- clines to believe in Jesus, and, when he re-' turns to assume his kingdom, would hope to share in its blessings. To him Jesus, speaking in the current language, promises an immediate reward; he is to pass at once from life to happiness.* Besides this, how striking the triumph of his en- emies, as he seemed to surrender himself without resistance to the growing pangs Spectators of of death;. the assemblage, not the execution, only of the rude and ferocious populace, but of many of the most distin- guished rank, the members of the Sanhe- drin, to behold and to insult the last mo- ments of their once redoubted, but now despised adversary. And still every in- dication of approaching death seemed more and more to justify their rejection! still no sign of the mighty, the all-power- ful Messiah! Their taunting allusions to his royal title, to his misapprehended speech, which rankled in their hearts, about the demolition and rebuilding of the Tem- ple ;f to his power of healing others and restoring life, a power in his own case so manifestly suspended or lost; the offer to acknowledge him as the Messiah if he would come down from the cross in the face of day ; the still more malignant re- proach, that he, who had boasted of the peculiar favour of God, was now so vis- ibly deserted and abandoned; the Son of God, as3he called himself, is left to perish, despised and disregarded by God; all this as strikingly accords with, and illustrates the state of, Jewish feeling, as the former circumstances of the Roman.usages. And amid the whole wild and tumultu- ous scene there are some quiet gleams of pure Christianity, which contrast with and relieve the general darkness and horror : not merely the superhuman patience, with which insult, and pain, and ignominy are borne; not merely the self-command, which shows that the senses are not be- numbed or deadened by the intensity of suffering, but the slight incidental touches of gentleness and humanity.} We cannot but indicate the answer to the, afflicted women, who stood by the way weeping Conduct as he passed on to Cavalry, and of Jesus, whom he commanded not “to weep for him,” but for the deeper sorrows to which themselves or their children were devoted; the notice of the group of his own kindred and followers who stood by the cross; his bequest of the support of * Luke, xxiii., 39-43. + Matt,, xxvii, 39-43. Mark, xv., 31, 32. Luke, ixiii., 35. i Luke, xxiii 27-31. his Virgin Mother to the beloved disciple ;* above all, that most affecting exemplifica- tion of his own tenets, the prayer for the pardon of his enemies, the palliation of their crime from their ignorance of its real enormity : “ Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”f Yet so little are the evangelists studious of effect, that this incident of unrivalled moral sublimi- ty, even in the whole life of Christ, is but briefly, we might almost say carelessly, noticed by St. Luke alone. From the sixth hour (noonday), writes the evangelist St. Matthew, preternatural there was darkness over all darkness, the land unto the ninth hour.} The whole earth (the phrase in the other evangelists) is no doubt used according to Jewish phraseology, in which Palestine, the sa- cred land, was emphatically the earth. This supernatural gloom appears to re- semble that terrific darkness which pre- cedes an earthquake. For these three hours Jesus had borne the excruciating anguish; his human na- ture begins to fail,' and he complains of the burning thirst, the most painful, but usual aggravation of such a death. A compassionate by-stander filled a sponge with vinegar, fixed it on a long reed, and was about to lift it to his lips, when the dying Jesus uttered his last words, those of the twenty-second Psalm, in which, in the bitterness of his heart, David had com- plained of the manifest desertion of his God, who had yielded him up to his ene- mies—the phrase had perhaps been in common use in extreme distress—Eli, Eli, lama Sabacthani 1—My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me ?§ The compas- sionate hand of the man raising the vine- gar was arrested by others, who—a few, perhaps, in trembling curiosity, but more in bitter mockery—supposing that he called not on God (Eli), but on Elias, commanded him to wait and see whether, even now, that great and certain sign of the Messiah, the appearance of Elijah, would at length take place. Their barbarous triumph was uninter- rupted; and he, who yet (his followers * John, xix., 25-27. f Luke, xxiii, 34. t Matt., xxvii., 45-53. Mark, xv., 33-38. Luke, xxiii., 44, 45. John, xix., 28-30. Gibbon [vol. i., p. 283] has said, and truly, as re- gards all well-informed and sober interpreters of the sacred writings, that “ the celebrated passage of Phlegon is now wisely abandoned.” It still main- tains its ground, however, with writers of a certain class, notwithstanding its irrelevancy has already been admitted by Origen, and its authority rejected by every writer who has the least pretensions to his- torical criticism. § Matt., xxvii., 46. Mark, xv., 34-37. John, xix.. 28-30.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 143 were not without some lingering hope, and the more superstitious of his enemies not without some trembling apprehension) might awaken to all his terrible and pre- Death of wailing majesty, had now mani- Jesus. festly expired.* The Messiah, the imperishable, the eternal Messiah, had quietly yielded up the ghost. Even the dreadful earthquake which followed seemed to pass away without appalling the enemies of Jesus. The rend- ing of the veil of the Temple from the top to the bottom, so strikingly significant of the approaching abolition of the local wor- ship, would either be concealed by the priesthood, or attributed as a natural effect to the convulsion of the earth. The same convulsion would displace the stones which covered the ancient tombs, and lay open many of the innumerable rock-hewn supulchres which perforated the hills on every side of the city, and expose the dead to public view. To the awestruck and depressed minds of the followers of Jesus, no doubt, were confined those vis- ionary appearances of the spirits of their deceased brethren, which are obscurely intimated in the rapid narratives of the evangelists, f But these terrific appearances, which seem to have been lost on the infatuated Jews, were not without effect on the less prejudiced Roman soldiery; they appear- ed 'to bear the testimony of Heaven to the innocence, to the Divine commission of the crucified Jesus. The centurion who guarded the. spot, according to St. Luke, declared aloud his conviction that Jesus was a just man; according to St. Matthew, that he was the Son of God.J Secure now, by the visible marks of dissolution, by the piercing of his side, from which blood and water flowed out, that Jesus was actually dead; and still, even in their most irreligious acts of cruel- ty and wickedness, punctiliously religious (since it was a sin to leave the body of * Luke, xxiiL, 46. f This is the probable and consistent view of Michaelis. Those who assert a supernatural eclipse of the sun rest on the most dubious and suspicious tradition; while those who look with jealousy on the introduction of natural causes, however so timed as in fact to be no less extraordinary than events altogether contrary to the course of nature, forget or despise the difficulty of accounting for the apparently slight sensation produced on the minds of the .Tews, and the total silence of all other his- tory. Compare the very sensible note of M. Guizot on the latter part of Gibbon’s xvth chapter [p. 288]. t Matt., xxvii., 54. Luke, xxiii., 47. Lightfoot supposes that by intercourse with the Jews he may have learned their phraseology: Grotius; that he had a general impression that Jesus was a superior being. that blameless being on the cross during one day,* whom it had been no sin, but rather an act of the greatest virtue, to mur- der the day before), the Sanhedrin gave their consent to a wealth}'adherent of Je- sus, Joseph, of the town of Arimathea, to bury the body. The sanction of Burial or Pilate was easily obtained : it was Jesus, taken down from the cross, and consigned to the sepulchre prepared by Joseph for his own family, but in which no body had yet been laid.f The sepulchre was at no great distance from the place of execution; the customary rites were performed : the body was wrapped in fine linen, and anoint- ed with a mixture of costly spice and myrrh, with which the remains of those who were held in respect by their kindred were usually preserved. As the Sabbath was drawing on, the work was performed with the utmost despatch, and Jesus was laid to rest in the grave of his faithful ad- herent. In that rock-hewn tomb might appear to be buried for- ever both the The religion fears of his enemies and the apparently * hopes of his followers. Though at an eml- some rumours of his predictions concern- ing his resurrection had crept abroad, suf- ficient to awaken The caution of the San- hedrin, and to cause them to seal the out- ward covering of the sepulchre, and, with the approbation of Pilate, to station a Ro- man guard upon the spot; yet, as far as the popular notion of the Messiah, nothing could be more entirely and absolutely de- structive of their hopes than the patient submission of Jesus to insult, to degrada- tion, to death. However, with some of milder nature, his exquisite sufferings might excite compassion; however the savage and implacable cruelty with which the rulers urged his fate might appear re- volting to the multitude, after their first ac- cess of religious indignation had passed away, and the recollection returned to the gentle demeanour and beneficent acts of Jesus ; yet the hope of redemption, what- ever meaning they might attach to the term, whether deliverance from their ene- mies, or the restoration of their theocratic government, had set in utter darkness. However vague or contradictory this no- tion among the different sects or classes, with the mass of the people, nothing less than ail immediate, instantaneous reap- pearance in some appalling or imposing * Deut., xxi., 23. The Jews usually buried ex- ecuted criminals ignominiously, but at the request of a family would permit a regular burial,—Light- foot, from Babyl. San. f Matt, xxvii., 57-60. Mark, xv., 42-47. Luke, xxiii., 50-56. John, xix., 38-42.144 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. form could have reinstated Jesus in his high place in the popular expectation. Without this, his career was finally closed, and he would pass away at once, as one of the brief wonders of the time, his tem- porary claims to respect or attachment refuted altogether by the shame, by the ignominy of his death. His ostensible leading adherents were men of the hum- blest origin, aind, as yet, of no distinguish- ed ability; men from whom little danger could be apprehended, and who might be treated with contemptuous neglect. No attempt appears to have been made to secure a single person, or to prevent their peaceful retreat to their native Galilee. The whole religion centred in the person of Jesus, and in his death was apparently suppressed, crushed, extinguished for ever. After a few days, the Sanhedrin would dread-nothing less than a new disturbance from the same quarter; and Pilate, as the whole affair had passed off without tumult, would soon suppress the remonstrances of his conscience at the sacrifice of an in- nocent life, since the public peace had been maintained, and, no doubt, his own popularity with the leading Jews consider- ably heightened, at so cheap a price. All then was at an end; yet after the death of Christ commences, strictly speaking the history of Christianity.BOOK II. CHAPTER I. THE RESURRECTION, AND FIRST The resurrection of Jesus is the basis Kristian of Christianity; it is the ground- ioctrine of work of the Christian doctrine tafityofthe of the immortality of the soul, soul. Henceforward that great truth begins to assume a new character, and to obtain an influence over the political and social*, as well as over the individual hap- piness of man, unknown in the former ages of the world.* It is no longer a fee- ble and uncertain instinct, nor a remote speculative opinion, obscured by the more pressing necessities and cares of the pres- ent life, but the universal predominant sen- timent, constantly present to the thoughts, enwoven with the usages, and pervading the whole moral being of man. The dim and scattered rays, either of traditionary belief, of intuitive feeling, or of philo- sophic reasoning, were brought as it were to a focus, condensed and poured with an immeasurably stronger, an expanding, an all-permeating light upon the human soul.f Whatever its origin, whether in human nature or the aspirations of high-thought- ed individuals, propagated through their followers or in former revelation, it re- ceived such an impulse, and was so deeply and universally moulded up with the pop- ular mind in all orders, that from this pe- riod may be dated the true era of its do- minion. If by no means new in its ele- * Our Saviour assumes the doctrine of another life as the basis of his doctrines, because, in a cer- tain sense, it was already the popular belief among the Jews ; but it is very different with the apostles when they address the heathen, who formed far the largest part of the converts to Christianity. f I have found some of these observations and even expressions anticipated by the striking re- marks of Lessing. Und so ward Christus dererste zuverlassige praktische Lehrer der Unsterblichkeit der Seele. Der erste zuverliissige Lehrer. Zuver- liissig durch seine Weissagungen, die in ihm erfiillt schienen: zuverlassig durch die Wunder die er ver- richtete: zuverlassig durch seine eigne Wieder- belebung nach einem Tode, durch die er seine Lehre versiegelt hatte. Der erste praktische Leh- rer. Denn ein anders 'ist, die Unsterblichkeit der Seele, als eine philosophische Speculation, ver- muthen, wiinschen, glauben: ein anders seine in- nern und assern Handlungen darnach, einrichten.— Lessing, Werke, ix . p. 03. PROMULGATION OF CHRISTIANITY. mentary principle, it was new in the degree and the extent to which it began to operate in the affairs of men.* The calm inquirer into the history of hu- man nature, as displayed in the Effects of existing records of our race, if un- this doc- happily disinclined to receive the trine‘ Christian faith as a Divine revelation, must nevertheless behold in this point of time the crisis, and in this circumstance the governing principle, of the destinies of mankind during many centuries of their * The most remarkable evidence of the extent to which German speculation has wandered away from the first principles of Christianity is this; that one of the most religious writers, the one who has endeavoured with the most earnest sincerity to reconcile religious belief with the philosophy of the times, has actually represented Christianity with out, or almost without, the immortality of the soul; and this the ardent and eloquent translator of Plato! Copious and full on the moral regeneration effected by Christ in this world, with the loftiest sentiments of the emancipation of the human soul from the bondage of sin by the Gospel, Schleiermacher is si- lent, or almost silent, on the redemption from death. He beholds Christ distinctly as bringing life, only vaguely and remotely as bringing immortality, to light. I acknowledge that I mistrusted the extent of my own acquaintance with the writings of Schleiermacher and the accuracy with which l had read them (chiefly the Glaubenlehre and some of those sermons which were so highly admired at Berlin); but I have found my own conclusions con- firmed by an author whom I cannot suspect to be unacquainted with the writings, or unjust to the character, of one for whom he entertains the most profound respect. So geschah es, das dieser Glau- benslehre unter den Handen der Begnff des Heiles sich aus einem wesentlich jenseitigen in einem wesentlich diesseitigen verwandelte... . Hiermit ist nun aber die eigentliche Bedeutungdes altenGlau- bengrundsatzes in der that verloren gegangen. Wo die aussicht auf eine dereinstige, aus dem dann in Schauen umgesetsten Glauben ernporwachsende Seligkeit so, wie in Schleiermacher’s eigener Dar- stellung in den Hintergrund tritt, so ganz nur als eine beilaiifige, in Bezug auf das Wie ganz und gar problematisch bleibende Folgerung, ja fast als eine hors d’ceuvre hinzugebracht wird: da wird auch demjenigen Bewusstsein welches seine diesseitige Befriedigung in dem Glauben an Christus gewon- nen hat, offenbar seine machtigste, ja seine einzige Waffe gegen alle die ihm die Wahrheit solchei Befriedigung bestreiten, oder bezweifeln, aus deu Handen gerissen.—Weisse, Die Evangelische Ges- chichte, band ii., p. 451.140 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. most active and fertile development. A new race of passions was introduced into the political arena as well as into the in- dividual heart, or, rather, the natural and universal passions were enlisted in the ser- vice of more absorbing and momentous in- terests, The fears and hopes by which man is governed took a wider range, em- bracing the future life in many respects with as much, or even stronger, energy and intenseness than the present. The stu- pendous dominion erected by the church, the great characteristic feature of modern history, rested almost entirely on this ba- sis ; it ruled as possessing an inherent power over the destiny of the soul in a future world. It differed in this primary principle of its authority from the sacer- dotal castes of antiquity. The latter rest- ed their influence on hereditary claims to superiority over the rest of mankind ; and though they dealt sometimes, more or less largely, in the terrors and hopes of anoth- er state of being, especially in defence of their own power and privileges, theirs was a kind of mixed aristocracy of birth and priestcraft. But if this new and irresisti- ble power lent itself, in certain stages of society, to human ambition, and, as a stern and inflexible lictor, bowed down the whole mind of man to the fasces of a spir- itual tyranny, it must be likewise contem- plated in its far wider and more lasting, though perhaps less imposing character, as the parent of all which is purifying, en- nobling, unselfish in Christian civiliza- tion ; as a principle of every humanizing virtue which philosophy must ever want; of self-sacrifice, to which the patriotism of antiquity shrinks into a narrow and na- tional feeling; and as introducing a doc- trine of equality as sublime, as it is with- out danger to the necessary gradations which must exist in human society. Since the promulgation of Christianity, the immortality of the soul, and its insep- arable consequence, future retribution, have not only been assumed by the legis- lator as the basis of all political institu- tions, but the general mind has been brought into such complete unison with the spirit of the laws so founded, that the individual repugnance to the principle has been constantly overborne by the general predominant sentiment. In some periods it has seemed to survive the religion on which it was founded. Wherever, at all events, it operates upon the individual or social mind, wherever it is even tacitly ad- mitted and assented to by the prevalent feeling of mankind, it must be traced to the profound influence which Christianity has at least at one time, exercised over the inner nature of man. This was the moral revolution which set into activity, before unprecedented, and endowed with vitality, till then unknown, this great ruling agent in the history of the world. Still, however, as though almost un- conscious of the future effects style of me of this event, tne narratives of Evangelists, the evangelists, as they approach this cri- sis in their own, as well as in the destinies of man, preserve their serene and unim- passioned flow. Each follows his own course, with precisely that discrepance which might be expected among inartifi- cial writers relating the same event, with- out any mutual understanding or refer- ence to each other’s work, but all with the same equable and unexalted tone. The Sabbath passed away without dis- turbance or commotion. The profound quiet which prevailed in the crowded capital of Judea on the seventh day, at these times of rigid ceremonial observ- ance, was unbroken by the partisans of Jesus. Yet even the Sabbath did not re- strain the leading members of the Sanhe- drin from taking the necessary precau- tions to guard the body of their victim : their hostile jealousy, as has been before observed, was more alive to the predic- tions of the resurrection than the attach- ment of the disciples. To prevent any secret or tumultuous attempt of the fol- lowers to possess themselves of the re- mains of their Master, they caused a seal to be attached to the stone which formed the door to the sepulchral enclosure, and stationed the guard, which was at their disposal, probably for the preservation of the public peace, in the garden around the tomb. The guard being Roman, might exercise their military functions on the sacred day. The disciples were no doubt restrained by the sanctity of the Sabbath, as well as by their apprehensions of re- awakening the popular indignation, even from approaching the burial-place of their Master. The religion of the day lulled alike the passions of the rulers, the popu- lar tumult, the fears and the sorrows of the disciples. It was not till the early dawn of the fol- lowing morning* that some of The women the women set out to pay the last at the sepui- melancholy honours at the' sep- chre* ulchre. They had bought some of those precious drugs which were used for the preservation of the remains of the more opulent on the evening of the crucifix- ion ; and, though the body had been anointed and wrapped in spices in the * Matt., xxviii. Mark, xv.i. Lukp, xiv. John, rocHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 147 customary manner previously to the buri- al, this farther mark of respect was strict- ly according to usage. But this circum- stance, thus casually mentioned, clearly shows that the women, at least, had no hope whatever of any change which could take place as to the body of Jesus.* The party of women consisted of Mary of Magdala, a town near the Lake of Tibe- rias ; Mary, the wife of Alpheus, mother of James and Joses ; Joannav, wife of Ohuza, Herod’s steward; and Salome, u the mother of Zebedee’s children.” They were all Galileans, and from.the same neighbourhood ; all faithful attend- ants on Jesus, and related to some of the leading disciples. They set out very ear- ly ; and as, perhaps, they had to meet from different quarters, some not unlike- ly from Bethany, the sun was rising be- fore they reached the garden., Before their arrival, the earthquake or atmospher- ic commotionf had taken place; the tomb had burst open, and the terrified guard had fled to the city. Of the sealing of the stone and the placing of the guard they appear to have been ignorant, as, in the*most natural manner, they seem sud- denly to remember the difficulty of re- moving the ponderous stone which closed the sepulchre, and which would require the strength of several men to raise it from its place. Sepulchres in the East, those at least belonging to men of rank and opulence, were formed of an outward small court or enclosure, the entrance to which was covered by a huge stone ; and within were cells or chambers, often hewn in the solid rock, for the deposite of the dead. As the women drew near, they saw that the stone had been removed, and the first glance into the open sepulchre * In a prolusion of Griesbach, De fontibus unde Evangelist® suas de resurrectione Domini narra- tiones hauserint, it is observed, that the evangelists seem to have dwelt on those particular points in which they were personally concerned. This ap- pears to furnish a very simple key to their apparent discrepances. John, who received his first intelli- gence from Mary Magdalene, makes her the prin- cipal person in his narrative, while Matthew, who, with the rest of the disciples, derived his informa- tion from the other women, gives their relation, and omits the appearance of Jesus to the Magdalene. St. Mark gives a few additional minute particulars, but the narrative of St. Luke is altogether more vague and general. He blends together, as a later historian, studious of compression, the two separate transactions ; he ascribes to the women collectively that communication of the intelligence to the as- sembled body of the apostles which appears to have been made separately to two distinct parties; and disregarding the order of time, he after that reverts to the visit of St. Peter to the sepulchre. t Hsurfios is rather an ambiguous term,- though it usually means an earthquake. discovered that the body was no longei there. At this sight Mary Magdalene ap- pears to have hurried back to the city, to give information to Peter and John. These disciples, it may be remembered, were the only two who followed Jesus to his trial; and it is likely that they were together in some part of the city while the rest were scattered in different quar- ters, or, perhaps, had retired to Bethany. During the absence of Mary, the other women made a closer inspection; they entered the inner chamber; they saw the grave-clothes lying in an orderly manner, the bandage or covering of the head rolled up and placed on one side; this circum- stance would appear incompatible with the haste of a surreptitious, or the care- lessness of a violent removal. To their minds, thus highly excited, and bewildered with astonishment, with terror, and with grief, appeared what is described by the evangelist as “avision of angels.” One or more beings in human form seated in the shadowy twilight within the sepul- chre, and addressing them with human voices, told them that their Master had risen from the grave ; that he was to go before them into Galilee. They had de- parted to communicate these wonderful tidings to the other disciples before the two summoned by Mary Magdalene had arrived ; of these the younger and Arrival of more active, John, outran the old- Peter and er, Peter. But he only entered John* the outer chamber, from whence he could see the state in which the grave-clothes were lying; but, before he entered the in- ner chamber, he awaited the arrival of his companion. Peter went in first, and af- terward John, who, as he states, not till then believed that the body had been ta- ken away; for up to that time the apos- tles themselves had no thought or expec- tation of the resurrection.* These two apostles returned home, leaving Maiy Magdalene, who, probably wearied by her walk to the city and her return, had not come up with them till they had comple- ted their search. The other women, meantime, had fled in haste, and in the silence of terror, through the hostile city; and until, later in the day, they found the apostles assembled together, did not unbur- den their hearts of this extraordinary se- cret. Mary Magdalenef was left Firstappear. alone ; she had seen and heard ance of Jesus nothing of the angelic vision which had appeared to the oth- 6 ers; but, on looking down into the sepul- * John, xx., 8-9. f Mark, xvi., 9-11. John, xx., 11-18.148 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. chre, she saw the same vision which had appeared to the others, and was in her turn addressed by the angels ; and it seems that her feelings were those of un- mitigated sorrow. She stood near the sepulchre, weeping. To her Jesus then first appeared. So little was she pre- pared for his presence, that she at first mistook him for the person who had the charge of the garden. Her language is that of grief, because unfriendly hands have removed the body, and carried it away to some unknown place. Nor was it till he again addressed her that she rec- ognised his familiar form and voice. The second* * * § * appearance of Jesus was Later ap- to the other party of women, as pearances. they returned to the city, and, perhaps, separated to find out the different apostles, to whom, when assembled, they related the whole of their adventure. In the mean time, a third appearancef had taken place to two disciples who had made an excursion to Emmaus, a village between seven and eight miles from Jeru- salem : a fourth to the apostle Peter; this apparition is not noticed by the evange- lists ; it rests on the authority of St. Paul.J The intelligence of the women had been received with the utmost incre- dulity by the assembled apostles. The arrival of the two disciples from Emmaus, with their more particular relation of his conversing with them, his explaining the Scriptures, his breaking bread with them, made, a deeper impression. Still mistrust seems to have predominated ; and when Jesus appeared in the chamber, the doors of which had been closed from fear lest their meeting should be interrupted by the hostile rulers, the first sensation was ter- ror rather than joy. It was not till Jesus conversed with them, and permitted them to ascertain by actual touch the identity of his body, that they yielded to emotions of gladness. Jesus appeared a second time, eight days after,$ in the public as- sembly of the disciples, and condescended to remove the doubts of one apostle, who had not been present at the former meet- ing, by permitting him to inspect and touch his wounds. This incredulity of the apostles, related with so much simplicity, is, on many ac- * Matt., xxviii., 9,10. f Mark, xvi., 12,13. Luke, xxiv., 13-32. $ It does not appear possible that Peter could be one of the disciples near Emmaus. It would har- monize the accounts if we could suppose that St. Paul (1 Cor, xv., 5) originally dictated KXioira, which was changed for the more familiar name K rj judge me after the law, and commandest me to be smitten contrary to the law k’ Rebuked for thus disrespectfully answer- ing the high-priest, Paul answered that he did not know that there was any one at that time lawfully exercising the office of high-priest,! an,office which he was bound, by the strict letter of the sacred writings, to treat with profound respect. He pro- ceeded without scruple to avail himself of the dissensions of the court; for by resting his defence on his belief in the res- urrection he irritated more violently the Sadducaic party, but threw that of the Pharisees on his own side. The angry discussion was terminated by the interpo- sition of the Roman commander, who again withdrew Paul into the citadel. Yet his life was not secure even there. The crime of assassination had become fear- fully frequent in Jerusalem. Neither the sanctity of the Temple protected the un- suspicious worshipper from the secret dagger, nor, as we have seen, did the majesty of the high-priest’s office secure the first religious and civil magistrate of the nation from the same ignoble fate. A conspiracy was formed by some of these fanatic zealots against the life of Paul; but the plot being discovered by one of his relatives, a sister’s son, be was sent un- der a strong guard to Cassarea, Paul sent the residence of the Roman pro- to Caesarea, vincial governor, the dissolute and tyran- nical Felix. The Sanhedrin pursued their hated ad- versary tO the tribunal Of the Paul before governor, but with Felix they Felix- possessed no commanding influence. A hired orator, whom from his name we may conjecture to have been a Roman, em- ployed, perhaps, according to the usage, which provided that all legal proceedings * .Acts, xxiii., 2, 3. f “ I wist not that there was a high-priestsuch appears to be the translation of this passage, sug gested by Mr. Gres well, most agreeable to tU sense.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY 167 biiould be conducted in the Latin language, appeared as their advocate before the tri- bunal.* But the defence of Paul against the charge of sedition, of innovation, and the profanation of the Temple, was equally successful with Felix, who was well ac- quainted with the Jewish character, and by no means disposed to lend himself to their passions and animosities. The charge therefore was dismissed. Paul, though not set at liberty, was allowed free intercourse with his Christian brethren; Felix himself even condescended to hear, and heard not without emotion, the high moral doctrines of St. Paul, which were so much at variance with his unjust and adulterous life. But it was not so much the virtue as the rapacity of Felix which thus inclined him to look with favour upon the apostle : knowing, probably, the pro- fuse liberality of the Christians, and their zealous attachment to their teacher, he expected that the liberty of Paul would be purchased at any price he might de- mand. For the last two years, therefore, Paul in ^ie administration of Felix, Paul prison at remained a prisoner; and Felix, Caesarea. at his departure, well aware that accusations were lodged against him by the representatives of the Jewish nation, endeavoured to propitiate their favour by leaving him still in custody.! Nor had the Jews lost sight of this great object of animosity. Before the new governor, Porcius Festus, a man of rigid justice, and less acquainted with the Jewish character, their charges were renewed with the ut- 58 mos^ aci'bnony. On his first visit to Jerusalem, the high-priest de- manded that Paul should be sent back for trial before the Sanhedrin; and though Festus refused the petition till he should * Acts, xxiv., 1-26. f There is great chronological difficulty in ar- ranging this part of the administration of Felix. But the difficulty arises, not so much in harmoni- zing the narrative of the Acts with the historians of the period, as in reconciling Josephus with Tacitus. Taking the account of Josephus, it is impossible to compress all the events of that part of the adminis- tration of Felix which he places after the acces- sion of Nero into a single year. Yet he states that on the recall of Felix he only escaped pun- ishment for his crimes through the interest of his brother Pallas. Yet, according to Tacitus, the in- fluence of Pallas with Nero ceased in the second year of his reign, and he was deposed from all his offices. In the third he was indicted of l&se majes- te, and his acquittal was far from acceptable to the emperor. In the fourth year his protectress Agrip- pina was discarded for Poppsea ; in the next she was put to death. In the ninth of Nero’s reign Pallas himself, though charged with no new crime, was poisoned. The question therefore is, whether, in any intermediate period, he could have regained, by any intrigue, sufficient influence to shield his brother from the prosecution of the Jews. himself have investigated the case at Caes- area, on his return he proposed that Paul should undergo a public examination at Jerusalem in his own presence. The de sign of the Jews was to surprise and as- sassinate the prisoner; and Paul, probably informed of their secret intentions, per- sisted in his appeal to Caesar. To this ap- peal from a Roman citizen the governor could not refuse his assent. The younger Agrippa had now returned from Rome, where he had resided during his minority. He had succeeded to part only of his fa- ther’s dominions; he was in possession of the Asmonean palace at Jerusalem, and had the right of appointing the high-priest, which he exercised apparently with all the capricious despotism of a Roman govern- or. He appeared in great pomp at Caesa- rea, with his sister Berenice, on a visit to Festus. The Roman governor appears to have consulted him, as a man of modera- tion and knowledge of the Jewish law, upon the case of Paul. The paui before apostle was summoned before Agrippa. him. The defence of Paul made a strong impression upon Agrippa, who, though not a convert, was probably, from that time, favourably disposed to Christianity. The appeal of Paul to the emperor was irrevo- cable by an inferior authority ; whether he would have preferred remaining in Judaea after an acquittal from Festus, and perhaps under the protection of Agrippa, or wheth- er to his own mind Rome offered a mm? noble and promising field for his Christian zeal, Paul, setting forth on his voy- Paul sent age, left probably for ever the land t0 Uon,e- of his forefathers; that land beyond all others inhospitable to the religion oi Christ; that land which Paul, perhaps a! most alone of Jewish descent, had ceased to consider the one narrow portion of the habitable world which the love of the Universal Father had sanctified as the chosen dwelling of his people, as the fu- ture seat of dominion, glory, and bliss. The great object of Jewish animosity had escaped the hostility of the Sanhedrin, but an opportunity soon occurred of wreak- ing their baffled vengeance on another vic- tim, far less obnoxious to the general feel- ings even of the more bigoted among the Jews. The head of the Christian com- munity in Jerusalem was James, whom Josephus himself, if the expression in that remarkable passage be genuine (which is difficult to believe), dignifies with the ap- pellation of the brother of Jesus. On the death of Festus, and before the arrival of his successor Albinus, the high-priesthood was in the hands of Annas or Ananus, the last of five sons of the former Annas who168 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY had held that rank; Annas was the head of the Sadducaic party, and seized the op- portunity of this suspension of the Roman authority to reassert the power of the Sanhedrin over life and death. Many per- sons, whom it is impossible not to sup- pose Christians, were executed by the legal punishment of stoning. Among these, the head of the community A'D,b2, was the most exposed to the ani- mosity of the government, and, therefore, least likely to escape in the day of tempo- rary power. The fact of the murder of Martyrdom St. James, at least of certain sup- of James, posed offenders against the law, whom it is difficult not to identify with the Christians,# rests on the authority of the Jewish historian :f in the details which are related on the still more questionable testimony of Hegesippiis.J we feel that Connecting this narrative of Josephus, even without admitting the authenticity of the passage about St. James, with the proceedings against St. r'aul as related in the Acts, it appears to me highly improbable that, if Ananus put any persons to death for crimes against religion, they should have been any other than Christians. Who but Christians would, be obnoxious to capital punishment? and rgainst whom but them would a legal conviction be obtained ? Certainly not against the Pharisees, who went beyond the law, or the zealots and fol- lowers of Judas the Galilean, whose fate would have excited little commiseration or regret among the moderate and peaceful part of the community. Lardner therefore appears to me in error in admit- ting the prosecutions of Ananus, but disconnecting them from the Christian history. f Joseph., Ant., xx., 8, 1. Lardner’s Jewish Testimonies, vol. iii., p. 342, 4to edit. J This narrative of Hegesippus has undergone the searching criticism of Scaliger in Chron. Eu- seb., and Le Clerc, Hist. Eccles. and Ars Critica ; it has been feebly defended by Petavius, and zealously by Tillemont. Heinichen, the recent editor of Eu- sebius, seems desirous to trace some vestiges of truth. In these early forgeries it is not only inter- esting and important to ascertain the truth or false- hood, of the traditions themselves, but the design and the authors of such pious frauds. This legend seems imagined in a spirit of Christian asceticism, endeavouring to conform itself to Jewish usage, of which, nevertheless, it betrays remarkable igno- rance. It attributes to the Christian bishop the Nazaritish abstinence from the time of his birth, not only from wine, but, in the spirit of Buddhism, from everything which had life; the self-denial of the luxury of anointment with oil, with a monkish abhorrence of ablutions: a practice positively com- manded in the law, and from which no Jew abstain- ed. It gives him the power of entering the Holy Place at all times: a practice utterly in opposition to the vital principles of Judaism, as he could not have been of the race of Aaron. It describes his kneeling till his knees were as hard as those of a camel: another indication of the growing spirit of monkery. We may add the injudicious introduc- tion of the “ Scribes and Pharisees,” in the lan- guage of the Gospel, as the authors of his fate; which, according to the more probable account of. Josephus, and the change in the state of feeling in Jerusalem, was solely to be attributed to the Sad- ducees. The final improbability is the hading to we are passing from the clear and pellucid air of the apostolic history into the misty atmosphere of legend. We would will- ingly attempt to disentangle the more probable circumstances of this impressive story from the embellishments of later in- vention, but it happens that its more stri- king and picturesque incidents are pre- cisely the least credible. After withdraw- ing every particular inconsistent either with the character or usages of the time, little remains but the simple facts that James was so highly esteemed in Jerusa- lem as to have received the appellation of Just (a title, it should seem, clearly of Jewish origin); that he perished during this short period of the sanguinary admin- istration of Ananus, possibly was thrown down in a tumult from the precipitous walls of the Temple, where a more merci- ful persecutor put an end to his sufferings with a fuller’s club; finally, that these cruel proceedings of Ananus were con- templated with abhorrence by the more moderate, probably by the whole Phari- saic party; his degradation from the su- preme office was demanded, and hailed with satisfaction by the predominant senti- ment of the people. Rut the days of Jewish persecution were drawing to a close. Even religious Jewish animosity was subdued in the colli- war* sion of still fiercer passions. A darker and more absorbing interest, the fate of the nation in the imminent, the inevitable con- flict with the arms of Rome, occupied the Jewish mind in every quarter of the world, in Palestine mingling personal apprehen- sions, and either a trembling sense of the insecurity of life, or a desperate determi- nation to risk life itself for liberty, with the more appalling anticipations of the nation- al destiny, the total extinction of the Heaven-ordained polity, the ruin of the city of Sion, and the Temple of God. To the ferocious and fanatical party, who gradually assumed the ascendancy, Chris- tianity would be obnoxious, as secluding its peaceful followers from all participa- tion in the hopes, the crimes, or what, in a worldly sense, might have been, not un- justly, considered the glories of the insur- the pinnacle of the Temple (a circumstance obvi- ously borrowed from our Lord’s temptation), a man who had been for years the acknowledged head of the Christian community in Jerusalem, that he might publicly dissuade the people from believing in Christ; still farther, his burial after such a death within the walls of the city, and close to the Tem- ple: all these incongruities indicate a period at which Christianity had begun to degenerate into asceticism, and had been so long estranged from Judaism as to be ignorant of its real character and usages.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 169 ret tion. Still, to whatever dangers or tri- als they were exposed, they were the des- ultory and casual attacks of individual hostility rather than the systematic and determined persecution of one ruling par- iy. Nor perhaps were they looked upon with the same animosity as many of the more eminent and influential of the Jews, who vainly attempted to allay the wild ferment. A general tradition, preserved by Eusebius, intimates that the Chris- tian community, especially forewarned by Providence, left Jerusalem before the for- mation of the siege, and took refuge in the town of Pella, in the Trans-Jordanic prov- ince. According to Josephus, the same course was pursued by most of the higher order, who could escape in time from the sword of the zealot or the Idumean. Rab- binical tradition dates from the same peri- od the flight of the Sanhedrin from the capital: its first place of refuge without the walls of Jerusalem was Jaffna (Jam- nia), from whence it passed to other cities, until its final settlement in Tiberias.* The Jewish war, the final desolation of the national polity, the destruction of the city, and the demolition of the Temple, were events which could not but influence the progress of Christianity to a far great- er extent than by merely depriving the Jews of the power to persecute under a Probable ef- legal form. While the Christian fan of jeru these unexampled Kaietn on" horrors the accomplishment of Christianity, predictions uttered by his Lord, the less infatuated among the Jews could not be ignorant that such predictions pre- vailed among the Christians. However the prudence of the latter might shrink from exasperating the more violent party by the open promulgation of such dispirit- ing and ill-omened auguries, they must have transpired among those who were hesitating between the two parties, and powerfully tended to throw that fluctuating mass into the preponderating scale of Christianity. With some of the Jews, no doubt, the hope in the coming of the Mes- siah must have expired with the fall of the Temple. Not merely was the period of time assigned, according to the general interpretation of the prophecies, for the appearance of the Deliverer gone by, but their less stern and obstinate Judaism must have begun to entertain apprehen- sions that the visible rejection of the peo- ple intimated, not obscurely, the with- drawal of the Divine favour. They would thus be thrown back, as it were, upon Je- sus of Nazareth as the only possible Mes- * Hist, of the Jews, iii,, 82. Y siah, and listen to his claims with greater inclination to believe. The alternative* might seem to be between him and the desperate abandonment, or the adjourn- ment to an indefinite period, of all their hopes of redemption. The hearts of many would be softened by the experience of personal suffering or the sight of so many cases of individual misery. Christianity, with its consolatory promises, Effect on must have appeared the only ref- lhe Jews, uge to those with whom the wretchedness of their temporal condition seemed to in- validate their hopes of an hereditary claim to everlasting life as children of Abraham ; where they despaired of a temporal, they would be more inclined to accept a spirit- ual and moral deliverance. At the same time, the temporary advantage of the few converts gained from such motives would be counterbalanced by the more complete alienation of the Jewish mind from a race who not only apostatized from the religion of their fathers, but by no means repudi- ated the most intimate connexion with the race of Esau, for thus the dark hostility of the Jews began to denominate the Ro- mans. By the absorption of this inter- mediate class, who had wavered between Christianity and Judaism, who either melt- ed into the mass of the Christian party, or yielded themselves to the desperate infat- uation of Judaism, the breach between the Jew and the Christian became more wide and irreparable. The prouder and more obstinate Jew sternly wrapped himself up in his sullen isolation; his aversion from the rest of mankind, under the sense of galling oppression and of disappointed pride, settled into hard hostility. That which those of less fanatic Judaism found in Christianity, he sought in a stronger at- tachment to his own distinctive ceremoni- al ; in a more passionate and deep-rooted conviction of his own prerogative, as the elect people of God. He surrendered him- self, a willing captive, to the new priestly dominion, that of the rabbins, which en- slaved his whole life to a system of mi- nute ordinances; he rejoiced in the rivet- ing and multiplying those bonds, which had been burst by Christianity, but which he wore £ the badge of hopes still to be fulfilled, of glories which were at length to compensateTor his present humiliation. This more complete alienation between the Jew and the Christian tended to weak- en that internal spirit of Judaism, which, nevertheless, was eradicated with the ut- most difficulty, and,, indeed, has perpetual- ly revived within the bosom of Christian- ity under another name. Down to the destruction of Jerusalem, Palestine, or,170 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. rather, Jerusalem itself, was at once the centre and the source of this predominant influence. In foreign countries, as we shall presently explain, the irrepealable and eternal sanctity of the Mosaic law was the repressive power which was con- tinually struggling against the expansive force of Christianity. In Jerusalem this power was the holiness of the Temple; and therefore, with the fall of the Temple, this strongest bond, with which the heart of the Jewish Christian was riveted to his old religion, at once burst asunder. To him the practice of his Lord and the apos- ■ ties had seemed to confirm the inalienable local sanctity of this “chosen dwelling” of God; and while it yet stood in all its undegraded splendour, to the Christian of Jerusalem it was almost impossible fully to admit the first principle of Christianity, that the Universal Father is worshipped in any part of his created universe with equal advantage. One mark by which the Jew- ish race was designated as the great reli- gious caste of mankind was thus forever abolished. The synagogue had no rever- ential dignity, no old and sacred majesty to the mind of the convert, beyond his own equally humble and unimposing place of devotion. Hence, even before the de- struction of the Temple, this feeling de- pended upon the peculiar circumstances of the individual convert. Though even among the foreign Jews the respect for the Temple was maintained by traditionary reverence, though the im- post for its maintenance was regularly lev- ied and willingly paid by the race of Israel in every part of the Roman empire, and occasional visits to the capital at the perk ods of the great festivals revived in many the old sacred impressions, still, according to the universal principles of human na- ture, the more remote the residence, and the less frequent the impression of the Temple services upon the senses, thm weaker became this first conservative principle of Jewish feeling. But there remained another element of Jewish.at- that exclusiveness which was tachment to the primary principle of the ex- t.he Law. jsting Judaism ; that exclusive- ness which, limiting the Divin^^Jjavour to a certain race, would scarcity believe that foreign branches could be ingrafted into the parent stock, even though incorpo- rated with it; and still obstinately resisted the notion that Gentiles, without becom- ing Jews, could share in the blessings of the promised Messiah, or in their state of uncircumcision, or, aj; least, of insubor- dination to the Mosaic ordinances, become heirs of the kingdom of Hea ven. What the Tempie was to the inhabitant of Jerusalem, was the Law to the The Law worshipper in the synagogue. As early, no doubt, as the present time, the book of the Law was the one great sacred object in every religious edifice of the Jews in all parts of the world. It was de- posited in a kind of art;; it was placed in that part of the synagogue which repre- sented the Holy of Holies : it was brought forth with solemn reverence by the “ an- gel” of the assembly; it was heard as an oracle of God” from the sanctuary. 'The whole rabbinical supremacy rested on their privilege as interpreters of the law ; and tradition, though in fact it assumed a co ordinate authority, yet veiled its preten sions under the humbler character of an exposition, a supplementary comment, on the heaven-enacted code. If we reas- cend, in our history, towards the period in which Christianity first opened its pale to the Gentiles, we shall find that this was the prevailing power by which the internal Judaism maintained its conflict with purei and more liberal Christianity within its own sphere. Even at Antioch the Chris- tian community had been in danger from this principle of separation ; the Jewish converts, jealous of all encroachment upon the law, had drawn off and insulated them- selves from those of the Gentiles.* Peter withdrew within the narrower and more exclusive party ; Barnabas alone, the com- panion and supporter of Paul, did not in- cline to the same course.f It required all the energy and resolution of Paul to resist the example and influence of the older apostles. His public expostulation had the effect of allaying the discord at Antioch; and the temperate and conciliatory meas- ures adopted in Jerusalem to a certain de- gree reuni ted the conflicting parties. Still, in most places where Paul established a new community, immediately after his de- parture this samfe spirit of Judaism seems to have rallied, and attempted to re-es- tablish the great exclusive principle that Christianity was no more than Judaism, completed by the reception of Jesus as the Messiah. The universal religion of Christ was thus in perpetual danger of being con- tracted into a national and ritual worship. The eternal law of Moses was still to maintain its authority, with all its cum- brous framework of observances ; and the * It is difficult to decide whether this dispute took place before or after the decree of the assem- bly in Jerusalem.. Planck, in his Geschichte des Christenthums, places it before the decree, and, on the whole, this appears the most probable opinion. The event is noticed here as exemplifying the Ju- daizing spirit rather than m strict chronological or- der. f Acts, xv., 2.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 171 Gentile proselytes, who were ready to sub- mit to the faith of Christ, with its simple and exquisite morality, were likewise to submit to all the countless provisions, and now, in many respects, unmeaning and un- intelligible regulations, of diet, dress, man- ners, and conduct. This conflict may be traced most clearly in the epistles of St. Paul, particularly in those to the remote communities in Galatia and in Rome. The former, written probably during the residence of the apostle at Ephesus, was addressed to the Christians of Galatia, a district in the northern part of Asia Minor, occupied by a mingled population.* * The descendants of the Gaulish invaders, from whom the region derived its name, retain- ed to a late period vestiges of their ori- ginal race in the Celtic dialect, and prob- ably great numbers of Jews had settled in The strength l^iese quarters. Paul had twice of the inter- visited the country, and his epis- wlniin 'uie0 was written at no long period church op- after his second visit. But even posed by st. in that short interval Judaism 1>au1' had revived its pretensions. The adversaries of Paul had even gone so far as to disclaim him as an apostle of Chris- tianity ; and before he vindicates the es- sential independence of the new faith, and declares the Jewish law to have been only a temporary institution,! designed, during a dark and barbarous period of human so- ciety, to keep alive the first, principles of true religion, he has to assert his own Di- vine appointment as a delegated teacher of Christianity.^ The Epistle to the Romans^ enters with more full and elaborate argument into the same momentous question. The history of the Roman community is most remark- able. It grew up in silence, founded by some unknown teachers,|| probably of * We decline the controversy concerning the place and time at which the different epistles were written ; we shall give only the result, not the pro- cess of our investigations. This to the Galatians we suppose to have been written during St. Paul’s first visit to Ephesus. (Acts, xix.) f Galat., iii., 19. % Galat., i., 1, 2. <$> This epistle, there seems no doubt, was writ- ten from Corinth during St. Paul’s second resi- dence in that city. % II The foundation of the Church of Rome by ei- ther St. Peter or St. Paul is utterly irreconcilable with any reasonable view of the apostolic history. Among Roman Catholic writers Count Stolberg abandons this point, and carries St. Peter to Rome for the first time at the commencement of Nero’s reign. The account in the Acts seems to be so far absolutely conclusive. Many Protestants of the highest learning are as unwilling to reject the gen- eral tradition of St. Peter’s residence in Rome. This question will recur on another occasion. As to St. Paul, the first chapter of this epistle is posi- tive evidence, that the foundation of the church in those who were present in Jerusalem at the first publication of Christianity by the apostles. During the reign of Claudius it had made so much progress as to excite open tumults and dissensions among the Jewish population of Rome; these ani- mosities rose to such a height, that the attention of the government was aroused, and both parties expelled from the city. With some of these exiles, Aquila and Priscilla, St. Paul, as we have seen, form- ed an intimate connexion during his first visit to Corinth : from them he received information of the extraordinary progress of the faith in Rome. The Jews seem quietly to have crept back to their old quarters when the rigour with which the imperial edict was at first executed had insensibly relaxed ; and from these per- sons on their return to the capital, and most likely from other Roman Christians who may have taken refuge in Corinth,* or in other cities where Paul had founded Christian communities, the first, or, at least, the more perfect knowledge of the higher Christianity, taught by the apostle of the Gentiles, would be conveyed to Rome. So complete, indeed, does he ap- pear to consider the first establishment of Christianity in Rome, that he merely pro- poses to take that city in his way to a more remote region, that of Spain.f The manner in which he recounts, in the last chapter, the names of the more distin- guished Roman converts, implies both that the community was numerous, and that the name of Paul was held in high es- timation by its leading members. It is ev- ident that Christianity had advanced al- ready beyond the Jewish population, and the question of necessary conformity to the Mosaic law was strongly agitated. It is therefore the main scope of this cele- brated epistle to annul forever this claim of the Mosaic law to a perpetual authori- ty, to show Christianity as a part of the providential design in the moral history of man, while Judaism was but a temporary institution, unequal to, as it was unintended Rome was long previous to his visit to the western metropolis of the world. * It would appear probable that the greater pari of the Christian community took refuge, with Aqui- la and Priscilla, in Corinth and the neighbouring port of Cerrchrea. f The views of Paul on so remote a province as Spain at so early a period of his journey, appear to justify the notion that there was a considerable Jewish population in that country. It is not im- probable that many of the “ Libertines” may have made their way from Sardinia. There is a curious tradition among the Spanish Jews that they were resident in that country before the birth of our Sav iour, and, consequently, had no concern in his death , —See Hist, of Jews, iii, p. 118.172 HISTORY OF CHRISTIAN! TY. for, the great end of revealing the immor- tality of mankind, altogether repealed by this more wide and universal system, which comprehends in its beneficent pur- poses the whole human race. Closely allied with this main element of belief in the Judaism, which struggled so ob- approaching. ■ stinately-against the Christiani- wdrldf the was ' noti°n 4 i?lc‘ of the approaching end of the world, the final consummation of all things in the second coming of the Messiah. It has been shown how essential and inte- gral a part of the Jewish belief in the Mes- siah was this expectation of the final com- pletion of his mission in the dissolution of the world, and the restoration of a para- disiacal state, in which the descendants of Abraham were to receive their destined inheritance. To many of the Jewish be- lievers the death and resurrection of Jesus were but (if the expression be warranted) the first acts of the great drama, which was hastening onward to its immediate close. They had bowed in mysterious wonder before the incongruity of the life and sufferings of Jesus, with the precon- ceived appearance of the “ Great One,” but expecting their present disappointment to be almost instantly compensated by the appalling grandeur of the second coming of Christ. If, besides their descent from Abraham and their reverence for the law of Moses, faith in Jesus as the Messiah was likewise necessary to secure their title to their peculiar inheritance, yet that faith was speedily to receive its reward; and the original Jewish conception of the Messiah, though put to this severe trial, though its completion was thus postponed, remained in full possession of the mind, and seemed to gather strength and depth of colouring from the constant state of high-wrought agitation in which it kept the whole moral being. This appears to have been the last Jewish illusion from which the minds of the apostles them- selves were disenchanted; and there can be no doubt both that many of the early Christians almost hourly expected the final dissolution of the world, and that this opinion awed many timid believers into the profession of Christianity, and kept them in trembling subjection to its author- ity. The ambiguous predictions of Christ himself, in which the destruction of the Jewish polity, and the ruin of the city and Temple, were shadowed forth under ima- ges of more remote and universal import; the language of the apostles, so liable to misinterpretation that they were obliged publicly to correct the erroneous conclu- sions of their hearers,* seemed to counte * 2 Thessalonians, ii., 1,2. 2 Peter, iii., 4. 8. nance an opinion so disparaging to the real glory of Christianity, which was only to attain its object till after a slow contest of many centuries, perhaps of ages, with the evil of human nature. Wherever Christi- anity made its way into a mind deeply im- pregnated with Judaism, the moral char- acter of the Messiah had still to maintain a strong contest with the temporal; and, though experience yearly showed that the commencement of this visible kingdom was but more remote, at least the first generation of Christians passed away be- fore the majority had attained to more so- ber expectations; and at every period of more than ordinary religious excitement, a millennial, or, at least, a reign partaking of a temporal character, has been announced as on the eve of its commencement; the Christian mind has retrograded towards that state of Jewish error which prevailed about the time of Christ’s coming.f As Christianity advanced in all other quarters of the world, its pros- Hostility or elytes were in far larger propor- Judaism and tion of Gentile than of Jewish c,,ristianit)T- descent. The synagogue and the church became more and more distinct, till they stood opposed in irreconcilable hostility The Jews shrunk back into their stern se- clusion, while the Christians were litera'- ly spreading in every quarter through the population of the empire. From this total suspension of intercourse, Judaism gradu- ally died away within the Christian pale; time and experience corrected some of the more inveterate prejudices ; new ele- ments came into action. The Grecian philosophy, and, at a later period, influen- ces still more adverse to that of Judaism, mingled with the prevailing Christianity. A kind of latent Judaism has, however, constantly lurked within the bosom of the Church. During the darker ages of Chris- tianity, its sterner spirit harmonizing with the more barbarous state of the Christian mind, led to a frequent and injudicious ap- peal to the Old Testament: practically the great principle of Judaism, that the law, as * Compare the strange rabbinical notion of the fertility of the earth during the millennial reign of Christ, given by Irenseus as an actual prophecy of our Lord : “ Venient dies in quibus vinese nascen- tur, singulse decern mi ilia palmitum habentes, et in una palmite decern milk a bracbiorum, et in uno vero brachio denamillia flagellorum, et inunoquoque fla- gello dena millia botrorum, et in unoquoque botro denamillia acinorum ; et unumquodque acinumex- pressum, dabit viginti quinque metretas vini; et cum apprebendet aliquis sanctorum botrum, alius clamabit—Botrus ego melior sum, me sume, et per me Dominum benedic ” These chapters of Irenseus show the danger to which pure and spiritual Chris- tianity was exposed from this gross and carnal Ju- daizing spirit. Irenseus (ch. 35) positively denies that any of these images can be taken in an alle- gorical sense.—De Haeres , v„ c. 33HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 173 emanating from Divine Wisdom, must be of eternal obligation, was admitted by con- flicting parties ; the books of Moses and the Gospel were appealed to as of equal authority; while the great characteristic of the old religion, its exclusiveness, its restrictions of the Divine blessings within a narrow and visible pale, was too much in 'accordance both with pride and super- stition not to reassert its ancient domin- ion. The sacerdotal and the sectarian spirit had an equal tendency to draw a wider or a more narrow line of demarca- tion around that which, in Jewish language, they pronounced the “ Israel” of God, and to substitute some other criterion of Chris- tianity for that exquisite perfection of pie- ty, that sublimity of virtue in disposition, in thought, and in act, which was the one true test of Christian excellence. In Palestine, as the external conflict with Judaism was longest and most vio- lent, so the internal influence of the old re- ligion was latest obliterated. But when this separation at length took place, it was even more complete and decided than in any other countries. In Jerusalem the Christians were perhaps still called, and submitted to be called Nazarenes, while the appellation which had been assumed at Antioch was their common designation in all other parts of the world. The Chris- tian community of Jerusalem which had taken refuge at Pella bore with them their unabated reverence for the law. But in- sensibly the power of that reverence de- cayed ; and on the foundation of the new colony of iElia by the Emperor Hadrian^ after the defeat of Barchocab and the sec- ond total demolition of the city, the larger part having nominated a man of Gentile Mark, bishop birth, Marcus, as their bishop, of Jerusalem, settled in the New City, and thus proclaimed their final and total separ- ation from their Jewish ancestors.* For not only must they have disclaimed all Jewish connexion to be permitted to.take up their residence in the new colony, the very approach to which was watched by Roman outposts, and prohibited to every Jew under the severest penalties, but even the old Jewish feelings must have been utterly extinct. For what Jew, even if he had passed under the image of a swine which was erected in mockery over the Bethlehem Gate, would not have shrunk in horror in beholding the Hill of Moriah polluted by a pagan temple, the worship of heathen deities profaning by their reek- ing incense and their idolatrous sacrifices the site of the Holy of Holies'? The * F.useb , H. E., iv., 6. Hi'ronym., Epist. ad He- dybiam., Quaest. 8. * Christian, absorbed in deeper veneration for the soil which had been hallowed bv his Redeemer’s footsteps, and was asso- ciated with his mysterious death and res- urrection, was indifferent to the daily in- fringement of the Mosaic law, which God himself had annulled by the substitution of the Christian faith, or to the desecra- tion of the site of that temple which God had visibly abandoned. The rest of the Judeeo-Christian com- munity at Pella and in its neighbourhood sank into an obscure sect, distinguished by their obstinate rejection of the writings of St. Paul and by their own Gospel, most probably the original Hebrew of St. Mat- thew. But the language, as well as the tenets of the Jews, were either proscribed by the Christians as they still farther re- ceded from Judaism, or fell into disuse ;* and whatever writings they possessed, whether originals or copies, in the vernac- ular dialect of Palestine, of the genuine apostolic books, or compilations of their own, entirely perished, so that it is diffi- cult, from the brief notices which are ex- tant, to make out their real nature and character. In Palestine, as elsewhere, the Jew and the Christian were no longer confounded with each other, but constituted two total- ly different and implacably hostile races-. The Roman government began to discrim- inate between them, as clearly appears from the permission to the Christians to reside in the New City, on the site of Je- rusalem, which was interdicted to the Jews. Mutual hatred was increased by mutual alienation ; the Jew, who had lost the power of persecuting, lent himself as a willing instrument to the heathen per- secutor against those whom he still con- sidered as apostates from his religion. The less enlightened Christian added to the contempt of all the Roman world for the Jew a principle of deeper hostility. The language of Tertullian is that of tri- umph rather than of commiseration for the degraded state of the Jew ;f strong jeal- ousy of the pomp and power assumed by the patriarch of Tiberias may be traced in the vivid description of Origen;f No suf- ferings could too profoundly debase, no pride could become, those who shared in the hereditary guilt of the crucifixion of Jesus. * Sulpicius Severus, H. E. Mosheim, de Rebus Christ, ante Constant. Le Clerc, Hist. Eccles. t Dispersi, palabundi, etcceli et soli sui extorres vagantur per orbem, sine, nomine, sine Deo rege, quibus nec advenarum jure terrarn patriam saltern vestigiosalutareconceditur—Lib. cont. Judreos, 15. f Origen, Epist. ad Africanum. Hist, of Jews, iii., 117.174 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. * CHAFrJ CHRISTIANITY The conflict of Christianity with Juda- Relationship was a “Vll war; that with between Ju- paganism, the invasion and con- daism end quest of a foreign territory. In Umstmmty. ^ former case it was the de. dared design of the innovation to perfect the established constitution on its primary principles ; to expand the yet undeveloped system according to the original views of the Divine Legislator; in the latter it con- templated the total subversion of the ex- isting order of things, a reconstruction of the whole moral and religious being of mankind. With the Jew, the abolition of the Temple service and the abrogation of the Mosaic Law were indispensable to the perfect establishment of Christianity. The first was left to be accomplished by the frantic turbulence of the people and the remorseless vengeance of Rome. Yet, after all, the Temple service maintained its more profound and indelible influence only over the Jew of Palestine ; its hold upon the vast numbers which were settled in all parts of the world was that of re- mote, .occasional, traditionary reverence. With the foreign Jew, the service of the synagogue was his religion; and the syn- agogue, without any violent change, was transformed into a Christian church. The same Almighty God to whom.it.was pri- marily dedicated maintained his place ; and the sole difference was, that he was worshipped through the mediation of the crucified Jesus of Nazareth. With the pagan, the whole of his religious observ- ances fell under the unsparing proscrip- tion. Every one of the countless temples, and shrines, and sacred groves, and hal- lowed fountains were to he desecrated by the abhorrent feelings of those who look- ed back with shame and contempt upon their old idolatries. Every image, from the living work of Phidias or Praxiteles to the rude and shapeless Hermes or Ter- minus, was to become an unmeaning mass of wood or stone. In every city, town, or even village, there was a contest to be maintained, not merely against the general system of Polytheism, but against the lo- cal and tutelary deity of the place. Every public spectacle, every procession, every civil or military duty, was a religious cer- emonial. Though later, when Christian- ity was in the ascendant, it might expel rER in. AND PAGANISM. the deities of paganism from some of the splendid temples, and convert them to its own use ; though insensibly many of the usages of the heathen worship crept into the more gorgeous and imposing ceremo- nial of triumphant Christianity; though even many of the vulgar superstitions in- corporated themselves with the sacred Christian associations, all this reaction was long subsequent to the permanent es- tablishment of the new religion. At first all was rigid and uncompromi- jyirecx opposi_ sing hostility; doubts were en- tion of cims- tertained by -the more scrupu- 10 *,a* lous whether meat exposed to public sale in the market, but which might have formed part of a sacrifice, would not be dangerously polluting to the Christian. The apostle, though anxious to correct this sensitive scrupulousness, touches on the point with the utmost caution and del- icacy.* The private life of the Jew was already, in part at least, fettered by the minute and almost Brahminical observances with which the later rabbins established their despotic authority over the mind. Still some of these usages harmonized with the spirit of Christianity; others were less inveterately rooted in the feelings of the foreign Jew. The trembling apprehension of anything approaching to idolatry, the concentration of the heart’s whole devo- tion upon the One Almighty God, prepared the soul for a Christian bias. The great struggle to Jewish feeling was the aban- donment of circumcision as the sign of their covenant with God. But this once over, baptism, the substituted ceremony, was perhaps already familiar to his mind; or, at least, emblematic ablutions were strictly in unison with the genius and the practice of his former religion. Some of the stricter Pharisaic distinctions were lo- cal and limited to Palestine; as, for in- stance, the payment of tithe, since the Temple tribute was the only national tax imposed by his religion on the foreign Jew. Their sectarian symbols, which in Pales- tine were publicly displayed upon their dress, were of course less frequent in for- eign countries ; and, though worn in se- cret, might be dropped and abandoned by * 1 Corinth., x., 25-31.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 175 the convert to Christianity without exci- universaiity ting observation. The whole of paganism, life of the heathen, whether of the philosopher who despised, or the vul- gar who were indifferent to, the essential part of the religion, was pervaded by the spirit of Polytheism. It met him in every form, in every quarter, in every act and function of every day’s business; not merely in the graver offices of the state, in the civil and military acts of public men; in the senate, which commenced its delib- erations with sacrifice; in the camp, the centre of which was a consecrated temple : his domestic hearth was guarded by the penates, or by the, ancestral gods of his family or tribe; by land he travelled un- der the protection of one tutelar divinity, by sea of another; the birth, the bridal, the funeral, had each its presiding deity; the very commonest household utensils and implements were cast in mythologi- cal forms ; he could scarcely drink without being reminded of making a libation to the gods ; and the language itself was impreg- nated” with constant allusions to the pop- ular religion. However, as a religion, Polytheism was undermined and shaken to the base, yet, as part of the existing order of things, its inert resistance would everywhere present a strong barrier against the invasion of a foreign faith. The priesthood of an effete religion, as long as the attack is conducted under the decent disguise of philosophical inquiry, or is only aimed at the moral or the speculative part of the faith; as long as the form, of which alone they are be- come the ministers, is permitted to sub- sist, go on calmly performing the usual ceremonial, neither their feelings nor their interests are actively alive to the veiled and insidious encroachments which are made upon its power and stability. In the Roman part of the Western world the religion was an integral part of the state : the greatest men of the last days of the re- public, the Ciceros and Caesars, the em- perors themselves, aspired to fill the pon- tifical offices, and discharged their duties with grave solemnity, however their de- clared philosophical opinions were subver- sive of the whole system of Polytheism. Men might disbelieve, deny, even substi- tute foreign superstitions for the accus- tomed rites of their country, provided they did not commit any overt act of hostility, or publicly endeavour to bring the cere- monial into contempt. Such acts were not only impieties, they were treason against the majesty of Rome. In the Grecian cities, on the other hand, the interests and the feelings of the magistracy and the priesthood were less intimately connect- ed ; the former, those, at least, who held the higher authority, being Roman, the lat- ter local or municipal. Though it was the province of the magistrate to protect the established religion, and it was sufficiently the same with his own to receive his regular worship, yet the strength with which he would resent any dangerous in- novation would depend on the degree of influence possessed by the sacerdotal body, and the pride or enthusiasm which the people might feel for their local worship.* Until, then, Christianity had made such progress as to produce a visible diminution in the attendance on the pagan worship; until the temples were comparatively de- serted, and the offerings less frequent, the opposition encountered by the Christian teacher, or the danger to which he would be exposed, would materially depend on the peculiar religious circumstances of each city.* M * In a former publication the author attempted to represent the manner in which the strength of Po lytheism, and its complete incorporation with the public and private life of its votaries, might present itself to the mind of a Christian teacher on his first entrance into a heathen city. The passage has been quoted in Archbishop Whateley’s book on Rhetoric. “ Conceive, then, the apostles of Jesus Christ, the tent-maker or the fisherman, entering as strangers into one of the splendid cities of Syria, Asia Minor, or Greece. Conceive them, I mean, as unendowed with miraculous powers, having adopted their itin- erant system of teaching from human motives and for human purposes alone. As they pass along to the remote and obscure quarter where they expect to meet with precarious hospitality among their countrymen, they survey the strength of the es- tablished religion, which it is their avowed purpose to overthrow. Everywhere they behold temples on which the utmost extravagance of expenditure has been lavished by succeeding generations; idols of the most exquisite workmanship, to which, even if the religious feeling of adoration is enfeebled, the people are strongly attached by national or local vanity. They meet processions in which the idle find perpetual occupation, the young excitement, the voluptuous a continual stimulant to their pas- sions. They behold a priesthood numerous, some- times wealthy ; nor are these alone wedded by in- terest to the established faith ; many of the trades, like those of the makers of silver shrines at Ephe- sus, are pledged to the support of that to which they owe their maintenance. They pass a magnificent theatre, on the splendour and success of which the popularity of the existing authorities mainly de pends, and in which the serious exhibitions are es- sentially religious, the lighter as intimately con- nected with the indulgence of the baser passions. They behold another public building, where even worse feelings, the cruel and the sanguinary, are pampered by the animating contests of wild beasts and of gladiators, in which they themselves may shortly play a dreadful part, Butcher’d to make a Roman holy day ! Show and spectacle are the characteristic enjoy- ments of a whole people, and every show and spec-176 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. The narrative in the Acts, as far as it pro- ceeds, is strikingly in accordance with this state of things. The adventures of the apostles in the different cities of Asia Minor and Greece are singularly characteristic of the population and the state of the existing Polytheism in each. It was not till it had extended beyond the borders of Palestine that Christianity came into direct collision with paganism. The first Gentile convert admitted into the Christian community by St. Peter, Cornelius, if not a proselyte to Judaism, approached very nearly to it. He was neither polytheist nor philosopher; he was a worshipper of One Almighty Creator, and familiar, it should seem, with the Jewish belief in angelic appearances. Even beyond the Holy Land Christianity did not immediately attempt to address the general mass of the pagan community; its first collisions were casual and acci- dental ; its operations commenced in the synagogue; a separate community was no? invariably formed, or, if formed, ap- peared to the common observation only a new assemblage for Jewish worship ; to which, if heathen proselytes gathered in more than ordinary numbers, it was but tacle is either sacred to the religious feelings, or in- centive to the lusts of the flesh; those feelings which must be entirely eradicated, those lusts which must be brought into total subjection to the law of Christ. They encounter likewise itinerant jugglers, diviners, magicians, who impose upon the credulous to excite the contempt of the enlighten- ed; in the first case, dangerous rivals to those who should attempt to propagate a new faith by impos- ture and deception ; in the latter, naturally tending to prejudice the mind against all miraculous pre- tensions whatever: here, like Elymas, endeavour- ing to outdo the signs and wonders of the apostles, thereby throwing suspicion on all asserted super- natural agency by the frequency and clumsiness of their delusions. They meet philosophers, fre- quently itinerant like themselves; or teachers of new religions, priests of Isis and Serapis, who have , brought into equal discredit what might otherwise have appeared a proof of philanthropy, the perform- ing laborious journeys at the sacrifice of personal ease and comfort, for the moral and religious im- provement of mankind ; or, at least, have so accus- tomed the public mind to similar pretensions as to take away every attraction from their boldness or novelty. There are also the teachers of the differ- ent mysteries, which would engross all the anxiety of the inquisitive, perhaps excite, even if they did not satisfy, the hopes of the more pure and lofty- minded. Such must have been among the obsta- cles which must have forced themselves on the calmer moments of the most ardent; such the over- powering difficulties of which it would be impossi- ble to overlook the importance or elude the force; which required no sober calculation to estimate, no laborious inquiry to discover; which met and con- fronted them wherever they went, and which, ei- ther in desperate presumption or deliberate reli- ance on their own preternatural powers, they must have contemned and defied.”—Bampton Lectures, p. 269, 273. the same thing on a larger, which had ex- cited little jealousy on a smaller scale.* * * § During the first journey of St. Paul, it is manifest that in Cyprus par- Christianity ticularly, and in the towns of Cyprus. Asia Minor, the Jewish worship was an object of general respect; and Christian- ity appearing as a modification of Jewish belief, shared in that deference which had been long paid to the national religion of the Jewish people. Sergius Faulus,f the governor of Cyprus, under the influence of the Jew Elymas, was already more than half, if not altogether alienated from the religion of Rome. Barnabas and Paul ap- peared: before him at fyis own desire ; and their manifest superiority over his former teacher easily transformed him from an imperfect proselyte to Judaism into a con- vert to Christianity. At Antioch, in Pisidia, there was a large class of proselytes to Judaism, Antioch in who espoused the cause of the Pisidia Christian teachers, and who probably form- ed the more considerable part of the Gen- tile hearers addressed by Paul on his re- jection by the leading Jews of’that city. At Lystra,! in Lycaonia, the apostle ap- pears for the first time in the centre, as it were, of a pagan population; Lystra' and it is remarkable, that in this wild and inland region we find the old barbarous re- ligion maintaining a lively and command- ing influence over the popular mind. In the more civilized and commercial parts of the Roman world, in Ephesus, in Athens, or in Rome, such extraordinary cures as that of the cripple at Lystra might have been publicly wrought, and might have ex- cited a wondering interest in the multi- tude : but it may be doubted whether the lowest or most ignorant would have had so much faith in the old fabulous appear- ances of their own deities as immediately to have imagined their actual and visible appearance in the persons of these sur- prising strangers. It is only in the remote and savage Lystra, where the Greek lan- guage had not predominated over the prim- itive barbarous dialect^ (probably a branch * The extent to which Jewish proselytism had been carried is a most intricate question. From the following passage, quoted from Seneca by St. Augustin, if genuine, it would seem that it had made great progress: “ Cum interim usque eoscel- eratissirnse gentis consuetudo convaluit, ut per om- nes terras jure recepta sit, victi victoribus leges de- derunt.” St. Augustin positively asserts that this sentence does not include the Christians.— De Civit. Dei, vi., 11. f Acts, xiii., 6-12. % Acts, xiv.. 6-19. - There were Jews resident at Lystra, as appears by Acts, xvi., 1, 2*. Timotheus was the offspring of an intermarriage between a Jewish woman and a Greek: his name is Greek. § Jablonski, Dissertatio de Lingua LycaonieAHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, 177 of the Cappadocian), that the popular emo- tion instantly metamorphoses these pub- lic benefactors into the Jove and Mercury of their own temples. The inhabitants actually make preparation for sacrifice, and are with difficulty persuaded to con- sider such wonder-working men to be of the same nature with themselves. Nor is it lqss characteristic of the versatility of a rude people, that no sooner is the illu- sion dispelled than they join with the hos- tile Jews in the persecution of those very men whom their superstition but a short time before had raised into objects of Di- vine worship. In the second and more extensive jour- ney of St. Paul, having parted from Bar- nabas,* he was accompanied by Timothe- us and Silas or Sylvanus,but of the Asiat- ic part of this journey, though it led through some countries of remarkable interest in the history of paganism, no particulars are Phrygia recorded. Phrygia* which was a ° ‘ kind of link between Greece and the remoter East, still at times sent out into the Western world its troops of fran- tic Orgiasts; and the Phrygian vied with the Isiac and Mithraic mysteries in its in- fluence in awakening the dormant fanati- cism of the Roman world. It is probable that in these regions the apostle confined himself to the Jewish settlers and their Galatia Pr°selytes. In Galatia it is clear that the converts were almost en- tirely of Hebrew descent. The vision which invited the apostle to cross from Troas to Macedonia led him into a new region, where his countrymen, though forming flourishing communities in many of the principal towns, were not, except perhaps at Corinth, by any means so nu- merous as in the greater part of Asia Mi- nor. His vessel touched at Samothrace, where the most ancient and remarkable mysteries still retained their sanctity and veneration in that holy and secluded isl- Phiinpi allc^ Philippi he first came into 11 ' collision with those whose inter- ests were concerned in the maintenance of the popular religion. Though these were only individuals, whose gains were at once put an end to by the progress of Christianity, the owners of the female soothsayer of Philippi were part of a nu- merous and active class, who subsisted on *he public credulity. The proseucha, or oratory of the Jews (the smaller place of worship, which they always established when their community was not sufficient- y flourishing to maintain a synagogue), reprinted in Valpy’s edition of Stephens’s Thesau- rus. * Acts, xv., 36, to xviii., 18. z was, as usual, by the water side. The river, as always in Greece and in all south- ern countries, was the resort of the wom- en of the city, partly for household pur- poses, partly perhaps for bathing. Many of this sex were in consequence attracted by the Jewish proseucha, and had become, if not proselytes, at least very favourably inclined to Judaism, Among these was Lydia, whose residence was at Thyatira, and who, from her trading in the costly purple dye, may be supposed a person of considerable wealth and influence. Hav- ing already been so far enlightened by Ju- daism as to worship the One God, she be- came an immediate convert to the Chris- tianity of St. Paul. Perhaps the influence or the example of so many of her own sex worked upon the mind of a female of a different character and occupation. She may have been an impostor, but more probably was a young girl of excited tem- perament, whose disordered imagination was employed by men of more artful char- acter for their own sordid purposes. The enthusiasm of this “ divining-1 damsel now took another turn. Impressed with the language and manner of Paul, she sudden- ly deserted her old employers, and, throw- ing herself into the train of the apostle, proclaimed, with the same exalted fervour,, his Divine mission and the superiority of his religion. Paul, troubled with the pub- licity and the continual repetition of her outcries, exorcised her in the name of Je- sus Christ. Her wild excitement died away; the spirit passed from her; and her former masters found that she was no longer fit for their service. She could no longer be thrown into those paroxysms of temporary derangement, in which her dis- ordered language was received as oracu- lar of future events. This conversion pro- duced a tumult throughout the city; the interests of a powerful body were at stake, for the trade of soothsaying at this time was both common and lucrative. The em- ployers of the prophetess inflamed the multitude. The apostle and his attend- ants were seized, arraigned before the ma- gistrates as introducing an unlawful reli- gion. The magistrates took part against them. They suffered the ordinary pun- ishment of disturbers of the peace ; were scourged and cast into prison. While their hymn, perhaps their evening hymn, was heard through the prison, a violent earthquake shook the whole building ; the doors flew open, and the fetters, by which probably they Were chained to the walls, were loosened. The affrighted jailer, who was responsible for their appearance, ex- pected them to avail themselves of this178 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. opportunity of escape, and in his despair was about to commit suicide. His hand was arrested by the calm voice of Paul, and to his wonder he found the prisoners remaining quietly in their cells. His fears and his admiration wrought together ; and the jailer of Philippi, with his whole fam- ily, embraced the Christian faith. The magistrates, when they found that Paul had the privilege of Roman citizenship, were in their turn alarmed at their hasty infringement of that sacred right, released them honourably from the prison, and were glad to prevail upon them to depart peace- fully from the city. Thus, then, we have contrast of already seen Christianity in col- at^i^stra” ^si°n w*th Polytheism under Philippi^’ two of its various forms : at and Athens. Lystra, as still the old poetic faith of a barbarous people, insensible to the progress made elsewhere in the hu- man mind,. and devoutly believing the wonders of their native religion; in Phi- lippi, a provincial town in a more cultiva- ted part of Greece, but still at no high state of intellectual advancement, as connected with the vulgar arts, not of the establish- ed priesthood, but of itinerant traders in popular superstition. In Athens paganism has a totally different character, inquiring, argumentative, skeptical, Polytheism in form, and that form imbodying all that could excite the imagination of a highly- polished people ; in reality admitting and delighting in the freest discussion, alto- gether inconsistent with sincere belief in the ancient and established religion. Passing through Amphipolis and Apol- Thessaionica. lon!a> ?aul an? h‘s companions arrived at Thessaionica; but in this city, as well as in Berea, their chief intercourse appears to have been with the Jews. The riot by which they were ex- pelled from Thessaionica, though blindly kept up by the disorderly populace, was instigated by Jason, the chief of the Jew- ish community. Having left his compan- ions, Timotheus and Silas, at Berea, Paul arrived alone at Athens. At Athens, the centre at once and capi- Athens. Greek philosophy and heathen superstition, takes place the first public and direct conflict between Christianity and paganism. Up to this time there is no account of any one of the apostles taking his station in the public street or market-place, and addressing the general multitude.* Their place of teach- ing had invariably been the synagogue of * This appears to be intimated in the expression, Acts, xvii, 16 : “ His spirit was stirred within him when he saw the city wholly given to idolatry.” their nation, or, as at Philippi, the neigh- bourhood of their customary place of wor- ship. Here, however, Paul does not con- fine himself to the synagogue, or to the society of his countrymen and their pros- elytes. He takes his stand in the public market-place (probably not the Cerami- cus, but the Kretriac Forum*), which, in the reign of Augustus, had begun to be more frequented, and at the top of which was the famous portico from which the Stoics assumed their name. In Athens, the appearance of a new public teacher, instead of offending the popular feelings, was too familiar to excite astonishment, and was rather welcomed, as promising some fresh intellectual excitement. In Athens, hospitable to all religions and all opinions, the foreign and Asiatic appear- ance, and possibly the less polished tone and dialect of Paul, would only awaken the stronger curiosity. Though they af- fect at first (probably the philosophic part of his hearers) to treat him as an idle “ babbler,” and otliers (the vulgar, alarmed for the honour of their deities) supposed that he was about to introduce some new- religious worship, which might endanger the supremacy of their own tutelar di- vinities, he is conveyed, not without re- spect, to a still more public and commo- dious place, from whence he may explain his doctrines to a numerous assembly without disturbance. On the pan] on me Areopagusf the Christian leader Areopagus, takes his staifd, surrounded on every side with whatever was noble, beautiful, and intellectual in the older world : temples, of which the materials were only surpassed by the architectural g;race and majesty ; statues, in which the ideal Anthropomor- phism of the Greeks had -almost elevated the popular notions of the Deity, by imbod- ying it in human forms of such exquisite perfection ; public edifices, where the civil interests of man had been discussed with the acuteness and versatility of the high- est Grecian intellect, in all the purity of the inimitable Attic dialect, where orato- ry had obtained its highest triumphs bj “ wielding at will the fierce democracy f the walks of the philosophers, who un questionably, by elevating the human mind to an appetite for new and nobler knowl- edge, had prepared the way for a loftier and purer religion. It was in the midst speecu cf of these elevating associations, to Pa^* * Strabo, x., 447. t It has been supposed by sor e that Paul was summoned before the court of tlv -V eopagus, who took cognizance of causes relating >> vhgion. But there is no indication in the narr? ' / jf any of the forms of a judicial proceeding.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, 179 which the student of Grecian literature in Tarsus, the reader of Meander, and of the Greek philosophical poets, could scarcely be entirely dead or ignorant, that Paul stands forth to proclaim the lowly yet au- thoritative religion of Jesus of Nazareth. His audience was chiefly formed from the two prevailing sects, the Stoics and Epi- cureans, with the populace, the worship- pers of the established religion. In his discourse, the heads of which are related by St. Luke, Paul, with singular felicity, touches on the peculiar opinions of each class among his hearers ;* he expands the popular religion into a higher philosophy; he imbues philosophy with a profound sen- timent of religion.f It is impossible not to examine with the utmost interest the whole course of this (if we consider its remote consequences, and suppose it the first full and public ar- gument of Christianity against the heathen religion and philosophy), perhaps the most extensively and permanently effective ora- tion ever uttered by man. We may con- template Paul as the representative of Christianity, in the presence, as it were, of the concentrated religion of Greece ; and of the spirits, if we may so speak, of Socrates, and Plato, and Zeno. The open- ing of the apostle’s speech is according to those most perfect rules of art which are but the expressions of the general senti- ments of nature. It is calm, temperate, conciliatory. It is no fierce denunciation of idolatry, no contemptuous disdain of the prevalent philosophic opinions ; it has nothing of the sternness of the ancient Jewish prophet, nor the taunting defiance of the later Christian polemic. “Already the religious people of Athens had, un- knowingly indeed, worshipped the univer- sal deity, for they had an altar to the Un- known God.J The nature, the attributes of this sublimer being, hitherto adored in * Paulus summ& arte orationem suam ita tempe- rat, ut modo cum vulgo contra philosophos, modo cum philosophis contra plebem, modo contra utros- que pugnet.—Rosenmiiller, in loco. t The art and propriety of this speech is consid- erably marred by the mistranslation of one word in our version, SsiffiSatpovearipovs, which does not im- ply reproof, as in the rendering “ too superstitious.” Conciliation, not offence, of the public feeling, es- pecially at the opening of a speech, is the first prin- ciple of all oratory, more particularly of Christian teaching. t Of all the conjectures (for all is purely conjec- tural) on the contested point of the “ altar to the Unknown God,” the most ingenious and natural, in our opinion, is that of Eichhorn. There were, he supposes, very ancient altars, older perhaps than the art of writing, or on which the inscription had been effaced by time: on these the piety of later ages bad engraven the simple words, “ To the Un- known God.” ignorant and unintelligent homage, he came to unfold. This God rose far above the popular notion; he could not be confined in altar or temple, or represented by any visible image. He was the universal fa- ther of. mankind, even of the earth-born Athenians, who boasted that they were of an older race than the other families of man, and coeval with the world itself. He was the fountain of life, which perva- ded and sustained the universe; he had assigned their separate dwellings to the separate families of man.” Up to a cer- tain point in this higher view of the Su- preme Being, the philosopher of the Gar- den, as well as of the Porch, might listen with wonder and admiration. It soared, indeed, high above the vulgar religion; but in the lofty and serene Deity, who dis- dained to dwell in the earthly temple, and needed nothing from the hand of man,* the Epicurean might almost suppose that he heard the language of his own teacher. But the next sentence, which asserted the providence of God as the active, creative energy-—as the conservative, the ruling, the ordaining principle — annihilated at once the atomic theory and the govern- ment of blind chance, to which Epicurus ascribed the origin and preservation of the universe. “ This high and impassive dei- tj, who dwelt aloof in serene and majes- tic superiority to all want, was perceptible in some mysterious manner by man: his all-pervading providence comprehended the whole human race; man was in.con- stant union with the Deity, as an offspring with its parent.” And still the Stoic might applaud with complacent satisfaction the ardent words of the apostle ; he might ap- prove the lofty condemnation of idolatry. “ We, thus of divine descent, ought to think more nobly of our universal Father than to suppose that the Godhead is like unto gold, or silver, or stone, graven by art or man’s device.” But this Divine Providence was far different from the stern and all-controlling necessity, the inexora- ble fatalism of the Stoic system. While the moral value of human action was rec- ognised by the solemn retributive judg- ment to be passed on all mankind, the dig- nity of Stoic virtue was lowered by the general demand of repentance. The per- fect man, the moral king, was deposed, as it were, and abased to the general level; he had to learn new lessons in the school of Christ; lessons of humility and con- scious deficiency, the most directly oppo- * Needing nothing: the coincidence with the “nihil indiga nostri” of Lucretius is curious, even if accidental.180 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. sed to the principles and the sentiments of his philosophy. The great Christian doctrine of the res- urrection closed the speech of Paul; a doctrine received with mockery, perhaps, by his Epicurean hearers, with suspension of judgment, probably, by the Stoic, with whose theory of the final destruction of the world by fire and his tenet of future retribution it might appear in some de- gree to harmonize. Some, however, be- came declared converts ; among whom are particularly named Dionysius, a man of sufficient distinction to be a member of the famous court of the Areopagus, and a woman named Damaris, probably of con- siderable rank and influence. At Athens, all this free discussion on topes relating to the religious and moral nature of man, and involving the authority of the existing religion, passed away with- out disturbance. The jealous reverence for the established faith, which, conspiring with its perpetual ally, political faction, had in former times caused the death of Socrates, the exile of Stilpo, and the pro- scription of Diagoras the Melian,had long died away. With the loss of independence political animosities had subsided, and the toleration of philosophical and religious indifference allowed the utmost latitude to speculative inquiry, however ultimately dangerous to the whole fabric of the na- tional religion. Yet Polytheism still reign- ed in Athens in its utmost splendour : the temples were maintained with the highest pomp; the Eleusinian Mysteries, in which religion and philosophy had in some de- gree coalesced, attracted the noblest and the wisest of the Romans, who boasted of their initiation in these sublime secrets. Athens was thus at once the headquarters of paganism, and, at the same time, the place where paganism most clearly betray- ed its approaching dissolution. From Athens the apostle passes to Cor- inth. Corinth was at this time the com- mon emporium of the eastern and western divisions of the Roman empire. It was the Venice of the Old World, in whose streets the continued stream of commence, either flowing from or towards the great capital of the world, out of all the East- ern territories, met and crossed.* The basis of the population of Corinth was Ro- * After its destruction by Mummius, Corinth was restored, beautified, and coionized by Julius Csesar. —Strabo, viii., 381. For its history, wealth, and commercial situation, Diod. Sic , Fragm. The prof- ligacy of Corinthian manners was likewise prover- bial : TLoTuv oiKelTs t&v ovo&v re nal yeyevT}- phuv kira(j)podiTOTdT7}v.—Dio Chrysost., Orat. 37, . ii., p. 110 man, of very recent settlement; Corinth, but colonists from all quarters a.d. & had taken up their permanent residence in a place so admirably adapted for mercan- tile purposes. In no part of the Roman empire were both the inhabitants and the travellers through the city so various ano mingled; nowhere, therefore, would a new religion at the same time spread with much rapidity, and send out the ramifica- tions of its influence with so much suc- cess, and, at the same time, excite so little observation amid the stir of business and the perpetual influx and afflux of strangers, or be less exposed to jealous opposition. Even the priesthood, newly settled, like the rest of the colony, could command no ancient reverence ; and in the perpetual mingling and confusion of all dresses and dialects, no doubt there was the same con- course of religious itinerants of every de- scription.* At Corinth, therefore, but for the hostility of his countrymen, the Chris- tian apostle might, even longer than the eighteen months which he passed in that city, have preserved his peaceful course. The separation which at once took place between the Jewish and the Christian com- munities in Corinth—the secession of Paul from the synagogue into a neighbouring house—might have allayed even this in- testine ferment, had not the progress of Christianity, and the open adoption of the * Corinth was a favourite resort of the Sophists (Aristid., Isthm. Athenaeus, 1. xiii.), and in an ora- tion of Dio Chrysostom there is a lively and graph- ic description of what may be called one of the fairs of antiquity, the Isthmian games, which happily il- lustrates the general appearance of society. Among the rest, the Cynic philosopher Diogenes appears, and endeavours to attract an audience among the vast and idle multitude. He complains, however, “ that if he were a travelling dentist or an oculist, or had any infallible specific for the spleen or the gout, all who were afflicted with such diseases would have thronged around him; but as he only professed to cure mankind of vice, ignorance, and profligacy, no one troubled himself to seek a rem- edy for those less grievous maladies.” “ And there was around the temple of Neptune a crowd of mis- erable Sophists shouting and abusing one another; and of their so-called disciples, fighting with each other; and many authors reading their works, to which nobody paid any attention ; and many poets chanting their poems, with others praising them ; and many jugglers showing off their tricks ; and many prodigy-mongers noting down their wonders ; and a thousand rhetoricians perplexing causes ; and not a few shopkeepers retailing their wares wher- ever they could find a customer. And presently some approached the philosopher ; pot, indeed, the Corinthians, for, as they saw him every day in Cor- inth, they did not expect to derive any advantage from hearing him; but those that drew near him were strangers, each of whom, having listened a short time and asked a few questions, made his re- treat from fear of his rebukes.”—Dio Chrys., Orat. viiiHISTORY GF CHRISTIANITY. new faith by one of the chiefs of the syn- agogue, reawakened that fierce animosity which had already caused the expulsion of both parties from Rome, and the seeds of which no doubt rankled in the hearts of many. Here, therefore, for the first time, Christianity was brought under the cog- nizance of a higher authority than the mu- nicipal magistrate of one of the Macedo- nian cities. The contemptuous dismissal of the cause by the proconsul of Achaia, as beneath the majesty of the Roman tri- bunal; his refusal to interfere when some of the populace, with whom the Christians were apparently the favoured party, on the repulse of the accusing Jews from the seat of justice, fell upon one of them named Sosthenes, and maltreated him with considerable violence, shows how little even the most enlightened men yet com- prehended the real nature of the new re- ligion. The affair was openly treated as an unimportant sectarian dispute about Gaiiio, the national faith of the Jews. a.d. 53. The mild* and popular character of Gallio, his connexion with his brother Seneca,f in whose philosophic writings the morality of heathenism had taken a higher tone than it ever assumes, unless perhaps subsequently in the works of Marcus Antoninus, excite regret that the religion of Christ was not brought under his observation in a manner more likely to conciliate his attention. The result of this trial was the peaceful establishment of Christianity in Corinth, where, though secure from the violence of the Jews, it was, however, constantly exposed by its situation to the intrusion of new comers, with different modifications of Christian opinions. This, therefore, was the first Christian community which was rent into parties, and in which the authority of the apostle was perpetually wanting to cor- rect opinions not purely Jewish in their origin. Thus eventful was the second journey of Paul: over so wide a circuit had Chris- tianity already been disseminated, almost entirely by his personal exertions. In many of the most flourishing and populous cities of Greece communities were formed, * Nemo mortalium uni tam dulcis est quam hie omnibus.—Senec.. Nat. Queest.,4, Praef. Hoc plus- quarn Senecam dedisse mundo. Et dulcem gen- erasse Gallionem. — Stat. Sylv., ii.} 7. Compare Dion. Ca^s., lx. t Among the later forgeries was a correspond- ence between Seneca and St. Paul: and many Christian writers, as unacquainted with the history of their own religion as with the state of the heathen mind, have been anyious to trace all that is striking and beautiful in th writings of the Stoic to Chris- tian influence. 181 which were continually enlarging their sphere. The third journey,* starting from the headquarters of Christianity, Antioch, led Paul again through the same regions of Asia, Galatia, and Phrygia. But now, in- stead of crossing over into Macedonia, he proceeded along the west of Asia Minor to the important city of Ephesus. Ephesus, Ephesusf at this time may be con- A-D> 54- sidered the capital, the chief mercantile city, of Asia Minor. It was inhabited by a mingled population; and probably uni- ted, more than any city in the East, Gre- cian and Asiatic habits, manners, and su- perstitions. J Its celebrated temple was one of the most splendid models of Gre- cian architecture; the image of the god- dess retained the symbolic form of the old Eastern nature-worship. It was one of the great schools of magic ; the Ephesian amulets or talismans^ were in high re- quest. Polytheism had thus effected an amicable union of Grecian art with Asi- atic mysticism and magical superstition : the vender of the silver shrines, which represented the great Temple, one of the wonders of the world, vied with the tra- der in charms and in all the appurtenances of witchcraft. Great numbers of Jews had long inhabited the chief cities of Asia Minor; many had attained to opulence, and were of great mercantile importance. Augustus had issued a general rescript to the cities of Asia Minor for the protection of the Jews, securing to them the freedom of religious worship, legalizing the trans- mission of the Temple tribute to Jerusa- lem by their own appointed receivers, and making the plunder of their synagogues sacrilege.|| Two later edicts of Agrippa and Julius Antoninus, proconsuls, particu- larly addressed to the magistracy of Eph-< esus, acknowledged and confirmed the im- perial decree. From this period nothing can yet have occurred to lessen their growing prosperity, or to lower them in the estimation of their Gentile neighbours. Among the numerous Jews in this great city Paul found some who, hav- Discjp]esof ing been in Judaea during the John the teaching of John the Baptist, had BaPtist- embraced his opinions and received bap- tism, either at his hands or from his dis- ciples, but appear not only not to have vis- ited the mother-country, but to have kept * Acts, xviii., 23, to xxi., 3 f Roseninuller, das alte-und neue Morgenland, 6-50. t Compare Matter, Hist, du Gnosticisme, i, 137. $ E(j)SGLa ypa/LLftara. II Upoffvha, Joseph., Ant., xvi., 6. Krebs, Deere- ta Romanorurn pro Judaeis, Lipsiae, 1778.182 HISTORY OF' CHRISTIANITY. up so little connexion with it as to be al- most, if not entirely, ignorant of the prom- ulgation of Christianity. The most emi- nent of them, Apollos, had left the city for Corinth, where, meeting with St. Paul’s companions, the Roman Jews Priscilla and Aquila, he had embraced Christianity, and being a man of eloquence, immediately took such a lead in the community as to be set up by one of the conflicting parties as a kind of rival of the apostle. The rest of.this sect in Ephesus willingly listened to the teaching of Paul: to the number of twelve they “.received the Holy Ghost,” and thus became the nucleus of a new Christian community in Ephesus. The followers of John the Baptist, no doubt, conformed in all respects with the cus- tomary worship of their countrymen : their peculiar opinions were superinduced, as it were, upon their Judaism ; they were still regular members of the synagogue. In the synagogue, therefore, Paul com- menced his labours, the success of which was so great as evidently to excite the hostility of the leading Jews : hence here likewise a complete separation took place ; the apostle obtained possession of a school belonging to a person named Tyrannus, most likely a Grecian sophist, and the Christian Church stood alone, as a distinct and independent place of Divine worship. Paul continued to reside in Ephesus two Ephesian years, during which the rapid ex- magic. v tension of Christianity was accel- erated by many wonderful cures. In Ephesus such cures were likely to be sought with avidity, but in this centre of magical superstition would by no means command belief in the Divine mission of the worker of miracles; Jews, as well as heathens, admitted the unlimited power of supernatural agencies, and vied with each other in the success of their rival en- chantments. The question then would arise, by what more than usually potent charm or mysterious power such extra- ordinary works were wrought. The fol- lowers of both religions had implicit faith in the magic influence of certain names. With the Jews, this belief was moulded up with their most sacred traditions. It was by the holy Tetra Grammaton,* the Sem-ham-phorash, according to the Alex- Jewish andrean historian of the Jews, that exorcists. ]\joses and their gifted ancestors * Artabanus apud Euseb., Prsep. Evangel., viii., 28. Compare Clemens. Alex., Strom., v., p. 562. It is curious enough that the constant repetition of the mysterious name of the Deity, Oum, should be the most acceptable act of devotion among the Indians, among the Jews the most awful and inex- piable impiety. wrought all the wonders of their early history; Pharaoh trembled before it, and the plagues of Egypt had been obedient u> the utterance of the awful monosyllable., the ineffable name of the Deity. Caba- lism, which assigned at first sanctity, and afterward power over the intermediate spirits of good and evil, to certain combi- nations of letters and numbers, though not yet cultivated to its height, existed, no doubt,‘in its earlier elements, among the Jews of this period. Upon this principle, some of the Jews who practised exor- cism attributed all these prodigies of St. Paul to some secret power possessed by the name of Jesus. Among these were some men of high rank, the sons of one of the high-priests named Sceva. They seem to have believed in the superstition by which they ruled the minds of others, and supposed that the talismanic influence, which probably depended on cabalistic art, was inseparably connected with the pronunciation of this mystic name. Those whom this science or this trade of exor- cism (according as it was practised by the credulous or the crafty) employed for their purposes, were those unhappy beings of disordered imagination, possessed, accord- ing to the belief of the times, by evil spir- its. One of these, on whom they were trying this experiment, had probably be- fore been strongly impressed with the teaching of Paul and the religion which he preached; and, irritated by the inter- ference of persons whom he might know- to be hostile to the Christian party, as- saulted them with great violence, and drove them naked and wounded out of the house.* This extraordinary event was not only fatal to the pretensions of the Jewish ex- orcists, but at once seemed to put to shame all wdio believed and who practised magical arts, and the manufacturers of spells and talismans. Multitudes came forward, and voluntarily gave up to be burned, not only all their store of amulets, but even the books which contained the magical formularies. Their value, as probably they were rated and estimated at a high price, amounted to 50,000 pieces of silver, most likely Attic drachms or Roman silver denarii, a coin very current in Asia Minor, and worth about lid. of our money. The sum would thi\s make something more than jC1600. These superstitions, however, though domiciliated at Ephesus, were foreign, and, perhaps, according to the Roman * It is not improbable that they may have taken off their ordinary dress, for the purpose of per- forming their incantation with greater solemnityHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. !8s provincial regulations, unlawful. Yet even the established religion, at least some of those dependant upon it for their subsist- ence, began to tremble at the rapid in- crease of the new faith. A collision now, for the first time, took place with the in- terests of that numerous class who were directly connected with the support of the reigning Polytheism. The Temple of Ephesus, as one of the wonders of the world, was constantly visited by stran- gers; a few, perhaps, from religion, many from curiosity or admiration of the unri- valled architecture; at all events, by the greater number of those who were always passing, accidentally or with mercantile views, through one of the most celebrated marts of the East. There was a common article of trade, a model or shrine of sil- ver representing the temple, which was preserved as a memorial, or, perhaps, as endowed with some sacred and talismanic power. The sale of these works gradual- ly fell off, and the artisans, at the insti- . gation of a certain Demetrius, the maker raised a violent popular tumult, or silver and spread the exciting watch- Ahi>n57. word that the worship of Diana was in danger. The whole city rung with the repeated outcries, “ Great is Diana of the Ephesians.” Two of Paul’s companions were seized and dragged into the public theatre, the place where in many cities the public business was transacted. Paul was eager to address the multitude, but was restrained by the prudence of his friends, among whom were some of the most eminent men of the province, the asiarchs.* The Jews appear to have been implicated in the insurrection; and prob- ably to exculpate themselves and dis- claim all connexion with the Christians, they put forward a certain Alexander, a man of eloquence and authority. The ap- pearance of Alexander seems not to have produced the effect they intended; as a Jew, he was considered hostile to the Pol- ytheistic worship ; his voice was drowned by the turbulence, and for two hours no^ thing could be heard in the assembly but the reiterated clamour, “ Great is Diana of the Ephesians.” The conduct of the magistrates seems to indicate that they were acting against a part of the commu- nity in whose favour the imperial edicts * This office appears to have been a wreck of the ancient federal constitution of the Asiatic cities. The asiarchs were elective by certain cities, and represented the general league or confederation. They possessed the supreme sacerdotal authority ; regulated and presided in the theatric exhibitions. Their pontifical character renders it more remarka- ble that they should have been favourably disposed toward 10 -1 were still in force. Either they did 110} yet clearly distinguish between the Jews and Christians, or supposed that the lat- ter, as originally Jews, were under the pro- tection of the same rescripts. Express- ing the utmost reverence for the establish- ed religion of Diana, they recommend moderation; exculpate the accused from the charge of intentional insult, either against the temple or the religion of the city; require that the cause should be heard in a legal form ; and finally urge the danger which the city incurred of be- ing punished for the breach of the public peace by the higher authorities—the pro- consular governor of Asia. The tumult was allayed; but Paul seems to have thought it prudent to withdraw from the excited city, and to pursue his former line of travel into Macedonia and Greece. From Ephesus, accordingly, we trace his course through Macedonia to Corinth. Great changes had probably taken place in this community. The exiles from Rome, when the first violence of the edict of Claudius had passed away, both Jews and Christians, quietly stole back to their usual residences in the metropolis. In writing his epistle to the Roman Christians from this place, Paul seems to intimate both that the religion was again peaceably and firmly established in Rome (it counted some of the imperial household among its converts), and likewise that he was addressing many individuals with whom he was personally acquainted. As, then, it is quite clear, from the early history, that he had not himself travelled so far as Italy, Corinth seems the only place where he can have formed these connexions. His return led him, from fear of his hos- tile countrymen, back through Macedonia to Troas ; thence, taking ship at Assos, he visited the principal islands of the Aegean, Mytilene, Chios, and Samos; landed at Miletus, where he had an interview with the heads of the Ephesian community ; thence by sea, touching at Coos, aD Rhodes, and Patara, to Tyre. Few incidents-occur during this long voyage : the solemn and affecting parting from the Ephesian Christians, who came to meet, him at Miletus, implies a profound sense of the dangers which awaited him on his return to Palestine. The events which occurred during his journey, and his resi- dence in Jerusalem, have been already re- lated. This last collision with his native Judaism, and his imprisonment, occupy between two and three years.* * For the period between the year 58 and 61 see the last chapter.J84 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. The next place in which the apostle A D 6J surveyed the strength and encoun- tered the hostility of paganism, was in the metropolis of the world. Re- leased from his imprisonment at Cassarea, the Christian apostle was sent to answer for his conduct in Jerusalem before the imperial tribunal, to which, as a Roman citizen, he had claimed his right of appeal. His voyage is singularly descriptive of the precarious navigation of the Mediter- ranean at that time ; and it is curious that, in the wild island of Melita, the apos- tle having been looked upon as an atro- cious criminal because a viper had fasten- ed upon his hand, when he shook the rep- tile off without having received any injury, was admired as a god. In the barbarous Melita as in the barbarous Lystra, the be- lief in gods under the human form had not yet given place to the incredulous spirit of the age. He arrives, at length, at the port in Italy where voyagers from Syria or Egypt usually disembarked, Pu- teoli. There appear to have been Chris- tians in that town, who received Paul, and with whom he resided for seven days. Many of the Roman Christians, apprized of his arrival, went out to meet him as far as the village of Appii Forum, or a place called the Three Taverns. But it is re- markable, that so complete by this time was the separation between the Jewish and Christian communities,that the former had no intelligence of his arrival, and, what is more singular, knew nothing what- ever of his case.* Possibly the usual correspondence with Jerusalem had been interrupted at the time of the expulsion of the Jews from Rome, and had not been re-established with its former regularity ; or, as is more probable, the persecution of Paul being a party and Sadducaic meas- ure, was neither avowed nor supported by the great body of the nation. Those who had visited and returned from Jerusalem, being chiefly of the Pharisaic or more re- ligious party, were either ignorant or im- perfectly informed of the extraordinary adventures of Paul in their native city: ■ nd two years had elapsed during his con- finement at Caesarea. Though still in form a prisoner, Paul enjoyed almost per- fect freedom, and his first step was a gen- eral appeal to the whole community of the Jews then resident in Rome. To them he explained the cause of his arrival. It was not uncommon, in disputes between two parties in Jerusalem, that both parties should be summoned or sent at once by the governor, especially if, like Paul, they demanded it as a right, to plead their cause before the imperial courts. More than once the high-priest himself had been re- duced to the degrading situation of a criminal before a higher tribunal; and there are several instances in which all the arts of court intrigue were employed to obtain a decision* on some question of Jewish politics. Paul, while he acknowl- edges that his conflict with his country- men related to his belief in Christ as the Messiah, disclaims all intention of arraign- ing the ruling authorities for their injus- tice : he had no charge to advance against the nation. The Jews, in general, seem to have been inclined to hear from so high an authority the real doctrines of the Gos- pel. They assembled for that purpose at the house in which the apostle was con- fined; and, as usual, some, were favour- ably disposed to the Christianity of Paul, others rejected it with the most confirmed obduracy. But at this instant we pass at once from the firm and solid ground AD 63 St> of authentic and credible his- Paul leaves* tory upon the quaking and in- Rome- secure footing of legendary tradition. A few scattered notices of the personal his- tory of Paul may be gathered from the la- ter epistles ; but the last fact which we re- ceive from the undoubted authority of the writer of the Acts is, that two years pass- ed before the apostle left Rome.* To what examination he was subjected, in what manner his release was obtained, all is obscure, or, rather, without one ray of light. But to the success of Paul in Rome, and to the rapid progress of Christianity during these two eventful years, we have gloomy and melancholy evidence. The next year after his departure is darkly no- ted in the annals of Rome as the era of that fatal fire which enveloped in Earning ruin all the ancient grandeur of of Rome, the Eternal City ; in those of Christianity as the epoch of the first heathen perse- cution. This event throws considerable light on the state of the Christian Church at Rome. No secret or very inconsider- able community would have attracted the notice or satisfied the bloodthirsty cruelty of Nero. The people would not have con- sented to receive them as atoning victims for the dreadful disaster of the conflagra- * Whatever might he the reason for the abrupt termination of the book of the Acts, which could neither be the death of the author, for he probably- survived St. Paul, nor his total separation from him, for he was with him towards the close of his ca- reer (2 Tim., iv., 11), the expression in the last verse but one of the Acts limits the residence of St. Paul in Rome at that time to two years. * Acts, xxviii., 21.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. tion, nor would the reckless tyranny of the emperor have condescended to select them as sacrificial offerings to appease the popular fury, unless they had been nu- merous, far above contempt, and already looked upon with a jealous eye. Nor is it less clear that, even to the blind discern- ment of popular indignation and impe- rial cruelty, the Christians were by this time distinguished from the Jews. They were no longer a mere sect of the parent nation, but a separate, a marked, and pe- culiar people, known by their distinctive usages, and incorporating many of Gentile descent into their original Jewish com- munity. Though at first there appears something unaccountable in this proscription of a harmless and unobtrusive sect, against whom the worst charge at last was the in- troduction of a new and peaceful form of worshipping one Deity, a privilege which the Jew had always enjoyed without mo- lestation, yet the process by which the public mind was led to this outburst of fury, and the manner in which it was di- rected against the Christians, are clearly indicated by the historian.* After the first consternation and distress, an access of awe-struck superstition seized on the popular mind. Great public calamities can never be referred to obvious or acci- dental causes. The trembling people had recourse to religious rites, endeavoured to ascertain by what offended deities this dreadful judgment had been inflicted, and sought for victims to appease their yet, perhaps, unmitigated gods.f But when su- perstition has once found out victims to whose guilt or impiety it may ascribe the Divine anger, human revenge mingles it- self up with the relentless determination to propitiate offended Heaven, and con- tributes still more to blind the judgment and exasperate the passions. The other foreign religions, at which the native dei- ties might take offence, had been long dom- iciliated at Rome. Christianity was the newest, perhaps was making the most alarming progress : it was no national re- ligion ; it was disclaimed with eager an- imosity by the Jews, among whom it ori- ginated ; its principles and practices were obscure and unintelligible, and that ob- scurity the excited imagination of the hos- * Mox petita diis piacula, aditique Sibyllae libri, ex quibus supplicatum Vulcano et Cereri Proserpin- acque, ac propitiata Juno per matronas, prirniirn in Capitolio, deinde apud proximum mare, &c.—Tac., Ann., xv., 44. f Sed non ope humaria, non largitionibus princi- pis, aut deum placamentis decedebat infamia, quin /ussum mcendium crederetur. A A 185 tile people might fill up with the darkest and most monstrous forms. We have sometimes thought it possible that incautious or misinterpret- pr0babie ed expressions of the Chris- causes which tians themselves might have attracted the blind resentment winf this of the people. The minds of event- the Christians were constantly occupied with the terrific images of the filial coming of the Lord to judgment in fire; the con- flagration of the world was the expected consummation, which they devoutly sup- posed to be instantly at hand. When, therefore, they saw the great metropolis of the world, the city of pride, of sensual- ity, of idolatry, of bloodshed, blazing like a fiery furnace before their eyes—the Babylon of the West, wrapped in one vast sheet of destroying flame—the more fa- natical, the Jewish part of the community,* may have looked on with something of fierce hope and eager anticipation ; expres- sions almost triumphant may have burst from unguarded lips. They may have at- tributed the ruin to the righteous ven- geance of the Lord; it may have seemed the opening of that kingdom which was to commence with the discomfiture, the des- olation of heathenism, and to conclude with the establishment of the millennial kingdom of Christ. Some of these, in the first instance, apprehended and examined, may have made acknowledgments before a passionate and astonished tribunal which would lead to the conclusion that in the hour of general destruction they had some trust, some security, denied to the rest of mankind; and this exemption from com- mon misery, if it would not mark them out in some dark mannerf as the authors of the conflagration, at all events would convict them of that hatred of the human race so often advanced against the Jews. Inventive cruelty sought out new ways of torturing these victims of popular hatred and imperial injustice. The calm and se- rene patience with which they were arm- * Some deep and permanent cause of hatred against the Christians, it may almost seem, as con- nected with this disaster, can alotie account for the strong expressions of Tacitus, writing so many years after : Sontes et novissimaexempla meritos.* t Haud perinde in crimine incendii quam odio generis humani convicti sunt. * [Both Pliny (lib. x., ep. 97) and Trajan (ep. 98) deem- ed the firmness of the Christians in adhering to their reli- gion and their refusing to do sacrifice as sufficient ground for putting them to death. What evidence, then, does this passage afford for Mr. Mil man’s conjecture? Melito Sar- dicensis (in Euseb., If. E., iv., 26) says that Nero was per- suaded by certain malevolent persons (W tivwv (3acKa- v(i)v dvOpcjTrwv). Must they have used indiscreet language respecting the conflagration in order to have private ene- mies?]166 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ed by their religion against the most ex- cruciating sufferings, may have irritated still farther their ruthless persecutors. The sewing up men in the skins of beasts, and setting dogs to tear them to pieces, may find precedent in the annals of human barbarity ;* but the covering them over with a kind of dress smeared with wax, pitch, or other combustible matter, with a stake under their chin to keep them up- right, and then placing them to be slowly consumed, like torches in the public gar- dens of popular amusement, this seems to have been an invention of the time; and, from the manner in which it is mentioned by the Roman writers as the most horri- ble torture known, appears to have made a profound impression on the general mind. Even a people habituated to gladiatorial shows, and to the horrible scenes of whole- sale execution which were of daily occur- rence during the reigns of Tiberius, Calig- ula, and Nero, must yet have been in an unusual state of exasperated excitement to endure, or, rather, to take pleasure in the sight of these unparalleled barbarities. Thus the gentle, the peaceful religion of Christ was welcomed upon earth by new application of man’s inventive faculties to inflict suffering and to satiate revenge.f The apostle was no doubt absent from Rome at the commencement and during the whole of this persecution. His course is dimly descried by the hints scattered through his later epistles. It is probable that he travelled into Spain. The asser- tion of Irenaeus, that he penetrated to the extreme West,J coincides with his inten- * Et pereuntibus addita ludibria, ut ferarurn ter- gis obtecti, laniatu canum interirent; autcrucibus affixi, aut flammandi, atque ubi defecisset dies, in usum nocturni luminis urerentur.—Tac., Ann., xv., 54. Juvenal calls this “tunica molesta,” viii., 235. tada lucebis in ilia, Qua stantes ardent, qui fixo gutture fumant Et latum media sulcum deducit arenA—i., 155. Illam tunicam alimentisignium illitam et intextam. —Senec., Epist. xix. It was probably thought ap- propriate to consume with slow fire the authors of the conflagration. f Gibbon’s extraordinary “conjecture” that the Christians in Rome were confounded with the Gal- ileans, the fanatical followers of Judas the Gaulo- nite, is most improbable. The sect of Judas was not known beyond the precincts of Palestine. The insinuation that the Jews may have escaped the proscription, through the interest of the beautiful Poppsea and the favourite Jewish player Aliturus, though not very likely, is more in character with the times. t The visit of St. Paul to Britain, in our opinion, is a fiction of religious national vanity. It has few or no advocates except English ecclesiastical anti- quarians. In fact, the state of the island, in which the precarious sovereignty of Rome was still fierce- ly contested by the native barbarians, seems to be entirely forgotten. Civilization had made little prog- tion of visiting that province declared at an earlier period. As it is difficult to as- sign to any other part of his life the estab- lishment of Christianity in Crete, it may be permitted to suppose that from Spain his course lay eastward, not improbably with the design of revisiting Jerusalem. That he entertained this design there ap- pears some evidence ; none, however, that he accomplished it.* The state of Judaea, in which Roman oppression had now be- gun, under Albinus, if not under Florus,f to grow to an intolerable height; the spirit of indignant resistance which was ferment- ing in the mind of the people, might either operate to deter or to induce the apostle to undertake the journey. On the one hand, if the Jews should renew their im- placable hostility, the Christians, now hav- ing become odious to the Roman govern- ment, could expect no protection ; the ra- pacious tyranny of the new rulers would seize every occasion of including the Chrisffan community under the grinding and vexatious system of persecution : and such occasion would be furnished by any tumult in which they might be implicated. On the other hand, the popular mind among the Jews being absorbed by stronger in- terests, engrossed by passions even more powerful than hatred of Christianity, the apostle might have entered the city unno- ticed, and remained concealed among his. Christian friends; particularly as the fre- quent change in the ruling authorities, and the perpetual deposal of the high-priest during the long interval of his absence, may have stripped his leading adversaries of their authority. Be this as it may, there are manifest vestiges of his having visited many cities of Asia Minor—Ephesus, Colossae,J Mile- ress in Britain till the conquest of Agricola. Up to that time it was occupied only by the invading legionaries, fully employed in extending and guard- ing their conquests, and our wild ancestors with their stern Druidical hierarchy. From which class were the apostle’s hearers or converts? My friend Dr. Cardwell, in a recent essay on this subject, con- curs with this opinion. * This is inferred from Hebr., xiii., 23. This in- ference, however, assumes several points In the first place, that Paul is the author of the Epistle to the Hebrews. To this opinion, though by no means certain, we strongly incline. But it does not fol- low that Paul fulfilled his intention; and even the intention was conditional, and dependant on the speedy arrival of Timothy, which may or mav not have taken place.* f Florus succeeded Albinus A.D. 64. t Philem., 22. * [This journey to Spain rests on very slight evidence, and the many parts of the East travelled over by him would probably occupy the whole time of his absence from Rome.]HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 1S7 las,* Troas ;f that he passed a winter at Nicopolis, in Epirus.J From hence he may have descended to Corinth,§ and from Corinth probable reasons may be assign- ed for his return to Rome. In all these cities, and doubtless in many others where we have no record of the first promulga- tion of the religion, the Christians formed regular and organized communities. Con- stant intercourse seems to have been maintained throughout the whole confed- eracy. Besides the apostles, other per- sons seem to have been constantly travel- ling about, some entirely devoted to the dissemination of the religion, others uni- ting it with their own secular pursuits. Onesiphorus,|| it may be supposed, a wealthy merchant resident at Ephesus, being in Rome at the time of Paul’s im- prisonment, laboured to alleviate the irk- someness of his confinement. Paul had constantly one, sometimes many compan- ions in his journeys. Some of these he seems to have established, as Titus, in Crete, to preside over the young commu- nities ; others were left behind for a time to superintend the interests of the religion ; others, as Luke, the author of the Acts, were in more regular attendance upon him, and appear to have been only occa- sionally separated by accidental circum- stances. But if we may judge from the authentic records of the New Testament, the whole Christianity of the West ema- nated from Paul alone. The indefatigable activity of this one man had planted Chris- tian colonies, each of which became the centre of a new moral civilization, from the borders of Syria as far as Spain, and to the city of Rome. Tradition assigns to the last year of . ~ fif. Nero the martyrdom both of St. Peter and St. Paul. That of the former rests altogether on unauthoritative testimony; that of the latter is rendered highly probable from the authentic record of the second Epistle to Timothy. This letter was written by the author when in custody at Rome,^[ apparently under more rigorous confinement than during his first imprisonment; not looking forward to his release,** but with steadfast presentiment of his approaching violent .death. It con- tains allusions to his recent journey in Asia Minor and Greece. He had already undergone a first examination,ff and the * 2 Tim., iv., 20. f 2 Tim., iv., 13. vCompare Paley, Bora Pau- lina. t Titus, iii., 12. <$> 2 Tim., iv., 20. || 2 Tim., i., 16, 18. % All the names of the church who unite in the salutation, iv., 21, are Roman. ** 2 Tim., iv., 5, 6, 7. ft 2 Tim., iv., 12, 16. Rosenmiiller, however (in danger was so great that he had been de- serted by some of his attached followers, particularly by Demas. If conjecture be admitted, the, preparations for the recen- tion of Nero at Corinth during the cele- bration'of the Isthmian games may have caused well-grounded apprehensions to the Christian community in that city. Paul might have thought it prudent to withdraw from Corinth, whither his last journey had brought him, and might seize the oppor- tunity of the emperor’s absence to visit and restore the persecuted community at Rome. During the absence of Nero, the government of Rome and of Italy was in- trusted to the freed-slave 1-Ielius, a fit rep- resentative of the absent tyrant. He had full power of life and death, even over the senatorial order. The world, says Dion, was enslaved at once to two autocrats, Helius and Nero. Thus Paul may have found another Nero in the hostile capital: and the general tradition that he was pul to death, not by order of the emperor, but of the governor of the city, coincides with this state of things. The fame of St. Peter, from whom she claims the supremacy of the Christian world, has eclipsed that of St. Paul in the Eternal City. The most splendid temple which has been erected by Christian zeal to rival or surpass the proudest edifices of heathen magnificence, bears the name of that apostle, while that of St. Paul rises in a remote and unwholesome suburb. Studious to avoid, if possible, the treacher- ous and slippery ground of polemic con- troversy, we must be permitted to express our surprise that in no part of the authen- tic Scripture occurs the slightest allusion to the personal history of St. Peter, as connected with the Western churches. At all events, the conversion of the Gen- tile world was the acknowledged province of St. Paul. In that partition treaty in which these two moral invaders divided the yet unconquered world, the more civ- ilized province of Greek and Roman hea- thenism was assigned to him who was emphatically called the apostle of the Gen- tiles, while the Jewish population fell un- der the particular care of the Galilean Pe- ter. For the operations of the latter, no part of the world exclusive of Palestine, which seems to have been left to James the Just, would afford such ample scope for success as Babylonia and the Asiatic provinces, to which the Epistles of Peter are addressed. His own writings distinct- ly show that he was connected by some loc.), understands this [first, examination] of the ex- amination during his first trial..88 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. intimate tie with these communities; and as it appears that Galatia was a strong- hold of Judaical Christianity, it is probable that the greater part of those converts were originally Jews or Asiatics, whom Ju- daism had already prepared for the recep- tion of Christianity. Where Judaism thus widely prevailed was the appropriate prov- ince of the apostle of the circumcision. While, then, those whose severe histori- cal criticism is content with nothing less than contemporary evidence, or, at least, probable inferences from such records, will question, at least, the permanent es- tablishment of Peter in the imperial city, those who admit the authority of tradition will adhere to, and may, indeed, make a strong case in favour of St. Peter’s resi- dence,* or his martyrdom at Rome.f The spent wave of the Neronian perse- cution;): may have recovered sufficient force * The authorities are Irenssus, Dionysius of Cor- inth apud Eusebium, and Epiphanius. + Pearson in his Opera Posthuma, Diss. de serie et successione Romas. Episcop. supposes Peter to have been in Rome. Compare Townson on the Gospels, Diss. 5, sect. v. Barrow (Treatise of the Pope’s Supremacy) will not “avow” the opinion of those who argue him never to have been at Rome, vol. vi., p. 139, Oxford ed., 1818. Light-foot, whose profound knowledge of everything relating to the Jewish nation entitles his opinions to respect, ob- serves, in confirmation of his assertion that Peter lived and died in Chaldea, quam absurdum est statuere, ministrum praecipuum circumcisionis se- dem su,am figere in metropoli prepuliatorum, Roma. —Lightfoot’s Works, 8vo edit., x., 392. If, then, with Barrow, I may “ bear some civil re- spect to ancient testimonies and traditions” (loc. cit.), the strong bias of my own mind is to the fol- lowing solution of this problem. With Lightfoot I believe that Babylonia was the scene of St. Peter’s labours. But I am likewise confident that in Rome, as in Corinth, there were two communities—a Pe- trine and a Pauline—a Judaizing and a Hellenizing church. The origin of the two communities in the doctrines attributed to the two apostles may have been gradually transmuted into the foundation first of. each community, then generally of the Church of Rome, by the two apostles. All the difficulties in the arrangement of the succession to the episco- pal see of Rome vanish if we suppose two contem- porary lines. Here, as elsewhere, the Judaizing church either expired or was absorbed in the Paul- ine community. The passage in the Corinthians by no means ne- cessarily implies the personal presence of Peter in that city. There was a party there, no doubt a Ju- daizing one, which professed to preach the pure doctrine of “ Cephas” in opposition to that of Paul, and who called themselves, therefore, “ofCephas.” Dum primos ecclesise Romans© fundatores qusero occurrit illud. — Acts, ii., 10. '0* emdyfiovvreg fPufialot Iovdaloi re Kal 7xpoarfkvTOL Lightfoot’s Works, 8vo edit, x., 392. t As to the extent of the Neronian persecution, whether it was general or confined to the city of Rome, I agree with Mosheim that only one valid argument is usually advanced on either side. On the one hand, that of Dodwell, that the Christians to sweep away those who were emplo3’etf in reconstructing the shattered edifice of Christianity in Rome. The return of an individual, however personally obscure, yet connected with a sect so recently pro- scribed, both by popular odium and public authority, would scarcely escape the vigil- ant police of the metropolis. One indi- vidual is named, Alexander the copper- smith, whose seemingly personal hostility - had caused or increased the danger in which Paul considered himself during his second imprisonment. He may have been the original informer who betrayed his being in Rome, or his intimate alliance with the Christians; or he may have ap- peared as evidence against him during his examination. Though there may have been no existing law or imperial rescript against the Christians, and Paul, having been absent from Rome at the time, could not be implicated in the charge of incen- diarism, yet the representative of Nero, if faithfully described by Dion Cassius,* would pay little regard to the forms of criminal justice, and would have no scru- ple in ordering the summary execution of an obscure individual, since it Martyrdom does not appear that, in exerci- of Paul- sing the jurisdiction of praefect of the city, he treated the lives of knights or of sena- tors with more respect. There is, there- fore, no improbability that the Christian being persecuted, not on account of their religion, but on the charge of incendiarism, that charge could not have been brought against those who lived be- yond the precincts of the city. Though as to this point it is to be feared that many an honest Prot- estant would have considered the real crime of the gunpowder plot, or the imputed guilt of the fire of London, ample justification for a general persecu- tion of the Roman Catholics. On the other hand is alleged the authority of Tertullian, who refers, in a public apology to the laws of Nero and Domi- tian against the Christians, an expression too dis- tinct to pass for rhetoric, even in that passionate writer, though he may have magnified temporary edicts into general laws. The Spanish inscription not only wants confirmation, but. even evidence that it ever existed. There is, however, a point of some importance in favour of the first opinion. Paul appears to have travelled about through a great part of the Roman empire during this inter- val, yet we have no intimation of his being in more than ordinary personal danger. It was not till his return to Rome that he was again apprehended, and at length suffered martyrdom. * Toi)f fihrot ev rrj P6fiy Kal ry It alia nav- rag fH7uw tlvl Kaiaape'up ekSotovg irapeduKe. ndvra yap anlwg enererpa'KTo, dare Kal drjfiev- etv, Kal tyvyadevELv, Kal av:oKTivvvvai (Kal nplv drjlwaat rc5 Nepwi) Kal idiurag ofioiwg, Kal iir- Tveag Kal ftovlevrag. Ovro) flev 6y Tore r\ rtiv Pofialov dpxv dvo avroKpdropmp dfia edovXeve, Neptdvi Kal 'HA/cj. Ovde ehrelv oirorepoi avT&v xupMV yv.— Dion Cassius (or Xiphilin), lxiii., c. 12,HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 1^9 Church in Rome may have faithfully pre- served the fact of Paul’s execution, and even cherished in their pious memory the spot on the Ostian road watered by the blood of the apostle. As a Roman citizen, Paul is Said to have been beheaded in- stead of being suspended to a cross, or exposed to any of those horrid tortures invented for the Christians; and so far the modest, probability of the relation may confirm rather than impeach its truth. The other circumstances—his conversion of the soldiers who carried him to execu- tion, and of the executioner himself—bear too much the air of religious romance; though, indeed, the Roman Christians had not the same interest in inventing or embellishing the martyrdom of Paul as that of the other great apostle from whom they derive their supremacy. CHAPTER IY. CHRISTIANITY TO THE CLOSE OF THE FIRST CENTURY.-CONSTITUTION OF CHRISTIAN CHURCHES. The changes in the moral are usually Great revo- wrought as imperceptibly ds lutions slow those in the physical world, and gradual. any wjge mailj either con- vinced of the Divine origin of Christianity, or even contemplating with philosophical sagacity the essential nature of the new religion and the existing state of the .hu- man mind, ventured to predict, that from the ashes of these obscure men would arise a moral sovereignty more extensive and lasting than that of the Caesars; that buildings more splendid than any which adorned the new marble city, now rising from the ruins of the conflagration, would be dedicated to their name, and maintain their reverence for an incalculably longer period, such vaticinations would have met the fate inseparable from the wisdom which outstrips its age ; would have been scorned by contemporary pride, and only admired after their accomplishment by late posterity. The slight and contempt- uous notice excited by Christianity during the first century of its promulgation is in strict accordance with this ordinary de- velopment of the great and lasting revolu- tions in human affairs. The moral world has sometimes, indeed, its volcanic ex- plosions, which suddenly and violently convulse and reform the order of things; but its more enduring changes are in gen- eral produced by the slow and silent work- ings of opinions remotely prepared, and gradually expanding to their mature and irresistible influence. In default, there- fore, of real information as to the secret but simultaneous progress of Christianity in so many quarters and among all ranks, we are left to speculate on the influence of the passing events of the time, and of the changes in the public mind, whether favourable or prejudicial to the cause of Christianity, catching only faint and un- certain gleams of its peculiar history through the confused and rapidly-changing course of public affairs. The Imperial history, from the first pro- mulgation of Christianity down Imperialhis. to the accession of Constantine, tory divided divides itself into four distinct jJJJjfour pe" but unequal periods. More than no s* thirty years are occupied by the line of the first Caesars; rather less by the con- flicts which followed the death of Nero and the government of the Flavian dy- nasty. The first years of Trajan, who ascended the Imperial throne A.D. 98, nearly synchronize with the opening of the second century of Christianity; and that splendid period of internal peace and advancing civilization, of wealth, and of prosperity, which has been described as the happiest in the annals of mankind, ex- tends over the first eighty years of that century.* Down to the accession of Con- stantine, nearly at the commencement of the fourth century, the empire became, like the great monarchies of the East, the prize of successful ambition and enter- prise : almost every change of ruler is a change of dynasty; and already the bor- ders of the empire have ceased to be re- spected by the menacing, the conquering Barbarians. It is remarkable how singularly the po- litical character of each period First peri0(1 was calculated to advance the to the death growth of Christianity. or Nero, During the first of these periods, the government, though it still held in respect the old republican institutions, was, if not * Among the writers who have discussed this question may be consulted Hegewisch, whose work has been recently translated by M. Solvet, under the title of Essai sur l’Epoque de 1’Histoire Ro maine la plus heureuse pour le Genre Humain Paris, 1834,190 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, ill form, in its administration purely des- potic. The state centred in the person of the emperor. This kind of hereditary autocracy is essentially selfish: it is con- tent with averting or punishing plots against the person, or detecting and crush- ing conspiracies against the power, of the existing monarch. To those more remote or secret changes which are working in the depths of society, eventually, perhaps, threatening the existence of the monarchy or the stability of all the social relations, it is blind or indifferent.* It has neither sagacity to discern, intelligence to com- prehend, nor even the disinterested zeal for the perpetuation of its own despotism, to counteract such distant and contingent dangers. Of all innovations it is, in gen- eral, sensitively jealous ; but they must be palpable and manifest, and directly clash- ing with the passions or exciting the fears of the sovereign. Even these are met by temporary measures. When an outcry was raised against the Egyptian religion as dangerous to public morality, an edict commanded the expulsion of its votaries from the city. When the superstition of the emperor shuddered at the predictions of the mathematicians, the whole frater- nity fell under the same interdict. When the public peace was disturbed by the dis- sensions among the Jewish population of Rome, the summary sentence of Claudius visited both Jews and Christians with.the same indifferent severity. So the Nero- nian persecution was an accident, arising out of the fire of Rome, no part of a sys- tematic political plan, for the suppression of foreign religions. It might have fallen on any other sect or body of men who might have been designated as victims to appease the popular resentment. The provincial administrations would be actu- ated by the same principles as the central government, and be alike indifferent to the quiet progress of opinions, however dan- gerous to the existing order of things. Unless some breach of the public peace demanded their interference, they would rarely put forth their power; and, content with the maintenance of order, the regular collection of the revenue, the more rapa- cious with the punctual payment of their own exactions, the more enlightened with the improvement and embellishment of the cities under their charge, they wmuld look on the rise and propagation of a new reli- gion with no more concern than that of a * Sasvi proximis ingruunt. In this one pregnant sentence of Tacitus is explained the political se- cret, that the mass of the people have sometimes been comparatively unoppressed under the most sanguinary tyranny. new philosophic sect, particularly m the eastern part of the empire, where the reli- gions were in general more foreign to the character of the Greek or Roman Poly- theism. The popular feeling during this first period would only under peculiar circumstances outstrip the activity of the government. Accustomed to the separate worship of the Jews, to them Christianity appeared at first only as a modification of that belief. Local jealousies or personal animosities might, in different places, ex- cite a more active hostility ; in Rome it is evident that the people were only worked up to find inhuman delight in the suffer- ings of the Christians, by the misrepre- sentations of the government, by super- stitious solicitude to find some victims to appease the angry gods, and that strange consolation of human misery, the delight of wreaking vengeance on whomsoever it can possibly implicate as the cause of the calamity. During the whole, then, of this first pe- riod to the death of Nero, both the prim- itive obscurity of Christianity and the transient importance it assumed as a dan- gerous enemy of the people of Rome, and subsequently as the guiltless victim of pop- ular vengeance, would tend to its eventual progress. Its own innate activity, with all the force which it carried with it, both in its internal and external impulse, would propagate it extensively in the inferior and middle classes of society: while, though the great mass of the higher orders would still remain unacquainted with its real na- ture and with its relation to its parent Ju- daism, it was quite enough before the pub- lic attention to awaken the curiosity of the more inquiring, and to excite the in- terest of those who were seriously con- cerned in the moral advancement of man- kind. In many quarters it is far from im- possible that the strong revulsion of the public mind against Nero after his death may have extended some commiseration towards his innocent victims :* that the Christians were acquitted by the popular feeling of any real connexion with the fire at Rome, is evident from Tacitus, who re- treats into vague expressions of general scorn and animosity.f At all events, the persecution must have had the effect of raising the importance of Christianity, so as to force it upon the notice of many who might otherwise have been ignorant * This was the case even in Rome. Unde quan- quam adversus sontes et novissima exempla meri- tos, miseratio oriebatur, tanquam non utilitate pub- licA, sed in saevitiam unins absumerentur.—Tac.. Ann., xv., 44. t Odio humani generis convicti.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 191 of its existence : the new and peculiar fortitude with which the sufferers endured their unprecedented trials would strongly recommend it to those who were dissatis- fied with the moral power of their old re- ligion, while, on the other hand, it was yet too feeble and obscure to provoke a systematic plan for its suppression. During the second period of the first _ century, from A.D. 68 to 98, the riodto the’ date of the accession of Trajan, accession the larger portion was occupied of Trajan, ^ ^he reign of Domitian, a ty- rant in whom the successors of Augustus might appear to revive, both in the mon- strous vices of his personal character and of his government. Of the Flavian dynas- ty, the father alone, Vespasian, from the comprehensive vigour of his mind, per- haps from his knowledge of the Jewish character and religion, obtained during his residence in the East, was likely to esti- mate the bearings and future prospects of Christianity. But the total subjugation of Judaea and the destruction of the Temple of Jerusalem having reduced the religious parents of the Christians to so low a state, their nation, and, consequently, their religion, being, according to the ordinary course of events, likely to mingle up and become absorbed in the general popula- tion of the Roman empire, Christianity, it might reasonably be supposed, would scarcely survive its., original stock, and might be safely left to burn out by the same gradual process of extinction. Be- sides this, the strong mind of Vespasian was fully occupied by the restoration of order in the capital and in the provinces, and in fixing on a firm basis the yet unset- tled authority of the Flavian dynasty. A more formidable, because more imme- diate, danger threatened the existing or- der of things. The awful genius of Ro- man liberty had entered into an alliance with the higher philosophy of the time, stoic phi- Republican stoicism, brooding in losophers. the noblest minds of Rome, look- ed back with vain though passionate re- gret to the free institutions of their an- cestors, and demanded the old liberty of action. It was this dangerous movement, not the new and humble religion, which calmly acquiesced in all political changes, and contented itself with liberty of thought and opinion, which put to the test the pru- dence and moderation of the Emperor Vespasian. It was the spirit of Cato, not of Christ, which he found it necessary to control. The enemy before which he trembled was the patriot Thrasea, not the apostle St. John, who was silen'lty win- ning over Ephesus to the new faith. The edict of expulsion rom Rome fell not on the worshippers of foreign religions, but on the philosophers, a comprehensive term, but which was probably limited to those whose opinions were considered dangerous to the imperial authority.* It was only with the new fiscal regula- tions of the rapacious and parsimonious Vespasian that the Christians were acci- dentally implicated. The emperor con- tinued to levy the capitation tax, which had been willingly and proudly paid by the Jews throughout the empire for the maintenance of their own Temple at Jeru- salem, for the restoration of the idolatrous fane of the Capitoline Jupiter, which had been destroyed in the civil contests. The Jew submitted with sullen reluc- Templel.ru against any peculiar sect or individual, but to arrest the spirit of Orientalism, which was working into the essence.of Christi- anity, destroying its .beautiful simplicity, and threatening altogether to change both its design and its effects upon mankind. In some points it necessarily spoke the language which was common alike, though not precisely, with the same meaning, to the Platonism of the West and the The- ogonism of the East; but its sense was * The Temple of Diana was the triumph of pure Grecian architecture : but her statue was not that of the divine Huntress, like that twin-sister of the Belvidere Apollo in the gallery at Paris; she was the Diana multimamrna, the emblematic imperson- ation of all-productive, all-nutritive Nature.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 207 different and peculiar. It kept the moral and religious, if not altogether distinct from the physical notions, yet clearly and invariably predominant. While it appro- priated the well-known and almost univer- sal term, the Logos or Word of God, to the Divine author of Christianity, and even adopted some of the imagery from the hy- pothesis of conflicting light and darkness, yet it altogether rejected all the wild cos- mogonical speculations on the formation of the world; it was silent on that ele- mentary distinction of the Eastern creed, the separation of matter from the ethereal mind. The union of the soul with the Deity, though in the writings of John it takes something of a mystic tone, is not the pantheistic absorption into the parent Deity ; it is a union by the aspiration of the pious heart, the conjunction by pure and holy love with the' Deity, who, to the ecstatic moral affection of the adorer, is himself pure love. It insists not on ab- straction from matter, but from sin, from hatred, from all fierce and corrupting pas- sions ; its new life is active as well as meditative ; a social principle, which in- corporates together all pure and holy men, and conjoins them with their federal head, Christ, the image and representative of the God of Love ; it is no principle of iso- lation in solitary and rapturous medita- tion ; it is a moral, not an imaginative pu- rity Among the opponents to the ho*y and Nicolai tans, sublime Christianity of St.John * during his residence at Ephesus, the names of the Nicolaitans and of Ce- rinthus alone have survived.* Of the ten- ets of the former and the author of the doctrine, nothing precise is known; but the indignant language with which they are alluded to in the Sacred Writings im- plies that they were not merely hostile to the abstract doctrines, but also to the mor- al effects of the Gospel. Nor does it ap- pear quite clear that the Nicolaitans were a distinct and organized sect. Cerinthus was the first of whose tenets * General tradition derived the Nicolaitans from Nicolas, one of the seven deacons.—Acts, vi., 5 Eusebius (Eccl. Hist., 1. iii., c. 29) relates a story that Nicolas, accused of being jealous of his beau- tiful wife, offered her in matrimony to whoever chose to take her. His followers, on this example, founded the tenet of promiscuous concubinage. Wetstein, with whom Michaelis and Rosenmiilier are inclined to agree, supposed that Nicolas was a translation of the Hebrew word Bileam, both sig- nifying in their respective languages, the subduer or the lestroyer of the people. Michaelis, Eich- horn, and Storr suppose, therefore, that- it was the name rather of a sect than an individual, and the same with those mentioned 2 Pet., ii., 10, 13, 18 ; iii, 3 ; Jud., 8, 16,—See Rosenmiilier on Rev., ii, 6. we have any distinct statement, who, admitting "the truth of Chris- enntmtS* * * * § tianity, attempted to incorporate with it foreign and Oriental tenets.* Cerinthus was of Jewish descent, and educated in the Judaso-Platonic school of Alexandrea.f His system was a singular and apparent- ly incongruous fusion of Jewish, Christian, and Oriental notions. He did not, like Simon or Menander, invest himself in a sacred and mysterious character, though he pretended to angelic revelations.J Like all the Orientals, his imagination was haunted with the notion of the malignity of matter; and his object seems to have been to keep both the primal Being and the Christ uninfected with its contagion. The Creator of the material world, there- fore, was a secondary being, an angel or angels; as Cerinthus seems to have ad- hered to the Jewish, and not adopted the Oriental language.^ But his national and hereditary reverence for the law withheld him from that bold and hostile step which was taken by most of the other Gnostic • sects, to which, no doubt, the general an- imosity to the Jews in Syria and Egypt concurred, the identification of the God of the Jewish covenant with the inferior and malignant author of the material ere ation. He retained, according to one ae count, his reverence for the rites, the cer emonies, the law, and the prophets of Ju- daism, || to which he was probably recon- ciled by the allegoric interpretations of Philo. The Christ, in his theory, was of a higher order than those secondary and subordinate beings who had presided over the older world. But, with the jealousy of all the Gnostic sects, lest the pure em- anation from the Father should be unne- cessarily contaminated by too intimate a conjunction with a material and mortal form, he relieved him from the degrada- tion of a human birth by supposing that the Christ descended on the man Jesus at his baptism; and from the ignominy of a mortal death by making him reascend be- fore that crisis, having accomplished his mission of making known “ the Unknown Father,” the pure and primal Being, of whom the worshippers of the Creator of * See Mosheim, de Rebus ante C. M., p. 199 [and Instit. of Eccl. Hist., vol. i., p. 95]. Matter, i.,22l. f Theodoret, ii., c. 3. X Eusebius, E. H., iii., 28, from Caius the pres- byter, r spar o^oy lag yp.lv cog 61 ayyslcov avrep 6s- 6etypevag i'jev66pevog. § Epiphanii Hagr., viii., 28. According t.o Ire- nseus, a virtute quadam valde separata, et distante ab ea principalitate qua? est super universa et igno- rante eum qui est super omnia Deum.—Iren , i.,25 || Inferior angels to those of the law inspired the prophets.208 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. the material universe and of the Jehovah of the Jews were alike ignorant. But the most inconsequential part of the doctrine of Cerinthus was his retention of the Jew- ish doctrine of the millennium. It must, indeed, have been purified from some of its grosser and more sensual images; for the Christos, the immaterial emanation from the Father, was to preside during its long period of harmony and peace.* The later Gnostics were bolder, but Tater more consistent innovators on Gnostics, the simple scheme of Christian- ity. It was not till the second century that the combination of Orientalism with Christianity was matured into the more perfect Gnosticism. This was perhaps at its height from about the year 120 to 140. In all the great cities of the East in which Christianity had established its most flourishing communities, sprung up this rival, which aspired to a still higher degree of knowledge than was revealed in the Gospel, and boasted that it soared almost as much above the vulgar Chris- tianity as the vulgar paganism. Antioch, where the first church of the Christians had been opened, beheld the followers of Saturninus withdrawing, in a proud assu- rance of their superiority, from the com- mon brotherhood of believers, and insula- ting themselves as the gifted possessors of still higher spiritual secrets. Edessa, whose king very early Christian fable had exalted into a personal correspondent with the Saviour, rung with the mystic hymns of Bardesanes ; to the countless religious and philosophical factions of Alexandrea were added those of Basilides and Va- lentinus ; until a still more unscrupulous and ardent enthusiast, Marcion of Pontus, threw aside in disdain the whole existing religion of the Gospel, remodelled the sa- cred books, and established himself as the genuine hierophant of the real Christian mysteries. Gnosticism, though very different from The primal Christianity, was of a sublime Deity of and imposing character as an Gnosticism, imaginative creed, and not more unreasonable than the other attempts of human reason to solve the inexplicable secret, the origin of evil. Though vari- ously modified, the systems of the differ- ent teachers were essentially the same. The primal Deity remained aloof in his unapproachable majesty; the unspeaka- ble, the ineffable, the nameless, the self- * Cerinthus was considered by some early wri- ters the author of the Apocalypse, because that work appeared to contain his grosser doctrine of the millennial reign of Christ.—Dionysius apud Euseb., iii., 282; vii., 25. existing.* The Pleroma, the ThpPlproTna fulness of the Godhead, expand- ed itself in still outspreading circles, and approached, till it comprehended, the uni- verse. From the Pleroma emanated all spiritual being, and to him they were to return and mingle again in indissoluble unity. By their entanglement in malign and hostile matter, the source of moral as well as physical evil, all outwardly exist- ing beings had degenerated from their high origin ; their redemption from this foreign bondage, their restoration to purity and peace in the bosom of Divinity, the uni- versal harmony of all immaterial exist- ence, thus resolved again into the Plero- ma, was the merciful design of The Mon the Mon Christ, who had for this Christ, purpose invaded and subdued the foreign and hostile provinces of the presiding En- ergy, or Deity of matter. In all the Oriental sects, this primary principle, the malignity of matter, Malignity haunted the imagination, and to of matter, this principle every tenet must be accom- modated. The sublimest doctrines of the Old Testament—the creative omnipotence, the sovereignty, the providence of God. as well as the grosser and anthropomorphic images, in which the acts and passions, and even the form of man, are assigned to the Deity—fell under the same remorseless proscription. It was pollution, it was deg- radation to the pure and elementary spirit to mingle with, to approximate, to exercise even the remotest influence over the material world. The creation of the visible universe was made over, according to all, to a secondary, with most to a hos- tile Demiurge. The hereditary reverence which had modified the opinions of Cerin- thus with regard to the Jehovah of his fathers had no hold on the Syrian and Egyptian speculates. They fearlessly pursued their system to its consequences, and the whole of the Old Testament was abandoned to the inspiration of an inferior and evil daemon; the Jews were left in exclusive possession of their national De- ity, whom the Gnostic Christians disdain- ed to acknowledge as bearing Rejeetion of any resemblance to the abstract, the oid Tes- remote, and impassive Spirit. tamcnt- To them the mission of Christ revealed a Deity altogether unknown in the dark ages of a world which was the creation and the domain of an inferior being. They would * The author of the Apostolic Constitutions as- serts, as the first, principle of all the early heresies, rov pev navTOKparopa Qeov f31aa(p7jpetv\ ayvtdo- rov So!;u&lv, Kcil pr/ eivar, FLaripa rov Xpiarov, [i7}ds rov Koapov drjpiovpybv, all' uIektov, cp/fy-. rov, aicaTovopaoToy, avroyevedlov.—Lib. vi c 10HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 209 not, like the philosophizing Jews, take ref- uge in allegory to explain the too material images of the works of the Deity in the act of creation and his subsequent rest; the intercourse with man in the garden of Eden ; the trees of knowledge and of life ; the serpent and the fall; they rejected the whole as altogether extraneous to Chris- tianity, belonging to another world, with which the God revealed by Christ had no concern or relation. If they condescended to discusst he later Jewish history, it was merely to confirm their preconceived no- tions. The apparent investiture of the Jehovah with the state and attributes of a temporal sovereign, the imperfection of the law, the barbarity of the people, the bloody wars in which they were engaged— in short, whatever in Judaism was irrec- oncilable with a purely intellectual and morally perfect system, argued its origin from an imperfect and secondary author. But some tenets of primitive Christian- Of some ity came no less into direct colli- parts of sion with the leading principles of the New. Orientalism. The human nature of Jesus was too deeply impressed upon all the Gospel history, and perplexed the whole school, as well the precursors of Gnosticism as the most perfect Gnostics. His birth and death bore equal evidence of the unspiritualized materialism of his mortal body. They seized with avidity the distinction between the Divine and human nature; but the Christ, the Mon, which emanated from the pure and primal Deity, as yet unknown in the world of the inferior creator, must be relieved as far as possible from the degrading and contami- nating association with the mortal Jesus. The simpler hypothesis of the union of the two natures, mingled up too closely, ac- cording to their views, the ill-assorted companions. The human birth of Jesus, though guarded by the virginity of his mother, was still offensive to their subtler and more fastidious purity. The Christ, therefore, the Emanation from the Plero- raa, descended upon the man Jesus at his baptism. The death of Jesus was a still more serious cause of embarrassment. They seem never to have entertained the notion of an expiatory sacrifice : and the connexion of the ethereal mind with the pains and sufferings of a carnal body was altogether repulsive to their strongest prej- udices. Before the death, therefore, of Jesus, the Christ had broken off his tempo- rary association with the perishable body of Jesus, and surrendered it to the impo- tent resentment of Pilate and the Jews; or, according to the theory of theDocetae, adopted by almost all the Gnostic sects, D D the whole union with the material human form was an illusion upon the senses of men; it was but an apparent human being, an impassive phantom, which seemed to undergo ail the insults and the agony of the cross. Such were the general tenets of the Gnostic sects, emanating from one simple principle. But the details of their cosmog- ony, their philosophy, and their religion were infinitely modified by local circum- stances, by the more or less fanciful genius of their founders, and by the stronger in- fusion of the different elements of Plato- nism, Cabalism, or that which, in its stricter sense, may be called Orientalism. The number of circles, or emanations, or procreations which intervened between the spiritual and the material world; the nature and the rank of the Creator of that material world; his more or less close identification with the Jehovah of Juda- ism ; the degree of malignity which they attributed to the latter; the office and the nature of the Christos; these were open points, upon which they admitted, or, at least, assumed the utmost latitude. The earliest of the more distinguished Gnostics is Saturninus, who is represented as a pupil of Me- Saturninus* nander, the successor of Simon Magus.# But this Samaritan sect was always in di- rect hostility with Christianity, while Sat- urninus departed less from the Christian system than most of the wilder and more imaginative teachers of Gnosticism. The strength of the Christian party in Antioch may in some degree have overawed and restrained the aberrations- of his fancy. Saturninus did not altogether exclude the primal spiritual Being from all concern or interest in the material world. For the Creator of the visible universe he assumed the seven great angels, which the later Jews had probably borrowed, though with ■different powers, from the seven Amschas- pands of Zoroastrianism. Neither were these angels essentially evil, nor was the domain on which they exercised their cre- ative power altogether surrendered to the malignity of matter; it was a kind of de- batable ground between the powers of evil and of good. The historian of Gnos- ticism has remarked the singular beauty of the fiction regarding the creation of man. “ The angels tried their utmost ef- forts to form man ; but there arose under * On Saturninus, see Irenasus, i., 22. Euseb., iv.,7. Epiphan., Haer.,23. Theodoret, Haer. Fab., lib. iii. Tertullian, de Anima, 23 ; de Prasscrip. cont. Haer., c. 46. Of the moderns, Mosheim, p. 336 [and Instit. of Eccl. Hist., vol. i., p. 140]. Mat- ter, i 276.210 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. their creative influence only 4 a worm creeping upon the earth.’ God, conde- scending to interpose, sent down his Spir- it, which breathed into the reptile the liv- ing soul of man.” It is not quite easy to connect with this view of the origin of man the tenets of Saturninus, that the hu- man kind was divided into two distinct races, the good and the bad. Whether the latter became so from receiving a feebler and less influential portion of the Divine Spirit, or whether they were a subsequent creation of Satan, who assumes the sta- tion of the Ahriman of the Persian sys- tem.* * * § But the descent of Christ was to separate finally these two conflicting ra- ces. He was to rescue the good from the predominant power of the wicked; to de- stroy the kingdom of the spirits of evil, who, emanating in countless numbers from Satan their chief, waged a fatal war against the good; and to elevate them far above the power of the chief of the angels, the God of the Jews, for whose imperfect laws were to be substituted the purifying prin- ciples of asceticism, by which the chil- dren of light were reunited to the source and origin of light. The Christ himself was the Supreme Power of God, immate- rial, incorporeal, formless, but assuming the semblance of man; and his followers were, as far as possible, to detach them- selves from their corporeal bondage, and assimilate themselves to his spiritual be- ing. ' Marriage was the invention of Satan and his evil spirits, or, at best, of the great angel, the God of the Jews, in order to continue the impure generation. The elect were to abstain from propagating a race of darkness and imperfection. Whether Saturninus, with the Essenes, maintained this total abstinence as the es- pecial privilege of the higher class of his followers, and permitted to the less per- fect. the continuation of their kind, or whether he abandoned altogether this per- ilous and degrading office to the wicked, his system appears incomplete, as it seems to yield up as desperate the greater part of the human race ; to perpetuate the do- minion of evil; and to want the general and final absorption of all existence into the purity and happiness of the primal Being. Alexandrea, the centre, as it were, of the speculative and intellectual Acxan rea. actjvity 0f the Roman world, to which ancient Egypt, Asia, Palestine, and * The latter opinion is that of Mosheim. M. Matter, on the contrary, says, “ Satan n’a pourtant pas cree les hommes, et les h trouve tout faits : il s’en est einpare ; e’est. la sa sphere d’activit<6 et la limite de sa puissance.”—P. 285. Greece furnished the mingiRl population of her streets and the confiictir.g opinions of her schools, gave birth to the two suc- ceeding and most widely-disseminated sects of Gnosticism, those of Basilides and Valentinus. Basilides was a Syrian by birth, and by some is supposed to have been a scholar of Menander, at the same asi 1 es’ time with Saturninus. He claimed, how- ever, Glaucias, a disciple of St. Peter, as his original teacher; and his doctrines as- sumed the boastful title of the Secret Tra- ditions of the great apostle. He also had some ancient prophecies, those of Cham and Barkaph,* peculiar to his sect. Ac- cording to- another authority he was a Per sian ; but this may have originated from the Zoroastrian cast of his primary ten- ets.f From the Zendavesta Basilides drew the eternal hostility of mind and matter, of light and darkness ; but the Zo- roastrian doctrine seems to have accom- modated itself to the kindred systems of Egypt. In fact, the Gnosticism of Basil- ides appears to have been a fusion of the ancient sacerdotal religion of Egypt with the angelic and daemoniac theory of Zoro- aster. Basilides did not, it seems, main- tain his one abstract unapproachable De- ity far above the rest of the universe, but connected him, by a long and insensible gradation of intellectual developments or manifestations, with the visible and ma- terial world. From the Father proceeded seven beings, who, together with* him, made up an ogdoad; constituted the first scale of intellectual beings, and inhabited the highest heaven, the purest intellectual sphere. According to their names—M bid, Reason, Intelligence (^povycug), Wisdom, Power, Justice, and Peace—they are mere- ly, in our language, the attributes of the Deity impersonated in this system. The number of these primary iEons is the same as the Persian system of the Deity and the seven Amschaspands, and the Sephiroth of the Cabala, and proba- bly, as far as that abstruse subject is known, of the ancient Egyptian theology.J The seven primary effluxes of the Deit} went on producing and multiplying, each forming its own realm or sphere, till they reached the number of 365.§ The total * Irenasus differs in his view of the B'asilidian theory from the remains of the Basilidian books ap- pealed to by Clemeynt of Alexandrea, Strom., vi., p. 375,795. Theodoret, Hseret. Kabul., ], 2. Euseb., Eccl. Hist., iv.,7. Basilides published twenty-four volumes of exegetica, or interpretations of his doc- trines. f Clemens, Stromata, vi., 642. Euseb., Eccl. Hist., iv., 7. + See Matter, vol. ii., p. 5-37. § It is difficult to suppose that this number, eiHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 211 numuer formed the mystical Abraxas,* * the legend which is found on so many of the ancient gems, the greater part of which are of Gnostic origin; though as much of this theory was from the doctrines of an- cient Egypt, not only the mode of ex- pressing their tenets by symbolic inscrip- tions, but even the inscription itself, may be originally Egyptian.f The lowest of these worlds bordered on the realm of matter. The first confusion and invasion of the hostile elements took place. At length the chief angel of this sphere, on the verge of intellectual being, was seized with a desire of reducing the confused mass to order. With his assistant angels he became the Creator. Though the form was of a higher origin, it was according to the idea of Wisdom, who, with the Deity, formed part of the first and highest og- doad. Basilides professed the most pro- found reverence for Divine Providence ; and in Alexandrea, the God of the Jews, softened off, as it were, and harmonized to the philosophic sentiment by the school of Philo, was looked upon in a less hos- tile light than by the Syrian and Asiatic school. The East lent its system of guar- dian angels, and the assistant angels of the Demiurge were the spiritual rulers of the nations, while the Creator himself was that of the Jews. Man was formed of a triple nature. His corporeal form of brute and malignant matter; his animal soul, the Psychic principle, which he received from the Demiurge ; the higher and purer spirit, with which he was endowed from a loftier region. This pure and ethereal spirit was to be emancipated from its im- pure companionship ; and Egypt, or, rath- er, the whole East, lent the doctrine of ther as originally borrowed from the Egyptian theol- ogy, or as invented fcjy Basilides, had not some as- tronomical reference. * Irenseus, i., 23. See in M. Matter, ii., 49, 54, the countless interpretations of this mysterious word. We might add others to those collected by hfs industry. M. Matter adopts, though with some doubt, the opinion of M. Bellerman and M. M(inter. Le premierde cesecrivains explique le mot d’Abrax- as par le Kopte, qui est incontestablement a Pan- cienne langue d’Egypte ceque la Grec moderneest au langue de Pancienne Grece. La syllable sadsch, que les Grecs ontdu convertir en ug sjcdvcrafisvq, teal irevdtfiov elfta (jtspovaa. * * * * Kat yap asTO^opuv %sysavov do<;a TcsuELTai. flow TOTE GOL TO KpLLTQg ; TTOLd yf( GVjXfiaXOg EGTGL, AovTiudstaa Tsalg paTaiofpoGVvyGLV adsopog ; Huorjg yap yairjg 'Q-vtjtcjv tots avyxvcng egTac, AVTog TcavTOKparup otclv eaOqv firjfiaoi tepivy Zljvtov Kal vekvcjv 'ijivxag, Kal kog[iov ai~avTa. * * * * 'EK TOTE GOL (3pvyp.bg, Kal GKOpTUGflbg, teal «/lOGLg, UTCJGLg 0Tav sX6y tvoXeqv, Kal qAcraara yatrjg.— Lib. viii., 688. * The strange notion of the flight of Nero beyond the Euphrates, from whence he was to return as Antichrist, is almost the burden of the Sibylline verses. Compare lib. iv., p. 520-525 ; v , 573, where there is an allusion to his theatrical tastes, 619— 714. The best commentary is that of St. Augustin on the Thessalonians. “ Et tunc revelabitur ille iniquus. Ego prorsus quid dixerit me fateor igno- rare. Suspiciones tamen hominum, quas vel au- dire vel legere de hac re potui, non tacebo. Qui- dam putant hoc de imperio dictum fuisse Romano; et propterea Paulum Apostolum non id aperte scri- bere voluisse, ne calumniam videlicet incurreret quod Romano imperio male optaverit, cum sperare- tur aeternum : ut hoc quod dixit, ‘ Jam enim mys- terium iniquitatis operator,* Neronem voluerit intel- ligi, cujus jam facta velut Antichristi videbantur; unde nonnulli ipsum resurrecturum et futurum An- tichmtum suspicantur. Alii vero nec eujn occi- sum putant, sed subtractum potius, ut putaretur occisus; et.vivum occultari in vigore ipsius aetatis, in qua fuit cum crederetur extinctus, donee suo tempore reveletur, et restituatur in regnum.” Ac- cording to the Sibyls, Nero was to make an alliance with the kings of the Medes and Persians, return at the head of a mighty army, accomplish his fa- vourite scheme of digging through the Isthmus of Corinth, and then conquer Rome. For the manner in which Neande.r traces the germe of this notion in the Apocalypse, see Pflanzung, der Chr. Kirche, ii. 327. Nero is Antichrist in the political verses of Commodianus, xli. detailed in the blackest colours. “ Sit silent in thy sorrow, 0 guilty and luxurious city; the vestal virgins shall no longer watch the . sacred fire ; thy house is deso- late.”* Christianity is then represented under the image of a pure and heaven-de- scending temple, embracing the whole hu- man race. Whether these prophecies merely im- bodied for the private edification the sen- timents of the Christians, they are manifest indications of these sentiments ; and they* would scarcely be concealed with so much prudence and discretion as not to trans- pire among adversaries who now began to watch them with jealous vigilance: if they were boldly published for the purpose of converting the heathen, they would be still more obnoxious to the general indig-, nation and hatred. However the more moderate and rational, probably the greater number, of Christians might deprecate these dangerous and injudicious effusions of zeal, the consequences would involve all alike in the indiseriminating animosity which they would provoke ; and whether or not these predictions were contained in the Sibylline poems, quoted by all the early writers, by Justin Martyr, by Clement, and by Origen, the attempt to array the au- thority of the Sibyls against that religion and that empire, of which they were be- fore considered almost the tutelary guar- dians, would goad the rankling aversion to violent resentment. The general superiority assumed in any way by Christianity, directly as it came into collision with the opposite party, would of itself be fatal to the peace which it had acquired in its earlier obscurit v. Of all pretensions, man is most jealous of the claim to moral superiority. II. The darkening aspect of the times 2. change in wrought up this growing alien- the circum- ation and hatred to open and fu- «tances of rious hostility. In the reign of 16 imes‘ M. Aurelius we approach the verge of that narrow oasis of peace which intervenes between the final conquests of Rome and the recoil of repressed and threatening barbarism upon the civilization of the world. The public mind began to be agi- tated with gloomy rumours from the fron- tier, while calamities, though local, yet spread over wide districts, shook the whole Roman people with apprehension. For- eign and civil wars, inundations, earth- quakes, pestilences, which we shall pres- ently assign to their proper dates, awoke the affrighted empire from its slumber of tranquillity and peace.f ■ * Lib. v., p. 621. * , f Tillemont, Hist, des Emp., ii. 593.230 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. The Emperor Marcus reposed not, like his predecessor, in his Lanuvian villa, amid the peaceful pursuits of agriculture, or with the great jurisconsults of the time meditating on a general system of legis- lation. The days of the second Nuraa were gone by, and the philosopher must leave his speculative school and his Stoic friends to place himself at the head of the legions. New levies invade the repose of peaceful families ; even the public amuse- ments are encroached upon : the gladia- tors are enrolled to serve in the army.* Terror of the It was at this unexpected crisis Roman world, of calamity and terror that su- perstition, which had slept in careless and Epicurean forgetfulness of its gods, suddenly awoke, and when it fled for suc- cour to the altar of the tutelar deity, found the temple deserted and the shrine neg- lected. One portion of society stood aloof, in sullen disregard or avowed contempt of rites so imperiously demanded by the avenging gods. If, in the time of public distress, true religion inspires serene res- ignation to the Divine will, and receives the awful admonition to more strenuous and rigid virtue, superstition shudders at the manifest anger of the gods, yet looks not within to correct the offensive 'guilt, but abroad to discover some gift or sacri- fice which may appease the Divine wrath, and bribe back the alienated favour of Heaven. Rarely does it discover any of- fering sufficiently costly except human life. The Christians were the public and avowed enemies of the gods; they were the self-designated victims, whose ungrate- ful atheism had provoked, whose blood might avert their manifest indignation. The public religious ceremonies, the sac- rifices, the games, the theatres, afforded constant opportunities of inflaming and giving vent to the paroxysms of popular fury, with which it disburdened itself of its awful apprehensions. The cry of The Christians to the lions!” was now no longer the wanton clamour of individual or party malice; it was not murmured by the interested, and eagerly re-echoed by the bloodthirsty, who rejoiced in the exhibition of unusual victims ; it was the deep and general voice of fanatic terror, solemnly demanding the propitiation of the wrathful gods by the sacrifice of these impious apostates from their worship.f * Fuitenim populo hie sermo, cum sustulissel ad helium gladiatores qhod populum sublatis voluptati- bus veliet cogere ad philosophiam.—Jul. Cap.,p. 204. ■ f The miracle of the thundering legion (see pos- tea), after having suffered deadly wounds from for- mer assailants, was finally transfixed by the critical spear of Moyle (Works, vol. ii.). Is it improbable that it was invented or wrought up from a casual The Christians were the authors of all tho calamities which were brooding over the world, and in vain their earnest apologists appealed to the prosperity of the empire since the appearance of Christ in the reign of Augustus, and showed that the great enemies of Christianity, the emper- ors Nero and Domitian, were likewise the scourges of mankind.* III. Was then the philosopher superior to the vulgar superstition 1 In 3 The char. what manner did his personal acter or ihe character affect the condition of emperor* the Christians! Did he authorize by any new edict a general and systematic per- secution, or did he only give free scope to the vengeance of the awe-struck people, and countenance the timid or fanatic con- cessions of the provincial governors to the riotous demand of the populace for Chris- tian blood 1 Did he actually repeal or sus- pend, or only neglect to enforce, the milder edicts of his predecessors, which secured to the Christians a fair and public trial be- fore the legal tribunal If The acts as- cribed to Marcus Aurelius, in the meager and unsatisfactory annals of his reign, are at issue with the sentiments expressed in his grave and lofty Meditations. He as- sumes in his philosophical lucubrations, which he dictated during his campaigns upon the Danube, the tone of profound re- ligious sentiment, but proudly disclaims the influence of superstition upon his mind. Yet in Rome he either shared, or con- descended to appear to share, all the ter- rors of the people. The pestilence, said to have been introduced from the East by the soldiers on their return from the Par- thian campaign, had not yet ceased its rav- ages, when the public mind was thrown into a state of the utmost depression by the news of the Marcomannie w7ar. M. Aurelius, as we shall hereafter see, did not, in his proper person, countenance to the utmost the demands of the popular superstition. For all the vulgar arts of magic, divination, and vaticination, ‘ the occurrence into its present form, as a kind of coun- terpoise to the reiterated charge which was advan- ced against the Christians, of having caused by their impiety all the calamities inflicted by the bar- barians on the empire ? * Melito apud Routh, Reliq. Sacr., 1, 111. Com- pare Tertullian, Apologet., v. f There is an edict of the Emperor Aurelian in the genuine acts of St. Symphorian, in which Pagi, Ruinart, and Neander (i., 106) would read the name of M. Aurelius instead of Aurelianus. Their arguments are, in my opinion, inconclusive, and the fact that Aurelian is named among the persecuting emperors in the treatise ascribed to Lactantius (do Mort. Persecutor.), in which his edicts (scripta) against the Chiistians are distinctly named, out weighs their ronjectural objections.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY emperor declares his sovereign contempt; yet on that occasion, besides the public religious ceremonies, to which we shall presently allude, he is said himself to have tampered with the dealers in the secrets of futurity; to have lent a willing ear to the prognostications of the Chaldeans and to the calculations of astrology. If these facts be true, and all this was not done in mere compliance with the general senti- ment, the serene composure of Marcus himself may at times have darkened into Private sen- terror; his philosophic apathy thTem eror niay 110t a^ways have been ex- ir^hisMViedi- empt from the influence of shud- tations. dering devotion. In issuing an edict against the Christians, Marcus may have supposed that he was consulting the public good by conciliating the alienated favour of the gods. But the superiority of the Christians to all the terrors of death appears at once to have astonished and wounded the Stoic pride of the emperor. Philosophy, which was constantly dwell- ing on the solemn question of the immor- tality of the soul, could not comprehend the eager resolution with which the Chris- tian departed from life, and in the bitter- ness of jealousy sought out unworthy mo- tives for the intrepidity which it could not emulate. “ How great is that soul which is ready, if it must depart from the body, to be extinguished, to be dispersed, or still to subsist! and this readiness must pro- ceed from the individual judgment, not from mere obstinacy, like the Christians, but deliberately, solemnly* and without tragic display.’5* The emperor did not choose to discern that it was in the one case the doubt, in the other the assurance, of the eternal destiny of the soul which constituted the difference. Marcus no doubt could admire, not merely the dig- nity with which the philosopher might de- part on his uncertain but necessary dis- embarcation from the voyage of life, and the bold and fearless valour with which his own legionaries or their barbarous an- tagonists could confront death on the field of battle, but at the height of his wisdom he could not comprehend the exalted en- thusiasm with which the Christian trusted * The emperor’s Greek is by no means clear in this remarkable passage. Ttapdra\Lv is usu- ally translated, as in the text, “ mere obstinacy.” A recent writer renders it “ ostentation or parade.” I suspect an antithesis with tineas Kpiozus, and that it refers to the manner in which the Christians arrayed themselves as a body against the authority of the persecutors ; and should render the words omitted in the text wars kul aXXov reicm, and without that tragic display which is intended to persuade others to follow our example. The Stoic pride would stand alone in the dignity of an intrepid death. 231. in the immortality and blessedness of the departed soul in the presence of God. There can be little doubt that Marcus Antoninus issued an edict by which the Christians were again exposed to all the de- nunciations of common informers, whose zeal was now whetted by some share, if not by the whole, of the confiscated prop- erty of delinquents. The most distin- guished Christians of the East were sacri- ficed to the base passions of the meanest of mankind by the emperor, who, with every moral qualification to appreciate the new religion, closed his ears, either in the stern apathy of Stoic philosophy, or the more engrossing terrors of heathen bigotry. It is remarkable how closely the more probable records of Christian martyrology harmonize with the course of events, du- ring the whole reign of M. Aurelius, and illustrate and justify our view of the causes and motives of their persecution.* It was on the 7th of March, 161, that the elder Antoninus, in the charitable A words of a Christian apologist, sunk in death into the sweetest sleep,f and M. Aurelius assumed the reins of em- pire. He immediately associated with himself the other adopted son of Antonine, who took the name of L. Verus. One treacherous year of peace gave the hope of undisturbed repose, under the beneficent sway which carried the maxims of a se- vere and humane philosophy into the ad- ministration of public affairs. Mild to all lighter delinquencies, but always ready to mitigate the severity of the law, the em- peror wras only inexorable to those more heinous offences which endanger the hap- piness of society. While the emperor himself superintended the course of jus- tice, the seimte resumed its ancient hon- ours. The second year of his A D lg0 reign the horizon began to dark- en. During the reign of the first Anto- nine, earthquakes, which shook down some of the Asiatic cities, and fires, which rav- aged those of the West, had excited con- siderable alarm ; but these calamities as- * A modem writer, M. Ripault (Hist. Philosoph- ique de Marc Aurele), ascribes to this time the memorable passage of Tertullian’s Apology : “ Ex- istiment omnis pubiicae cladis, omnis popularis in- commodi, Christianos esse causam. Si Tiberis a.<- cendit in moenia, si Nilus non ascendit in.arva, si caelum stetit, si terra movit, si fames, si lues, statim Christianos ad leones.” Tout ce qui suit les cultes de l’empire, s’eleve de toutes parts contre les Chre- tiens. On attribue a ce qu’on appelle leur impiete, le dechamement des fleaux, sous lesquelles gemis- sent tous les hommes sans privilege ni exemption, sans distinction de religion, ii., 86. Tillemont, Hist, des Emp., ii., 609. f Quadratus apud Xiphilin., Antonin., 3>232 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. sumed a more dire and destructive char- acter during the reign of Aurelius. Rome itself was first visited with a terrible in- undation.* * * * § The Tiber swept away all the cattle in the neighbourhood, threw down a great number of buildings ; among the rest, the magazines and granaries of corn, which were chiefly situated on the banks of the river. This appalling event was followed by a famine, which pressed heav- ily on the poorer population of the capital. At the same time, disturbances took place in Britain ; the Catti, a German tribe, rav- aged Belgium; and the Parthian war, which commenced under most disastrous circumstances, the invasion of Syria, and the loss of three legions, demanded the presence of his colleague in the empire. Though the event was announced to be prosperous, yet intelligence of doubtful and hard-won victories seemed to intimate that the spell of Roman conquest was be- ginning to lose its power.f After four a.d.166. years Verus returned, bearing Calamities of the trophies of victory.; but, at the empire, the same time, the seeds of a calamity which outweighed all the barren honours which he had won on the shores of the Euphrates. His army was infected with a pestilence, which superstition as- cribed to the plunder of a temple in Se- leucia or Babylonia. The rapacious sol- diers had opened a mystic coffer, inscribed with magical signs, from which issued a pestilential air, which laid waste the whole world. This fable is a vivid indication of the state of the public mind.J More ra- tional observation traced the fatal malady from Ethiopia and Egypt to the Eastern army, which it followed from province to province, mouldering away its strength as it proceeded, even to the remote frontiers of Gaul and the northern shores of the Rhine. Italy felt its most dreadful rava- ges, and in Rome itself the dead bodies were transported out of the cty, not on * Capitol., M. Antonin., p. 168. t Sed in diebus Parthici belli, persecutiones Christianorum, quarta jam post Neronem ■vice, in Asia et Gallia graves prsecepto ejus extiterunt, mul- ti que sanctorum martyrio coronati sunt. This loose language of Orosius (for the persecution in Gaul, if not in Asia, was much later than the Parthian war) appears to connect the calamities of Rome with the persecutions. f This was called the annus calamitosus. There is a strange story in Capitolinus of an impostor who harangued the populace from the wild fig-tree in the Campus Martius, and asserted that if, in throwing himself from the tree, he should be turned into a stork, fire would fall from heaven, and the end of the world was at hand ; ignem de caslo lapsurum fmemque mundi affore diceret. As he fell, he loosed a stork from his bosom. Aurelius, on his confession of the imposture, released him.—Cap. Anton., 13. the decent bier, but heaped up in wag- ons. Famine aggravated the miseries, and perhaps increased the virulence of the plague.* Still the hopes of peace began to revive the drooping mind; and flatter- ing medals were struck, which promised the return of golden days. On a sudden, the empire was appalled with the intelli- gence of new wars in all quarters. The Moors laid waste the fertile provinces of Spain; a rebellion of shepherds withheld the harvests of Egypt from the capital. Their defeat only added to the dangerous glory of Avidius Cassius, who, before long, stood forth as a competitor for the empire. A vast confederacy of nations, from the frontiers of Gaul to the borders of Illyri- cum, comprehending some of the best- known and most formidable of the German tribes, with others, whose dissonant races were new to the Roman ears, had arisen with a simultaneous movement.f The armies were wasted with the Parthian campaigns and the still more destructive plague. : The Marcomannic has been com- pared with the second Punic war, though at the time, even in the paroxysm of ter- ror, the pride of Rome would probably not have ennobled an irruption of barba- rians, however formidable, by such a com- parison. The presence of both the em- perors was immediately demanded. Mar- cus, indeed, lingered in Rome, probably to enrol the army (for which purpose lie swept together recruits from all quarters, and even robbed the arena of its bravest gladiators), certainly to perform the most, solemn and costly religious ceremonies. Every rite was celebrated which could propitiate the Divine favour or allay the popular fears. Priests were summoned from all quarters; foreign rites perform- ed lustrations and funereal-banquets for seven, days purified the infected city. It was no doubt on this occasion that the unusual number of victims provoked the sarcastic wit, which insinuated that if the emperor returned victorious there would be a dearth of oxen.§ Precisely Christian at this time the Christian mar- martyrdoms, tyrologies date the commence- A-D-166* * Julius Cap., Ant. Phi]., 21. f See the List in Capitol.’, p. 200. j Peregrinos ritus im.pleverit. Such seems the uncontested reading in the Augustan history ; yet the singular fact that at such a period the emperor should introduce foreign rites, as well as the unu- sual expression, may raise a suspicion that some word with an opposite meaning is the genuine ex- pression of the author. § This early pasquinade was couched in the form of an address from the white oxen to the emperor. If you conquer, we are undone. Ol (36sq oiXevtcol Mnp/cw r<3 Kaiaapi, dv de av vucvcyc;, f/peg aTtuk- ofieQa.—Amm. Marc., xxv., 4.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 233 ment of the persecution under Aurelius; In Rome itself, Justin, the apologist of Christianity, either the same or the fol- lowing year, ratified with his blood the sincerity of his belief in the doctrines for which he had abandoned the Gentile phi- losophy. His death is attributed to the jealousy of Crescens, a Cynic, whose au- dience had been drawn off by the more at- tractive tenets of the Christian Platonist. Justin was summoned before Rusticus, one of the philosophic teachers of Aure- lius, the prefect of the city, and command- ed to perform sacrifice. On his refusal and open avowal of his Christianity, he was scourged and put to death. It is by no means improbable that, during this cri- sis of religious terror, mandates should have been issued to the provinces to imi- tate the devotion of the capital, and every- where to appease the offended gods by sacrifice. Such an edict, though not des- ignating them by name, would, in its ef- fects, and perhaps in intention, expose the Christians to the malice of their enemies. Even if the provincial governors were left of their own accord to imitate the exam- ple of the emperor, their own zeal or loy- alty would induce them to fall in with the popular current; and the lofty humanity, which would be superior at once to super- stition, to interest, and to the desire of popularity, which would neglect the op- portunity of courting the favour of the em- peror and the populace, would be a rare and singular virtue upon the tribunal of a provincial ruler. The persecution raged with the greatest Persecution violence in Asia Minor. It was in Asia Mi- here that the new edicts were nnr- promulgated, so far departing from the humane regulations of the for- mer emperors that the prudent apologists venture to doubt their emanating from the imperial authority.* By these rescripts the delators were again let loose, and were stimulated by the gratification of their ra- pacity as well as of their revenge out of the forfeited goods of the Christian vic- tims of persecution. The fame of the aged Polycarp, whose death the sorrowing Church of o ycarp. gmyrna related in an epistle to the Christian community at Philomelium or Philadelphia, which is still extant, and bears every mark of authenticity,! has ob- scured that of the other victims of heathen malice or superstition. Of these victims the names of two only have survived ; one who manfully endured, the other who tim- * Melito apud Ruseb., Feel. Hist., iv., 20. t In Cotelerii Patres Apostolici, ii., 195. G G idly apostatized in the hour of trial. Ger- manicus appeared; was forced to descend into the arena; he fought gallantly, until the merciful proconsul entreated him to consider his time of life. He then pro^ o- ked the tardy beast, and in an instant ob- tained his immortality. The impression on the wondering people was that of in- dignation rather than pity. The cry was redoubled, “ Away with the godless ! let Polycarp be apprehended!” The second, Quintus, a Phrygian, had boastfully exci- ted the rest to throw themselves in the way of the persecution. He descended in haste into the arena; the first sight of the wild beasts so overcame his hollow cour- age that he consented to sacrifice. Polycarp was the most distinguished Christian of the East; he had heard the apostle St. John; he had long presided with the most saintly dignity over the see of Smyrna. Polycarp neither ostenta- tiously exposed himself, nor declined such measures for security as might be consist- ent with his character. He consented to retire into a neighbouring village, from which, on the intelligence of the approach of the officers, he retreated to another. His place of concealment being betrayed by two slaves, whose confession had been extorted by torture, he exclaimed, “ The will of God be done ordered food to be prepared for the officers of justice; and requested time for prayer, in which he spent two hours. He was placed upon an ass, and on a day of great public con- course conducted towards the town. He was met by Herod the Irenarch and his father Nicetas, who took him, with con- siderate respect, into their own carriage, and vainly endeavoured to persuade him to submit to the two tests by which the Christians were tried, the salutation of the emperor by the title of Lord, and sacrifice. On his determinate refusal their compas- sion gave place to contumely; he was hastily thrust out of the chariot and con- ducted to the crowded stadium. On the entrance of the old man upon the public scene, the excited devotion of the Chris- tian spectators imagined that they heard a voice from heaven, “ Polycarp, be firm !” The heathen, in their vindictive fury, shout- ed aloud that Polycarp had been appre- hended. The merciful proconsul entreated him,in respect to his old age, to disguise his name. He proclaimed aloud that he was Polycarp : the trial proceeded. “ Swear,” they said, “ by the genius of Cassar; re- tract and say, Away with the godless.” The old man gazed in sorrow at the frantic and raging benches of the spectators, rising above each other, and, with his eyes uo-234 HISTORY Of CHRISTIANITY. lifted to. heaven* said, “ Away with the godless !” The proconsul urged him far- ther: “Swear, and I release thee; blas- pheme Christ.5’ “ Eighty-and-six years have I served Christ, and'he has never done me an injury ; how can I blaspheme my King and my Saviour!” The proconsul again commanded him to swear by the genius of C$sar. Polycarp replied by avowing himself a Christian, and by re- questing a day to be appointed on which he might explain before the proconsul the blameless tenets of Christianity. “ Per- suade the people to consent,” replied the compassionate but overawed ruler. “We owe respect to authority; to thee I will explain the reasons of my conduct, to the populace X will make no explanation.” The old man knew too well the ferocious passions raging in their minds, which it had been vain to attempt to allay by the rational arguments of Christianity. The proconsul threatened to expose him to the wild beasts. “ ’Tis well for me to be speedily released from this life of misery.” He threatened to burn him alive. “ I fear not the fire that burns for a moment; thou knowest not that which burns forever and ever.” His countenance was full of peace and joy, even when the herald advanced into the midst of the assemblage and thrice proclaimed, “ Polycarp has professed him- self a Christian.” The Jews and heathens (for the former were in great numbers, and especially infuriated against the Chris- tians) replied with an overwhelming shout, “This is the teacher of all Asia, the over- thrower of our gods, who has perverted so many from sacrifice and the adoration of the gods.” They demanded of the asiarch, the president of the games, instantly to let loose a lion upon Poly carp. He excused himself by alleging that the games were * over. A general cry arose that Poly carp should be burned alive. The Jews were again as vindictively active as the heathens in collecting the fuel of the baths and other combustibles to raise up a hasty yet ca- pacious funeral pile. He was speedily un- robed ; he requested not to be nailed to the stake ; he was only bound to it. The calm and unostentatious prayer of Polycarp maybe considered as imbody- ing the sentiments of the Christians of that period. “ 0 Lord God Almighty, the Father of the well-beloved and ever bless- ed Son Jesus Christ, by whom we have received the knowledge of thee ; the God of angels, powers, and of every creature, and of the whole race of the righteous who live before thee, I thank thee that thou hast graciously thought me worthy of this day and this hour, that I may re- ceive a portion in the number of thy mar- tyrs, and drink of Christ’s cup, for the res- urrection to eternal life, both of body and soul, in the incorruptibleness of the Holy Spirit; among whom may I be admitted this day as a rich and acceptable sacrifice, as thou, 0 true and faithful God, hast pre- pared, and foieshown, and accomplished. Wherefore I praise thee for all thy mer- cies; I bless thee ; I glorify thee, with the eternal and heavenly Jesus Christ, thy beloved Son, to whom, with thee and the Holy Spirit, be glory now and forever.” The fire was kindled in vain. It arose curving like an arch around the serene victim, or, like a sail swelling with the wind, left the body unharmed. To the sight of the Christians he resembled a treasure of gold or silver (an allusion to the gold tried in the furnace) ; and deli- cious odours, as of myrrh or frankincense, breathed from his body. An executioner was sent in to despatch the victim; his side was pierced, and blood enough flowed from the aged body to extinguish the flames immediately around him.* The whole of this narrative has the sim pie energy of truth : the prudent yet res- olute conduct of the aged bishop; the calm and dignified expostulation of the governor; the wild fury of the populace ; the Jews eagerly seizing the opportunity of renewing their unslaked hatred to' the Christian name, are described with the simplicity of nature. The supernatural part of the transaction is no more than may be ascribed to the high-wrought im- agination of the Christian spectators, deep- ening every casual incident into a won- der. The voice from heaven, heard only by Christian ears; the flame from the hastily-piled wood, arching over the un- harmed body; the grateful odours, not impossibly from aromatic woods, which were used to warm the baths of the more luxurious, and which were collected for the sudden execution; the effusion of blood,f which might excite wonder from the decrepit frame of a man at least a hun- dred years old. Even the vision of Poly- carp himself,% by which he was forewarn- * The Greek account adds a dove, which soared from his body, as it were his innocent departing soul. For TTspioTcpa, however, has been very inge- niously substituted eir' apiarepa.—See Jortin’s Re- marks on Ecclesiastical History, i., 316. f According to the great master of nature, Lady Macbeth’s diseased memory is haunted with a similar circumstance at the murder of Duncan. “Who.would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him.”—Macbeth, act v., sc. 1. f The difficulty of accurately reconciling the vision with its fulfilment has greatly perplexed the writers who insist on its preternatural origin.—Jor tin, p. 307,HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 235 ed of his approaching fate, was not unlike- ly to arise before his mind at that perilous crisis. Polycarp closed the nameless,train of Asiatic martyrs.* * * * § Some few years after, the city of Smyr- na was visited with a terrible earthquake ; a generous sympathy was- displayed by the inhabitants of the neighbouring cities ; provisions were poured in from all quar- ters; homes were offered to the house- less ; carriages furnished to convey the infirm and the children from the scene of ruin. They received them as if they had been their parents or children. The rich and the poor vied in the offices of charity, and, in the words of the Grecian sophist, thought that they were receiving rather than conferring a favour.']* A Christian historian may be excused if he discerns in this humane conduct the manifest prog- ress of Christian benevolence ; and that benevolence, if not unfairly ascribed to the influence of Christianity, is heightened by the recollection that the sufferers were those whose amphitheatre had so recent- ly been stained with the blood of the aged martyr. If, instead of beholding the re- tributive hand of Divine vengeance in the smouldering ruins of the city, they hasten- ed to alleviate the common miseries of Christian and of pagan with equal zeal and liberality, it is impossible not to trace at once the extraordinary revolution in the sentiments of mankind, and the purity of the Christianity which was thus so supe- rior to those passions which have so often been fatal to its perfection. At this period of enthusiastic excite- ment—of superstition on the one hand, re- turning in unreasoning terror to its forsa- ken gods, and working itself up by every means to a consolatory feeling of the Di- vine protection; of religion on the other, relying in humble confidence on the pro- tection of an all-ruling Providence—when the religious parties were, it might seem, aggrandizing their rival deities, and tracing their conflicting powers throughout the whole course of human affairs, to every mind each extraordinary event would be deeply coloured with supernatural influ- ence, and, whenever any circumstance really bore a providential or miraculous appearance, it would be ascribed by each party to the favouring interposition of its own god. Such was the celebrated event which was long current in Christian history * Karerravae rov dicoyfiov. f Tillemont, Hist, des Emp , ii., p. 687. The philosopher Aristides wrote an oration on this event. as the legend of the thunder- Mirac]e of ing legion.* Heathen histori- the thunder ans, medals still extant, and the ing le°lon* column which bears the name of Anto- ninus at Rome, concur with Christian tra- dition in commemorating the extraordh nary deliverance of the Roman army, du- ring the war with the German nations, from a situation of the utmost peril and difficulty. If the Christians at any time served in the imperial armies\—if military service was a question, as seems extreme- ly probable, which divided the early Chris tians,J some considering it too closely connected with the idolatrous practices of an oath to the fortunes of Caesar and the worship of the standards, which were tc the rest of the army, as it were, the house- hold gods of battle, while others were less rigid in their practice, and forgot then piety in their allegiance to their sovereign and their patriotism to their country—a-1 no time were the Christians more likely to overcome their scruples than at this critical period. The armies were recruit ed by unprecedented means; and man} Christians who would before have hesi- tated to enrol themselves might less re- luctantly submit to the conscription, oj even think themselves justified in engaging in what appeared necessary and defensive warfare. There might then have been many Christians in the armies of M. Au- relius, but that they formed a whole sep- arate legion is manifestly the fiction of a later age. In the campaign of the year 174, the army advanced incautiously into a country entirely without water, and in this faint and enfeebled state was exposed to a formidable attack of the whole bar- barian force. Suddenly, at their hour of most extreme distress, a copious and re- freshing rain came down, which supplied their wants ; and while their half-recruited strength was still ill able to oppose the onset of the enemy, a tremendous storm, with lightning and hailstones of an enor- mous size, drove full upon the adversary, and rendered his army an easy conquest to the reviving Romans.^ Of this awful yet seasonable interposition, the whole * See Moyle’s Works, vol. ii. Compare Routh, Reliq. Sacrse, i, 153,.with authors quoted [and Mo- sheim’s Instit. of Eccles. Hist., vol. i., p. 103, 104, n. (15)]. t Tertullian, m a passage already1 quoted, states distinctly militamus vobiscum. t Neander has developed this notion with his usual ability in this part of his History of the Church. § In the year after this victory (A.D. 175), the formidable rebellion of A vidius Cassius disturbed the Fast, and added to the perils and embarrass- ments of the empire.236 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY army acknowledged the preternatural, the Divine origin. By those of darker super- stition it was attributed to the incantations of the magician Arnuphis, who controlled the elements to the service of the emperor. The medals struck on the occasion, and , the votive column erected by Marcus him- self, render homage to the established deities, to Mercury and to Jupiter.* * * § * The more rational pagans, with a flattery which received the suffrage of admiring posterity, gave the honour to the virtues of Marcus, which demanded this signal favour from approving Heaven.f The Christian, of course, looked alone to that one Almighty God whose providence ruled the whole course of nature, and saw the secret opera- tion of his own prayers meeting with the favourable acceptance of the Most High.J “ While the pagans ascribed the honour of this deliverance to their own Jove,” writes Tertullian, “ they unknowingly bore testimony to the Christian’s God.” The latter end of the reign of Marcus Aurelius^ was signalized by another scene of martyrdom, in a part of the empire far distant from that where persecution had * before raged with the greatest violence, though not altogether disconnected from it by the original descent of the sufferers.|| The Christians of Lyons and Yienne Martyrs of appear to have been a religious Vienne. colony from Asia Minor or Phry- a.d. 177. and t0 kave maintained a close correspondence with those distant communities. There is something remark- able in the connexion between these re- gions and the East. To this district the two Herods, A'rchelaus and Herod Antipas, were successively banished; and it is sin- gular enough that Pontius Pilate, after his * Mercury, according to Pagi, appears on one of the coins relating to this event. Compare Reading’s npte in Routh, ]. c. f Lampridius (in vit.) attributes the victory to the Chaldeans. Marcus, de Seipso (1. i., c. 6), al- lows that he had the magician Arnuphis in his army. Chaldsea mago ceu carmina ritu Armavere Deos, seu, quod reor, omne Tonantis, Obsequium Marci mores potuere mereri. Claud., vi., Cons. Hon. t In Jovis nomine Deo nostro testimonium red- didit. Tertullian ad Scapulani, p. 20. Euseb., Hist. Eccl., v., 5. § If we had determined to force the events of this period into an accordance with our own view of the. persecutions of M. Aurelius, we might have adopted the chronology of Dod well, who assigns the martyrs of Lyons to the year 167; but the evidence seems in favour of the later date, 177.—See Mosheim. Lardner, who, if not by his critical sagacity, com- mands authority by his scrupulous honesty, says, “Nor do I expect that any learned man, who has a concern for his reputation as a writer, should at- tempt a direct confutation of this opinion.”—Works, 4to edit., i, 360. || Euseb., Ecc, Hist., v,, 1 recall from Syria, was exiled to the same neighbourhood. There now appears a Christian com- munity, corresponding in Greek with the mother church.* It is by no means im- probable that a kind of Jewish settlement of the attendants on the banished sover- eigns of Judaea might have been formed in the neighbourhood of Vienne and Lyons, and maintained a friendly, no doubt a mer- cantile, connexion with their opulent breth- ren of Asia Minor, perhaps through the port of Marseilles. Though Christianity does not appear to have penetrated into Gaul till rather a later period,! it may have travelled by the same course, and have been propagated in the Jewish settlement by converts from Phrygia or Asia Minor. Its Jewish origin is perhaps confirmed by its adherence to the Judaso-Christian tenet of abstinence from blood.J The commencement of this dreadful, though local persecution, was an ebullition of popular fury. It was about this period when the German war, which had slumber- ed during some years of precarious peace, again threatened to disturb the repose of the empire. Southern Gaul, though secure beyond the Rhine, was yet at no great dis- tance from the incursions of the German tribes, and it is possible that personal ap- prehensions might- mingle with the general fanatic terror which exasperated the hea- thens against their Christian fellow-citi- zens. The Christians were on a sudden exposed to a general attack of the popu- lace. Clamours soon grew to personal violence ; they were struck, dragged about the streets, plundered, stoned, shut up in their houses, until the more merciful hos- tility of the ruling authorities gave orders for their arrest and imprisonment until the arrival of the governor. One man of birth and rank, Vettius Epagathus, boldly un- dertook their defence against the vague charges of atheism and impiety: he was charged with being himself a Christian, and fearlessly admitted the honourable accusation. The greater part of the Chris- tian community adhered resolutely to their belief; the few whose courage failed in the hour of trial, and who purchased their security by shameful submission, never- theless did not abandon their more cour- * Epistola Viennensium et Lugdunensium, in Routh, i., 265. t Serius Alpes transgressa is the expression of a Christian writer, Sulpicius Severus. t “ How can those eat infants to whom it is not lawful to eat the blood of brutes ?” Compare, how- ever, Tertullian’s Apology, ch. 9, and Origen con- tra Celsum, viii., from whence it appears that this abstinence was more general among the early Chris- tians.23? HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. "seous and suffering brethren ; but, at con- siderable personal danger, continued to alleviate their sufferings by kindly offices. Some heathen slaves were at length com- pelled, by the dread of torture, to confirm the odious charges which were so general- ly advanced against the Christians: ban- quets on human flesh; promiscuous and incestuous concubinage; Thyestian feasts, and (Edipodean weddings. The extorted confessions of these miserable men ex- asperated even the more moderate of the heathens, while the ferocious populace had now free scope for their sanguinary cruel- ty. The more distinguished victims were Sanctus, a deacon of Vienne ; a new con- vert named Maturus, and Attalus, of Phry- gian descent, from the city of Pergamus. They were first tortured by means too horrible to describe, if without such de- scription the barbarity of the persecutors and the heroic endurance of the Chris- tian martyrs could be justly represented. Many perished in the suffocating air of the noisome dungeons, many had their feet strained to dislocation in the stocks; the more detested victimsafter every other means of torture were exhausted, had hot plates of iron placed upon the most sensi- tive parts of their bodies. Among these victims was the aged Bish- op of Lyons, Pothinus, now in his ninetieth year, who died in prison after two days, from the ill usage which he had received from the populace. His feeble body had failed, but his mind remained intrepid: when the frantic rabble environed him with their insults, and demanded, with con- tumelious cries, “ Who is the God of the Christians 1” he calmly replied, “ Wert thou worthy, thou shouldst know.” But the amphitheatre was the great pub- lic scene of popular barbarity and of Chris- tian endurance. They were exposed to wild beasts, which, however, do not seem to have been permitted to despatch their miserable victims, and made to sit in a heated iron chair till their flesh reeked upward with an offensive odour. A rescript of the emperor, instead of al- laying the popular phrensy, gave ample license to its uncontrolled violence. Those who denied the faith were to be released; those who persisted in it condemned to death. But the most remarkable incident in this Martyrdom fearful and afflicting scene, and ofBiandina. the most characteristic of the social change which Christianity had be- gun to work, was this, that the chief hon- ours of this memorable martyrdom were assigned to a female and a slave. Even the Christians themselves scarcely appear aware of the deep and universal influence of their own sublime doctrines. The mis- tress of Blandina, herself a martyr, trem- bled lest the weak body, and, still more, the debased condition of the lowly associate in her trial, might betray her to criminal con- cession. Blandina shared in all the most excruciating sufferings of the most distin- guished victims ; she equalled them in the calm and unpretending superiority to every pain which malice, irritated and licensed, as it were, to exceed, if it were possible, its own barbarities on the person of a slave, could invent. She was selected by the peculiar vengeance of the persecutors, whose astonishment probably increased their malignity, for new and unprecedented tortures, which she bore with the same equable magnanimity. Blandina was first led forth with Sanc- tus, Maturus, and Attalus, and no doubt the ignominy of their public exposure^was intended to be heightened by their associ- ation with a slave. The wearied execu- tioners wondered that her life could endure during the horrid succession of torments which they inflicted. Blandina’s only re- ply was, “ I am a Christian, and no wick- edness is practised among us.” In the amphitheatre she was suspended to a stake, while the combatants Maturus and Sanctus derived vigour and activity from the tranquil prayers which she ut- tered in her agony, and the less savage wild beasts kept aloof from their prey. A third time she was brought forth, as a public exhibition of suffering, with a youth of fifteen named Ponticus. During every kind of torment her language and her ex- ample animated the courage and confirm- ed the endurance of the boy, who at length expired under the torture. Blandina re- joiced at the approach of death as if she had been invited to a wedding banquet, and not thrown to the wild beasts. She was at length released. After she had been scourged, placed in the iron chair, enclosed in a net, and, now in a state of insensibility, tossed by a bulj, some more merciful barbarian transpierced her with a sword. The remains of all these martyrs, after remaining long unburied, were cast into the Rhone, in order to mock and ren- der still more improbable their hopes of a resurrection.238 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. CHAPTER VIII. FOURTH PERIOD. CHRISTIANITY UNDER THE SUCCESSORS OF M. AURELIUS. Such was the state of Christianity at the Fourth commencement of the fourth period, period, between its first promulgation and its establishment under Constantine. The golden days of the Roman empire had al- ready begun to darken, and closed forever with the reign of Marcus the philosopher. The empire of the world became the prize of bold adventure or the precarious gift of a lawless soldiery. During little more Rapid sue- than a century, from the. acces- cession of sion 0f Commodus to that of Dio- ajlTsq’ clesian, more than twenty em- *0*284. perors (not to mention the pa- geants of a day, and the competitors for the throne who retained a temporary author- ity over some single province) flitted like shadows along the tragic scene of the im- perial palace. A long line of military ad- venturers, often strangers to the name, to the race, to the language of Rome—Afri- cans and Syrians, Arabs and Thracians— seized the quickly-shifting sceptre of the world. The change of sovereign was al- nnost always a change of dynasty, or, by some strange fatality, every attempt to re-establish an hereditary succession was thwarted by the vices or imbecility of the second generation. M. Aurelius is suc- ceeded by the brutal Commodus ; the vig- orous and able Severus by the fratricide Caracalla. One of the imperial historians has made the melancholy observation, that of the great men of Rome scarcely one left a son the heir of his virtues ; they had either died without offspring or had left such heirs that it had been better for man- kind if they had died leaving no posterity.* In the weakness and insecurity of the insecurity of throne lay the strength and safe- the throne ty of Christianity. During such Christ"?nff° a Peri°d 110 systematic policy ri&tiamty. wag pUrslle(j jn any 0f the lead- ing internal interests of the empire. It was a government of temporary expedi- ents, of individual passions. The first and commanding object of each succeeding head of a dynasty was to secure his con- tested throne, and to centre upon himself * Nerainem prope magnorum virorum optimum et utilem filium reliquisse satis claret. Denique aut sine liberis viri interierunt, aut tales habuerunt plerique, ut melius fuerit de rebus humanis sine pos- teritate discedere.—Spartiani Severus, Aug. Hist., p. 360. the wavering or divided allegiance of the provinces. Many of the emperors were deeply and inextricably involved in foreign wars, and had no time to devote to the social changes within the pale of the em- pire. The tumults or the terrors of Ger- man, or Gothic, or Persian inroad, effected a perpetual diversion from the slow and silent internal aggressions of Christianity. The frontiers constantly and imperiously demanded the presence of the emperor, and left him no leisure to attend to the feeble re- monstrances of the neglected priesthood : the dangers of the civil absorbed those of the religious constitution. Thus Christian- ity had another century of regular and pro- gressive advancement to arm itself for the inevitable collision with the temporal au- thority, till, in the reign of Dioclesian, it had grown far beyond the power of the most unlimited and arbitrary despotism to arrest its invincible progress; and Con- stantine, whatever the motives of his con- version, no doubt adopted a wise and ju- dicious policy in securing the alliance, rather than continuing the strife with an adversary which divided the wealth, the intellect, if not the property and the popu- lation of the empire. The persecutions which' took place du- ring this interval were the hasty Causes of consequences of the personal persecutions hostility of the emperors, not durinfthis the mature and deliberate policy of a regular and permanent government. In general, the vices and the detestable characters of the persecutors would tend to vindicate the innocence of Christianity, and to enlist the sympathies of mankind in its favour rather than to deepen the general animosity. Christianity, which had received the respectful homage of Alexander Severus, could not lose in pub- lic estimation by being exposed to the gladiatorial fury of Maximin. Some of the emperors were almost as much stran- gers to the gods as to the people and to. the senate of Rome. They seemed to take a reckless delight in violating the an- cient majesty of the Roman religion. Foreign superstitions almost equally new, and scarcely less offensive to the general sentiment, received the public, the pre-em- inent homage of the emperor. Commo- dus, though the Grecian Hercules was,atHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 239 once his model, his type, and his deity, was an ardent votary of the Isiac Myste- ries ; and at the Syrian worship of the Sun, in all its foreign and Oriental pomp, Ela- gabalus commanded the attendance of the trembling senate. If Marcus Aurelius was, as it were, the Commodus. ^ast effort of expiring Polythe- a.d. 180 to ism, or, rather, of ancient phi- l93- losophy, to produce a perfect man, according to the highest ideal con- ception of human reason, the brutal Com- modus might appear to retrograde to the savage periods of society. Commodus was a gladiator on the throne; and if the mind, humanized either by the milder spir- it of the times or by the incipient influence of Christianity, had begun to turn in dis- taste from the horrible spectacles which flooded the arena with human carnage, the disgust would be immeasurably deepened by the appearance of the emperor as the chief actor in these sanguinary scenes. Even Nero’s theatrical exhibitions had something of the elegance of a polished age; the actor in one of the noble trage- dies of ancient Greece, or even the accom- plished. musician, might derogate from the dignity of an emperor, yet might, in some degree, excuse the unseemliness of his pursuits by their intellectual character. But the amusements and public occupa- tions of Commodus had long been con- signed by the general contempt and abhor- rence to the meanest of mankind, to bar- barians and slaves ; and were as debasing to the civilized man as unbecoming in the head of the empire.* The courage which Commodus displayed in confronting the hundred lions which were let loose in the arena, and fell by his shafts (though in fact the imperial person was carefully guarded against real dangers), and the skill with which he clave with an arrow the slender neck of the giraffe, might have commanded the admiration of a flattering court. But when he appeared as a gladiator, gloried in the acts, and condescended to receive the disgraceful pay of a profession so in- famous as to degrade forever the man of rank or character who had been forced upon the stage by the tyranny of former emperors, the courtiers, who had been bred in the severe and dignified school of the philosopher, must have recoiled with shame, and approved, if not envied, the more rigid principles of the Christians, which kept them aloof from such degra- ding spectacles. Commodus was an avow- ed proselyte of the Egyptian religion, but his favourite god was the Grecian Hercu- les. He usurped the attributes and placed * A21ii Lampridii, Commodus, in August. Hist. his own head on the statues of this deity, which was the impersonation, as it were, of brute force and corporeal strength. But a deity which might command adoration in a period of primaeval barbarism, when man lives in a state of perilous warfare with the beasts of the forests, in a.more intellectual age sinks to his proper level. He might be the appropriate god of a gladi- ator, but not of a Roman emperor.* Everything which tended to desecrate the popular religion to the feelings of the more enlightened and intellectual must have strengthened the cause of Christian- ity ; the more the weaker parts of pagan- ism, and those most alien to the prevailing sentiment of the times, were obtruded on the public view, the more they must have contributed to the advancement of that faith which was rapidly attaining to the full growth of a rival to the established re- ligion. The subsequent deification of Com- modus, under the reign of Severus, in wan- ton resentment against the senate,! Pre~ vented his odious memory from sinking into oblivion. His insults upon the more rational part of the existing religion could no longer be forgotten, as merely emana- ting from his personal character. Com- modus, advanced into a god after his death, brought disrepute upon the whole Poly- theism of the empire. Christianity was perpetually, as it were, at hand, and ready to profit by every favourable juncture. By a singular accident, the ruffian Commodus was personally less inimically disposed to the Christians than his wise and amiable father. His favourite concubine, Martia, in some manner connected with the Chris- tians, mitigated the barbarity of his tem- per, and restored to the persecuted Chris- tians a long and unbroken peace, which had been perpetually interrupted by the hostility of the populace and the edicts of the government in the former reign. Christianity had no doubt been rigidly re- pelled from the precincts of the court du- ring the life of Marcus by the predomi- nance of the philosophic faction. From this period, a Christian party occasionally appears in Rome: many families of dis- tinction and opulence professed Christian * In the new fragments of Dion Cassius recover- ed by M. Mai there is an epigram pointed against the assumption of the attributes of Hercules by Commodus. The emperor had placed his own head on the colossal statue of Hercules, with the inscrip- tion Lucius Commodus Hercules. Awe Kale hLaXkivu<.oq 'HpaiOS/e, Ovie elfu AsvKwg, ak7' avayaa^ovcu fte. The point is not very clear, but it appears to be a protest of the god against being confounded with the emperor.—Mai, Fragm. Vatic., ii., 225. f Spartiani, Severus, Hist. Aug, p. 345.240 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. tenets, and it is sometimes found in con- nexion with the imperial family. Still Rome, to the last, seems to have been the centre of the pagan interest, though other causes will hereafter appear for this curi- ous fact in the conflict of the two religions. Severus wielded the sceptre of the ReicrnofSe- world with the vigour of the verus. a.d. older empire. But his earlier 194 to 210. years were occupied in the es- tablishment of his power over the hostile factions of his competitors and by his Eastern wars; his later by the settlement of the remote province of Britain.* * Se- verus was at one time the protector, at another the persecutor, of .Christianity: Local circumstances appear to have in- fluenced his conduct on both occasions to the Christian party. A Christian named Proculus, a dependant, probably, upon his favourite freed slave Evodus, had been so fortunate as to restore him to health by anointing him with oil, and was received into the imperial family, in which he re- tained his honourable situation till his death. Not improbably through the same connexion, a Christian nurse and a Chris- infancy of tian preceptor formed the dispo- Caracaiia. gition of the young Caracalla; and, till the natural ferocity of his charac- ter ripened under the fatal influence of jealous ambition, fraternal hatred, and.un- bounded power, the gentleness of his man- ners and the sweetness of his temper enchanted and attached his family, his friends, the senate, and the people of Rome. The people beheld with satisfac- tion the infant pupil of Christianity turning aside his head and weeping at the barbar- ity of the ordinary public spectacles, in which criminals were exposed to wild beasts.f The Christian interest at the court repressed the occasional outbursts of popular animosity: many Christians of rahk and distinction enjoyed the avowed favour of the emperor.. Their security may partly be attributed to their calm de- termination not to mingle themselves up Peaceful con- with the contending factions for duct of the the empire. During the; con- Christians. 0f parties they had refused to espouse the cause either of Niger or Albinus. Retired within themselves, they rendered their prompt and cheerful obe- dience to the ruling emperor. The im- placable vengeance which Severus wreak- ed on the senate for their real or suspected inclination to the party of Albinus, his re- morseless execution of so many of the noblest of the aristocracy, may have placed * Compare Tillemont, Hist, des Empereurs, in., part i., p. 146. t Spartian., Anton., Caracalla, p. 404. in a stronger light the happier fortune, and commended the unimpeachable loyalty, o) the Christians. The provincial governors, as usual, reflected the example of the court; some adopted merciful expedients to avoid the necessity of carrying the law into effect against those Christians who were denounced before their tribunals, while the more venal humanity of others extorted a considerable profit from the Christians for their security. The unlaw- ful religion in many places purchased its peace at the price of a regular tax, which was paid by other illegal, and mostly in- famous, professions. This traffic with the authorities was sternly denounced by some of the more ardent believers as degrading to the religion, and an ignominious barter of the hopes and glory of martyrdom.* Such was the flourishing and peaceful state of Christianity during ’the Persecution early part of the reign of Seve- hi the East, rus. In the East, at a later period, he em- braced a sterner policy. During the conflict with Niger, the Sa- maritans had espoused the losing, the Jews the successful, party. The edicts of Se- verus were, on the whole, favourable to the Jews, but the prohibition to circumcise proselytes was re-enacted during his resi- dence in Syria, in the tenth year of his reign. The same prohibition against the admission of new proselytes was extended to the Christians. But this edict may have been intended to allay the violence of the hostile factions in Syria. Of the perse- cill.istianity cution under Severus there are not persecu few, if any, traces in the West.f ^ in the It is confined to Syria, perhaps est‘ Cappadocia, to Egypt, and to Africa; and in the latter provinces appears as the act of hostile governors, proceeding upon the existing laws’ rather than the consequence of any recent edict of the emperor. The Syrian Eusebius may -have exaggerated local acts of, oppression, of which the sad traces, were recorded in his native country, into a general persecution : he admits that Alexandrea was the chief scene of Chris- tian suffering. The date and the Probable scene of the persecution may lend pauses, a clew to its origin. From Syria the em- * Sed quid non timiditas persuadebit, quasi et fugere scriptura permittat, et redimere praecipiat. * * * Nescio dolendum an erubescendum sit cum in matricibus beneficiariorum et curiosorum, inter tabernarios et Janios et fures balnearum et aleones et lenones, Christiani quoque vectigales continen- tur.—Tertull., de fuga, c 13. f Nous ne trouvons rien de considerable tou- chanUes martyrs que la persecution de Severe a pu faire a Rome et en Italie.—Tillemont. St. Ande- ole, and the other martyrs in Gaul (Tillemont, p. 160), are of more than suspicious authority.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.' 241 peror, exactly at this time, proceeded to E Egypt. He surveyed with won- * dering interest the monuments of Egyptian glory and of Egyptian supersti- tion,* * * § * the temples of Memphis, the Pyra- mids, the Labyrinth, the Memnonium. The plague alone prevented him from con- tinuing his excursions into Ethiopia. The dark and relentless mind of Severus ap- pears to have been strongly impressed with the religion of Serapis. In either character, as the great Pantheistic deity, which absorbed the attributes and func- tions of all the more ancient gods of Egypt, or in his more limited character as the Pluto of their mythology, the lord of the realm of departed spirits, Serapisf was likely to captivate the imagination of Se- verus, and to suit those gloomier moods in which it delighted in brooding over the secrets of futurity ; and, having realized the proud prognostics of greatness which his youth had watched with hope, now be- gan to dwell on the darker omens of de- cline and dissolution.f The hour of im- perial favour was likely to be seized by the Egyptian priesthood to obtain the mas- tery, and to wreak their revenge on this new foreign religion, which was making such rapid progress throughout the prov- ince and the whole of Africa. Whether or not the emperor actually authorized the persecution, his countenance would strengthen the pagan interest, and encour- age the obsequious praefect^ in adopting violent measures. Laetus would be vindi- cating the religion of the emperor in as- serting the superiority of Serapis ; and the superiority of Serapis could be by no means so effectually asserted as by the oppression of his most powerful adversa- ries. Alexandrea was the ripe and preg- nant soil of religious feud and deadly ani- mosity. The hostile parties which di- vided the city—the Jews, the pagans, and the Christians—though perpetually blend- ing and modifying each other’s doctrines, and forming schools in which Judaism alle- gorized itself into Platonism; Platonism, having assimilated itself to the higher Egyptian mythology, soared into Christi- anity ; and a Platonic Christianity, from a religion, became a mystic philosophy, awaited, nevertheless, the signal for perse- cution, and for license to draw off in sangui- * Spartian., Hist. Aug., p. 553. f Compare de Guigniaut, Serapis et son Origine. i Spartian had the advantage of consulting the autobiography cf the Emperor Severus. Had time but spared us the original, and taken the whole Au- gustan history in exchange! § His name was Lsetus.—Euseb., Eccl. Hist., VI 2. H H nary factions, and to settle the controver- sies of the schools by bloody tumults in the streets.* The perpetual syncretism of opinions, instead of leading to peace and charity, seemed to inflame the deadly ani- mosity ; and the philosophical spirit which attempted to blend all the higher doctrines into a lofty Eclectic system, had no effect in harmonizing the minds of the different sects to mutual toleration and amity. It was now the triumph of paganism. The controversy with Christianity was carried on by burning their priests and torturing their virgins, until the catechetical or ele- mentary schools of learning by which the Alexandrean Christians trained up their pupils for the reception of their more mys- terious doctrines were deserted, the young Origen alone labouring with indefatigable and successful activity to supply the void caused by the general desertion of the persecuted teachers.f The African praefect followed the ex- ample of Laetus in Egypt. In no Africa part of the Roman empire had Chris- tianity taken more deep and permanent root than in the province of Africa, then crowded with rich and populous cities, and forming, with Egypt, the granary of the Western world, but which many cen- turies of Christian feud, Vandal invasion, and Mohammedan barbarism have blasted to a thinly-peopled desert. Up to this pe- riod, this secluded region had gone on ad- vancing in its uninterrupted course of civ- ilization. Since the battle of Munda, the African province had stood aloof from the tumults and desolation which attended the changes in the imperial dynasty. As yet it had raised no competitor for the empire, though Severus, the ruling monarch, was of African descent. The single legion, which was considered adequate to protect its remote tranquillity from the occasional incursions of the Moorish tribes, had been found sufficient for its purpose. The pa- ganism of the African cities was probably weaker than in other parts of the empire. It had no ancient and sacred associations with national pride. The new cities had raised new temples to gods foreign to the region. The religion of Carthage,{ if it * Leonidas, the father of Origen, perished in this persecution. Origen was only kept away from join- ing him in his imprisonment, and, if possible, in hio martyrdom, by the prudent stratagem of his mother, who concealed all his clothes. The boy of seven- teen sent a letter to,his father, entreating him not to allow his parental affection for himself and his six brothers to stand in his way of obtaining the martyr’s crown.—Euseb., vi., 2. The propertyhjf Leonidas was confiscated to the imperial treasury. —Ibid. f Euseb., Eccl. Hist., vi., 2. f Compare Miinter, Ilelig. der Carthager. Th*242 • HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. had not entirely perished with the final de- struction of the city, maintained but a feeble hold upon the Italianized inhabi- tants. The Carthage of the empire was a Roman city. If Christianity tended to mitigate the fierce spirit of the inhabitants of these burning regions, it acquired itself a depth and impassioned vehemence, which perpetually broke through all restraints of moderation, charity, and peace. From Tertullian to Augustine, the climate seems to be working into the language, into the essence of Christianity. Here disputes madden into feuds; and feuds, which in other countries were allayed by time or died away of themselves, grew into obsti- nate, implacable, and irreconcilable fac- tions. African Christianity had no communion African with the dreamy and speculative Christianity, genius of the East. It sternly rejected the wild and poetic impersona- tions, the daring cosmogonies, of the Gnos- tic sects : it was severe, simple, practical in its creed ; it governed by its strong and imperious hold upon the feelings, by pro- found and agitating emotion. It eagerly received the rigid asceticism of the anti- materialist system, while it disdained the fantastic theories by which it accounted for the origin of evil. The imagination had another office than that of following out. its own fanciful creations: it spoke directly to the fears and to the passions ; it delighfed in realizing the terrors of the final judgment; in arraying in the most appalling language the gloomy mysteries of future retribution. This character ap- pears in the dark splendour of Tertullian’s writings; engages him in contemptuous and relentless warfare against the Gnos- tic opinions, and their latest and most dan- gerous champion, Marcion ; till at length it hardens into the severe yet simpler en- thusiasm of Montanism. It appears al- lied with the stern assertion of ecclesias- tical order and sacerdotal domination in the earnest and zealous Cyprian ; it is still manifestly working, though in a chasten- ed and loftier form, in the deep and im- passioned, but comprehensive mind of Augustine. Tertullian alone belongs to the present period, and Tertullian is, perhaps, the rep- resentative and the perfect type of this Africanism. It is among the most re- markable illustrations of the secret uni- worship of the Dea Cce-lestis, the Queen of Heaven, should perhaps be excepted. See, forward, the reign of Elagabalus. Even in the fifth century the Queen of Heaven, according to Salvian (de Guber* natione Dei, lib. viii.), shared the worship of Car- thage with Christ. ty which connected the whole Chiistrau world, that opinions first propagated on the shores of the Euxine found their most vigorous antagonist on the coast of Afri- ca, while a new and fervid enthusiasm which arose in Phrygia captivated tb* kindred spirit of Tertullian. Montanism harmonized with African Chris- Montar,i5im tianity in the simplicity of its creed, which did not depart from the pre- dominant form of Christianity ; in the ex- treme rigour of its fasts (for, while Gnos- ticism outbid the religion of Jesus and his apostles, Montanism outbid the Gnostics in its austerities ;* it admitted marriage as a necessary evil, but it denounced sec- ond nuptials as an inexpiable sinf); above all, in its resolving religion into inward emotion. There is a singular correspond- ence between Phrygian heathenism and the Phrygian Christianity of Montanos and his followers. The Orgiasm, the inward rapture, the working of a Divine influence upon the soul till it was wrought up to a state of holy phrensy, had continually sent forth the priests of Cybele, and females of a highly excitable temperament, into the Western.provinces whom the vulgar beheld with awe, as manifestly possessed by the divinity ; whom the philosophic party, equally mistaken, treated with con- tempt as impostors. So, with the follow- ers of Montanos (and women were his most ardent votaries), with Prisca and Maximilla, the apostles of his sect, the pure, and meek, and peaceful spirit of Christianity became a wild, a visionary, a frantic enthusiasm : it worked parox- ysms of intense devotion; it made the soul partake of all the fever of physical excitc- * The Western churches were as yet generally averse to the excessive fasting subsequently inti o- duced to so great an extent by the monastic spirit See the curious vision of Attalus, the marlvr of Lyons, in which a fellow-prisoner, Alcibindcs' who had long lived on bread and water alone, was re- proved for not making free use of God’s creatures, and thus giving offence to the Church. The churches of Lyons and Vienne having been found- ed from Phrygia, were anxious to avoid the least imputation of Montanism.—Euseb , Eccles. Hist., v., 3. | The prophetesses abandoned their husbands according to Apollonius apud Euseb , v., 18. $ The effect of national character and tempera ment on the opinions and form of religion did not escape the observation of the Christian writers. There is a curious passage on the Phrygian nation- al character in Socrates, H. E., iv., 28 : “ The Phry- gians are a chaste and temperate people; they sel- dom swear : the Scythians and Thracians are choleric ; the Eastern nations more disposed to im- morality; the Paphlagonians and Phrygians'to nei- ther ; they do not care for the theatre or the games ; prostitution is unusual.” Their suppressed pas sions seem to have broken out at all periods in re* ligious emotions.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 243 ment. As in all ages where the mild and rational faith of Christ has been too calm and serene for persons brooding to mad- ness over their own internal emotions, it proclaimed itself a religious advancement, a more sublime and spiritual Christianity. Judaism was the infancy, Christianity the youth, the revelation of the Spirit the manhood of the human soul. It was this Spirit, this Paraclete, which resided in all its fulness in the bosom of Montanus ; his adversaries asserted that he gave himself out as the Paraclete ; but it is more prob- able that his vague and mystic language was misunderstood, or possibly misrep- resented, by the malice of his adversaries. In Montanism the sectarian, the exclusive spirit, was at its height; and this claim to higher perfection, this seclusion from the vulgar race of Christians, whose weakness had been too often shown in the hour of trial; who had neither attained the height of his austerity, nor courted martyrdom, nor refused all ignominious compromises with the persecuting authorities with the unbending rigour which he demanded, would still farther commend the claims of Montanism to the homage of Tertul- lian. During this persecution Tcrtullian stood Apology of forth as the apologist of Christian- Tertufiian. ity; and the tone of his apology is characteristic, not only of the individual, but of his native country, while it is no less illustrative of the altered position of Christianity. The address of Tertullian to Scapula, the prsefect of Africa, is no longer in the tone of tranquil expostula- tion against the barbarity of persecuting blameless and unoffending men, still less that of humble supplication. Every sen- tence breathes scorn, defiance, menace. It heaps contempt upon the gods of pa- ganism ; it avows the determination of the Christians to expel the demons from the respect and adoration of mankind. It condescends not to exculpate the Chris- tians from being the cause of the calami- ties which had recently laid waste the province : the torrent rains, which had swept away the harvests; the fires, which had heaped with ruin the streets of Car- thage; the sun, which had been preter- naturally eclipsed when at its meridian, during an assembly of the province at Utica. All these portentous signs are une- quivocally ascribed to the vengeance of the Christian’s God visiting the guilt of obstinate idolatry. The persecutors of the Christians are warned by the awful examples of Roman dignitaries who had been stricken blind and eaten with worms, as the chastisement of Heaven for their injustice and cruelty to the worshippers of Christ. Scapula himself is sternly ad- monished to take warning by their fate; while the orator, by no means deficient, at the same time, in dexterous address, reminds him of the humane policy of others : “Your cruelty will be our glory. Thousands of both sexes, and of every rank, will eagerly crowd to martyrdom, ex- haust your fires, and weary your swords, Carthage must be decimated; the princi- pal persons in the city, even perhaps your own most intimate friends and kin- dred, must be sacrificed Vainly will you war against God. Magistrates are but men, and will suffer the common lot of mortality; but Christianity will endure as long as the Roman empire, and the dura- tion of .the empire will be coeval with that of the world.” History, even Christian history, is con- fined to more general views of public af- fairs, and dwells too exclusively on what may be called the high places of human life; but, whenever a glimpse is' afforded of lowlier and of more common life, it is, perhaps, best fulfilling its office of pre- senting a lively picture of the times if it allows itself occasionally some more minute detail, and illustrates the manner in which the leading events of particular periods affected individuals not in the high- est station. Of all the histories of martyrdom, none is so unexaggerated in its tone Marlyrdom and language, so entirely mien- ofPerpetua cumbered with miracle; none andFeiicitas abounds in such exquisite touches of na- ture, or, on the whole, from its minuteness and circumstantiality, breathes such an air of truth and reality, as that of Perpeiua and Felicitas, two African females. Theii death is ascribed in the Acts to the yeai of the accession of Geta,* the son of Seve * The external evidence to the authenticity * / these Acts is not quite equal to the internal. Th< / were first published by Lucas Holstenitis, from \ MS. in the convent of Monte Casino : re-edited y Valesius at Paris, and by Ruinart, in his Acta S*n- cera Martyrum, p. 90, who collated two other MSS. There appear, however, strong indications that the Acts of these African Martyrs are trans- lated from the Greek; at least it is difficult other- wise to account for the frequent untranslated Greek words and idioms in the text. The following are examples : C. iii., turbarum beneficio, yapiv' c. iv., bene venisti, tegnon, tskvov viii., in oramate, a vis- ion, dpapare diadema or diastema, an interval, hao- rrjpa' c. x., afe, afi)• xii., agios, agios, agios. There are, indeed, some suspicious marks of Mon- tanism, which perhaps prevented these Acts from being more generally known. It is not quite clear where these martyrs suffered. Valesius supposed Carthage; others, in that one of the two towns called Tuburbium which was sitt\ ated in proconsular Africa.244 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. rus. Though there was no general perse- cution at that period, yet, as the Christians held their lives at all times lia- a.d. 202. j.jie outburst 0f popular re- sentment, or the caprice of an arbitrary proconsul, there is much probability that a time of general rejoicing might be that : in which the Christians, who were always accused of a disloyal reluctance to mingle in the popular festivities, and w7ho kept aloof from the public sacrifices on such anniversaries, would be most exposed to persecution. The youthful catechumens, Revocatus and Felicitas, Saturninus and Secundulus, were apprehended, and with them Vivia Perpetua, a woman of good family, liberal education, and honourably married. Perpetua was about twenty-two years old; her father and mother were living; she had two brothers—one of them, like herself, a catechumen—and an infant at her breast. The history of the martyrdom is related by Perpetua herself, and is said to have been written by her own hand: “ When we were in the hands of the persecutors, my father, in his tender affection, persevered in his endeavours to pervert me from the faith.* ‘My father, this vessel, be it a pitcher or anything else, can we call it by any other name V ‘ Certainly not.,’ he replied. ‘ Nor can I call myself by any name but that of Christian!’ My father looked as if he could have plucked my eyes out; but he only harassed me, and departed, persuaded by the arguments of the devil. Then, after being a few days without seeing my father, I was enabled to give thanks to God, and his absence was tempered to my spirit. After a few days we were baptized, and the waters of baptism seemed to give power of endurance to my body. Again a few days, and we were cast into prison. I was terrified ; for I had never before seen such total darkness. 0 miserable day! from the dreadful heat of the prison- ers crowded together, and the insults of the soldiers. But I was w7rung with so- licitude for my infant. Two of our dea- cons, however, by the payment of money, obtained our removal for some hours in the day to a more open part of the prison. Each of the captives then pursued his usual occupation; but I sat and suckled my infant, who was wasting away with hunger. In my anxiety, I addressed and consoled my mother, and commended my child to my brother; and I began to pine away at seeing them pining away on my account. And for many days I suffered * Dejicere, to cast me down, is the expressive phrase, not uncommon among the early Christians. this anxiety, and accustomed my child to remain in the prison with me; and I im- mediately recovered my strength, and was relieved from my toil and trouble for my infant, and the prison became to me like a palace ; and I was happier there than ] should have been anywhere else. “ My brother then said to me, ‘ Perpetua, you are exalted to such dignity that you may pray for a vision, and it shall be shown you whether our doom is martyr- dom or release.’” This is the language of Montanism; but the vision is exactly that which might haunt the slumbers of the Christian in a high state of religious enthusiasm ; it showed merely the familiar images of the faith arranging themselves into form. She saw a lofty ladder of gold ascending to heaven; around it were swords, lances, hooks; and a great dra- gon lay at its foot, to seize those who would ascend. Saturus, a distinguished Christian, went up first, beckoned her to follow, and controlled the dragon by the name of Jesus Christ. She ascended, and found herself in a spacious garden, in which sat a man with white hair, in the garb of a shepherd, milking his sheep,* with many myriads around him. He welcomed her, and gave her a morsel of cheese ; and ‘k 1 received it with folded hands, and ate it; and all the saints around exclaimed‘Amen.’ I awoke at the sound, with the sweet taste in my mouth, and I related it to my broth- er ; and we knew that our martyrdom was at hand, and we began to have no hope in this world. “ After a few days there was a rumour that we were to be heard. And my father came from the city, wasted away with anxiety, to pervert me ; and he said, ‘ Have compassion, 0 my daughter! on my gray hairs; have compassion on thy father, if he is worthy of the name of father. If 1 have thus brought thee'up to the flower of thine age, if I have preferred thee to all thy brothers, do not expose me to this disgrace. Look on thy brother; look on thy mother and thy aunt; look on thy child, who cannot live without thee. Do not destroy us all.’ Thus spake my fa- ther, kissing my hands in his fondness, and throwing himself at my feet; and in his tears he called me, not his daughter, but his mistress (domina). And I was grieved for the gray hairs of my father, because he alone of all our family, did not rejoice in my martyrdom : and I consoled him, saying, ‘ In this trial, what God wills * Bishop Miinter, in his Sinnbilder der alien Christen, refers to this passage to illustrate one of the oldest bas-reliefs of Christian art.—H. i.. p 62.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 245 will take place. Know that we are not in our own power, but in that of God.’ And he went away sorrowing. 44 Another day, while we were at dinner, we were suddenly seized and carried off to trial; and we came to the town, The report spread rapidly, and an immense multitude was assembled. We were placed at the bar; the rest were interro- gated, and made their confession. And it cdrne to my turn; and my father instantly appeared with my child, and he drew me down the step, and said in a beseeching tone, 4 Have compassion on your infant and Hilarianus the* procurator, who exer- cised the power of life and death for the proconsul Timinianus, who had died, said, 4 vSpare the gray hairs of your parent; spare your infant; offer sacrifice for the welfare of the emperor.’ And I answered, 4 I will not sacrifice.’ 4 Art thou a Chris- tian V said Hilarianus. I answered, 41 am a Christian.’ And while my father stood there to persuade me, Hilarianus ordered him to be thrust down and beaten with rods. And the misfortune of my father grieved me; and I was as much grieved for his old age as if I had been scourged myself. He then passed a sentence on us all, and condemned us to the wild beasts; and we went back in cheerfulness to the prison. And because I was accustomed to suckle my infant, and to keep it with me in the prison, I sent Pomponius the deacon to seek it from my father. But my father would not send it; but, by the will of God, the child no longer desired the breast, and I suffered no uneasiness, lest at such a time I should be afflicted by the sufferings of my child or by pains in my breasts.” Her visions now grow more frequent and vivid. The name of her brother Di- nocrates suddenly occurred to her in her prayers. He had died at seven years old, of a loathsome disease, no doubt without Christian baptism. She had a vision in which Dinocrates appeared in a place of profound darkness, where there was a pool of water, which he could not reach on ac- count of his small stature. In a second vision Dinocrates appeared again; the pool rose up and touched him, and he drank a full goblet of the water. “And when he was satisfied he went away to play, as infants are wont, and I awoke ; and I knew that he was translated from the place of punishment.”* Again a few days, and the keeper of the prison, profoundly impressed by their con- duct, and beginning to discern 44 the power * This is evidently a kind of purgatory. of God within them,” admitted many of the brethren to visit them for mutual consola- tion. 44 And as the day of the games ap- proached, my father entered, worn out with affliction, and began to pluck his beard, and to throw himself down with his face upon the ground, and to wish that he could hast- en his death, and to speak words which might have moved any living creature. And I was grieved for the sorrows of his old age.” The night before they were to be exposed in the arena, she dreamed that she was changed to a man; fought and triumphed over a huge and terrible Egyp- tian gladiator; and she put her foot upon his head, and she received the crown, and passed out of the Vivarian gate, and knpw that she had triumphed, not over man, but over the devil. The vision of Saturus, which he related for their consolation, was more splendid. He ascended into the realms of light, into a beautiful garden, and to a palace, the walls of which were light; and there he was welcomed, not only by the angels, but by all the friends who had preceded him in the glorious career. It is singular that, among the rest, he saw a bishop and a priest, among whom there had been some dissension. And while Perpetua was conversing with them, the angels interfered and insisted on their per- fect reconciliation. Some kind of blame seems to be attached to the Bishop Opta- tus, because some of his flock appeared as if they came from the factions of the cir- cus, with the spirit of mortal strife not yet allayed. The narrative then proceeds to another instance of the triumph of faith over the strongest of human feelings, the love of a young mother for her offspring. Felicitas was in the eighth month of her pregnancy. She feared, and her friends shared in her apprehensions, that on that account her martyrdom might be delayed. They pray- ed together, and her travail came on. In her agony at that most painful period of delivery she gave way to her sufferings. 44 How then,” said one of the servants of the prison, 44 if you cannot endure these pains, will you endure exposure to the wild beasts 1” She replied, “ I bear now my own sufferings ; then there will be one within me who will bear my sufferings for me, because I shall suffer for his sake.” She brought forth a girl, of whom a Chris- tian sister took the charge. Perpetua maintained her calmness to the end. While they were treated with severity by a tribune, who feared lest they should be delivered from the prison by en- chantment, Perpetua remonstrated with a kind of mournful pleasantry, and said that/HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY 246 if ill used, they would do no credit to the birthday of Caesar: the victims ought to be fattened for the sacrifice. But their language and demeanour were not always so calm and gentle; the words of some became those of defiance, almost of in- sult ; and this is related with as much ad- miration as the more tranquil sublimity of the former incidents. To the people who gazed on them, in their importunate curi- osity, at their agape, they said, 44 Is not to-morrow’s spectacle enough to satiate your hate 1 To-day you look on us with friendly faces, to-morrow you will be our deadly enemies. Mark well our counte- nances, that you may know them again on the day of judgment.” And to Hilarianus on his tribunal they said, 44 Thou judgest us, but God will judge thee.” At this lan- guage the exasperated people demanded that they should be scourged. When taken out to execution they declined, and were permitted to decline, the profane dress in which they were to be clad : the men, that of the priests of Saturn; the women, that of the priestesses of Ceres.* They came forward in their simple attire, Perpetua singing psalms. The men were exposed to leopards and bears; the Women were hung up naked in nets, to be gored by a furious cow. But even the excited popu- lace shrunk with horror at the spectacle of two young and delicate women, one re- cently recovered from childbirth, in this state. Tjiey were recalled by acclama- tion, and in mercy brought forward again, clad in loose robes.f Perpetua was toss- ed, her garment was rent; but, more con- scious of her wounded modesty than of pain, she drew the robe over the part of her person which was exposed. She then calmly clasped up her hair, because it did not become a martyr to suffer with dishev- elled locks, the sign of sorrow. She then raised up the fainting and mortally-wound- ed Felicit.as, and the cruelty of the popu- lace being for a time appeased, they were permitted to retire. Perpetua seemed rapt in ecstasy, and, as if awaking from sleep, inquired when she was to be expo- sed to the beast. She could scarcely be made to believe what had taken place ; her last words tenderly admonished her brother to be steadfast in the faith. We may close the scene by intimating that all were speedily released from their suffer- ings and entered into their glory. Per- *This was an unusual circumstance, and ascri- bed to the devil. flam not sure that I am correct in this part of the version ; it appears to me to be the sense. “ Ita revocatae discinguntur” is paraphrased by Lucas Holstenius, revocatae et discinctis indutae. petua guided with her own hand the mer- ciful sword of the gladiator which relieved her from her agony. This African persecution, which laid the seeds of future schisms and fatal Caracalla feuds, lasted till at least the sec- Geta. ^a.d ond year of Caracaiia. From 21 ,_217- its close, except during the short reign of Maximin, Christianity enjoyed uninte> rupted peace till the reign of Decius.* But during this period occurred a remark- able event in the religious history of Rome. The pontiff of one of the wild forms of the Nature-worship of the East appeared in the city of Rome as emperor; the ancient rites of Baalpeor, but little changed in the course of ages, intruded themselves into the sanctuary of the Capitoline Jove, and offended at once the religious majesty and the graver decency of Roman manners.f Elagabalus derived his name from the Syr- ian appellative of the sun; he Elagabalus- had been educated in the pre- emperor cincts of the temple; and the A D-21S- Emperor of Rome was lost and absorbed in the priest of an effeminate superstition. The new religion did not steal in under the modest demeanour of a stranger, claiming the common rites of hospitality, as the na- tional faith of a subject people : it entered with a public pomp, as though to supersede and eclipse the ancestral deities of Rome. The god Elagabalus was conveyed in sol- emn procession through the wondering provinces; his symbols were received with all the honour of the Supreme Deity. The conical black stone which was adored ai Emesa was no doubt, in its origin, one of those obscene symbols which appear in almost every form of the Oriental Nature- worship. The rudeness of ancient art had allowed it to remain in less offensive shape- lessness ; and, not improbably, the original symbolic meaning had become obsolete. The Sun had become the visible type ol Deity and the object of adoration. The mysterious principle of generation, of which, in the primitive religion of nature, he was the type and image, gave place tc the noblest object of human idolatry, the least debasing representative of the Great Supreme. The idol of Emesa entered Rome in solemn procession; a magnifi- cent temple was built upon the Palatine Hill; a number of altars stood round, on which every day the most sumptuous offer- ings—hecatombs of oxen, countless sheep, * From 212 to 249: Caracaiia, 211; Macrinus 217; Elagabalus, 218; Alexander Severus, 222: Maximin and the Gordians, 235-244; Philip, 244, Decius, 249. f Lampridii, Heliogabalus. Dior. C*iss., l.kxix. Herodian., v.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 24? the most costly aromatics, the choicest wines—were offered; streams of blood and wine were constantly flowing down; while the highest dignitaries of the empire—com- manders of legions, rulers of provinces, the gravest senators—appeared as humble ministers, clad in the loose and flowing robes and linen sandals of the East, among the lascivious dances and the wanton mu- sic of Oriental drums and cymbals. These degrading practices were the only way to civil and military*preferment. The whole senate and equestrian order stood around; and those who played ill the part of ado- ration, or whose secret murmurs incau- tiously betrayed their- devout indignation (for this insult to the ancient religion of Rome awakened some sense of shame in the degenerate and servile aristocracy), were put to death. The most sacred and patriotic sentiments cherished above all the hallowed treasures of the city the Pal- ladium, the image of Minerva. Popular veneration worshipped in distant awe the unseen deity, for profane eye might never behold the virgin image. The inviolability of the Roman dominion was inseparably connected with the uncontaminated sanc- tity of the Palladium. The Syrian decla- red his intention of wedding the ancient tutelary goddess to his foreign deity. The image was publicly brought forth, expo- sed to the sullying gaze'of the multi- tude, solemnly wedded, and insolently re- pudiated by the unworthy stranger. A. Worship more appropriate bride was found or the sun in the kindred Syrian deity, wor- mRome, dipped under the name of As- tarte in the East, in Carthage as the Queen of Heaven—Venus Urania, as translated into the mythological language of the West. She was brought from Carthage. The whole city—the whole of Italy—was com- manded to celebrate the bridal festival; and the nuptials of the two foreign deities might appear to complete the triumph over the insulted divinities of Rome. Nothing was sacred to the voluptuous Syrian. He introduced the manners as well as the re- ligion of the East; his rapid succession of wives imitated the polygamy of an Ori- ental despot; and his vices not merely corrupted the morals, but insulted the most sacred feelings of the people. He tore a vestal virgin from her sanctuary to suffer his polluting embraces; he violated the sanctuary itself; attempted to make him- self master of the mystic coffer in which the sacred deposite was enshrined ; it was said that the pious fraud of the priesthood deceived him with a counterfeit, which he dashed to pieces in his anger. It was ooenly asserted that the worship of thp sun, under his name of Elagabalus, was to supersede all other worship. If we may be- lieve the biographies in the Augustan His- tory, a more ambitious scheme Religious of a universal religion had dawn- innovations ed upon the mmd of the emper- by Eiagaba- or; and that the Jewish, the Sa- ins. maritan, even the Christian, were to be fused and recast into one great system, of which the sun was to be the central object of adoration.* At all events,, the deities of Rome were actually degraded before the public gaze into humble ministers of Elagabalus. Every year of the emperor’s brief reign, the god was conveyed from his Palatine temple to a suburban edifice of still more sumptuous magnificence. The statue passed in a car drawn by six horses. The emperor of the world, his eyes stain- ed with paint, ran and danced before it with antic gestures of adoration. The earth was strewn with gold dust; flowers and chaplets were scattered by the people, while the images of all the other gods, the splendid ornaments and vessels of all their temples, were carried, like the spoils of subject nations, in the annual ovation of the Phoenician deity. Even human sac- rifices, and, if we may credit the monstrous fact, the most beautiful sons of the noblest families, were offered on the altar of this Moloch of the East.f It is impossible to suppose that the weak and crumbling edifice of paganism was not. shaken to its base by this extraordinary revolution. An ancient religion cannot thus be insulted without losing much of its majesty: its hold upon the popular veneration is violently torn asunder. With its more sincere votaries, the general ani- mosity to foreign, particularly to Eastern religions, might be inflamed or deepened : “and Christianity might share in some part of the detestation excited by the excesses of a superstition so opposite in its nature. But others, whose faith had been shaken, and whose moral feelings revolted by a religion whose essential character was sensuality, and whose licentious tendency had been so disgustingly illustrated by the unspeakable pollutions of its imperial pa- tron, would hasten to embrace that purer faith which was most remote from the re- ligion of Elagabalus. From the policy of the court, as well as * Id agens ne quis Romse Deus nisi Heliogabulus coleretur. Dicebat praeterea, Judseorum et Sama- ritanorum religiones, et Christianam devotionem, illuc transferendam, ut omnium culturarum secre- tum Heliogabalisacerdotium teneret, p. 461. f Csedit et humanas hostias, lectis ad hoc pueris nobilibus et decoris per omnem Italiam patrimis et matrimis, credo ut major esset utrique parenti do lor.—Lamprid., Heliogabalus.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 348 . the pure and amiable character of Severus the successor of Elagabalus, the emperor, more olfensive parts of this for- A* * 222, eign superstition disappeared with their imperial patron. But the old Roman religion was not reinstated in its jealous and.unmingled dignity. Alexander Seve- rus had been bred in another school; and the influence which swayed him, during the earlier part at least of his reign, was of a different character from that which had formed the mind of Elagabalus. It was the mother of Elagabalus who, how- ever she might blush with shame at the impurities of her effeminate son, had con- secrated him to the service of the deity in Emesa. The mother of Alexander Seve- rus, the able, perhaps crafty and rapacious Mammsea Mammaea, had at least held inter- course with the Christians of Syr- ia. She had conversed with the celebra- ted Origen, and listened to his exhorta- tions, if without conversion, still not with- out respect. Alexander, though he had neither the religious education, the pontif- ical character, nor the dissolute maimers of his predecessor, was a Syrian, with no hereditary attachment to the Roman form of paganism. He seems to have affected a kind of universalism : he paid decent re- spect to the gods of the Capitol; he held in honour the Egyptian worship, and en- larged the temples of Isis and Serapis. In his own palace, with respectful indif- ference, he enshrined, as it were, his house- hold deities, the representatives of the dif- ferent religious or theophilosophic sys- tems which were prevalent in the Roman empire: Orpheus, Abraham, Christ, and Apollonius of Tyana. The first of these represented the wisdom of the mysteries, the purified Nature-worship, which had la- boured to elevate the popular mythology into a noble and coherent allegorism. It is singular that Abraham, rather than Mo- ses, was placed at the head of Judaism : it is possible that the traditionary sanctity which attached to the first parent of the Jewish people, and of many of the Arab tribes, and which was afterward imbod- ied in the Mohammedan Koran, was float- ing in the East, and would comprehend, as it were, the opinions, not only of the Jews, but of a much wider circle of the Syrian natives. In Apollonius was cen- tred the more modern Theurgy, the ma- gic which commanded the intermediate spirits between the higher world and the world of man; the more spiritual Polythe- ism, which had released the subordinate deities from their human form, and main- tained them in a constant intercourse with the soul of man. Christianity in the per- son of its founder, even where it did not command authority as a religion, had nev- ertheless lost the character under which it had so long and so unjustly laboured, of animosity to mankind. Though he was considered but as one of the sages who shared in the homage paid to their benefi- cent wisdom, the followers of Jesus had now lived down all the bitter hostility which had so generally prevailed against them. The homage of Alexander Seve- rus may be a fair test of the general sen- timent of the more intelligent heathen of his time.* It is clear that the exclusive spirit of Greek and Roman civilization is broken down: it is “not now Socrates or Plato, Epicurus or Zeno, who are consid- ered the sole guiding intellects of human wisdom. These Eastern barbarians are considered rivals, if not superior, to the philosophers of Greece. The world is be- traying its irresistible yearning towards a religion; and these were the first over- tures, as it were, to more general submis- sion. In the reign of Alexander Severus at least commenced the great Chan(rein change in the outward appear- the relation ance of Christianity. Christian of Christian- bishops were admitted even at ltytosocie?-v- the court in a recognised official charac- ter ; and Christian churches began to rise in different parts of the empire, and to pos- sess endowments in land.f To, the as- tonishment of the heathen, their religion had as yet appeared without temple or al- tar; their religious assemblies had been held in privacy : it was yet a domestic worship. Even the Jew had his public synagogue or his more secluded proseu- cha; but where the Christians met was indicated by no separate and distinguished dwelling; the cemetery of their dead, the sequestered grove, the private chamber, contained their peaceful assemblies. Their privacy was at once their security and their danger. On the one hand, First there was no well-known edifice Christian in which the furious and excited churcbes rabble could surprise the general body of the Christians, and wreak its vengeance * Jablonski wrote a very ingenious essay to show that Alexander Severus was converted to Gnostic Christianity.—Opuscula, vol. iv. Compare Heyne, Opuscula, vi., p. 169, et seqq. [and Mosheim’s Inst. ofE.H., vol. i., p. 154]. t Tillemont, as Gibbon observes, assigns the date of the earliest Christian churches to the reign of Al- exander Severus ; Mr. Moyle to that of Gallienus. The difference is very slight, and, after all, the. change from a private building set apart for a par- ticular use, and a public one of no architectural pre- tensions, may have been almost imperceptible. The passage of Lampridius appears conclusive in favour of Tillemont.»4 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 249 by indiscriminate massacre ; on the other, the jealousy of the government against all private associations would be constantly kept on the alert; and a religion without a temple was so inexplicable a problem to pagan feeling, that it would strengthen and confirm all the vague imputations of atheism or of criminal license in these mysterious meetings, which seemed to shun the light of day. Their religious usages must now have become much bet- ter known, as Alexander borrowed their mode of publishing the names of those who were proposed for ordination, and es- tablished a similar proceeding with regard to all candidates for civil office; and a piece of ground in Rome, which was liti- gated by a company of victuallers, was awarded by the emperor himself to the Christians, upon the principle that it was better that it should he devoted to the wor- ship of God in any form than applied to a profane and unworthy use.* These buildings were no doubt, as yet, of modest height and unpretending form ; but the religion was thus publicly recog- nised as one of the various forms of wor- ship which the government did not pro- hibit from opening the gates of its temples fo mankind. The progress of Christianity during all this period^ though silent, was uninter- rupted. The miseries which were grad- ually involving the whole Roman empire, from the conflicts and the tyranny of a rapid succession of masters, from taxa- tion gradually becoming more grinding and burdensome, and the still multiplying in- roads and expanding devastations of the barbarians, assisted its progress. Many took refuge in a religion which promised beatitude in a future state of being from the inevitable evils of this life. But in no respect is its progress more influence of evident and remarkable than in Christianity the influence of Christianity on fslnhealhe°" heathenism itself. Though phi- losophy, which had long been the antagonist and most dangerous enemy of the popular religion, now made appa- rently common cause with it against the common enemy, Christianity, yet there had been an unperceived and amicable ap- proximation between the two religions. Heathenism, as interpreted by philosophy, almost found favour with some of the more moderate Christian apologists; while, as we have seen in the altered tone of the controversy, the Christians have rare- ly occasion to defend themselves against those horrible charges of licentiousness, * JSlii Lampridii Alexander Severus. I I incest, and cannibalism, which, till recent- ly, their advocates had been constrained to notice. The Christians endeavoured to enlist the earlier philosophers in their cause; they were scarcely content with asserting that the nobler Grecian philoso- phy might be designed to prepare the hu- man mind for the reception of Christian- ity ; they were almost inclined to endow these sages with a kind of prophetic fore- knowledge of its more mysterious doc- trines. “ I have explained,” says the Chris- tian in Minucius Felix, “ the opinions of almost all the philosophers, whose most illustrious glory it is that they have wor- shipped one God, though under various names ; so that one might suppose either that the Christians of the present day are philosophers, or that the philosophers of old were already Christians.”* But these advances on the part of Chris- tianity were more than met by paganism. : The heathen religion, which prevailed at least among the more enlightened pagans during this period, and which, differently modified, more fully developed, and, as we shall hereafter find, exalted still more from a philosophy into a religion, Julian endeavoured to reinstate as the change in established faith, was almost as heathenism different from that of the older Greeks and Romans, or even that which prevailed at the commencement of the empire, as it was from Christianity. It worshipped in the same temples ; it performed, to a cer- tain extent, the same rites ; it actually ab- rogated the local worship of no one of the multitudinous deities of paganism. But over all this, which was the real religion, both in theory and practice, in the older times, had risen a kind of speculative Theism, to which the popular worship ac- knowledged its humble subordination. On the great elementary principle of Chris- tianity, the unity of the Supreme God, this approximation had long been silently made. -Celsus, in his celebrated contro- versy with Origen, asserts that this phil- osophical notion of the Deity is perfectly reconcilable with paganism. “We also can place a Supreme Being above the world and above all human things, and approve and sympathize in whatever may be taught of a spiritual rather than mate- rial adoration of the gods ; for with the belief in the gods, worshipped in every land and by every people, harmonizes the belief in a Primal Being, a Supreme God, who has given to every land its guardian, to every people its presiding deity. The * I am here again considerably indebted to Tschimer, Fall des Heidenthums, p. 334-401250 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. unity of the Supreme Being, and the con- sequent unity of the design of the uni- verse, remains, even if it be admitted that each people has its gods, whom it must worship in a peculiar manner, according to their peculiar character; and the wor- ship of all these different deities is reflect- ed back to the Supreme God, who has ap- pointed them, as it were, his delegates and representatives. Those who argue that men ought not to serve many masters im- pute human weakness to God. God is not jealous of the adoration paid to subordi- nate deities ; he is superior in his nature to degradation and insult. Reason itself might justify the belief in the inferior de- ities, which are the objects of the estab- lished worship. For, since the Supreme God can only produce that which is im- mortal and imperishable, the existence of mortal beings cannot be explained, unless we distinguish from him those inferior de- ities, and assert them to be the creators of mortal beings and of perishable things.”* From this time paganism has changed, Paganism not merely some of its funda- becomes mental tenets, but its general serious, character; it has become serious, solemn, devout. In Lucian, unbelief seem- ed to have reached its height, and as rapid- ly declined. The witty satirist of Poly- theism had no doubt many admirers ; he had no imitators. A reaction has taken place; none of the distinguished statesmen of the tliird century boldly and ostenta- tiously, as in the times of the later repub- lic, display their contempt for religion. Epicureanism lost, if not its partisans, its open advocates. The most eminent wri- ters treat religion with decency, if not with devout respect; no one is ambitious of passing for a despiser of the gods. And with faith and piety broke forth all the aberrations of religious belief and de- vout feeling, wonder-working mysticism, and dreamy enthusiasm, in their various forms, f This was the commencement of that new Platonism, which from this time ex- ercised a supreme authority, to the extinc- tion of the older forms of Grecian philos- ophy, and grew up into a dangerous an- tagonist of Christianity. It aspired to be a religion as well as a philosophy, and gradually incorporated more and more of such religious elements from the creeds of the Oriental philosophers as would har- monize with its system. It was extrava- gant, but it was earnest; wild, but serious. It created a kind of literature of its own. * Origen contra Celsum, lib. vii. i Tschirner, p. 401. The Life of Apollonius of Tyana. Apollonius was a grave romance, in which it or Tyana. imbodied much of its Theurgy, its power of connecting the invisible with the visible world; its wonder-working, through the intermediate daemons at its command, which’ bears possibly, but not clearly, an intentional, certainly a close, resemblance to the Gospels. It seized and moulded to its purpose the poetry and philosophy of older Greece. Such of the mythic legends as it could allegorize, it retained with every demonstration of reverence; the rest it either allowed quietly to fall into oblivion, or repudiated as lawless fictions of the poets. The manner in which poetry was transmuted into moral and religious alle- gory is shown in the treatise of „ , . Porpbyrius on the cave of the 01 p )nus* nymphs in the Odyssey. The skill, as well as the dreamy mysticism, with which this school of writers combined the dim traditions of the older philosophy and the esoteric doctrines of the mysteries, to give the sanction of antiquity to their own vague but attractive and fanciful theories, appears in the Life of Pythag- lsfe 0f i>y. oras, and in the work on the timgoras. Mysteries by a somewhat later writer, Iamblichus. After all, however, this philosophic pa- ganism could exercise no very Philosophlc extensive influence. Its votaries paganism were probably far inferior in not P°Pular- number to any one of those foreign reli- gions introduced into the Greek and Ro- man part of the empire; and its strength perhaps consisted in the facility with which it coalesced with any one of those religions, or blended them up together in one somewhat discordant syncretism. The same man was philosopher, Hierophant at Samothrace or Eleusis, and initiate in the rites of Cybele, of Serapis, or of Mithra. Of itself, this scheme was far too abstract and metaphysical to extend beyond the schools of Alexandrea or of Athens. Though it prevailed afterward in influ- encing the heathen fanaticism of Julian, it eventually retarded but little the extinc- tion of heathenism. It was merely a sort of refuge for the intellectual few; a self- complacent excuse, which enabled them to assert, as they supposed, their own mental superiority, while they were en- deavouring to maintain or to revive the vulgar superstition, which they themselves could not but in secret contemn. The more refined it became, the less was it suited for common use,-and the less it harmonized with the ordinary paganism. Thus that which, in one respect, elevated it into a dangerous rival of Christianity,HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 251 at the same time deprived it of its power. It had borrowed much from Christianity, or, at least# had been tacitly modified by its influence ; but it was the speculative rather than the practical part, that which constituted its sublimity rather than its popularity, in which it approximated to the Gospel. We shall encounter this new paganism again before long, in its more perfect and developed form. The peace which Christianity enjoyed Maximin. under the virtuous Severus was a.d. 235. disturbed by the violent accession of a Thracian savage.* It was enough to have shared in the favour of Alexander to incur the brutal resentment of Maximin. The Christian bishops, like all the other polite and virtuous courtiers of his peace- ful predecessor, were exposed to the sus- picions and the hatred of the rude and warlike Maximin. Christianity, however, suffered, though in a severer degree, the common lot of mankind. The short reign of Gordian was un- Oortimn eventful in Christian history. The a.d. 238 emperors, it has been justly ob- -244 served, who were born in the Asi- atic provinces, were in general the least unfriendly to Christianity. Their religion, whatever it might be, was less uncongenial to some of the forms of the new faith; it was a kind of Eclecticism of different East- ern religions, which in general was least inclined to intolerance : at any rate, it was uninfluenced by national pride, which was now become the main support of Roman Philip. paganism. Philip the Arabianf is a.d 214. claimed by some of the earliest Christian writers as a convert to the Gos- pel. But the extraordinary splendour with which he celebrated the great religious rites of Rome refutes at once this state- ment. Yet it might be fortunate that a sovereign of his mild sentiments towards Secular the llew faith fafad the throne at ?ames. ^ a period when the secular games, a.d. 247. whlch commemorated the thou- sandth year of Rome, were celebrated with unexampled magnificence. The majesty, the eternity of the empire were intimately connected with the due performance of these solemnities. To their intermission after the reign of Dioclesian, the pagan historian ascribes the fall of Roman-great- ness. The second millennium of Rome commenced with no flattering signs; the times were gloomy and menacing; and the general and rigid absence of the Chris- tians from these sacred national ceremo- nies, under a sterner or more bigoted em- peror, would scarcely have escaped the severest animadversions of the govern- ment. Even under the present circum- stances, the danger of popular tumult would be with difficulty avoided or re- strained. Did patriotism and Rational pride incline the Roman Christians to make some sacrifice of their severer prin- ciples ; to. compromise for a time their rigid aversion to idolatry, which was thus connected with the peace and prosperity of the state 1 The persecution under Decius, both in extent and violence, is the most Decius. a.d. uncontested of those which the 249-251. ecclesiastical historians took pains to raise to the mystic number of the ten plagues of Egypt. It was almost the first measure of a reign which commenced in successful rebellion, and ended, after two years, in fatal defeat. The Goths delivered the Christians from their most formidable op- pressor, yet the Goths may have been the innocent authors of their calamities. The passions and the policy of the em- peror were concurrent motives for his hostility. The Christians were now a rec- ognised body in the state ; however care- fully they might avoid mingling in the po- litical factions of the empire, they were necessarily of the party of the emperor, whose favour they had enjoyed. His enemies became their enemies. Maxi- min persecuted those who had appeared at the court of Alexander Severus; Decius hated the adherents—as he supposed, the partisans—of the murdered Philip.* The Gothic w^ar shook to the centre the edi- fice of Roman greatness. Roman pagan- ism discovered in the relaxed morals of the people one of the causes of the decline of the empire; it demanded the revival of the censorship. This indiseriminating feeling would mistake, in the blindness of aversion and jealousy, the great Causes of silent corrective of the popular the Decian morality for one of the princi- I,ersecullon‘ pal causes of depravation. The partial protection of a foreign religion by a for- eign emperor (now that Christianity had Degun to erect temple against temple, altar against altar, and the Christian bish- op met the pontiff on equal terms around the imperial throne) would be considered among the flagrant departures from the sound wisdom of ancient Rome. The descendant of the Decii, however his ob- scure Pannonian birth might cast a doubt on his hereditary dignity, was called upon to restore the religion as well as the man- ners of Rome to their ancient austere pu- rity ; to vindicate its insulted supremacy * Enseb., Ecc. Hist., vi., 28. f Euseb., vi., 34, * Euseb,, vi., 39,252 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. from the rivalship of an Asiatic and mod- ern superstition. The persecution of De- cius endeavoured to purify Rome itself from the presence of these degenerate enemies to her prosperity. The Bishop Fai>ianus Fabianus was one of the first vic- bishopof’ tims of his resentment; and the Rome. Christians did not venture to raise a successor to the obnoxious office during the brief reign of Decius. The example of the capital was followed in many of the great cities of the empire. In the turbulent and sanguinary Alexan- dra, the zeal of the populace outran that of the emperor, and had already com- menced a violent local persecution.* An- tioch lamented the loss of her bishop, Babylas, whose relics were afterward worshipped in what was still the volup- tuous grove of Daphne. Origen was ex- posed to cruel torments, but escaped with Enthusiasm Ffe. But Christian enthusi- orchrStian- asm, by being disseminated over ity less a wider sphere, had naturally strong. lost gome Qf jts first vig0ur> With many it was now an hereditary faith, not embraced by the ardent convic- tion of the individual, but instilled into the mind, with more or less depth, by Chris- tian education. The Christian writers now begin to deplore the failure of genu- ine Christian principles, and to trace the divine wrath in the affliction of the church- es. Instead of presenting, as it were, a narrow, but firm and unbroken front to the enemy, a much more numerous, but less united and less uniformly resolute force now marched under the banner of Christi- anity. Instead of the serene fortitude with which they formerly appeared before the tribunal of the magistrate, many now stood pale, trembling, and reluctant, neither ready to submit to the idolatrous ceremo- ny of sacrifice, nor prepared to resist even unto death. The fiery zeal of the African churches appears to have been most sub- ject to these paroxysms of weakness;! it was there that the fallen, the Lapsi, formed a distinct and too numerous class, whose readmission into the privileges of the faithful became a subject of fierce con- troversy ■,% and the Libellatici, who had purchased a billet of immunity from the ra- pacious government, formed another par- ty, and were held in no less disrepute by * Euseb., vi., 40, 41. f Dionysius apud Eusebium, vi., 41. j The severer opinion was called the heresy of Novatian ; charity and orthodoxy, on this occa- sion, concurred.—Euseb., vi., sub fin.; vii., 4, 5. Another controversy arose, on the rebaptizing here- tics, in which Cyprian took the lead of the severer party.—Euseb., vii., 3. those who, in the older spirit of the faith, had been ready or eager to obtain the crown of martyrdom. » Carthage was disgraced by the criminal weakness even of some among her cler- gy. A council was held to decide this difficult point, and the decisions of the council were tempered by moderation and humanity. None were perpetually and forever excluded from the pale of salva- tion; but they were absolved, according to the degree of criminality which might attach to their apostacy. Those who sac- rificed, the most awful and scarcely expia- ble offence, required long years of peni- tence and humility ; those who had only weakly compromised their faith by ob- taining or purchasing billets of exemption from persecution, were admitted to shorter and easier terms of reconciliation.* Valerian, who ascended the throne three years after the death of Decius, valerian had been chosen by Decius to re- a.d.254 vive in his person the ancient and hon- ourable office of censor, and the general admiration of his virtues had ratified the appointment of the emperor. It was no discredit to Christianity that the com- mencement of the censor’s reign, who may be supposed to have examined with more than ordinary care its influence on the public morals, was favourable to their cause. Their security was restored, and for a short time persecution ceased. The change which took place in the sentiments * The horror with which those who had sacri- ficed were beheld by the more rigorous of their brethren may be conceived from the energetic lan- guage of Cyprian: Nonne quando ad Capitoliuin sponte ventum est, quando ultro ad obsequium diri facinoris accessum est, labavit gressus, caligavit as- pectus, tremuerunt viscera, brachia conciderunt? Nonne sensus obstupuit, lingua hassit, sermo defe cit?... Nonne ara ilia, quo moriturusaccessit, ro- gus illi fuit? Nonne diaboli altare quod foetore taetro fumare etredolere conspexerat, velut funuset bustum vitae suae horrere, ac fugere debebat. . . Ipse ad aram hostia, victima ipse venisti. Immolasti illic salutem tuam, spem tuarn, fidem tuam, funes- tis illis ignibus concremasti.—Cyprian, de Lapsis. Some died of remorse; with some the guilty food acted as poison. But the following was the most ex- traordinary occurrence, of which Cyprian declares himself to have been an eyewitness. An infant had been abandoned by its parents in their flight The nurse carried it to the magistrate. Being too young to eat meat, bread steeped in wine offered in sacrifice was forced into its mouth. Immediately that it returned to the Christians, the child, which could not speak, communicated the sense of its guilt by cries and convulsive agitations, it refused the sacrament (then administered to infants), closed its lips, and averted its face. The deacon forced it into its mouth." The consecrated wine would not remain in the contaminated body, but was cast up again. In what a high-wrought state of enthusi- asm must men have been who would relate and be* lieve such statements as miraculous ?HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 253 and conduct of Valerian, is attributed to the influence of a man deeply versed in magical arts.* The censor was enslaved by a superstition which the older Romans would have beheld with little less abhor- rence than Christianity itself. It must be admitted that Christian superstition was too much inclined to encroach upon the province of Oriental magic ; and, the more the older Polytheism decayed, the more closely it allied itself with this powerful agent in commanding the fears of man. The adepts in those dark and forbidden sciences were probably more influential opponents of Christianity with all classes, from the emperor, who employed their mystic arts to inquire into the secrets of futurity, to the peasant, who shuddered at their power, than the ancient and establish- ed priesthood. Macrianus is reported to have obtained such complete mastery over the mind of Valerian as to induce him to engage in the most guilty mysteries of magic, to trace the fate of the empire in the entrails of hu- man victims. The edict against the Christians, suggested by the animosity of Macrianus, allowed the com- munity to remain in undisturbed impuni- ty, but subjected all the bishops who re- fused to conform, to the penalty of death, and seized all the endowments of their churches into the public treasury. The dignity of one of its victims con- ey pri an, ferred a melancholy celebrity on bishop of the persecution of Valerian. The Carthage. m0st distinguished prelate at this time in Western Christendom was Cyp- rian, bishop of Carthage. If not of hon- ourable birth or descent, for this appears doubtful, his talents had raised him to eminence and wealth. He taught rhet- oric at Carthage, and, either by this hon- ourable occupation or by some other means, had acquired an ample fortune. Cyprian was advanced in life when he em- braced the doctrines of Christianity ; but he entered on his new career, if with the mature reason of age, with the ardour and freshness of youth. His wealth was de- voted to pious and charitable uses; his rhetorical studies, if they gave clearness and order to his language, by no means chilled its fervour or constrained its vehe- mence. He had the African temperament of character, and, if it may be so said, of style ; the warmth, the power of commu- nicating its impassioned sentiments to the reader; perhaps not all the pregnant con- ciseness nor all the energy of Tertullian, but, at the same time, little of his rudeness or obscurity. Cyprian passed rapidly through the steps of Christian initiation, almost as rapidly through the first grada- tions of the clerical order. On the vacan- cy of the bishopric of Carthage, his reluc- tant diffidence was overpowered by the acclamations of the whole city, who en- vironed his house, and compelled him, by their friendly violence, to assume the dis- tinguished, and, it might be, dangerous office. He yielded to preserve the peace of the city.* Cyprian entertained the loftiest notions of the episcopal authority. The severe and inviolable unity of the outward and visible Church appeared to him an inte- gral part of Christianity, and the rigid discipline enforced by the episcopal ordei the only means of maintaining that unity. The pale which enclosed the Church from the rest of mankind was drawn with the most relentless precision. It was the ark, and all without it were left to perish in the unsparing deluge.f The growth of he- retical discord or disobedience was inex- piable, even by the blood of the trans- gressor. He might bear the flames with equanimity ; he might submit to be torn to pieces by wild beasts: there could be no martyr without the Church. Tortures and death bestowed not the crown of im- mortality ; they were but the just retribu- tion of treason to the faith.J The fearful times which arose during his episcopate tried these stern and lofty principles, as the questions which arose out of the Decian persecutions did his judgment and moderation. Cyprian, who embraced without hesitation the severer opinion with regard to the rebaptizing her- etics, notwithstanding his awful horror of the guilt of apostacy, acquiesced in, if he did not dictate, the more temperate decis- ions of the Carthaginian synod concern- ing those whose weakness had betrayed them either into the public denial or a timid dissimulation of the faith. The first rumour of persecution desig- * Epist. xiv. f Si potuit evadere quisquam, qui extra arcam Noe fuit, et qui extra ecclesiain foris fuerit, evadit. —Cyprian, de Unitate Ecclesioe? % Esse martyr non potest, qui in ecclesia non est. Ardeant- licet flarnmis et ignibus traditi, vel -ob- jecti bestiis animas suas ponant, non erit ilia fide? corona, sed poena perfidias, nec religiose virtutis ex- itus gloriosus, sed desperationis interitus.— De Unit. Eccles. Et tamen neque hoc baptisma (sanguinis) hereti- co prodest, quamvis Christum confessus, et extra ecclesiam fuerit occisus.—Epist. lxxiii. “ Though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.”—1 Cor., xiii., 3. Is there no difference between the spirit of St Paul and of Cyprian7 * Euseb., vii., 10.254 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY nated the Bishop of Carthage for its vic- tim. “ Cyprian to the lions!” was the loud and unanimous outcry of infuriated pagan- ism.- Cyprian, withdrew from the storm, not, as his subsequent courageous beha- viour showed, from timidity^-—but neither approving that useless and sometimes os- tentatious prodigality of life, which be- trayed more pride than humble acqui- escence in the Divine will—possibly from the truly charitable reluctance to tempt his enemies to an irretrievable crime. He withdrew to some quiet and secure retreat, from which he wrote animating and con- solatory letters to those who had not been so prudent or so fortunate as to escape the persecution. His letters describe the relentless barbarity with which the Chris- tians were treated; they are an authentic and contemporary statement of the suffer- ings which the Christians endured in de- fence of their faith. If highly coloured by the generous and tender sympathies, or by the ardent eloquence of Cyprian, they have nothing of legendary extravagance. The utmost art was exercised to render bodily suffering more acute and intense; it was a continued strife between the obstinacy and inventive cruelty of the tormentors and the patience of the victim.* During the reignof Decius, which appears to have been one continued persecution, Cyprian stood aloof in his undisturbed retreat. He returned to Carthage probably on the com- mencement of Valerian’s reign, and had a splendid opportunity of Christian revenge upon the city which had thirsted for his blood. A plague ravaged the wdiole Ro- nag-uein man world, and its most destruc- Carthage. tive violence thinned the streets of Carthage. Tt went spreading on from house to house, especially those of the lower orders, with awful regularity. The streets were strewn with the bodies of the dead and dying, who vainly appealed to the laws of nature and humanity for that as- sistance of which those who passed them by might soon stand in need. General dis- trust spread through society. Men avoid- ed or exposed their nearest relatives; as if, by excluding the dying, they could ex- clude death.f No one, says the deacon * Toleratis usque ad consummationen glorias du- rissimam questionem, nee cessisds suppliciis, sed vobis potius supplicia cesserunt. Steterunt tuti torquentibus fortiores, et pulsantes et laniantes ungulas pulsata ac laniata membra vicerunt. Inexpugnabilem fidem superare non po- tuit soeviens diu pkga repetita quamvis rupta corn- page viscerum; torquerentur in servis Dei jam non membra, sed vulnera.—Cyprian, Epist. viii. ad Mar- tyres. Compare Epist, lxii. f Pontius, in Vita Cypriani, Horrere omnes, fu- gere vitare contagium ; exponeresuosimpie; quasi Pontius, writing of the population of Car- thage in general, did as he would be done by. Cyprian addressed the Christians in the most earnest and effective a.d. 252. language. He exhorted them to c°m!ucr or show the sincerity of their be- mePoh?isnu lief in the doctrines of their mas- tians. ter, not by confining their acts of kindli- ness to their own brotherhood, but by extending them indiscriminately to their enemies. The city was divided into dis- tricts ; offices were assigned to all the Christians ; the rich lavished their wealth, the poor their personal exertions; and men, perhaps just emerged from the mine or the prison, with the scars or the muti- lations of their recent tortures upon their bodies, were seen exposing their lives, if possible, to a more honourable martyr- dom ; as before the voluntary victims of Christian faith, so now of Christian char- ity. Yet the heathen party, instead of being subdued, persisted in attributing this terrible scourge to the impiety of the Christians, which provoked the angry gods ; nor can we wonder if the zeal of Cyprian retorted the argument, and traced rather the retributive justice of the Al- mighty for the wanton persecutions in- flicted on the unoffending Christians. Cyprian did not again withdraw on the commencement of the Valerian Cyprian’s 'persecution. He was summoned retreat, before the proconsul, who communicated his instructions from the emperor, to com- pel all those who professed foreign reli- gions to offer sacrifice. Cyprian refused with tranquil determination. He was ban- ished from Carthage. He remained in his pleasant retreat rather than place of exile, in the small town of Ceribis, near the sea- shore, in a spot shaded with verdant groves, and writh a clear and healthful stream of water. It was provided with every comfort and even luxury in which the austere nature of Cyprian would per- mit itself to indulge.* But when his hour came, the tranquil and collected dignity of Cyprian in no respect fell below his lofty principles. On the accession of a new proconsul, Galerius Maximus, Cyprian was Return to either recalled or permitted to re- Carthage, turn from his exile. He resided in his own gardens, from whence he received a summons to appear before the .proconsul. cum illo peste morituro, etiam mortem ipsam ali- quis posset excludere. * “ If,” says Pontius, who visited his master it? his retirement, “instead of this sunny and agree able spot, it had been a waste and rocky solitude, the angels which fed Elijah and Daniel would have ministered to the holy Cyprian.”HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 25d He would not listen to the earnest solici- tations of his friends, who entreated him again to consult his safety by withdravy- ing to some place of concealment. His trial was postponed for a day; he was treated while in custody with respect and even delicacy. But the intelligence of the apprehension of Cyprian drew together the whole city: the heathen, eager to be- hold the spectacle of his martyrdom ; the Christians, to watch in their affectionate zeal at the doors of his prison. In the morning he had to walk some distance, and was violently heated by the exertion. A Christian soldier offered to procure him dry linen, apparently from mere courtesy, but in reality to obtain such precious relics, steeped in the “ bloody sweat” of the mar- tyr. Cyprian intimated that it was useless to seek remedy for inconveniences which perhaps that day would pass away for- ever. After a short delay the proconsul appeared. The examination was brief: “ Art thou Thascius Cyprian, the bishop of so rllany impious men 1 The most sa- cred emperor commands thee to sacrifice.” Cyprian answered, “ I will not sacrifice.” “ Consider well,” rejoined the proconsul. “ Execute your orders,” answered Cypri- an ; “ the case admits of no consideration.” Galerius consulted with his council, and then reluctantly* delivered his sentence. “ Thascius Cyprian, thou hast lived long in thy impiety, and assembled around thee many men involved in the same wicked conspiracy. Thou hast shown thyself an enemy alike to the gods and the laws of the empire ; the pious and sacred emperors have in vain endeavoured to recall thee to the worship of thy ancestors. Since, then, thou hast been the chief author and leader of these most guilty practices, thou shalt be an example to those whom thou hast deluded to thy unlawful assemblies. Thou must expiate thy crime with thy blood.” Cyprian said, “ God be thanked.”! The Bishop of Carthage was carried into a neighbouring field and beheaded. He maintained his serene composure to the last. It was remarkable that but a few days afterward the proconsul died. Though he had been in bad health, this circumstance was not likely to be lost upon the Christians. •* * In the Acta, vix jegre is the expression ; it may however, mean that he spoke with difficulty, on ac- count of his bad health. f I have translated this sentence, as the Acts of Cyprian are remarkable for their simplicity and totalabsence of later legendary ornament; and par- ticularly for the circumstantial air of truth with which they do justice to the regularity of the whole oroceeding. Compare the Life of Cyprian by the Everywhere, indeed, the public mind was no doubt strongly impress- Miserable ed with the remarkable fact, death of the which the Christians would lose iTcTristian- no opportunity of enforcing on hy. the awe-struck attention, that their ene- mies appeared to be the enemies of Heav- en. An early and a fearful fate appeared to be the inevitable lot of the persecutors of Christianity. Their profound and ear- nest conviction that the hand of Divine Providence was perpetually and visibly interposing in the affairs of men, would not be so deeply imbued with the spirit of their Divine Master as to suppress the language of triumph, or even of vengeance, •when the enemies of their God and of them- selves either suffered defeat and death, or, worse than an honourable death, a cruel and insulting captivity. The death of Decius', according to the pagan account, was worthy of the old republic. He was environed by the Goths; his son was kill- ed by an arrow; he cried aloud that the loss of a single soldier was nothing to the glory of the empire ; he renewed the bat- tle, and fell valiantly. The Christian wri- ters strip away all the more ennobling in- cidents. According to their account, hav- ing been decoyed by the enemy, or misled by a treacherous friend, into a marsh where he could neither fight nor fly, he perished tamely, and his unburied body was left to the beasts and carrion fowls.* The cap- tivity of Valerian, the mystery which hung over his death, allowed ample scope to the imagination of those whose national hatred of the barbarians would attribute the most unmanly ferocity to the Persian conquer- or, and of those who would consider their God exalted by the most cruel and deba- sing sufferings inflicted on the oppressor of the Church. Valerian, it was said, was forced to bend his back, that the proud conqueror might mount his horse as from a footstool; his skin was flayed off, ac- cording to one more modern account, while he was alive, stuffed, and exposed to the mockery of the Persian rabble. The luxurious and versatile Gallienus restored peace to the Church. The Gallienus edict of Valerian was 'rescinded ; alone, the bishops resumed their public A L)* m functions; the buildings were restored, and their property, which had been con- fiscated by the state, restored to the right- ful owners.f -The last transient collision of Christian • ity with the government before its final con Deacon Pontius; the Acts, in Ruinart, p. 216; Cave’s Lives of the Apostles, &c., art. Cyprian. * Orat. Constant, apud Euseb., c. xxiv. Lac- tant., de Mort. Persec j Euseb., vii., 13; x„ 23.256 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Aureiian. under Dioclesian, took place, A.D.27I- or was at least threatened, du- 275. ring administration of the great Aureiian The reign of Aureiian, occupied by warlike campaigns in every part of the world, left little time for attention to the internal police or the religious interests of the empire. The mother of Aureiian was priestess of the sun at Sirmium, and the emperor built a temple to that deity, his tutelary god, at Rome. But the dan- gerous wars of Aureiian required the con- current aid of all the deities who took an interest in the fate of Rome. The sa- cred ceremony of consulting the Sibylline books, in whose secret and mysterious leaves were written the destinies of Rome, took place at Ms command. The severe emperor reproaches the senate for their want of faith in these mystic volumes, or of zeal in the public service, as-though they had been infected by the principles of Christianity. But no hostile measures were taken against Christianity in the early part of his reign; and he was summoned to take upon himself the extraordinary office of ar- biter in a Christian controversy. A new empire seemed rising in the East, under the warlike Queen of Palmyra. Zenobia extended her protection, with politic indif- ference, to Jew, to pagan, and to Chris- tian. It might almost appear that a kin- dred spiritual ambition animated her fa- I’auiof vourite, Paul of Samosata, the Samosata. bishop of Antioch, and that he as- pired to found a new religion, adapted to the kingdom of Palmyra, by blending to- gether the elements of paganism, of Juda- ism, and of Christianity. Ambitious, dis- solute, and rapacious, according to the rep- resentations of his adversaries, Paul of Samosata had been advanced to the im- portant see of Antioch ; but the zealous vigilance of the neighbouring bishops soon discovered that Paul held opinions, as to the mere human nature of the Saviour, more nearly allied to Judaism than to the Christian creed. The pride, the wealth, the state of Paul no less offended the feel- ings, and put to shame the more modest demeanour and humbler pretensions of former prelates. He had obtained, either from the Roman authorities or from Ze- nobia, a civil magistracy, and prided him- self more on his title of ducenaryAhan of Christian bishop. He passed through the streets environed by guards, and preceded and followed by multitudes of attendants, and supplicants, whose petitions he receiv-! ed and read with the stately bearing of a public officer rather than the affability of a prelate. His conduct m the ecclesiastical assemblies was equahy overbearing: he sat on a throne, and while he indulged him- self in every kind of theatric gesture, re- sented the silence of those who did not receive him with applause or pay homage to his dignity. His magnificence disturb- ed the modest solemnity of the ordinary worship. Instead of the simpler music of the church, the hymns, in which the voices of the worshippers mingled in fervent, if less harmonious unison, Paul organized a regular choir, in which the soft tones of female voices, in their more melting and artificial cadences, sometimes called to mind the voluptuous rites of paganism, and could not be heard without shuddering by those accustomed to the more unadorn- ed ritual.# The Hosannas, sometimes in- troduced as a kind of salutation to the bish- op, became, it was said, the chief part of the service, which was rather to the glory of Paul than of the Lord. This introduc- tion of a new and effeminate ceremonial would of itself, with its rigid adversaries, have formed a ground for the charge of dissolute morals, against which may be fairly urged the avowed patronage of the severe Zenobia.f But#the pomp of Paul’s expenditure did not interfere with the ac- cumulation of considerable wealth, which he extorted from the timid zeal of his par- tisans, and, it was said, by the venal ad- ministration of the judicial authority of his episcopate, perhaps of his civil magistra- cy. But Paul by no means stood alone ; he had a powerful party among the ec- clesiastical body, the chorepiscopi of the country districts, and the presbyters of the city. He set at defiance the synod of bish- ops, who pronounced a solemn sentence of excommunication^ and, secure under the protection of the Queen of Palmyra, if her ambition should succeed in wresting Syria, with its noble capital, from the pow- er of Rome, and in maintaining her strong and influential position between the con- flicting powers of Persia and the empire, Paul might hope to share in her triumph, and establish his degenerate but splendid form of Christianity in the very seat of its primitive apostolic foundation. Paul had staked his success upon that of his war- like patroness ; and, on the fall of Zenobia, the bishops appealed to Aureiian to expel the rebel against their authority, and the partisan of the Palmyrenes, who had taken arms against the majesty of the empire, * r$lv Kai aKovcrag av rig (Ppi^cuv. Such is the ex- pression in the decree of excommunication issued by the bishops.—Euseb., vii., 30. •f Compare Routh, Reliq. Sacr., ii., 505. t See .the sentence in Eusebius, vii., 30, and m Routh, Reliquiae Sacrse, ii., 465, et seq.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 257 p ~om his episcopal dignity at Antioch. Au- irelian did not altogether refuse to interfere wi this unprecedented cause, but, with laud- able impartiality, declined any actual cog- nizance of the affair, and transferred the sentence from the personal enemies of Paul, the bishops of Syria, to those of Rome and Italy. By their sentence Paul was degraded from his episcopate. The sentiments of Aurelian changed to- wards Christianity near the close of his reign.. The severity of his character, reck- less of human blood, would not, if com- mitted in the strife, have hesitated at any measures to subdue the rebellious spirit of his subjects. Sanguinary edicts were is- sued, though his death prevented their gen- eral promulgation; and in the fate of Aure- lian the Christians discovered another in- stance of the Divine vengeance, which ap- peared to mark their enemies with the sign of inevitable and appalling destruc- tion. Till the reign of Dioclesian, the church- es reposed in undisturbed but enervating security. CHAPTER IX. THE PERSECUTION UNDER DIOCLESIAN. The final contest between paganism and ad 284 Christianity drew near. Almost three hundred years had elapsed since the Divine Author of the new re- ligion had entered upon his mortal life in a small village in Palestine and now, having gained so powerful an ascendancy over the civilized world, the Gospel was to undergo its last and most trying ordeal before it should assume the reins of em- pire and become the established religion of the Roman world. It was to sustain the deliberate and systematic attack of the temporal authority, arming in almost every part of the empire, in defence of the ancient Polytheism. At this crisis it is Peace of the important to survey the state of Christians. Christianity, as well as the char- acter of the sovereign, and of the govern- ment which made this ultimate and most vigorous attempt to suppress the triumph- ant progress of the new faith. The last fifty years, with a short interval of men- aced, probably of actual, persecution du- ring the reign of Aurelian, had passed in peace and security. The Christians had become, not merely a public, but an impo- sing and influential body; their separate existence had been recognised by the law of Gallienus ; their churches had arisen in most of the cities of the empire; as yet, probably with no great pretensions to ar- chitectural grandeur, though no doubt or- namented by the liberality of the worship- pers, and furnished with vestments and thalices, lamps, and chandeliers of silver. The number of these buildings was con- stantly on the increase, or the crowding * Dioclesian began his reign A.D. 284. The commencement of the persecution is dated A.D. 303. Kk multitudes of proselytes demanded the ex- tension of the narrow and humble walls. The Christians no longer declined or re- fused to aspire to the honours of the state. They filled offices of distinction, and even of supreme authority, in the provinces and in the army; they were exempted, either by tacit connivance or direct indulgence, from the accustomed sacrifices. Progress of Among thq more immediate at- Christianity* tendants on the emperor, two oi three openly professed the Christian faith ; Pris- ca, the wife, and Valeria, the daughter of Dioclesian and the wife of Galerius, were suspected, if not avowed, partakers in the Christian mysteries.* If it be impossible to form the most remote approximation to their relative numbers with that of the pagan population, it is equally erroneous to estimate their strength and influence by numerical calculation. All political changes are wrought by a compact, organ- ized, and disciplined minority. The mass of mankind are shown by experience, and appear fated by the constitution of our nature, to follow any vigorous impulse from a determined and incessantly aggress- ive few. The long period of prosperity had pro- duced in the Christian comm uni- Relaxation ty its usual consequences, some of Christian relaxation of morals : but Chris- morals- tian charity had probably suf- of Christian fered more than Christian puri- charity, ty. The more flourishing and extensive the community, the more the pride, perhaps the temporal advantages of superiority, predominated over the Christian motives which led men to aspire to the supreme functions in the Church. Sacerdotal dom- * Euseb., Eccl. Hist., viii., I.258 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ination began to exercise its awful pow- ers, and the bishop to assume the lan- guage and the authority of the vicegerent of God. Feuds distracted the bosom of the peaceful communities, and disputes sometimes proceeded to open violence. Such is the melancholy confession of the Christians themselves, who, according to the spirit of the times, considered the dan- gers and the afflictions to which they were exposed in the light of Divine judgments ; and deplored, perhaps with something of the exaggeration of religious humiliation, the visible decay of holiness and peace.* But it is the strongest proof of the firm hold of a party, whether religious or po- litical, upon the public mind, when it may offend with impunity against its own pri- mary principles. That which at one time is a sign of incurable weakness or ap- proaching dissolution, at another seems but the excess of healthful energy and the evidence of unbroken vigour. The acts of Dioclesian are the only rtioeiesian. trustworthy history of his char- acter. The son of a slave, or, at all events, born of obscure and doubtful parentage, who could force his way to sovereign power, conceive and accomplish the design of reconstructing the whole empire, must have been a man at least of strong political courage, of profound, if not always wise and statesmanlike views. In the person of Dioclesian the emperor of Rome became an Oriental monarch. The old republican forms were disdainful- ly cast aside; consuls and tribunes gave way to new officers with adulatory and un-Roman appellations. Dioclesian him- self assumed the new title of Dominus or Lord, which gave offence even to the ser- yile and flexible religion of his pagan sub- jects, who reluctantly, at first, paid the homage of adoration to the master of the world. Nor was the ambition of Dioclesian of Change in a narrow'or personal character, the state of With the pomp he did not affect the empire, the soptude of an Eastern des- pot. The necessity of the state appeared to demand the active and perpetual pres- ence of more than one person invested in sovereign authority, who might organize the decaying forces of the different divis- ions of the empire against the menacing hosts of barbarians on every frontier. Two Augusti andjAwo Csesars shared the ‘ dignity and the cares of the public admin- istration :f a measure, if expedient for the * Euseb , Eccl. Hist., viii., 1. f In the. Leben Constantins des Grossen, by Man- go, there is a good discussion on the autnority and relative position of the A ugusti and the Csesars. security, fatal to the prosperity of the ex hausted provinces, which found themselves burdened with the maintenance of four im- perial establishments. A new system of taxation was imperatively demanded and relentlessly introduced * while the emper or seemed to mock the bitter and ill-sup- pressed murmurs of the provinces by his lavish expenditure in magnificent and or- namental buildings. That was attributed to the avarice of Dioclesian which arose out of the change in the form of govern- ment, and in some degree out of his sump- tuous taste in that particular department, the embellishment, not of Rome only, but of the chief cities of the empire: Milan, Carthage, and Nicomedia. At one time the all-pervading government aspired, af- ter a season of scarcity, to regulate the prices of all commodities, and of all inter- change, whether of labour or of bargain and sale, between man and man. This singular and gigantic effort of well-meant but mistaken despotism has come to light in the present day.f Among the innovations introduced by Dioclesian, none, perhaps, was Neglect or more closely connected with the Rome, interests of Christianity than the virtual degradation of Rome from the capital of the empire, by the constant residence of the emperor in other cities. Though the old metropolis was not altogether neglect- ed in the lavish expenditure of the public wealth upon new edifices, either for the convenience of the people or the splendour of public solemnities, yet a larger share fell to the lot of other towns, particularly of Nicomedia.J In this city the emperor more frequently displayed the new state of his imperial court,, while Rome was rarely honoured by his presence ; nor was his retreat, when wearied with political strife, on the Campanian coast, in the Bay of Baise, which the older Romans had girt with their splendid seats of retirement and luxury; it was on the Illyrian and barba- rous side of the Adriatic that the palace of Dioclesian arose, and his agricultural establishment spread its narrow belt of. fertility. The removal of the seat of gov- ernment more clearly discovered the mag- nitude of the danger to the existing insti- tutions from the progress of Christianity. The East was no doubt more fully peo- * The extension of the rights of citizenship to the whole empire by Caracalla made it impossible to maintain the exemptions and immunities which that privilege had thus lavishly conferred. f Edict of Dioclesian, published and- illustrated by Col. Leake. It is alluded to in the Treatise de 'Mortibus Persecut., c. vii. t Ita semper dementabat, Nicomediam studens urbi Romae cosequare.—De Mort. Persecut., c. 7.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 259 pled with Christians than any part of the Western world, unless, perhaps, the prov-. ince of Africa; at all events, their relative rank, wealth, and importance much more nearly balanced that of the adherents of the old Polytheism.* In Rome the an- cient majesty of the national religion must still have kept down in comparative ob- scurity the aspiring rivalry of Christianity. The praetor still made way for the pontifi- cal order, and submitted his fasces to the vestal virgin, while the Christian bishop pursued his humble and unmarked way. The modest church or churches of the Christians lay hid, no doubt in some se- questered street or in the obscure Trans- teverine region, and did not venture to con- trast themselves with the stately temples on which the ruling people of the world and the sovereigns of mankind had for ages lavished their treasures. However the Church of the metropolis of the world might maintain a high rank in Christian estimation, might boast its antiquity, its apostolic origin, or, at least, of being the scene of apostolic martyrdom, and might number many distinguished proselytes in nil ranks, even in the imperial court, still paganism, in this stronghold of its most gorgeous pomp, its hereditary sanctity, its intimate connexion with all the institu- tions, and its incorporation with the whole ceremonial of public affairs, in Rome must have maintained at least its outward supremacy.! But, in comparison with the * Tertullian, Apolog., c. 37. Mr. Coneybeare (Bampton Lectures, page 345) has drawn a curious inference from a passage in this chapter of Tertul- lian, that the majority of those who had a right of citizenship in those cities had embraced the Chris- tian faith, while the mobs were its most furious op- ponents. ltappears unquestionable that the strength of Christianity lay in the middle, perhaps the mer- cantile, classes. The last two books of the Paida- gogos of Clementof Alexandrea, the most copious authority for Christian manners at that time, in- veighs against the vices of an opulent and luxurious community, splendid dresses, jewels, gold and sil- ver vessels, rich banquets, gilded litters and char- iots, and private baths. The ladies kept Indian birds, Median peacocks, monkeys, and Maltese dogs, instead of maintaining widows and orphans; the men had multitudes of slaves. The sixth chapter of the third book, “that the Christian alone is rich,” would have been unmeaning if addressed to a poor community. f In a letter of Cornelius, bishop of Rome, writ- ten during or soon after the reign of Decius, the ministerial establishment of the Church of Rome is thus stated : One bishop, forty-six presbyters, seven deacons, seven subdeacons, forty-two acolyths or attendants, fifty-two exorcists, readers, and door- keepers, fifteen hundred widows and poor.—Euseb., vi., 43. Optatus, lib. ii., states that there were more than forty churches in Rome at the time of the persecu- tion of Dioclesiaij. It has been usual to calculate one church for each presbyter, which would sup- less imposing dignity of the municif al gov- ernment or the local priesthood, the Bish- op of Antioch or Nicomedia was a far greater person than the predecessor of the popes among the consulars and the senate, the hereditary aristocracy of the old Ro- man families, or the ministers of the ru- ling emperor. In Nicomedia the Chris- tian Church, an edifice at least of consid- erable strength and solidity, stood on an eminence commanding the town, and con- spicuous above#the palace of the sover- eign. Dioclesian might seem born to accom- plish that revolution which took place so soon after, under the reign of Constan- tine. The new constitution of the empire might appear to require a reconstruction of the religious system. The emperor, who had not scrupled to accommodate the form of the government, without respect to the ancient majesty of Rome, to the present position of affairs ; to degrade the capital itself into the rank of a provincial city; and to prepare the way, at least, for the removal of the seat of government to the East, would have been withheld by no scruples of veneration for ancient rites or ancestral ceremonies if the establishment of a new religion had appeared to harmo- nize with his general policy. But his mind was not yet ripe for such a Religion of change, nor perhaps his knowl- Dioclesian. edge of Christianity, and its profound and unseen influence, sufficiently extensive. In his assumption of the title Jovius, while his colleague took that of Herculius, Dio- clesian gave a public pledge of his attach- ment to the old Polytheism. Among the cares of his administration, he by no means neglected the purification of the ancient religions.* In paganism itself, that silent but manifest change, of which New pagan- we have already noticed the ism- commencement, had been creeping on. The new philosophic Polytheism which Julian attempted to establish on the ruins of Christianity was still endeavouring to supersede the older poetic faith of the hea- then nations. It had not even yet come to sufficient maturity to offer itself as a formidable antagonist to the religion of Christ. This new paganism, as we have observed, arose out of the alliance of the philosophy and the religion of the old world. These once implacable adversa- ries had reconciled their difference and pose a falling off, at least no increase, during the interval. But some of the presbyters reckoned by Cornelius may have been superannuated or in pris on, and their place supplied by others. * Veterrimae religiones castissimfc curatae. rel. Viet, de Caesar.260 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. coalesced against the common enemy. Christianity itself had no slight influence upon the formation of the new system; and now an Eastern element, more and more strongly dominant, mingled with the whole, and lent it, as it were, a visible ob- ject of worship. From Christianity the new paganism had adopted the unity of the Deity, and scrunled not to degrade all the gods of the older world into subor- dinate daemons or ministers. The Chris- Worship of tians had incautiously held the the sun. same language : both concurred in the name of daemons ; but the pagans used the phrase in the Platonic sense, as good but subordinate spirits, while the same term spoke to the Christian ear as expressive of malignant and diabolic agen- cy. But the Jupiter Optimus Maximus was not the great supreme of the new system. The universal deity of the East, the Sun, to the philosophic was the emblem or rep- resentative, to the vulgar the Deity. Di- oclesian himself, though he paid so much deference to the older faith as to assume the title of Jovius, as belonging to the Lord of the world, yet on his accession, when he would exculpate himself from all con- cern in the murder of his predecessor Nu- merian, he appealed in the face of the ar- ,my to the all-seeing deity of the sun. It is the oracle of Apollo of Miletus, consult- ed by the hesitating emperor, which is to decide the fate of Christianity. The met- aphorical language of Christianity had un- consciously lent strength to this new ad- versary ; and, in adoring the visible orb, some no doubt supposed that they were not departing far from the worship of the “ Sun of Righteousness.”* But though it might enter into the im- agination of an imperious and powerful sovereign to fuse together all these con- flicting faiths, the new paganism was be- ginning to advance itself as the open and most dangerous adversary of the religion of Christ. Hierocles, the great hiero- phant of the Platonic paganism, is dis- tinctly named as the author of the perse- cution under Dioclesian.f Thus, then, an irresistible combination of circumstances tended to precipitate the fatal crisis. The whole political scheme of Dioclesian was incomplete, unless some distinct' and decided course was taken with these self-governed corporations, who ren- * Hermogenes, one of the older heresiarchs, ap- plied the text, “he has placed his tabernacle in the sun,” to Christ, and asserted that Christ had put off his body in the sun.—Pantsenus apud Routh, Reli- quiae Sacrae, i, 339. t Another philosophic writer published a work against the Christians.—See Fleury, p. 452, from Tertullian. dered, according to the notions of the times, such imperfect allegiance to the sovereign power. But the cautious disposition of Dioclesian; his deeper insight, perhaps, into the real nature of the struggle which would take place; his advancing age, and, possibly, the latent and depressing influ- ence of the malady which may then have been hanging over him, and which, a short time after, brought him to the brink of the grave ;* these concurrent motives would induce him to shrink from violent meas- ures ; to recommend a more temporizing policy; and to consent, with difficult re- luctance, to the final committal of the im- perial authority in a contest in which the complete submission of the opposite par- ty could only be expected by those who were altogether ignorant of its strength. The imperial power had much to lose m an unsuccessful contest; it was likely to gain, if successful, only a temporary and external conquest. On the one hand, it was urged by the danger of permitting a vast and self-governed body to coexist with the general institutions of the em- pire ; on the other, if not a civil war, a contest which would array one part of al- most every city of the empire against the other in domestic hostility, might appear even of more perilous consequence to the public welfare. The party of the old religion, now strengthened by the accession sentjments of the philosophic faction, risk- of tiie phiio ed nothing, and might expect s°i,hic Party much, from the vigorous, systematic, and universal intervention of the civil author-, ity. It was clear that nothing less would restore its superiority to the decaying cause of Polytheism. Nearly three cen- turies of tame and passive connivance or of open toleration had only increased the growing power of Christianity, while it had not in the least allayed that spirit of moral conquest which avowed that its ul- timate end was the total extinction of idolatry. But in the army the parties were placed in more inevitable opposition; and in the army commenced the first overt acts of hostility, which were the prognostics ol the general persecution.! Nowhere did the old Roman religion retain so much * The charge of derangement, which rests on the authority of Constantine, as related by Eusebius, is sufficiently confuted by the dignity of his abdica- tion, the placid content with which he appeared to enjoy his peaceful retreat, the respect paid to him by his turbulent and ambitious colleagues, and the involuntary influence which he still appeared to ex- ercise over the affairs of the empire. t Tk t£)v hv opTaretaig qdety&v Karapxopivov rov duoypov.—Euseb., viii., 1. bompare ch ivHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 261 hold upon the mind as among the sacred . eagles. Without sacrifice to the givers of victory, the superstitious soldiery would advance, divested of their usual confidence, against the enemy; and defeat was ascri- bed to some impious omission in the cere- monial of propitiating the gods. The Christians now formed no unimportant part in the army: though permitted by the ruling authorities to abstain from idola- trous conformity, their contempt of the auspices which promised, and of the rites which ensured, the Divine favour, would be looked upon with equal awe and animosity. The unsuccessful general and the routed army would equally seize every excuse to cover the misconduct of the one or the cowardice of the other. In the pride of victory, the present deities of Rome would share the honour with Roman valour: the assistance of the Christians would be for- gotten in defeat; the resentment of the gods, to whom the defeat would be attrib- uted, would be ascribed to the impiety of their godless comrades. An incident of this.kind took place during one of his cam- paigns in the presence of Dioclesian. The army was assembled round the altar: the sacrificing priest in vain sought for the accustomed signs in the entrails of the victim ; the sacrifice was again and again repeated, but always with the same result. The baffled soothsayer, trembling with awe or with indignation, denounced the presence of profane strangers. The Chris- tians had been seen, perhaps boasted that they had made the sign of the cross, and put to flight the impotent daemons of idol- atrous worship. They were apprehended and commanded to sacrifice ; and a gener- al edict issued that all who refused to pay honour to the martial deities of Rome should be expelled the army. It is far from improbable that frequent incidents of this nature may have occurred; ‘if in the unsuccessful campaign of Galerius in the East, nothing was more likely to im- bitter the mind of that violent emperor against the whole Christian community. Nor would this animosity be allayed by the success with which he retrieved his former failure. While the impiety of the Christians would be charged with all the odium of defeat, they would never be per- mitted to participate in the glories of vic- tory. During the winter of the year of Christ Deliberations :m~3, the great question of the concerning policy to be adopted towards the Christianity. Christians was debated, first in a private conference between Dioclesian and Galerius. Dioclesian, though urged by his more vehement partner in the em- pire, was averse from sanguinary proceed- ings, from bloodshed and confusion; he was inclined to more temperate measures, which would degrade the Christians from every post of rank or authority, and ex- pel them from the palace and the army. The palace itself was divided by conflict- ing factions. Some of the chief officers of Dioclesian’s household openly professed Christianity; his wife and his daughter were at least favourably disposed to the same cause; while the mother of Gale- rius, a fanatical worshipper, probably of Cybele, was seized with a spirit of prose- lytism, and celebrated almost every day a splendid sacrifice, followed by a banquet, at which she required the presence of the whole court. The pertinacious resistance of the Christians provoked her implacable resentment; and her influence over her son was incessantly employed to inflame his mind to more active animosity. Dio- clesian at length consented to summon a council, formed of some persons versed in the administration of the ounci * law and some military men. Of these* one party were already notoriously hos- tile to Christianity ;* the rest were cour- tiers, who bent to every intimation of the imperial favour. Dioclesian still prolong- ed his resistance,! till, either to give great- er solemnity to the decree, or to identify their measures more completely with the cause of Polytheism, it was determined to consult the oracle of Apollo at Miletus. The answer of the oracle might be antici- pated; and Dioclesian submitted to the ir- resistible united authority of his friends, of Galerius, and of the god, and content- ed himself with moderating the severity of the edict. Galerius proposed that all who refused to sacrifice should be burned alive : Dioclesian stipulated that there should be no loss of life. A fortunate day was chosen for the execution of the imperial Edict of per- decree. The feast of Termina- secution. lia was inseparably connected with the stability of the Roman power; that power which was so manifestly endangered by the progress of Christianity. At the dawn of day the prefect of the city ap- its pUbii- peared at the door of the church in cation. * Hierocles the philosopher was probably a member of this council. Mosheim, p. 922 [and Instil of E. H., vol. i., p. 208, n. (5); and Lactant., de Mort. Persec., cap. 16]. f According to the unfriendly representation of the author of the Treatise de Mort. Pers. [cap. 11], whose view of Dioclesian’s character is con- firmed by Eutropius, it was the crafty practice of Dioclesian to assume all the merit of popular meas- ures as emanating from himself alone, while in those which were unpopular he pretended to act altogether by the advice of others.262 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY Nicomedia, attended by the officers of the city and of the court. The doors were in- stantly thrown down; the pagans beheld with astonishment the vacant space, and sought in vain for the statue of .the deity. The sacred books were instantly burned, and the rest of the furniture of the build- ing plundered by the tumultuous soldiery. The emperors commanded from the palace a full view of the tumult and spoliation, for the church stood on a height at no great distance; and Galerius wished to enjoy its execu- the spectacle of a conflagration turn in Ni-of the building. The more pru- comedia, Dioclesian, fearing that the fire might spread to the splendid buildings which adjoined it, suggested a more tardy and less imposing plan of demolition. The pioneers of the praetorian guard ad- vanced with their tools, and in a few hours the whole building was razed to the ground. The Christians made no resistance, but awaited in silent consternation the pro- mulgation of the fatal edict. On the next morning it appeared. It was framed in terms of the sternest and most rigorous proscription short of the punishment of death. It comprehended all ranks and orders under its sweeping and inevitable provisions. Throughout the empire, the churches of the Christians were to be levelled with the earth; the public exist- ence of the religion was thus to be anni- hilated. The sacred books were to be delivered, under pain of death, by their le- gitimate guardians, the bishops and pres- byters, to the imperial officers, and pub- licly burned. The philosophic party thus hoped to extirpate those pernicious wri- tings with which they in vain contested the supremacy of the public mind. The property of the churches, whether endowments in land or furniture, was con- fiscated; all public assemblies for the pur- poses qf worship prohibited; the Chris- tians of rank and distinction were degraded from all their offices, and declared incapa- ble of filling any situation of trust or au- thority; those of the plebeian order were deprived of the right of Roman citizen- ship, which secured the sanctity of their persons from corporeal chastisement or torture; slaves were declared incapable of claiming or obtaining liberty; the whole race were placed without the pale of the law, disqualified from appealing to its pro- tection in case of wrong, as of personal injury, of robbery, or adultery; while they were liable to civil actions, and bound to f)ear all the burdens of the state, and amenable to all its penalties. In many places an altar was placed before the tri- bunal of justice, on which oAmrit* * * § was obliged to sacrifice bercre kris cause could obtain a hearing.* No sooner had this edict been affixed in the customary place than it was Edict um torn down by the hand of a rash down, and indignant Christian, who added insult to his offence by a contemptuous inscrip- tion : Such are the victories of the em- perors over the Goths and Sarmatians.’T This outrage on the imperial majesty was expiated by the death of the delinquent, who avowed his glorious crime. Although less discreet Christians might secretly dig- nify the sufferings of the victim with the honours of martyrdom, they could only venture to approve the patience with which he bore the agony of being roasted alive by a slow fire.]; The prudence or the moderation of Di- oclesian had rejected the more violent and sanguinary counsels of the Caesar, who had proposed that all who refused to sacrifice should be burned alive. But his personal terrors triumphed over the lingering influ- ence of compassion or justice. Fireinthe On a sudden, a fire burst out in palace at the palace of Nicomedia, which Nicomedia' spread almost to the chamber of the emper- or. ; The real origin of this fatal conflagra- tion is unknown; and, notwithstanding the various causes to which it was ascribed by the fears, the malice, and the superstition of the different classes, we may probably refer the whole to accident. It may have arisen from the hasty or injudicious con- struction of a palace built but recently. One account ascribes it to lightning, if this opinion obtained general belief among the Christian party, it would no doubt be considered by many a visible sign of the Divine vengeance on account of the pro- mulgation of the imperial edict. The Christians were accused by the indignant voice of the heathen; they retorted by throwing the guilt upon the Emperor Ga- lerius, who had practised (so the ecclesi- astical historian suggests) the part of a se- cret incendiary, in order to criminate the Christians, and alarm Dioclesian into his more violent measures. § The obvious impolicy of such a meas- ure as the chance of actually destroying both their imperial enemies in the fire must have been very remote, and as it could only darken the subtle mind of Di- oclesian with the blackest suspicions, and madden Galerius to more unmeasured hos- * Euseb., viii., 2. De Mort. Persecut. apud Lac- tantium [cap. 13]. f Mosheim, de Reb. Christ. % Euseb., viii., 5. § Euseb., viii., 6 [and Lactant., de Mort Perse cut., cap. 14].HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 263 tility, must acquit the Christians of any such design, even if their high principles, their sacred doctrines of peaceful submis- sion, even under the direst persecution, did not. place them above all suspicion. The only Christian who would have incurred the guilt, or provoked upon his innocent brethren the danger inseparable from such an act, would have been some desperate fanatic like the man who tore down the edict. And such a man would have avow- ed and gloried in the act; he would have courted the ill-deserved honours of mar- tyrdom. The silence of Constantine may clear Galerius of the darker charge of con- triving, by these base and indirect means, the destruction of a party against which he proceeded with undisguised hostility. Galerius, however, as if aware of the full effect with which such an event would work cn the mind of Dioclesian, immedi- ately left Nicomedia, declaring that he could not consider his person safe within that city. The consequences of this fatal confla- gration were disastrous, to the utmost ex- tent which their worst enemies could de- sire, to the whole Christian community. The officers of the household, the inmates of the palace, were exposed to the most cruel tortures, by the order, it is said, even in the presence, of Dioclesian. Even the females of the imperial family were not exempt, if from the persecution, from that suspicion which demanded the clearest evidence of their paganism. Prisca and Valeria were constrained to pollute them- selves with sacrifice ; the powerful eu- nuchs Dorotheus and Gorgonius, and An- dreas, suffered death ; Anthimus, the bish- op of Nicomedia, was beheaded. Many were executed, many burned alive, many laid bound, with stones round their necks, in boats, rowed into the midst of the lake, and thrown into the water. From Nicomedia, the centre of the per- Thepersecu- secution, the imperial edicts tion becomes were promulgated, though with general. less the usuai rapidity, through the East; letters were despatch- ed requiring the co-operation of the West- ern emperors, Maximian, the associate of n lg Dioclesian, and the Caesar Constan- tius, in the restoration of the dig- nity of the ancient religion, and the sup- pression of the hostile faith. Constantius made a show of concurrence in the meas- ures of his colleagues ; he commanded the demolition of the churches, but abstained from all violence against the persons of the Christians.* Gaul alone, his favour- * Eusebius, whose- panegyric on Constantine ed province, was not defiled by Christian blood. The fiercer temper of Maximian only awaited the signal, and readily acce- ded, to carry into effect the barbarous edicts of his colleagues. In almost every part of the world Chris- tianity found itself at once assailed by the full force of the civil power, constantly goaded on by the united influence of the pagan priesthood and the philosophical party. Nor was Dioclesian, now commit- ted in the desperate strife, content with the less tyrannical and sanguinary edict ot Nicomedia. Vague rumours of insurrec- tion, some tumultuary risings in regions which were densely peopled with Chris- tians, and even the enforced assumption of the purple by two adventurers, one in Armenia, another in Antioch,'seemed to countenance the charges of political am- bition, and the design of armed and vigor- ous resistance. It is the worst evil of religious contests that the civil power cannot retract without the humiliating confession of weakness, and must go on increasing in the severity of its measures. It soon finds that there is no success short of the extermination of the adversary ; and it has but the al- ternative of acknowledged failure and this internecine warfare. The demolition of the churches might remove objects of- fensive to the wounded pride of the domi- nant Polytheism ; the destruction of the sacred books might gratify the jealous hos- tility of the philosophic party; but not a single community was dissolved. The pre- carious submission of the weaker Chris- tians only confirmed the more resolute- opposition of the stronger and more heroic adherents of Christianity. Edict followed edict, rising in regular gradations of angry barbarity. The whole clergy were declared enemies of the state ; they were seized wherever an hostile pre- fect chose to put forth his boundless au- thority ; and bishops, presbyters, and dea- cons, were crowded into the prisons in- tended for the basest malefactors. A new rescript prohibited the liberation of any of these prisoners, unless they should con- sent to offer sacrifice. During the promulgation of these re scripts^ Dioclesian celebrated his triumph in Rome; he held a conference with the Caesar of Africa, who entered into his throws back some of its adulation upon his father, makes Constantius a Christian, with the Christian service regularly performed in his palace.—Vit. Con stant., c. 33. The exaggeration of this statement is exposed by Pagi, ad ann. 303, n. viii. Mosheim, de Rebus ante Const. Mag., p. 929-935 [and Instit. of Eccl. Hist., v^l. i., p. 207].HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 264 rigorous measures. On his return to Ni- eomedia he was seized with that illness jong an£ depress^ malady which, whether it affected him with temporary derangement, secluded him within the im- penetrable precincts of the palace, whose sacred secrets were forbidden to be betray- ed to the popular ear. This rigid conceal- ment gave currency to every kind of gloomy rumour. The whole Roman world awaited with mingled anxiety, hope, and apprehension the news of his dissolution. Dioclesian, to the universal astonishment, appeared again in the robes of empire ; to and abdica t^ie^r greater astonishment, uon of Dio* he appeared only to lay them oiesian,A.D. aside, to abdicate the throne, 304' and to retire to the peaceful oc- cupation of his palace and agricultural villa on the Illyrian shore of the Adriatic. His colleague Maximian, with ill-dissem- bled reluctance, followed the example of his colleague, patron, and coadjutor in the empire. The great scheme of Dioclesian, the joint administration of the empire by as- sociate Augusti, with their subordinate Caesars, if it had averted for a time the dismemberment of the empire, and had in- troduced some vigour into the provincial government, had introduced other evils of appalling magnitude; but its fatal conse- quences were more manifest directly as the master hand was withdrawn which had organized the new machine of government. Fierce jealousy succeeded at once among the rival emperors to decent concord; all subordination was lost; and a succession of civil wars between the contending sov- ereigns distracted the whole world. The General earth groaned under the separate misery, tyranny of its many masters ; and, according to the strong expression of a rhetorical writer, the grinding taxation had so exhausted the proprietors and the cultivators of the soil, the merchants, and the artisans, that none remained to tax but beggars.* The sufferings of the Chris- tians, however still inflicted with unre- mitting barbarity, were lost in the com- mon sufferings of mankind. The rights of Roman citizenship, which had been violated in their persons, were now uni- versally neglected; and to extort money, the chief persons of the towns, the un- happy. decurions, who were responsible for the payment of the contributions, were put to the torture. Even the punishment, the roasting by a slow fire—invented to force the conscience of the devout Chris- tians—was borrowed, in order to wring the reluctant impost from the unhappy provincial. The abdication of Dioclesian left the most implacable enemy of Chris- Ga]erius tianity, Gaierius, master of the emperor of East; and in the East the perse- the East* cution of the Christians, as well as the general oppression of the subjects of the empire, continued in unmitigated severity. His nephew, the Caesar Maximin Maximin Daias, was the legitimate heir to Uaias. his relentless violence of temper and to his stern hostility to the Christian name. In the West, the assumption of the purple by Maxentius, the son of the ab- s dicated Maximian (Herculius), 1 axen iUS‘ had no unfavourable effect on the situation of the Christians. They suffered only with the rest of their fellow-subjects from the vices of Maxentius. If their matrons and virgins were not secure from his lust, it was the common lot of all, wdio, although of the highest rank and dignity, might at- tract his insatiable passions. If a Chris- tian matron, the wife of a senator, sub- mitted to a voluntary death* rather than to the loss of her honour, it was her beau- ty, not her Christianity, which marked her out as the victim of the tyrant. It was not until Constantine began to ^ develop his ambitious views of Constantine‘ reuniting the dismembered monarchy, that Maxentius threw himself, as it were, upon the ancient gods of Rome, and identified his own cause with that of Polytheism. At this juncture all eyes were turned to- wards the elder son of Constantius. If not already recognised by the prophetic glance of devout hope as the first Chris- tian sovereign of Rome, he seemed placed by providential wisdom as the protector, as the head of the Christian interest. The enemies of Christianity were his; and if he was not as yet bound by the heredi- tary attachment of a son to the religion of his mother Helena, his father Constan- tius had bequeathed him the wise example of humanity and toleration. Placed as a hostage in the hands of Gaierius, Constan- tine had only escaped from the honour- able captivity of the Eastern court, where he had been exposed to constant peril of his life, by the promptitude and rapidity of his movements. He had fled, and du- ring the first stages maimed the post- horses which might have been employed in his pursuit. During the persecution of Dioclesian, Constantius alone, of all the emperors, by a dexterous appearance of submission, had screened the Christians of Gaul from the common lot of their * De Mort. Persecute c. xxiii. Euseb., vi-ii.. 14.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. brethren. Nor was it probable that Con- stantine would render on this point more willing allegiance to the sanguinary man- dates of Galerius. At present, however, Constantine stood rather aloof from the affairs of Italy and the East; and till the resumption of the purple by the elder Max- imian, his active mind was chiefly employ- ed in the consolidation of his own power in Gaul, and the repulse of the German barbarians, who threatened the frontiers of the Rhine. Notwithstanding the persecution had a d 309 now lasteci f°r six or seven years, 'in no part of the world did Chris- tianity betray any signs of vital decay. It was far too deeply rooted in the minds of men, far too extensively.promulgated, far too .vigorously organized not to endure this violent but unavailing shock. If its public worship was suspended, the believ- ers met in secret, or cherished in the unas- sailable privacy of the heart the inaliena- ble rights of conscience. If it suffered numerical loss, the body was not weaken- ed by the severance of its more feeble and. sufferings of worthless members. The in- the Christians. ert resistance of the general mass wearied out the vexatious and har- assing measures of the government. Their numbers secured them against general ex- termination ; but, of course, the persecu- tion fell most heavily upon the most em- inent of the body; upon men who were deeply pledged by the sense of shame, and honour even, if in any case the nobler mo- tives of conscientious faith and courageous confidence in the truth of the religion were wanting, to bear with unyielding heroism the utmost barbarities of the persecutor. Those who submitted performed the hated ceremony with visible reluctance, with trembling hand, averted countenance, and deep remorse of heart; those who resist- ed to death were animated by the presence of multitudes, who, if they dared not ap- plaud, could scarcely conceal their admi- ration ; women crowded to kiss the hems of their garments, and their scattered ash- es or unburied bones were stolen away by the devout zeal of their adherents, and already began to be treasured as incentives to faith and piety. It cannot be supposed that the great functionaries of the state, the civil or military governors, could be so universally seared to humanity, or so in- capable of admiring these frequent exam- ples of patient heroism, as not either to mitigate in some degree the sufferings which they were bound to inflict, or even to feel some secret sympathy with the blameless victims whom they condemned, which might ripen at a more fortunate pe- L L 265 riod into sentiments still more favourable to the Christian cause. The most signal and unexpected tri- umph of Christianity was over the author of the persecution. While victory and success appeared to follow that party in the state which, if they had not as*yet openly espoused the cause of Christianity, had unquestionably its most ardent pray- ers in their favour, the enemies of the Christians were smitten with the direst calamities, and the Almighty appeared visibly to exact the most awful vengeance for their sufferings. Galerius himself wTas forced, as it were, to implore mercy; not, indeed, in the attitude of penitence, but of profound humiliation at the foot of the Christian altar. In the eighteenth year of his reign the persecutor lay expiring of a most loathsome malady. A deep and fetid ulcer preyed on the lower regions of his body, and eat them away into a mass of living corruption. It is certainly sin- gular that the disease vulgarly called beingeaten of worms” should have been the destiny of Herod the Great, of Galeri- us, and of Philip II. of Spain. Physicians were sought from all quarters ; every or- acle was consulted in vain; that of Apollo suggested a cure which aggravated the virulence of the disease. Not merely the chamber, but the whole palace of Galerius is described as infected by the insupporta- ble stench which issued from his wound, while the agonies which he suffered might have satiated the worst vengeance of the most unchristian enemy. From the dying bed of Galerius issued an edict, which, while it eonde- Edict of scended to apologize for the past Galerius, severities against the Christians, a.D-3ii, under the specious plea of regard Apn for the public welfare and the unity of the state; while it expressed compassion for his deluded subjects, whom the govern- ment was unwilling to leave in the forlorn condition of being absolutely without a re- ligion, admitted to the fullest extent the total failure of the severe measures for the suppression of Christianity.* It permit- ted the free and public exercise of the Christian religion. Its close was still more remarkable ; it contained an earnest request to the Christians to intercede for the suffering emperor in their supplica- tions to their God. Whether this edict was dictated by wisdom, by remorse, or by superstitious terror; whether it was the act of a statesman, convinced by ex- perience of the impolicy, or even the in- justice, of his sanguinary acts ; whether. * Euseb.. E. H., viii., 17266 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. in the agonies of his excruciating disease, his conscience was harassed by the thought of his tortured victims ; or, having vainly solicited the assistance of his own deities, he would desperately endeavour to pro- pitiate the favour, or, at least, allay the wrath, of the Christians' God ; the whole Roman world was witness of the public and humiliating acknowledgment of defeat extorted from the dying emperor. A few days after the promulgation of the edict Galerius expired. The edict was issued from Sardica, in a d. 3ii. the name of Galerius, of Licinius, May. an(j 0f Constantine. It accorded with the sentiments of the two latter: Maximin alone, the Caesar of the East, whose peculiar jurisdiction extended over Syria and Egypt, rendered but an imper- fect and reluctant obedience to the decree of toleration. His jealousy was no doubt excited by the omission of his name in the preamble to the edict, and he seized this excuse to discountenance its promulgation Conduct of in his provinces. Yet for a time Maximim m he suppressed his profound and the East, inveterate hostility to the Chris- tian name. He permitted unwritten or- ders to be issued to the municipal govern- ors of the towns, and to the magistrates of the villages, to put an end to all violent proceedings. The zeal of Sabinus, the prsetorian praefect of the East, supposing the milder sentiments of Galerius to be shared by Maximin, seems to have outrun the intentions of the Caesar. A circular rescript appeared in his name, echoing the tone, though it did not go quite to the length, of the imperial edict. It proclaim- ed “that it had been the anxious wish of the divinity of the most mighty emperors to reduce the whole empire to pay an.har- monious and united worship to the immor- tal gods. But their clemency had at length taken compassion on the obstinate perversity of the Christians, and determin- ed on desisting from their ineffectual at- tempts to force them to abandon their he- reditary faith.” The magistrates were in- structed to communicate the contents of this letter to each other.' The governors of the provinces, supposing at once that the letter of the praefect contained the real sentiments, of the emperor, with merciful haste despatched orders to all persons in subordinate civil or military command, the.magistrates both of the towns and the villages, who acted upon them with un- hesitating obedience.* The cessation of the persecution show- ed at once its extent. The prison doors were thrown open ; the mines rendered up their condemned labourers: everywhere long trains of Christians were seen hast- ening to the ruins of their churches, and visiting the places sanctified by their for- mer devotion. The public roads, the streets and market-places of the towns, were crowded withlong processions, sing- ing, psalms of thanksgiving for their deliv- erance. ■ Those who had maintained their faith under these severe trials passed tri- umphant in conscious, even if lowly, pride amid the flattering congratulations of their brethren ; those who had failed in the hour of affliction hastened to reunite themselves with their God, and to obtain readmission into the flourishing and reunited fold. The heathen themselves were astonished, it is said, at this signal mark of the power of the Christians’ God, who had thus un- expectedly wrought so sudden a revolution in favour of his worshippers.* But the cause of the Christians might appear not yet sufficiently avenged. The East, the great scene of persecution, was not restored to prosperity or peace. It had neither completed nor expiated the eight years of relentless persecution. The six months of apparent reconciliation were occupied by the Caesar Maximin in preparing measures of more subtle Maxim and profound hostility. The situ- Lstiieio ation of Maximin himself was crit- Christi- ical and precarious. On the death anity‘ of Galerius he had seized on the govern ment of the whole of Asia, and the forces of the two emperors, Licinius and Maxi- min, watched each other on either side of the Bosphorus with jealous and ill-dis- sembled hostility. Throughout the West the emperors were favoura- ' ' ble, or, at least, not inimical to Christian- ity. The political difficulties, even the vices of Maximin, enforced the policy of securing the support of a large and influ- ential body; he placed himself at the head of the pagan interest in the East. A de- liberate scheme was laid for the advance- ment of one party in the popular favour, for the depression of the other. Measures were systematically, taken to dnfeeble the influence of Christianity, not by the au- thority of government, but by poisoning the public mind, and infusing into it a set- tled and conscientious animosity. False acts of Pilate were forged, intended to cast discredit on the Divine founder of Chris- tianity ; they were disseminated with the utmost activity. The streets of Antioch and other Eastern cities were placarded with the most calumnious statements of * Euseb., Ercl. Hist,, ix., 1. * Euseb., Eccl. Hist., ix., 1.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY 267 the origin of the Christian faith. The in- structed of youth were directed to intro- duce them as lessons into the schools, to make their pupils commit them to mem- ory; and boys were heard repeating, or grown persons chanting, the most scanda- lous blasphemies against the object of Christian adoration.* In- Damascus, the old arts of compelling or persuading wom- en to confess that they had been present at the rites of the Christians, which had ended in lawless and promiscuous license, were renewed. The confession of some miserable prostitutes was submitted to the emperor, published by his command, and disseminated throughout the Eastern cities, although the Christian rites had been long celebrated in those cities with the utmost publicity.! The second measure of Maximin was Reorganiza- the reorganization of the pagan tion of pa- religion in all its original pomp gamsm. an(j more than its ancient pow- er. A complete hierarchy was establish- ed on the model of the Christian episco- pacy. Provincial pontiffs, men of the highest rank, were nominated; they were inaugurated with a solemn and splendid ceremonial, and were distinguished by a tunic of white. The emperor himself as- sumed the appointment of the pontifical offices in the different towns, which had in general rested with the local authori- ties. Persons of rank and opulence were prevailed on to accept these sacred func- tions, and were thus committed by per- sonal interest and corporate attachment in the decisive struggle. Sacrifices were performed with the utmost splendour and regularity, and the pontiffs were invested with power to compel the attendance of all the citizens. The Christians were lia- ble to every punishment or torture short of death. The pagan interest having thus become predominant in the greater cities, addresses were artfully suggested, and voted by the acclaiming multitude, implo- ring the interference of the emperor to ex- pel these enemies of the established re- ligion from their walls. The rescripts of the emperor were engraved on brass, and suspended in the public parts of the city. The example was set by Antioch, once the headquarters, and still, no doubt, a stronghold of Christianity. Theotecnus, the logistes or chamberlain of the city, took the lead. A splendid image was * In the speech attributed to S. Lucianus pre- vious to his martyrdom at Nicomedia, there is an allusion to these acts of Pilate, which shows that they had made considerable impression on the pub- lic mind.—Routh, Reliquise Sacras, iii., 286. t Euseb., viii., 14. erected to Jupiter Philius, and dedicated with all the imposing pomp of mystery, perhaps of Eastern magic.* As though they would enlist that strong spirit of mu- tual attachment which bound the Chris- tians together, the ancient Jupiter was in- vested in the most engaging and divine attribute of the God of Christianity—he was the God of Love. Nicomedia, the capital of the East, on the entrance of the emperor presented an address to the same effect as those which had been already of- fered by Antioch, Tyre, and other cities, and the emperor affected to yield to this simultaneous expression of the general sentiment. The first overt act of hostility was a prohibition to the Christians to meet in their cemeteries, where inu^domh?- probably their enthusiasm was ionsofMa.v,- wrought to the utmost height mm- by the sacred thoughts associated with the graves of their martyrs. But the pol- icy of Maximin in general confined itself to vexatious and harassing oppression, and to other punishments, which inflicted the pain and wretchedness without the dignity of dying for the faith : the perse- cuted had the sufferings, but not the glory of martyrdom. Such, most likely, were the general orders of Maximin, though in some places the zeal of his officers may have transgressed the prescribed limits it must not be said, of humanity. The bishop and two inhabitants of Emesa, and Peter, the patriarch of Alexandrea, obtain- ed the honours, of death. Lucianus, the bishop of Antioch, was sent to undergo a public examination at Nicomedia: he died in prison. The greater number of vic- tims suffered the less merciful punishment of mutilation or excaecation. The remon- strances of Constantine were unavailing ; the emperor persisted in his cruel course, and is said to have condescended to an in- genious artifice to.afflict the sensitive con- sciences of some persons of the higher or- ders who escaped less painful penalties. His banquets were served with victims previously slain in sacrifice, and his Chris- tian guests were thus unconsciously be- trayed into a crime which the authority of St. Paul had not yet convinced the more scrupulous believers to be a matter of perfect indifference.! The emperor, in his public rescript, in answer to the address from the The pagans city of Tyre, had, as it were, 9 placed the issue of the contest . state of the on an appeal to Heaven. The East, gods of paganism were asserted to be the Euseb,, ix., 2, 3 t Euseb., ix. 7.268 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. benefactors of the human race; through their influence the soil had yielded its an- nual increase ; the genial air had not been parched by fatal droughts; the sea had neither been agitated with tempests nor swept by hurricanes ; the earth, instead of being rocked by volcanic convulsions, had been the peaceful and fertile mother of.its abundant fruits. Their own neighbour- hood spoke the manifest, favour of these benignant deities, in its rich fields waving with harvests, its flowery and luxuriant meadows, and in the mild and genial tem- perature of the air. A city so blessed by its tutelary gods, in prudence as well as in justice, would expel those traitorous cit- izens whose impiety endangered these blessings, and would wisely purify its walls from the infection of their heaven- despising presence. But peace and prosperity by no means ensued upon the depression of the Reverse. Notwithstanding the embellishment of the heathen temples, the restoration of the Polytheistic ceremonial in more than ordinary pomp, and the nomination of the noblest citizens to the pontifical offices, every kind of calamity—tyranny, war, pestilence, and famine—depopulated the Asiatic provin- ces. Not the least scourge of the pagan East was the pagan emperor himself. Christian writers may have exaggerated, they can scarcely have invented, the vices of Maximin. His lusts violated alike the honour of noble and plebeian families. The eunuchs, the purveyors for his passions, Tyranny of traversed the provinces, marked Maximin. out those who were distinguish- ed by fatal beauty, and conducted these extraordinary perquisitions with the most insolent indignity: where milder meas- ures would not prevail, force was used. Nor was tyranny content with the grati- fication of its own license : noble virgins, after having been dishonoured by the em- peror, were granted in marriage to his slaves; even those of the highest rank were consigned to the embraces of a bar- barian husband. Valeria, the widow of Galerius and the daughter of Dioclesian, was first insulted by proposals of mar- riage from Maximin, whose wife was still living, and then forced to wander through the Eastern provinces in the humblest dis- guise, till at length she perished at Thes- salonica by the still more unjustifiable sen- tence of Licinius. The war of Maximin with Armenia was War with wantonly undertaken in a spirit of Armenia, persecution. This earliest Chris- tian kingdom was attached, in all the zeal of recent proselytism, to the new religion. That part which acknowledged the Roman sway wrfs commanded to abandon Christi- anity, and the legions of Rome were em- ployed in forcing the reluctant kingdom to obedience. * But these were foreign calamities. Throughout the dominions of Maximin the summer rains did not fall; a sudden fam- ine desolated the whole East; corn Famine rose to an unprecedented price.f 914. imitated the cruel and. impious ' Pharaoh. He compelled the Chris- tians, on a scanty stipend, to labour on the public works. Many obtained the glori- ous crown of martyrdom.* Gregory the Illuminator was the apostle Gregory the of Armenia. The birth of Greg- niuminator. 0ry was darkly connected with the murder of the reigning king, the almost total extirpation of the royal race, and the subjugation of his country to a foreign yoke. He was the son of Anah, the as- sassin of his sovereign. The murder of Khosrov, the valiant and powerful king of Armenia, is attributed to the jealous am-, bition of Ardeschir, the first king of Per- sia.f Anah, of a noble Armenian race, was bribed by the promise of vast wealth and the second place in the empire to conspire against the life of Khosrov. Pre- tending to take refuge in the Armenian dominions from the persecution of King * Father Chamich, History of Armenia, i., 153, translated by Avdall. t Moses Choren, 64, 71. Chamich, Hist. Armen., i., 154, and other authorities. St. Martin, Memoires sur l’Armenie, i., 303, &c. Ardeschir, he was hospitably received in the city of Valarshapat. Pie struck the king to the heart, and fled. The Murder of Armenian soldiery, in their fury, Khosrov. pursued the assassin, who was drowned during his flight in the river Araxes. The vengeance of the soldiers wreaked itself upon his innocent family ;* the infant Gregory was alone saved by a Christian nurse, who took refuge in Caesarea. There the future apostle was baptized, and (thus runs the legend) by Divine revelation re- ceived the name of Gregory. Ardeschir reaped all the advantage of the treachery of Anah, and Armenia sank into a Persian province. The conqueror consummated the crime of his base instrument; the whole family of Khosrov was put to death except Tiridates, who fled to the Roman dominions, and one sister, Khosrovedught, who was afterward instrumental in the in- troduction of Christianity into the king- dom. Tiridates served with distinction in the Roman armies of Dioclesian, and seized the favourable opportunity of re- conquering his hereditary throne. The re-establishment of Armenia as a friendly power was an important event in the East- ern policy of Rome ; the simultaneous con- version. of the empire and its Eastern ally to the new religion strengthened the bonds of union by a common religious in- terest. Gregory re-entered his native country in the train of the victorious Tiri- Tiridates> dates. But Tiridates was a bigot- lung of"’ ed adherent to the ancient religion Armema- of his country. This religion appears to have been a mingled form of corrupt Zoro- astrianism and Grecian, or, rather, Oriental nature-worship, with some rites of Scyth- ian origin. Their chief deity was Ara- mazt, the Ormuzd of the Magian system, but their temples were crowded with stat- ues, and their altars reeked with animal sacrifices ; usages revolting to the purer Magianism of Persia.f The Babylonian impersonation of the female principle of generation, Anaitis or Anahid, was one of their most celebrated divinities; and at the funeral of their great King Artaees, many persons have immolated themselves, after the Scythian or Getic custom, upon his body. It was in the temple of Anaitis, in the province of Ekelias, that Tiridates offered the sacrifice of thanksgiving for his resto- ration to his hereditary throne. He com- manded Gregory to assist in the idola- trous worship. The Christian resolutely * According to St. Martin, two children of Anah were saved. t Chamich, i., 145.HISTORY 01? CHRISTIANITY. 27? Persecution refused, and endured, according of Grego-y. to the Armenian history, twelve different kinds of torture. It was disclosed to the exasperated monarch that the apos- tate from the national religion was son to the assassin of his father. Gregory was plunged into a deep dungeon, where he languished for fourteen years, supported by the faithful charity of a Christian fe- male. At the close of the fourteen years, a pestilence, attributed by the Christian party to the Divine vengeance, wasted the kingdom of Armenia. The virgin sister of Tiridates, Khosrovedught (the daughter of Khosrov), had embraced the faith of the Gospel. By Divine revelation (thus speaks the piety of the priestly- historians), she advised the immediate release of Gregory. What Heaven had commanded, Heaven had approved by wonders. The king him- self, afflicted with the malady, was healed by the Christian missionary. The pesti- conversion lence ceased; the king, the no- of the king, bles, the people almost simul- taneously submitted to baptism. Armenia became at once a Christian kingdom. Gregory took the highest rank, as arch- bishop of the kingdom. Priests were in- vited from Greece and Syria; four hundred bishops were consecrated; churches and religious houses arose in every quarter; the Christian festivals and days of reli- gious observance were established by law. But the severe truth of history must make the melancholy acknowledgment that the Gospel did not triumph without a fierce and sanguinary strife. The province of Dara, the sacred region of the Armeni- ans, crowded with their national temples, made a stern and determined resistance. The priests fought for their altars with Persecution desperate courage, and it was by thecuris- only with the sword that church- trnns. es C0lqq be planted in that irre- claimable district. In the war waged by Maximin against Tiridates, in which the ultimate aim of the Roman emperor, ac- cording to Eusebius, was the suppression of Christianity, he may have been invited and encouraged by the rebellious pagan- ism of the subjects of Tiridates.* * * In a very curious extract from the ancient Ar- menian historian Zenob, there is an account of this civil war. The following inscription commemora- ted the decisive battle : The first battle in which men bravely fought The leader of the warriors was Argan, the chief of the Priesthood, Who lies here in his grave, And with him 1038 men, And this battle-was fought for the godhead of Kisane, And for that of Christ. This unquestionably was the first religious war since the introduction of Christianit}^. It is a sin- Towards the close of the third century while the religion of the East „ . , . was undergoing these- signal amc eism< revolutions, and the antagonist creeds of Magianism and Christianity were growing up into powerful and hostile systems, and assuming an important influence on the political affairs of Asia; while the East and the West thus began that strife of centuries, which subsequently continued in a more fierce and implacable form in the conflict between Christianity and Moham- medanism, a bold and ambitious adventurer in the career of religious change* Ma attempted .to unite the conflicting am* elements; to reconcile the hostile genius of the East and the West; to fuse together, in one comprehensive scheme, Christian- ity, Zoroastrianism, and apparently the Buddhism of India. It is singular to trace the doctrines of the most opposite systems, and of remote religions, assembled togeth- er and harmonized in the vast Eclecticism of Mani.f From his native Persia he de- rived his Dualism, his antagonist various worlds of light and darkness and sources of from Magianism, likewise,' his contempt of outward temple and splendid ceremonial. From Gnosticism, or, rather, from universal Orientalism, he drew the inseparable admixture of physi- cal and moral notions, the eternal hostility between mind and matter, the rejection of Judaism, and the identification of the God of the Old Testament with the evil spirit, the distinction between Jesus and the Christ, with the docetism, or the unreal death of the incorporeal Christ. From Cabalism, through Gnosticism, came the gular fact., that these obstinate idolaters were said to be of foreign, of Indiamdescent; they wore long hair.—See Zeitschrift fur die Kunde des Morgen- landes, vol. i., p. 253, 378, et seqq. * Besides the original authorities, I have consult- ed for Mani and his doctrines, Beausobre, Hist, du Manicheisme; D’Herbelot, art. Mani; Lardner, Credibility of Gospel History ; Mosheirn, de Reb. Christ, ante Const. Magnum; Matter, Hist, du Gnosticisme, ii., 351. I have, only seen Baur’s Man- ichaische Religious System since this chapter was written. I had anticipated, though not followed out so closely, the relationship to Buddhism, much of which, however, is evidently the common ground- work of all Orientalism. [Add Mosheim’s Instit. of Eccl. Hist., vol. i., p. 192, &c., and the authors named in n. (6.)] f Augustine, in various passages, but most fully in what is given as an extract from the book of the Foundation, de Nat. Boni,.p. 515. Compare Beau- sobre, vol. ii., 386, who seems to consider it an ab- stract from some forged or spurious work. Proba- bly much of Mani’s system was allegorical, but how much his disciples probably did not, and his adver- saries would not, know. See also the most curious passage about the Manichean metempsychosis in the statement of Tyrbo, in the Disputatio Archelaj et Manetis, apud Routh, Reliquiae Sacrse, vol. iv.27 S HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. primal man, the Adam Caedmon of that system, and (if that be a genuine part of this system) the assumption of beautiful human forms, those of graceful boys and attractive virgins, by the powers of light, and theii union with the male and female spirits of darkness. From India he took the Emanation theory (all light was a part of the Deity, and in one sense the soul of the world), the metempsychosis, the triple division of human souls (the one the pure, which reascended at once and was reuni- ted to the primal light; the second the semi-pure, which, having passed through a purgatorial process, returned to earth, to pass through a second ordeal of life ; the third of obstinate and irreclaimable evil) : from India, perhaps, came his Homopho- rus, as the Greeks called it, his Atlas, who supported the earth upon his shoulders, and his Splenditenens, the circumambient air. From Chaldea he borrowed the pow- er of astral influences ; and he approxima- ted to the solar worship of expiring pagan- ism : Christ, the Mediator, like the Mithra of his countrymen, had his dwelling in the sun.* From his native country Mani derived the simple diet of fruits and herbs; from the Buddhism of India, his respect for ani- mal life, which was neither to be slain for food or for sacrifice ;f from all the anti- materialist sects or religions, the abhor- rence of all sensual indulgence, even the bath as well as the banquet; the proscrip- tion, or, at least, the disparagement of marriage. And the whole of these foreign and extraneous tenets his creative imagi- nation blended with his own form of Chris- tianity ; for so completely are they min- gled that it is difficult to decide whether Christianity or Magianism formed the groundwork of his system. From Chris- tianity he derived not, perhaps, a strictly Nicene, but more than an Arian Trinity. His own system was the completion of the imperfect revelation of the Gospel. He was a man invested with a Divine mission ; the Paraclete (for' Mani appears to have distinguished between the Paraclete and the Holy Spirit), who was to consummate * D’Herbelot, voc. Mani. f D’Herbelot, voc. Mani. Augustine says that they wept when they plucked vegetables for food, for in them also there was a certain portion of life, which, according to him, was a part of the Deity. Dicitis enim dolorem sentire fructum, cum de ar- bore c.arpitur, sentire dum conciditur, cum teritur, cum coquitur, cum manditur. Cujus, porro demen- tise est, pios se videri velle, quod ab animalium in- terfectione se temperent, cum omnes suas escas easdem animas habere dicunt, quibus ut putant, viventibus, tanta vulnera et manibuset dentibus in- gerant.—Augustin, contra Faust., lib. vi., p. 205, 206. This is pure Buddhism. the great work auspiciously commenced, yet unfulfilled, by the mission of Jesus * Mani had twelve apostles. His Ertang, or Gospel, was intended to supersede the four Christian Evangelists, whose works, though valuable, he averred had been in- terpolated with many Jewish fables. The Acts Mani altogether rejected, as announ- cing the descent of the Paraclete on the apostles.| On the writings of St. Paul he pronounced a more favourable sentence. But his Ertang, it is said, was not merely the work of a prophet, but of a painter; for, among his various accomplishments, Mani excelled in that art. It was richly illustrated by paintings, which commanded the wonder of the 1 lb pJin in?s' age ; while his followers, in devout admi- ration, studied the tenets of their master in the splendid images as well as the sub- lime language of the Marvellous Book. If this be true, since the speculative char- acter of Mam’s chief tenets, their theogon- ical, if it may be so said, extramundane character, lay beyond the proper province of the painter (the imitation of existing beings, and that idealism which, though elevating its objects to an unreal dignity or beauty, is nevertheless faithful to the truth of nature), this imagery, with which his book was illuminated, was probably a rich system of Oriental symbolism, which may have been transmuted by the blind zeal of his followers, or the misapprehen- sion of his adversaries, into some of liis more fanciful tenets. The religion of Per- sia was fertile in these emblematic figures* if not their native source; and in the gor- geous illuminated manuscripts of the East, often full of allegorical devices, we may discover, perhaps, the antitypes of the Er- tang of Mani.J * Lardner, following Beausobre, considers the account of Mani’s predecessors, Scythianus and Terebinthus, or Buddha, idle fictions. The virgin birth assigned to Buddha, which appears to harmo- nize with the great Indian Mythos of the origin of Buddhism, might warrant a conjecture that this is an Oriental tradition of the Indian origin of some of Mani’s doctrines, dictated by Greek ignorance, I now find this conjecture followed out and illustra- ted with copious learning by Baur. f Lardner (v. 11, 183) suggests other reasons for the rejection of the Acts. % It appears, I think, from Augustine, that all the splendid images of the sceptred king crowned with flowers, the Splenditenens and the Komophorus, were allegorically interpreted. Si non sunt senig- mata rationis, phantasmata sunt cogitationis, aut vecordia furoris. Si vero senigmata esse dicunttir. —Contra Faust., xv.,p. 277. The extract from the “ amatory song” (contra Faust., xv., 5), with the twelve ages (the great cycle of 12,000 years) sing- ing and casting flowers upon the everlasting scep- tred king; the twelve gods (the signs of the zodiac), and the hosts of angels, is evidently the poetry, not the theology of the systemHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 279 Mani (we blend together, and harmonize, Life of Mani as far as Possible, the conflict- ing accounts of the Greeks and Asiatics) was of Persian birth,* of the sa- cred race of the Magi. He wore the dress of a Persian of distinction : the lofty Bab- ylonian sandals, the mantle of azure blue, the parti-coloured trowsers, and the ebony staff in his hand.f He was a proficient in the learning of his age and country, a ma- thematician, and had made a globe; he was deeply skilled, as appears from his system, in the theogonical mysteries of the East, and so well versed in the Chris- tian Scriptures as to be said, and, indeed, he may at one time have been, a Christian priest in the province of Ahoriaz, that bor- dered on Baby Ionia. J He began to prop- agate his doctrines during the reign of Shah-poor, but the son of Ardisheer would endure no invasion upon the established Magianism.^ Mani fled from the wrath of his sovereign into Turkesthan ; from thence he is said to have visited India, and even China.|| In Turkesthan he withdrew himself from the society of men, like Mo- hammed in the cave of Hera,^f into a grot- to, through which flowed a fountain of wa- ter, and in which provision for a year had been secretly stored. His followers be- lieved that he ascended into heaven to commune with the Deity. At the end of the year he reappeared, and displayed his Ertang, embellished with its paintings, as the Divine revelation.** In the theory of Mani, the one Supreme, who hovered in inaccessible and uninflu- ential distance over the whole of the * His birth is assigned by the Chronicle of Edes- sa to the year 239.—Beausobre, i. t Beansobre, who is inclined to admit the genu- ineness of this description in the Acts of Archelaus, has taken pains to show that there was nothing differ- ing from the ordinary Persian dress.—V. i., p. 97, &c. % In the Acts of Archelaus he is called a barba- rous Persian, who understood no Greek, but dispu- ted in Syriac, c. 36. § Malcolm, i., 79. il Abulphar., Dynast., p. 82. See Lardner, p. 167. ^ Lardner considers the story of the cave a later invention, borrowed from Mohammed. The relation of this circumstance by Mohammedan authors leads me to the opposite conclusion. They would rather have avoided than invented points of similitude be- tween their prophet and “ the impious Sadducee,” as he is called in the Koran. But see Baur’s very ingenious and probable theory, which resolves it into a myth, and connects it with the Mithraic and still earlier astronomical or religious legends. ** Beausobre (i., 191, 192), would find the Cascar at which, according to the extant but much con- tested report, the memorable conference between Archelaus and Mani was held, at Cashgar in Turk- esthan. But, independent of the improbability of a Christian bishop settled in Turkesthan, the whole history is full of difficulties, and nothing is less like- ly than that the report of such a conference should reach the Greek or Syrian Christians through the hostile territory of Persia. Gnostic systems, the Brahm of the In- dians, and the more vague and abstract Zeruane Akerene of Zoroastrianism, holds no place. The groundwork of his system is an originaland irreconcilable Dualism.* The two antagonist worlds of light and darkness, of spirit and matter, existed from eternity separate, unmingled, unap proaching, ignorant of each other’s exist ence.f The kingdom of light was held by God the Father, who “ rejoiced in his own proper eternity, and comprehended within himself wisdom and vitality;” his most glorious kingdom was founded in a light and blessed region, which could not be moved or shaken. On one side of his most illustrious and holy territory was the land of darkness, of vast depth and extent, in- habited by fiery bodies and pestiferous races of beings, j Civil dissensions agita- ted the world of darkness ; the defeated faction fled to the heights or to the ex- treme verge of their world.§ They beheld with amazement and with envy the beau- tiful and peaceful regions of light.|| They determined to invade the delightful realm ; and the primal man, the archetypal Adam, was formed to defend the borders against this irruption of the hostile powers.He * Epiphanius gives these words at the commence- ment of Mani’s work (in twenty-two books) on the Mysteries. THv Qebg nal vXrp (j)tig nai Gtcorog, clyadov Kal kclkov, roig ntu,glv utcpug kvavrta, d)g Kara firjdsv kiTLKOivovv d-drspov -d-arspu.—Epipha- nies, Hagret., Ixvi., 14. f Hae quidem in exordio fuerunt duas substantiae a sese diversae. Et luminis quidem imperium tene- bat Deus Pater, in sua sancta stirpe perpetuus, in virtute magnificus, natura ipsa verus, aeternitate propria semper exsultans, continens apud se sapien- tiam et sensus vitales * * * Ita autem fundata sunt ejusdernsplendidissima regna super lucidam etbea- tam terram,ut a nullo unquam aut moveri aut con- cuti possint.—Apud August, contra Ep. Manich., c. 13, n. 16. t The realm of darkness was divided into five distinct circles, which may remind us of Dante’s hell. 1. Of infinite darkness, perpetually emanating, and of inconceivable stench. 2. Beyond these, that oi muddy and turbid waters, with their inhabitants ; and, 3, within, that of fierce and boisterous winds, with their prince and their parents. 4. A fiery but corruptible region (the region of destroying fire), with its leaders and nations. 5. In like manner, farther within, a place full of smoke and thick gloom, in which dwelt the dreadful sovereign of the whole, with innumerable princes around him, of whom he was the soul and the source.—Ep. Fundament, apud Augustin, contra Manich., c. 14, n. 19. <$> The world of darkness, according to one state- ment, cleft the world of light like a wedge (Augus- tin. contra Faust., iv., 2); according to another (Ti- tus Bostrensis, i., 7), it occupied the southern quar- ter of the universe. This, as Baur observes, is Zo- roastrianism.— Bundehesch, part iii.,p. 62. H Theodoret, Haeret. Fab., i., 26 Epiphan., Hasret, Ixvi., 76. Titus Bostrensis, Augustin., de Haeret., c. 46.280 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. was armed with his five elements, opposed to those which formed the realm of dark- ness. The primal man was in danger of discomfiture in the long and fearful strife, had not Oromazd, the great power of the world of light, sent the living Spirit to his assistance. The powers of darkness re- treated ; but they bore away some particles of the Divine light, and the extrication of these particles (portions of the Deity, ac- cording to the subtile materialism of the system) is the object of the long and al- most interminable strife of the two princi- ples. Thus part of the Divinity was in- terfused through the whole of matter; light was, throughout all visible existence, commingled with darkness.f Mankind was the creation or the offspring of the great principle of darkness, after this sto- len and ethereal light had become incor- porated with his dark and material being. Man was formed in the image of the pri- mal Adam ; his nature was threefold, or, perhaps, dualistic ; the body, the concu- piscent or sensual soul (which may have been the influence of the body on the soul), and the pure, celestial, and intellectual spirit. Eve was of inferior, of darker, and more material origin; for the creating Archon, or spirit of evil, had expended all the light, or soul, upon man. Her beauty was the fatal tree of Paradise, for which Adam was content to fall. It was by this union that the sensual or concupiscent soul triumphed over the pure and Divine spirit ;J and it is by marriage, by sexual union, that the darkening race was propa- gated. The intermediate, the visible world, which became the habitation of man, was the creation of the principle of good by his spirit. This primal principle subsisted in trinal unity (whether from eternity might, perhaps, have been as fiercely agitated in the Manichean as in the Christian schools); the Christ, the first efflux of the God of Light, would have been defined by the Man- * The celestial powers, during the long process of commixture, assumed alternately the most beau- tiful forms of the masculine and feminine sex, and mingled with the powers of darkness, who likewise became boys and virgins ; and from their conjunc- tion proceeded the still commingling world. This is probably an allegory, perhaps a painting. There is another fanciful poetic image of considerable beauty, and, possibly, of the same allegoric charac- ter. The pure elementary spirit soared upward in “ their ships of light,” in which they originally sail- ed through the stainless element; those which were of a hotter nature were dragged down to earth; those,of a colder and more humid temperament were exhaled upward to the elemental waters. The ships of light are, in another view, the celestial bod- ies. f De Mor. Manichseor., c. 19. Acta Archelai, c. 10. icheau, as in the Nicene Creed, as Light of Light; he was self-subsistent, endowed with all the attributes of the Deity, and his dwelling was in the sun.* He was the Mithra of the Persian system, and the Manicheanf doctrine was Zoroastrianism under Christian appellations.! There is an evident difference between the Jesus and the Christos throughout the system ; the Jesus Patibilis seems to be the im- prisoned and suffering light. The Spirit, which made up the triple being of the primal principle of good, was an all-pervading aether, the source of life and being, which, continually stimulating the disseminated particles of light, was the animating principle of the worlds. He was the creator of the intermediate world, the scene of strife, in which the powers of light and darkness contested the dominion over man; the one assisting the triumph of the particle of light which formed the intellectual spirit, the other imbruting and darkening the imprisoned light with the corruption and sensual pollutions of mat- ter. But the powers of darkness obtained the mastery, and man was rapidly degen- erating into the baser destiny; the Ho- mophorus, the Atlas on whose shoulders the earth rests, began to tremble and tot- ter under his increasing burden.J Then the Christ descended from his dwelling in the sun ; assumed a form apparently hu- man ; the Jews, incited by the prince of * According to the creed of Faustus, his virtue dwelt in the sun, his wisdom in the moon.—Apud August., lib. xxx., p. 333. f The Manicheans were Trinitarians, or, at least, used Trinitarian language. — Augustin, contra Faust, c. xx. Nos Patris quidem Dei omnipotent- is, et Christi filii ejus, et Spiritus Sancti unum idemque sub triplici appellatione colimus numen; sed Patrem quidem ipsum lucem ineolere summan ac principalem, quam Paulus alias inaccessibilem vocat; Filium vero in hac secunda ac visibili luce consistere, qui quonian sit etipse geminus, ut eum apostolus novit, Christum dicens esse Dei virtutem et Dei sapientiam, virtutem quidem ejusin solehab- itare credimus, sapientiam vero in luna : nec non et Spiritus Sancti, qui est majestas tertia, aeris hunc omnem ambitum sedem fatemur ac diversorium, cu- jus ex viribus ac spiritali profusione terrain quoque concipientem, gignere patibilem Jesum, qui est vita et salus hominum, qui suspensus ex ligno. % Homophorus and Ins ally, the Splenditenens, who assists him in maintaining the earth in its equilibrium, is one of the most incongruous and least necessary parts of the Manichean system. Is the origin of these images the notion of sup- porters of the earth which are so common in the East'? Are any of these fables older than the in- troduction of Manicheism ? Is it the old Indian fa- ble under another form? or is it the Greek Atlas? I am inclined to look to India for the origin. Beausobre’s objection, that such ? fiction is in- consistent with Mani’s mathematical knowledge, and his formation of a globe, is of no es ons Leer able weight, if it is not mere poetry.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 28] darkness, crucified his phantom form ; but lie left behind his Gospel, which dimly and imperfectly taught what was now reveal- ed in all its full effulgence by Mani the Persian. The celestial bodies, which had been formed by the living spirit of the purer element, were the witnesses and co-ope- rators in the great strife.* To the sun, the dwelling of the Christ, were drawn up the purified souls, in which the principle of light had prevailed, and passed onward for ablution in the pure water which forms the moon; and then, after fifteen days, return- ed to the source of light in the sun. The spirits of evil, on the creation of the visible world, lest they should fly away, and bear off into irrecoverable darkness the light which was still floating about, had been seized by the living spirit and bound to the stars. Hence the malignant influen- ces of the constellations ; hence all the terrific and destructive fury of the ele- ments. While the soft, and refreshing, and fertilizing showers are the distillation of the celestial spirit, the thunders are the roarings, the lightning the flashing wrath, the hurricane the furious breath, the tor- rent and destructive rains the sweat, of the dasmon of darkness. This wrath is peculiarly excited by the extrication of the passive Jesus, who was said to have been begotten upon the all-conceiving earth, from his power, by the pure spirit. The passive Jesus is an emblem, in one sense, it should seem, or type of mankind; more properly, in another, of the imprisoned deity or light. For gradually the souls of men were drawn upward to the purifying sun ; they passed through the twelve signs of the zodiac to the moon, whose waxing and waning was the reception and trans- mission of light to the sun, and from the sun to the Fountain of Light. Those which were less pure passed again through differ- ent bodies, and gradually became defeca- ted during this long metempsychosis ; and there only remained a few obstinately and inveterately imbruted in darkness, whom the final consummation of the visible world would leave in the irreclaimable society * Lardner has well expressed the Manichean no- tion of the formation of the celestial bodies, which were made, the sun of the good fire, the moon of the good water. “ In a word, not to be too minute, the Creator formed the sun and moon out of those parts of the light which had preserved their original purity. The visible or inferior heavens (for now we do not speak of the supreme heaven) and the rest of the planets were formed of those parts of light which were but little corrupted with matter. The rest he left in our world, which are no other than those parts of light which had suffered most by the contagion of matter.”—Lardner’s Works, 4to ed., ii., 193. N N of the evil powers. At that consumma- tion the Homophorus would shake off his load; the world would be dissolved in fire ;* the powers of darkness cast back for all eternity to their primaeval state, the condemned souls would be kneaded up forever in impenetrable matter, while the purified souls in martial hosts would surround the frontier of the region of light, and forever prohibit any new irrup- tion from the antagonist'world of darkness. The worship of the Manicheans was simple : they built no altar, they raised no temple, they had no images, they had no imposing ceremonial. Pure and simple prayer was their only form of adoration ;f they did not celebrate the birth of Christ, for of his birth they denied the reality; their paschal feast, as they equally disbelieved the reality of Christ’s passion, though kept holy, had little of the Christian form. Prayers addressed to the sun, or at least with their faces directed to that taberna- cle in which Christ dwelt; hymns to the great Principle of Light; exhortations to subdue the dark and sensual element with- in, and the study of the marvellous book of Mani, constituted their devotion. They observed the Lord’s day; they adminis- tered baptism, probably with oil; for they seem (though this point is obscure) to have rejected water-baptism ; they cele- brated the Eucharist; but, as they abstain- ed altogether from wine, they probably used pure water, or water mingled with raisins.J Their manners were austere and ascetic ; they tolerated, but only tol- erated, marriage, and that only among the inferior orders the theatre, the banquet, * Acta Disput., c. ii. Epiphan., c. 58. f Faustus expresses this sentiment very finely Item Pagani aris, delubris, simulacris, atque in- censo Deum colendum putant. Ego ab his in hoc quoque multum diversus incedo, (jui ipsum me, si modo sitn dignus, rationabile Dei templum puto. Vivum vivse majestatis simulacrum Christum filium ejus accipio; aram, mentem puris artibus et dis ciplinis imbutam. Honores quoque divinos ac sa crificia in solis orationibus, et ipsis puris et simpli cibus pono.—Faust, apud August., xx., 3. They bitterly taunted the Catholics with their paganism, their sacrifices, their agapse, their idols, their martyrs, their Gentile holydays and rites.—lb. t August, contra Faust., Disput. i., 2, 3. $ St. Augustine accuses them of breaking the fifth commandment. Tu autem doctrina dsemo niaca didicisti inimicos deputare parentes tuos, quod te per concubitum in carne ligaverint, et hoc modo utique deo tuo immundas compedes imposu- erint.—Adv. Faust., lib. xv., p. 278. Opinantur et praedicant diabolum fecisse atque junxisse mascu- 1am et ferninam.—Idem, lib. xix., p. 331. Displicet “ crescite et multiplicamini,” ne Dei vestra multi plicentur ergastula, &c.—Adv. Secundum, c. 21. ’KnexeGOac ya/Liov koX d^fiodcaicov Kcci tekvo- TTOtiag, Iva fiy etu'kTielov y dvvajug hoiKycrj rrj282’ HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. even the bath, were severely proscribed. Their diet was of fruits and herbs ; they shrunk with abhorrence from animal food; and, with Buddhist nicety, would tremble at the guilt of having extinguished the principle of life, the spark, as it were, of celestial light, in the meanest creature. This involved them in the strangest ab- surdities and contradictions, which are pressed against them by their antagonists with unrelenting logic.* * They admitted penitence for sin, and laid the fault of their delinquencies on the overpowering influence of matter.f Mani suffered the fate of all who attempt to reconcile con- flicting parties without power to enforce harmony between them. He was dis- claimed and rejected with every mark of indignation and abhorrence by both. On his return from exile,J indeed, he was re- ceived with respect and favour by the reigning sovereign Hormouz, the son of Shahpoor, who bestowed upon him a cas- tle named Arabion. In this point alone vly Kara ryv tov yevovg chadoxyv.— Alexand. Lycop., c. 4. They asserted, indeed, that their doctrines went no farther in this respect than those of the Catho- lic Christians.—Faust., 30, c. 4. Their opposition •to’.marriage is assigned as among the causes of the enmity of the Persian king. Rex vero Persarum, cum vidisset tarn Catholicos et Episcopos, quam Manichaeos Manetis sectaries, a nuptiis abstinere ; in Manichseos quidem sententiam mortis tulit. Ad Christianos vero idem edictum manavit. Quum igitur Christian! ad regem confugissent, jussit ille discrimen quale inter utrosque esset, sibi exponi.— Apud Asseman. Biblioth. Orient., vii., 220. There were, however, very different rules of diet and of manners for the elect and the auditors, much resembling those of the monks and other Christians among the Catholics.—See quotations in Lardner, ii., 156. * St. Augustine’s Treatise de Mor. Manichaeor. is full of these extraordinary charges. In the Con- fessions (iii., 10), he says that the fig wept when it was plucked, and the parent tree poured forth tears of milk ; “ that particles of the true and Supreme God were imprisqned in an apple, and could not be set free but by the touch of one of the elect. If eaten, therefore, by one not a Manichean, it was a deadly sin; and hence they are charged with ma- king it a sin to give anything which had life to a poor man not a Manichean.” “They showed more compassion to the fruits of the earth than to human beings.” They abhorred husbandry, it is said, as continually wounding life, even in clearing a field of thorns ; “so much more were they friends of gourds than of men.” f An acknowledgment of the blamelessness of their manners is extorted from St. Augustine; at least he admits that, as far as his knowledge as a hearer, he can charge them with no immorality.— Contr. Fortunat. in init. In other parts of his writings, especially in the tract De Morib. Mani- chffior., he is more unfavourable. • But see the re- markable passage, contra Faust, v. i., in which the Manichean contrasts his works with the faith of the orthodox Christian. t According to Malcolm, he did not return till the reign of Baharam. the Greek and Oriental accounts co.ncide It was from his own castle that Mani at- tempted to propagate his doctrines among the Christians in the province of Babylo- nia. The fame of Marcellas, a noble Christian, soldier, for his charitable acts in the redemption of hundreds of captives, designated him as a convert who might be of invaluable service to the cause of Ma- nicheism. According to the Christian ac- count, Mani experienced a signal discom- fiture in his conference with Archelaus, bishop of Cascar.* But his dis- Death of pute with the Magian hierarchy Manl- had a more fearful termination. It was an artifice of the new king, Baharam, to tempt the dangerous teacher from his castle. He was seized, flayed alive, and his skin, stuffed with straw, placed over the gate of the city of Shahpoor. But, wild as may appear his doctrines, they expired not with their author. The anniversary of his death was hallowed by his mourning disciples.f The sect was organized upon the Christian model: he left his twelve apostles, his seventy-two bishops,J his priesthood. His distinction between the elect§ or the perfect, and the hearers or catechumens, offered an exact image of the orthodox Christian commu- nities ; and the latter were permitted to marry, to eat animal food, and cultivate the earth.|| In the East and in propagation the West the doctrines spread of his*reii- with the utmost rapidity ; and gIon- the deep impression which they made upon the mind of man may be estimated * Some of the objections of Beausobre to this conference appear insuperable. Allow a city named Cascar; can we credit the choice of Greek, even Heathen, rhetoricians and grammarians as assess- ors in such a city and in such a contest? Arche laus, it must indeed be confessed, plays the sophist; and if Mani had been no more powerful as a rea- soner or as a speaker, he would hardly have dis- tracted the East and West with his doctrines. It is not improbably an imaginary dialogue in the form, though certainly not in the style, of Plato. See the best edition of it, in Routh’s Reliquiae Sacrae. f Augustin, contr. Epist. Manichsei, c. 9. The day of Mani’s death was kept holy by his follow- ers, because he really died ; the crucifixion neg- lected, because Christ had but seemingly expired on the cross. J Augustin., de Haeres., c. 46. The strangest notion was, that vegetables used for food were purified ; that is, the divine principle of life and light separated from the material and impure by passing through the bodies of the elect. Praebent alimenta electis suis, ut divina ilia sub- stantia in eorum ventre purgata, impetret eis ve- niam,quorum traditur oblatione purganda.—Augus- tin., de Haores., c. 46. It was a merit in the hearers to make these offerings.—Compare Confess., iv., 1. || Auditores, qui appellantur apud eos, et carni- bus vescuntur, et agros colunt, et si voluerint, ux- ores habent, quorum nihil faciunt qui vcoantur electi.—Augustin., Epist. ccxxxvii.28*6 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. by Manicheism having become, almost throughout Asia and Europe, a by-word of religious animosity. In the Moham- medan world the tenets of the Saddu- cean, the impious Mani, are branded as the worst and most awful impiety. In the West the progress of the believers in this most dangerous of heresiarchs was so successful, that the followers of Mani were condemned to the flames or to the mines, and the property of those who in- troduced the “ execrable usages and fool- ish laws of the Persians” into the peace- ful empire of Rome confiscated to the imperial treasury. One of the edicts of Dioclesian was aimed at their suppres- sion.* St. Augustine himselff with diffi- culty escaped the trammels of their creed, to become their most able antagonist; and in every century of Christianity, Ma- nicheism, when its real nature was as much unknown as the Copernican system, was a proverb of reproach against all sec- taries who departed from the unity of the Church. The extent of its success may be calcu- lated by the implacable hostility of all other religions to the doctrines of Mani: the causes of that success are more diffi- cult to conjecture. Manicheism would rally under its banner the scattered fol- lowers of the Gnostic sects : but Gnosti- cism was never, it should seem, popular; while Manicheism seems to have had the power of exciting a fanatic attachment to its tenets in the lower orders. The severe asceticism of their manners may have produced some effect, but in this respect they could not greatly have outdone ino- * See the edict in Routh, iv., p. 285. Some doubt has been thrown on its authenticity. It is questioned by S. Basnage and by Gardner, though admitted by Beausobre. I cannot think the igno- rance which it betrays of the “ true principles of the Manichees,” the argument adduced by Lard- ner, as of the least weight. Dioclesian’s predeces- sors were as little acquainted with the “true prin- ciples of Christianity,” yet condemned them m their public proceedings. t There is something very beautiful in the lan- guage, of St. Augustine, and, at. the same time, no- thing can show more clearly the strong hold which Manicheism had obtained on the Christian world, llli in vos sseviant, qui nesciunt cum quo labore verum inveniatur, et quam difficile caveantur er- rores. Illi in vos saeviant qui nesciunt quam rarum et arduum sit carnalia phantasmata pise mentis se- renitate superare. * * * * Illi in vos saeviant, qui nesciunt quibus suspiriis et gemitibus fiat, ut ex quantulacunque parte possit intelligi Deus. Pos- iremo illi in vos saeviant, qui nunquam tali errore decepti sint, quail vos deceptos vident. — Contr. JSpist. Manichaei, c. 2, But the spirit of controver- sy was too strong for the charity and justice of Augustine. The tract which appears to me to give the fairest view- of the real controversy is the Hisputatio contra Fortunatum. nastic Christianity; and the district and definite impersonations of their creed, al- ways acceptable toarude and imaginative class, were encountered by formidable rivals in the daemonology, and more com- plicated form of worship, which was rapid- ly growing up among the Catholics.* In the Eastern division of the Roman empire Christianity had obtain- Triumph of ed a signal victory, it had sub- Christianity, dued by patient endurance the violent hos- tility of Galerius ; it had equally defied the insidious policy of Maximin; it had twice engaged in a contest with the civil govern- ment, and twice come forth in triumph. The edict of toleration had been extorted from the dying Galenas; and the pagan hierarchy, and more splendid pagan cere- monial with which Maximin attempted to raise up a rival power, fell to the ground on his defeat by Licinius, which closely followed that of Maxentius by Constan- tine. The Christian communities had publicly reassembled; the churches were rising in statelier form in all the cities; the bishops had reassumed their authority over their scattered but undiminished flocks. Though, in the one case, indig- nant animosity, and the desire of vindica- ting the severity of their measures against a sect dangerous for its numbers as well as its principles, in the other the glowing zeal of the martyr may be suspected of some exaggeration, yet when a public im- perial edict, and the declarations of the Christians themselves, assert the numer- ical predominance of the Christian party, it is impossible tO doubt that Numbers of their numbers, as well as their the Christians, activity, were imposing and formidable. In a rescript of Maximin he states that it had been forced on the observation of his august fathers, Dioclesian and Maximian, that almost all mankind had abandoned the worship of their ancestors, and united themselves to the Christian sect ;f and Lucianos, a presbyter of Antioch, who suffered martyrdom under Maximin, as- serts in his last speech that the greater part of the world had rendered its alle- giance to Christianity; entire cities, and even the rude inhabitants of country dis- tricts. J These statements refer more par- * The Manicheans were legally condemned under Valentinian and Valens. The houses in which they held their meetings were confiscated to the state (Cod. Theodos., xvi., 3). By Theodosius they were declared infamous, and incapable of inheriting by law, xvi., 17. t 'S%£ddv arravrag avdpcmovg, KaraXsupdsiGTjQ rrjg ruv d-ecov ‘OpTjGKeiag, t& IQuel tCov Xpianavtiv avppefuxorag.—A pud Euseb. Eec. Hist., ixM 9. t Pars poene mundi jam major huic veritati ad- stipulatur; urbes integrae; aut si in his aliquid susj*2S4 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY,- Different ticularly to the East; and imthe state of the East various reasons would lead East with re- t0 [}18 supposition that the propagation 'Christians bore a larger pro- of Christian- portion to the rest of the popu- u>* lation than in the other parts of the empire, except perhaps in Africa. The East was the native country of the new religion; the substratum of Judaism on which it rested was broader; and Judaism had extended its own conquests much farther by proselytism, and had thus pre- pared the way for Christianity. In Egypt and in the Asiatic provinces, all the early modifications of Christian opinions, the Gnostic sects of all descriptions, had aris- en ; showing, as it were by their fertility, the exuberance of religious life, and the congeniality of the soil to their prolific vegetation. The constitution of society was in some respects more favourable than in Italy to the development of the new religion. But it may be questioned whether the Western provinces did not at last offer the most open field for its free and undisputed course. In the East the civilization was Greek, or, in the remoter regions, Asiatic. The Romans assumed the sovereignty, and the highest offices of the government were long held by men of Italian birth. Some of the richer pa- tricians possessed extensive estates in the different provinces, but below this the na- tive population retained its own habits and usages. Unless in the mercantile towns, which were crowded with foreign settlers .from all quarters, who brought their man- ners, their customs, and their deities, the whole society was Greek, Syrian, or Egyp- tian. Above all, there was a native reli- gion ; and, however this loose confederacy pectum videatur, contestatur de his etiam agrestis g 6 avrov TrarrjpyYLovardvTiog, diroarpafelg rdf-'E^.- Tvrjvcdv '&pi]GKeiag, evdatjioveaTepov rov (3ioy 6lt]- yaysv. It was in this mood of mind that he saw the vision of the cross.—Soet\, Feel Hist, i., 2. reported to imbitter the calm decline of Dioclesian’s life. Instead of an object of envy, no doubt, in the general sentiment of mankind, he was thought to merit only aversion or contempt. Maximian (Hercu- lius), the colleague of Dioclesian, after re- suming the purple, engaging in base in- trigues or open warfare against his son Maxentius and afterward against his pro- tector Constantine, had anticipated the sentence of the executioner. Severus had been made prisoner, and forced to open his own veins. Galerius, the chief author of the. persecution, had experienced the most miserable fate ; he had wasted away with a slow, and agonizing, and loath- some disease. Maximin alone remained, hereafter to perish in miserable obscuri- ty. Nor should it be forgotten that the great persecutor of the Christians had been the jealous tyrant of Constantine’s youth. Constantine had preserved his liberty, perhaps his life, only by the boldness and rapidity of his- flight from the court of Ga- lerius.* Under all these circumstances, Con- stantine was advancing against War of Rome. The battle of Verona Constantine had decided the fate of the em- against Max- pire : the vast forces of Maxen- entlus- tius had melted away before the sovereign of Gaul; but the capital was still held with the obstinacy of despair by the voluptu- ous tyrant Maxentius. Constantine ap- peared on the banks of the Tiber, though invested with the Roman purple, yet a foreign conqueror. Many of his troops were barbarians, Celts, Germans, AJ) 3[9 Britons; yet, in all probability, there were many of the Gaulish Chris- tians in his army. Maxentius threw him- self upon the gods as well as upon the people of Rome : he attempted, with des- perate earnestness, to rally the energy of Roman valour under the awfulness of the Roman religion. During the early part of his reign, Max- entius, intent upon his pleasures, Religion of had treated the religious divis-.Maxentius. ions of Rome with careless indifference, or had endeavoured to conciliate the Chris- tian party by conniving at their security. The deification of Galerius had been, as it * In his letter to Sapor, king of Persia, Constan tine himsejf acknowledges the influence of these motives on his mind: ov ttoXXoItqv rrjde (3cmu'/l* evadvrov, /zaviddsai irXavaig vnaxSevreg, ette- Xs'iprjaav dpvrjaaodai, aXk’ SKStvovg dizavrag to- covtov TipLopov TsXog KaravaXoGSVydg/rcav to (jlet' kiiSLvovg dvOpdircov yhog, Tag siceivov (jvfi- (bopdg dvT’ aXkov irapadeiyfiaTog, .snapaTOvg toIq Ta ofioia iyrjTiovGi TWscfdai—Ap. Theodoret, Ecc Hist., i., c. 25.236 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. were, an advance to the side of paganism. The rebellion of Africa, which he reven- ged by the devastation of Carthage, was likely to bring him into hostile contact witli the numerous Christians of that prov- ince. In Rome itself an event had occur- red, which, however darkly described, was connected with the antagonist religious parties in the capital. A fire had broken out in the temple of the Fortune of Rome. The tutelary deity of the Roman great- ness, an awful omen in this dark period of decline and dissolution, was in danger. A soldier—it is difficult to ascribe such te- merity to any one but a Christian fanatic— uttered some words of insult against the re- vered, and, it might be, alienated goddess. The indignant populace rushed upon the traitor to the majesty of Rome, and sum- moned the praetorian cohorts to wreak their vengeance on all who could be sup- posed to share in the sentiments of the apostate soldier. Maxentius is accused by one Christian and one pagan historian of having instigated the tumult; by one pagan he is said to have used his utmost exertions to allay its fuiy. Both state- ments may be true ; though at first he may have given free'scope to the massa- cre, at a later period he may have taken alarm, and attempted to restore the peace of the city.* Of the direct hostility of Maxentius to Christianity, the evidence is dubious and obscure. A Roman matron preferred the glory or the crime of suicide rather than submit to his lustful embraces. But it was the beauty, no doubt, not the religion of Sophronia, which excited the passions of Maxentius, whose licentious- ness comprehended almost all the noble families of Rome in its insulting range.f The papal history, not improbably resting on more ancient authority, represents Max- entius as degrading the Pope Marcellus to the humble function of a groom : the pred- ecessor of the Gregories and Innocents swept the imperial stable { The darkening and more earnest pagan- * The silence of Eusebius as to the Christianity of the soldier may be thought an insuperable objec- tion to this view. But, in the first place, the East- ern bishop was but imperfectly informed on the af- fairs of Rome, and might hesitate, if aware of the fact, to implicate the Christian name with that which was so long one of the most serious and effective charges against the faith, its treacherous hostility to the greatness of Rome. The words of the pagan Zosimus are very strong: BXau^ripa orpiara Kara rov i9elov arpaTtortiv rcg acpelg, ical rov irTirjdovg Sta rrjv rrpog to dsiov evoedecav eir- e?i,66vrog avatpedslg.—ZosM Hist, ii., 13. + Euseb., Yit. Const., i, 33, 34. J Anastasius, Vit. Marcell. Platina, Yit. Pon- Lificum in Marcello. ism of Maxentius is more clearly iiiS pa disclosed by the circumstances of sanism- his later history. He had ever listened with trembling deference to the expound ers of signs and omens. Pie had suspend ed his expedition against Carthage be cause the signs were not propitious.* Before the battle of Verona he command- ed the Sibylline books to be consulted. “ The enemy of the Romans will perish,'’ answered the prudent and ambiguous or- acle ; but who could be the enemy of Rome but the foreign Constantine, de- scending from his imperial residence at. Treves, with troops levied in the barba- rous provinces, and of whom the gods of Rome, though not yet declaredly hostile to their cause, might entertain a jealous suspicion I On the advance of Constantine Maxen- tius redoubled his religious activity. He paid his adoration at the altars of all the gods; he consulted all the diviners of fu- ture events.f He had shut himself in his palace; the adverse signs made him take refuge in a private house.% Darker ru- mours were propagated in the East: he is reported to have attempted to read the secrets of futurity in the entrails of preg- nant women to have sought an alliance with the infernal deities, and endeavoured, by magical formularies, to avert the im- pending danger. However the more en lightened pagans might disclaim the weak, licentious, and sanguinary Maxentius as the representative either of the Roman majesty or the Roman religion, in the pop- ular mind, probably, an intimate connex- ion united the cause of the Italian sover- eign with the fortunes and the gods of Rome. It is possible that Constantine might attempt to array against this im- posing barrier of ancient superstition the power of the new and triumphant faith. he might appeal, as it were, to the God of the Christians against the gods of the cap- ital. His small, though victorious army might derive courage in their attack on the fate-hallowed city, from whose neigh- bourhood Galerius had so recently return- ed in discomfiture, from a vague notion that they were under the protection of a tutelary deity, of whose nature they were but imperfectly informed, and whose wor- shippers constituted no insignificant part of their barbarian army. Up to this period, all that we know of * Zosimus. ii., 14. i Euseb.,^Vit. Const., i., 21, speaks of his Kaxa rejvovg nal yoyrucag fiayyavelag. f Zosimus, ii., 14. § Euseb., Yit. Const., i., 36.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 287 Religion of Constantine’s religion would im- Constantine. piy that he was outwardly and even zealously pagan. In a public ora- tion his panegyrist extols the magnifi- cence of his offerings to the gods.* His victorious presence was not merely ex- pected to restore more than their former splendour to the Gaulish cities, ruined by barbaric incursions, but sumptuous tem- ples were to arise at his bidding, to pro- pitiate the deities, particularly Apollo, his tutelary god. The medals struck for these victories are covered with the symbols of paganism. Eusebius himself admits that Constantine was at this time in doubt which religion he should embrace; and after his vision, required to be instructed in the doctrines of Christianity.f The scene in which the memorable vis- sion of Constantine is laid varies widely in the different accounts. Several places in Gaul lay claim to the honour of this momentous event in Christian history. If we assume the most probable period for such an occurrence, whatever explanation we adopt of the vision itself, it would be at this awful crisis in the destiny of Con- stantine and of the world, before the walls of Rome; an instant when, if we could per- suade ourselves that the Almighty Ruler, in such a manner, interposed to proclaim the fall of paganism and the establishment of Christianity, it would have been a pub- lic and a solemn occasion, worthy of the Divine interference. Nowhere, on the other hand, was the high-wrought imagi- nation of Constantine so likely to be seiz- ed with religious awe, and to transform some extraordinary appearance in the heavens into the sign of the prevailing Deity of Christ; nowhere, lastly, would policy more imperiously require some strong religious impulse to counterbalance the hostile terrors of paganism, embattled against him. Eusebius,f the Bishop of Caesarea, as- visionof serts that Constantine himself Constantine, made, and confirmed by an oath, the extraordinary statement, which was- received with implicit veneration du- ring many ages of Christianity, but which * Merito igitur augustissima ilia delubra tantis donnriis honorasti, ut jam vetera non quaerant. Jam omnia vocare ad se templa videntur, prsecipueque Apollo noster, cujus ferventibus aquis perjuria pu- niuntur, quae te maxima cportet odisse. Nec ma- gis Jovi Junonique recubantibus terra submisit, quam circa tua, Constantine, vestigia urbes et tem- pla consurgunt.—Eumenii Panegyr., cxxi. f ’EatvoeZ drjra ottolov dsoi $eov smypaipaodaL florjdov.—Euseb., Vit. Constant., lib. i., c. 27-32. t Yit. Const., i., 28. The recent editor of Euse- bius has well called the life of Constantine a Chris- tian Cyropssdia. the severer judgment of modern historical inquiry has called in question, investigated with the most searching accuracy, and al- most universally destroyed its authority with rational men, yet, it must be admit ted, found no satisfactory explanation of its origin.* While Constantine was med-* itating in grave earnestness the claims of * The silence, not only of all contemporary history (the legend of Artemius, abandoned even by Tiile mont, does not deserve the name), but of Eusebius himself, in his Ecclesiastical History, gives a mo&t dangerous advantage to those who altogether reject the story. But on whom is the invention of the story to be fathered.? on Eusebius? who,although his conscience might, not be delicately scrupulous on the subject of pious fraud, is charged with no more than the suppression of the truth, not with the direct invention of falsehood; or on Constantine himself? Could it be with him a deliberate fiction to command the higher veneration of the Christian party ? or had his imagination at the time, or was his memory in his later days, deceived by some in- explicable illusion ? The first excursus of Heinichen, in his edition of Eusebius, contains the fullest, and, on the whole, the most temperate and judicious discussion of this subject, so inexhaustibly interesting, yet so inexpli- cable, to the historical inquirer. 'Phere are three leading theories, variously modified by their differ- ent partisans. 1. A real miracle. 2. A natural phe- nomenon, presented to the imagination of the em- peror. 3. A deliberate invention on the part of the emperor Or of Eusebius. The first has few parti- sans in the present day. “ Ut enim miraculo Con- stantinum a superstitione gentili avocatum esse, nemo facile hac setate adhuc c-redet.”—Heinichen, p. 522. Independent of all other objections, the moral difficulty in the text is to me conclusive. The third has its partisans, but appears to me to be absolutely incredible... But the general consent of the more learned and dispassionate writers seems in -favour of the second, which was first, I believe, suggested by F. Albert Fabricius. In this concur Schroeckh, the German Church historian, Neander, Manso, Heinichen, and, in short, all modem writers who have any claim to historical criticism. The great difficulty which encumbers the theory which resolves it into a solar halo or some natural phenomenon is the legend ev rovrtp vc/c#, which no optical illusion can well explain if it be taken lit- erally. The only rational theory is t.o suppose that this was the inference drawn by the mind of Con- stantine, and imbodied in these words ; which, be- ing inscribed on the labarum, or on the arms or any other public monument, as commemorative of the event, gradually grew into an inseparable part of the original vision. The later and more poetic writers adorn the shields and the helmets of the whole army with the sign of the cross. Testis Christicolae ducis adventantis ad urbem Mulvius, exceptum Tiberina in stagna tyrannum Praecipitans, quanam victricia viderit anna Majestate regi, quod signum dextera vindex Proctulerit, quali radiarint stemmate pila. Christus purpureum, gernmanti textus in auro, Signabat labarum, clypeorum insignia Christus Ccripserat: ardebat summis crux addita cristis. Prudent, in Symmachum, v. 482. Euseb., Yit. Const., i., 38. Eccl. Hist., ix.,9. Zo- simus, ii. 15. Manso, Leben Constantins, p. 41, seqq.288 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. the rival religions, on one hand the awful fate of those who had persecuted Chris- tianity, on the other the necessity of some Divine assistance to counteract the magi- cal incantations Of his enemy, he address- ed his prayers to the One great Supreme. On a sudden, a short time after noon, ap- peared a bright cross in the heavens, just above the. sun, with this inscription, “ By this, conquer.’5 Awe seized himself and the whole army, who were witnesses of the wonderful phenomenon. But of the signification of the vision Constantine was altogether ignorant. Sleep fell upon his harassed mind, and during his sleep Christ himself appeared, and enjoined him to make a banner in the shape of that celes- tial sign, under which his arms would be forever crowned with victory. Constantine immediately commanded the famous labarum to be made ; the laba- rum which for a long time was borne at the head of the imperial armies, and venerated as a sacred relic at Constantinople. The shaft of this celebrated standard was cased with gold; above the transverse beam, which formed the cross, was wrought in a golden crown the monogram, or, rather, the device of two letters, which signified the name of Christ. And so for the first time the meek and peaceful Jesus became a god of battle ; and the cross, the holy sign of Christian redemption, a banner of bloody strife. This irreconcilable incongruity be- tween the symbol of universal peace and the horrors of war, in my judgment, is conclusive against the miraculous or su- pernatural character of the transaction.# Yet the admission of Christianity, not merely as a controlling power, and the most effective auxiliary of civil govern- ment (an office not unbecoming its Divine origin), but as the animating principle of barbarous warfare, argues at once the. com- manding influence which it had obtained * I was agreeably surprised to find that Mosheim concurred, in .these sentiments, for which I will readily encounter the charge of Quakerispn. Hasccine oratio servatori generis humani, qui pec- cata hominum morte sua expiavit; hgeccine oratio illo digna est, qui pacts auctor mortalibus est, et suos hostibus ignoscere vult. * * * * Caveamus ne veterum Christianorum narrationibus de setatis SU33 miraculis acriusdefendendis in ipsam majesta- tem Dei, et sanctissimam religionem, quse non hos- tes, sed nos ipsos debellare docet, injurii simus.—De Reb. ante Const., 985 [and Instit. of Eccl. H st., vol. i., p. 216, n. (30)]. When the Empress Helena, among the other treasures of the tomb of Christ, found tlie nails which fastened him to the cross, Constantine turned them into a helmet and bits for his’war-horse.—Socrates, i., 17. True or fabulous, this story is characteristic of the Christian sentiment then prevalent. over the human mind, as well as its de- generacy from its pure and spiritual ori- gin. The unimpeached and unquestioned authority of this miracle during so many’ centuries, shows how completely, in the association which took place between bar- barism and Christianity, the former main- tained its predominance. This was the first advance to the military Christianity of the Middle Ages; a modification of the pure religion of the Gospel, if directly opposed' to its genuine principles, still apparently indispensable to the social progress of men; through which the Roman empire and the barbarous nations, which were blended together in the vast European and Christian system, must necessarily have passed before they could arrive at a high- er civilization and a purer Christianity. The fate of Rome and of paganism was decided in the battle of the Milvian Bridge ; the eventual result was the establishment of the Christian empire. But to Constan- tine himself, if at this time Christianity had obtained any hold upon his mind, it was now the Christianity of the warrior, as subsequently it was that of the states- man. It was the military commander who availed himself of the assistance of any tutelar divinity who might ensure success to his daring enterprise. Christianity, in its higher sense, appear- ed neither in the acts nor in the Conduct of decrees of the victorious Con- Constantine stantine after the defeat of Max- tory over*5" entius. Though his general con- Maxemius. duct wTas tempered with a wise clemency, yet the execution of his enemies and the barbarous death of the infant son of Max- entius still showed the same relentless disposition which had exposed the barba- rian chieftains, whom he had taken in his successful campaign beyond the Rhine, in the arena at.Treves.* The emperor still maintained the same proud superiority over the conflicting religions of the em- pire which afterward appeared at the foundation of the new metropolis. Even in the labarum, if the initiated eyes of the Christian soldiery could discern the sacred symbol of Christ indistinctly glittering above the cross, there appeared, either embossed on the beam below or embroi- dered on the square , purple banner which depended from it, the bust of the emperor and those of his family, to. whom the hea- then part of his army might pay their hom- * One of these barbarous acts was selected by the panegyrical orator as a topic of the highest praise. Puberes,qui in manus venerunt et quorum nec perfidia erat. apta militiae, nec ferocia severitati, ad pcenas spectaculo dati, saevientes bestias multi- tudine sua fatigarunt.—Eumenii Panegyr., c. xii.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 289 age ol veneration. Constantine, though he does not appear to have ascended to the Capitol to pay his homage and to of- fer sacrifice* to Jupiter the best and great- est, and the other tutelary deities of Rome, in general the first act of a victorious em- peror, yet did not decline to attend the sa- cred games.f Among the acts of the con- queror in Rome was the restoration of the pagan temples; among his imperial titles he did not decline that of the Pontifex Maximus.| The province of Africa, in re- turn for the bloody head of their oppressor Maxentius, was permitted to found a col- lege of priests in honour of the Flavian family. The first public edict of Constantine in Edict of Con- favour of Christianity is lost; stantine from that issued at Milan, in the joint Mdan. names of Constantine and Licin- ius, is the great charter of the liberties of Christianity.§ But it is an edict of full and unlimited toleration, and no more. It recognises Christianity as one of the legal forms by which the divinity may be wor- shipped. || It performs an act of justice in restoring all the public buildings and the property which had been confiscated by ♦ Euseb., Vit. Const., i., 51. Le Beau, Histoire du Bas Empire, 1. ii., c. xvi. f Nec quidquam aliud homines, diebus munerum sacrorumque ludorum, quam te ipsurn spectare po- tuerunt.—Incert. Pane., c. xix. t Zosimus, iv., 36. The edict, or, rather, the copy, sent by Licin- ius to the prefect of Bithynia in Lactantius, De Mori. Pers., xlviii. || Decree of Milan, A.D. 313. Haec ordinanda esso credidimus, ut daremus et Christianis et omni- bus liberam potestatem sequendi religionem quam quisque voluisset, quod .quidem divinitas in sede ccelesti nobis atque omnibus qui sub potestate nos- tra sunt constituti, placata ac propitia possit exis- tere (This divinitas, I conceive, was that equivocal term for the Supreme Deity admitted by the pagan as well as the Christian. What Zosimus called to 'Q-ecov): etiam aliis religionis suse vel observan- tise potestatem similiter apertam, et liberam, pro quiete temporis nostri esseconcessam, ut in colendo quod quisque delegerit, habeat liberam facultatem, quia (nolumus detrahi) honori neque cuiquam reli- gioni aliquid a nobis. I will transcribe, however, the observations of Kestner on this point. Multi merito observarunt, animum illud ostendere (sc. decretum Mediolense) ab antiqua religione minime alienum. Observan- dum vero, parum hoc decretum valere, ut verarn Constantini mentein, inde intelligamus. Non solus quippe illius auctor fuit, sed Liciniusquoque—Huic autem—etsi iis (Christianis) non sinceruserat ami- cus, parcere debuit Constantinus; neque caeteris displicere voluit subditis, qui antiquam religionem profiterentur. Quamvis igitur etiam religionis in- dole plenius jam fuisset- imbutus, ob rerum tamen, quae id temporis erant, conditionem, manifestare mentem non potuisset.—Kestner, Disp. de cornmut. quam, Constant. M. auct. societas subiit Christi- ana. Compare Heinichen, Excurs. in Vit. Const., p. 513. O o the persecuting edicts of former emperors. Where the churches or their sites remain- ed in the possession of the imperial treas- ury, they were restored without any com- pensation ; where they had been alienated, the grants were resumed; where they had been purchased, the possessors were of- fered an indemnity for their enforced and immediate surrender from the state. The praefects were to see the restitution car- ried into execution without delay and without chicanery. But the same abso- lute freedom of worship was secured to all other religions; and this proud and equi- table indifference is to secure the favour of the divinity to the reigning emperors. The whole tone of this edict is that of im- perial clemency, which condescends to take under its protection an oppressed and injured class of subjects, rather than that of an awe-struck proselyte, esteeming Christianity the one true religion, and al- ready determined to enthrone it as the dominant and established faith of the em- pire. The earlier laws of Constantine, though in their effects favourable to Earlier laws Christianity, claimed some def- of constan- erence, as it were, to the ancient tine- religion in the ambiguity of their language, and the cautious terms in which they in- terfered with the liberty of paganism. The rescript commanding the celebration of the Christian Sabbath bears no allusion to its peculiar sanctity as a Christian in- stitution. It is the day of the Sun which is to be observed by the general venera- tion; the courts were to be closed, and the noise and tumult of public business and legal litigation were no longer to vio- late the repose of the sacred day. But the believer in the newT paganism, of which the solar worship was the characteristic, might acquiesce without scruple sanctity of in the sanctity of the first day of the Sunday, the week. The genius of Christianity ap- pears. more manifestly in the single civil act, which was exempted from the general restriction on public business. The courts were to be open for the manumission of slaves on the hallowed day.* In the first aggression on the freedom of paganism, though the earliest law speaks in a severe 'and vindictive tone, a second tempers the stern language of the former statute, and actually authorizes the superstition against which it is directed, as far as it might be beneficial to mankind. The itinerant soothsayers and diviners, who exercised their arts m private houses, formed no recognised part of the old religion. Their * Cod. Theodos., ii., viii., 1. Vit. Constans., iv., 18. Zosimus, i., 8290 HISTORY OF CHRIST! ANI'i x. Against rites were supposed to be COIl- divination. nected with all kinds of cruel and licentious practices, with magic and un- lawful sacrifices. They performed their ceremonies at midnight, among tombs, where they.evoked the dead; or in dark chambers, where they made libations of the blood of the living. They were dark- ly rumoured not to abstain, on occasions, from human blood, to offer children on the altar, and to read the secrets of futurity in the palpitating entrails of human vic- tims. These unholy practices were pro- scribed by the old Roman law and the old Roman religion. This kind of magic was a capital offence by the laws of the Twelve Tables. Secret divinations had been inter- dicted by former emperors, by Tiberius and by Dioclesian.* * * * * § The suppression of these rites by Constantine might appear no more than a strong regulation of police for the preservation of the pul lie morals.f The soothsayer who should presume to enter a private house to practise his un- lawful art was to be burned alive; those who received him w~ere condemned to the forfeiture of their property and to exile. But in the public temple, according to the established rites, the priests and diviners might still unfold the secrets of futurity ;J the people were recommended to apply to them rather than to the unauthorized di- viners, and this permission was more ex- plicitly guaranteed by a subsequent re- script. Those arts which professed to avert the thunder from the house, the hur- ricane and the desolating shower from the fruitful field, were expressly sanctioned as beneficial to the husbandman. Even in case of the royal palace being struck by lightning, the ancient ceremony of propi- tiating the deity was to be practised, and, the haruspices were to declare the mean- ing of the awful portent.§ • Yet, some acts of Constantine, even at Constantine’s this early period, might encour- encourage- age the expanding hopes .01 the ment of Christians, that they were des- Chnstianity. tined before long * to receive more than impartial justice from the em- peror, His acts of liberality were beyond those of a sovereign disposed to redress the wrongs of an oppressed class of his * Haruspices secreto ac sine testibus consuli ye- tuit.—Suetonius, Tib, c. 63. Ars mathematica damnabilis est et interdicta omnino. — Compare . Beugnot, i., 79. • f It was addressed to Maximus, prefect of the city.—-Cod. Theodos , xiv, 8, 2. ,■% Adite.aras publicas atque delubra, et consue- tudinis vestrae celebrate solemnia : nec enim prohi- bemus. prasteritae. usurpation^ officia libera luce tractari.-—Cod. Theod., xi., 16. $ Cod, Theodos., ix., ’6 • xvi., 10 subjects; he not merely enforced by ms edict.the restoration of their churches and estates; he enabled them, by his ow munificence—his gift of a large sum 01 money to the Christians of Africa—to re- build their ruined edifices, and restore their sacred rites with decent solemnity*. Many of the churches in Rome Churches claim the first Christian emperor in Rome- for their founder. The most distinguish- ed of these, and, at the same time, those which are best supported in their preten- sions to antiquity, stood on the sites now- occupied by the Lateran and by St. Pe- ter’s. If it could be ascertained at what period in the life of Constantine these churches were built, some light might be thrown on the history of his personal re- ligion. For the Lateran being an imperial palace, the grant of a basilica within its walls for the Christian worship (for such we may conjecture to have been the first church) was a kind of direct recognition, if not of his own regular personal attend- ance, at least of his admission of Chris- tianity within his domestic circle.] The palace was afterward granted to the Chris- tians, the first patrimony of the popes. The Vatican suburb seems to have teen, the. favourite place for the settlement of foreign religions. It was thickly peoph d with Jews from an early period ;J and re- markable vestiges of the worship of C\ - bele, which appear to have flourished side by side, as it were, with that of Christ an- ity, remained to the fourth or the fiftli century.^ • The site of St.. Peter’s Church was believed to occupy the spot hallowed by his martyrdom; and the Christians must have felt no unworthy pride in em- ploying the materials of Nero’s circus, the scene of the sanguinary pleasures of tin? first persecutor, on a church dedicated to the memory of his now honoured, if not absolutely worshipped, victim. With the protection, the emperor assu- med the control over the affairs of the Christian communities : to the cares of the public administration was added a rec- ognised supremacy over the Christian Church ; the extent to which Christianity now prevailed is shown by the importance at once assumed by the Christian bishops, who brought not only their losses and * See the original grant of 3000 folles to Caecil- ian, bishop of Carthage, in Eusebius, Eccl. Hist., x.,6. f The Lateran was the residence of the Princess Fausta : it is called the Dornus Faustee in the ac- count of the first synod held to decide on the Do natist schism.—Optat,, i, 23. Fausta may ha\e been a Christian. t Basnage, vii., 210. § Bunsen und Plainer Roms’ Rfipchreibung, t.- p. 22.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 291 their sufferings during the persecution of Dioclesian, but, unhappily, likewise their quarrels before the imperial tribunal. From his palace at Treves Constantine had not only to assemble military coun- cils to debate on the necessary measures for the protection of the German frontier and the maintenance of the imperial ar- mies; councils of finance, to remodel and enforce the taxation of the different prov- inces ; but synods of Christian bishops to decide on the contests which had grown up in the remote and unruly province of Africa. The emperor himself is said fre- quently to have appeared without his im- perial state, and, with neither guards nor officers around him, to have mingled in the debate, and expressed his satisfaction at their unanimity, whenever that rare virtue adorned their counsels.* For Con- stantine, though he could give protection, could not give peace to Christianity. It is the nature of men, that whatever pow- erfully moves, agitates to excess the pub- lic mind. With new views of those sub- jects which make a deep and lasting im- pression, new passions awaken. The profound stagnation of the human mind during the government of the earlier Cas- sars had been stirred in its inmost depths by the silent wonder-working of the new faith. Momentous questions, which, up to that time, had been entirely left to a small in- tellectual aristocracy, had been calmly debated in the villa of the Roman senator or the grove sacred to philosophy, or dis- cussed by sophists, whose frigid dialectics wearied without exciting the mind, had been gradually brought down to the com- mon apprehension. The nature of the Deity ; the state of the soul after death; the equality of mankind in -the sight of the Deity; even questions which are be- yond the verge of human intellect; the origin of evil; the connexion of the phys- ical and moral world, had become general topics;'they were, for the first time, the primary truths of a popular religion, and naturally could not withdraw themselves from the alliance with popular passions. These passions, as Christianity increased in power and influence, came into more active operation; as they seized on per- sons of different temperament, instead of being themselves subdued to Christian gentleness, they inflamed Christianity, as it appeared to the world, into a new and more indomitable principle of strife and animosity. Mankind, even within the * Euseb., Vit. Const, lib. xliv. xa^P0VTa feiKvvg Lavrov Ty KOLvfj 7rdvro)v ofJLovota. Eusebius says that he conducted himself as the bishop of the bishops. sphere of Christianity, retrograded to the sterner Jewish character; and in its spirit, as well as in its language, the Old Testa- ment began to dominate over the Gospel of Christ. The first civil wars which divided Chris- tianity were those of Donatism Dissensions and the Trinitarian controver- ofChristian- sy. The Gnostic sects in their lty- different varieties, and the Manichean, were rather rival religions than Christian factions. Though the adherents of these sects professed to be disciples of Christian- ity, yet they had their own separate con- stitutions, their own priesthood, their own ceremonial. Donatism was a fierce and implacable schism in onatlsm an established community. It was em braced with all the wild ardour, and main- tained with the blind obstinacy, of the Af- rican temperament. It originated in a dis- puted appointment to the episcopal digni- ty at Carthage. The Bishop of Carthage, if in name inferior (for everything con- nected with the ancient capital still main- tained its superior dignity in the general estimation), stood higher, probably, in pro- portion to the extent of his influence, and the relative numbers of his adherents, as compared with the pagan population, than any Christian dignitary in the West, The African churches had suffered more than usual oppression during the persecution of Dioclesian, not improbably during the invasion of Maxentius. External force, which in other quarters compressed the body into closer and more compact unity, in Africa left behind it a fatal principle of disorganization. These rival claims to the see of Carthage brought the opponent par- ties into inevitable collision. The pontifical offices of paganism, min- istering in a ceremonial, to which the peo- ple were either indifferent, or bound only by habitual attachment, calmly descended in their hereditary course, were nominated by tire municipal magistracy, or attached to the higher civil offices. They The Chris- awoke no ambition, they caused tian hierar- no contention ; they did not in- p"! terest society enough to disturb gan priest- it. The growth of the sacerdo- hood> tal power was a necessary consequence of the development of Christianity. The hierarchy asserted (they were believed to possess) the power of sealing the eternal destiny of man. From a post cf danger, which modest piety was compelled to as- sume by the unsought and unsolicited suf- frages of the whole community, a bishop- ric had become an office of dignity, influ- ence, and, at times, of wealth. The prel- ate ruled not now so much bv his admitted292 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. superiority in Christian virtue as by the inalienable authority of his office. He opened or closed the door of the church, which was tantamount to an admission or an exclusion from everlasting bliss ; he uttered the sentence of excommunication, which cast back the trembling delinquent among the lost and perishing heathen. He had his throne in the most distinguished part of the Christian temple; and though yet acting in the presence and in the name of his college of presbyters, yet he was the acknowledged head of a large commu- nity, over whose eternal destiny he held a vague, but not, therefore, less imposing and awful dominion. Among the African Christians, perhaps by the commanding character of Cyprian, in his writings at least, the episcopal power is elevated to its utmost height. No wonder that, with the elements of strife fermenting in the society, and hostile parties already array- ed against each other, the contest for this commanding post should be commenced with blind violence, and carried on with irreconcilable hostility.* In every com- munity, no doubt, had grown up a severer party, who were anxious to contract the pale of salvation to the narrowest com- pass ; and a more liberal class, who were more lenient to the infirmities of their brethren, and would extend to the utmost limits the beneficial effects of the redemp- tion. The fiery ordeal of the persecution tried the Christians of Africa by the' most searching test, and drew more strongly the line of demarcation. Among the summa- ry proceedings of the persecution, which were carried into effect with unrelenting severity by Anulinus, the praefect of Afri- ca (the same who, by a singular vicissitude in political affairs, became the instrument of Constantine’s munificent grants to the churches of his province!), none was more painful to the feelings of the Christians than the demand of the unconditional sur- render of the furniture of their sacred edifices ; their chalices, their ornaments, above all, the sacred writings. J The bish- op and his priests were made responsible for the full and unreserved delivery of these * The principal source of information concerning the Donatist controversy is the works of Optatus, with the valuable collection of documents subjoin- ed to them; and for their later history, various pas- sages in the works of St. Augustine. f See the grant of Constantine referred to above. % There is a very curious and graphic account of the rigorous perquisition for the sacred books in the Gesta apud Zenophilum in Routh, vol. iv., p. 103. The codices appear to have been under the care of the readers, who were of various ranks, mostly, how- ever, in trade. There were a great number of co- dices, each Tarobably containing one book of Uie Scriptures sacred possessions. Some from timidity, others considering that by such conces- sions it might be prudent to avert more dangerous trials, and that such treasures, sacred as they were, might be replaced in a more flourishing state of the church, complied with the demands of the magis- trate ; but, by their severe brethren, who, with more uncompromising courage, had refused the least departure from the tone of unqualified resistance, they were brand- ed with the ignominious name of Tradi- tors.* This became the strong, TheTradi- the impassable line of demarca- tors, tion between the contending factions. To the latest period of the conflict, the Dona- tists described the Catholic party by that odious appellation. The primacy of the African Church was the object of ambition to these two par- ties: an unfortunate vacancy at this time kindled the smouldering embers of strife. Mensurius had filled the see of contest for Carthage with prudence and mod- the see of eration during these times of Carthase emergency He was accused by the stern- er zeal of Donatus, a Numidian bishop, of countenancing, at least, the criminal con- cessions of the Traditors. It was said that he had deluded the government by a subtle stratagem ; he had substituted cer- tain heretical writings for the genuine Scriptures ; had connived at their seizure, and calmly seen them delivered to the flames. The Donatists either disbelieved or despised as a paltry artifice this attempt to elude the glorious danger of resistance. But, during the life of Mensurius, his char- acter and station had overawed the hostile party. But Mensurius was summoned to Rome to answer to a charge of the con- cealment of the deacon Felix, accused of a political offence, the publication of a li- bel against the emperor. On his depar- ture he intrusted to the deacons of the community the valuable vessels of gold and silver belonging to the church, of which he left an accurate inventory in the hands of a pious and aged woman. Men- surius died on his return to Carthage. Cse- cilian, a deacon of the church, was raised by the unanimous suffrages of the clergy and people to the see of Carthage. He was consecrated by Felix, bishop of Ap- thunga. His first step was to demand the vessels of the church. By the advice of Botrus and Celeusius, two of the deacons, competitors, it is said, with Caecilian for the see, they were refused to a bishop irregu- larly elected, and consecrated by a noto- * The Donatists invariably called the Catholic party the Traditors. See Sermo Donatista and the Acts of the Donatist martyr.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 293 nous Traditor. A Spanish female of no- ble birth and of opulence, accused of per- sonal hostility to Caecilian, animated the Carthaginian faction ; but the whole prov- ince assumed the right of interference with the appointment to the primacy, and Donatus, bishop of Caste Nigrae, placed himself at the head of the opponent party. The commanding mind of Donatus sway- ed the countless hierarchy which crowded the different provinces of Africa. The Numidian bishops took the lead ; Secun- dus, the primate of Numidia, at the sum- mons of Donatus, appeared in Carthage at the head of seventy of his bishops. Appeal to the This self-installed Council of eivii power. Carthage proceeded to cite Cae- cilian, who refused to recognise its author- ity. The council declared his election void. The consecration by a bishop guil- ty of tradition was the principal ground on which his election was annulled. But darker charges were openly advanced, or secretly murmured against Caecilian; charges which,’if not entirely ungrounded, show that the question of tradition had, during the persecution, divided the Chris- tians into fierce and hostile factions. He was said to have imbittered the last hours of those whose more dauntless resistance put to shame the timorous compliance of Mensurius and his party. He took his station with a body of armed men, and precluded the pious zeal of their adherents from obtaining access to the prison of those who had been seized by the govern- ment ;* he prevented, not merely the con- solatory and inspiriting visits of kinsmen and friends, but even the introduction of food and other comforts in their state of starving destitution. The Carthaginian faction proceeded to elect Majorinus to the vacant see. Both parties appealed to the civil power; and Anulinus, the praofect of Africa, who, during the reign of Dioclesian, had seen the Christians dragged before his tribunal, and whose authority they then disclaimed with uncompromising unanim- ity, now saw them crowding in hostile fac- tions to demand his interference in their domestic discords. The cause was refer- red to the imperial decision of Constan- tine. At a later period the Donatists, be- ing worsted in the strife, bitterly reproach- ed their adversaries with this appeal to the civil tribunal: “ What have Christians to do with kings, or bishops with palaces F’f Their adversaries justly recriminated that they had been as ready as themselves to request the intervention of the govern- ment. Constantine delegated the judg- * Optatus, i., 22. f lb. ment in their cause to the bishops of Gaul,* but the first council was composed of a great majority of Italian bishops ; Council of and Rome for the first time wit- Rome‘ nessed a public trial of a Christian cause before an assembly of bishops presided over by her prelate. The council was formed of the three Gallic bishops of Co- logne, of Autun, and of Arles. The Ital- ian bishops (we may conjecture that these were considered the more important sees, or were filled by the most influential prel- ates) were those of Milan, Cesena, Quin- tiano, Rimini, Florence, Pisa, Faenza, Ca- pua, Benevento, Terracina, Prseneste, Tres Taberna0, Ostia, Ursinum (Urbinum), Fo- rum Claudii. Caecilian and Donatus ap- peared each at the head of ten bishops of his party. Both denounced their adver- saries as guilty of the crime of tradition. The partisans of Donatus rested their ap- peal on the invalidity of an ordination by a bishop, Felix of Apthunga, who had been guilty of that delinquency. The party of Caecilian accused almost the whole of the Numidian bishops, and Donatus himself, as involved in the same guilt. It was a wise and temperate policy in the Catholic party to attempt to cancel all imbittering recollections of the days of trial and in- firmity ; to abolish all distinctions, which on one part led to pride, on the other to degradation ; to reconcile in these halcyon days of prosperity the whole Christian world into one harmonious confederacy. This policy was that of the government. At this early period of his Christianity, if he might yet be called a Christian, Con- stantine was little likely to enter into the narrow and exclusive principles of the Do- natists. As an emperor, Christianity was recommended to his favour by the harmon- izing and tranquillizing influence which it exercised over a large body of the people. If it broke up into hostile feuds, it lost its value as an ally or an instrument of civil government. But it was exactly this lev- elling of all religious distinctions, this lib- eral and comprehensive spirit, that would * Augustin, writing when the episcopal authori- ty stood on a nearer or even a higher level than that of the throne, asserts that Constantine did not dare to assume a cognizance over the election of a bish-. op. Constantinus non ausus estde caus& episcopi judicare.—Epist. cv., n. 8. Natural equity, as well as other reasons, would induce Constantine to del- egate the affair to a Christian commission. The account of Optatus ascribes to Constantine speech- es which it is difficult ro reconcile with his public conduct as regards Christianity at this period of his life. The Council of Rome was held A.D. 313, 2d October. The decrees of the Council of Rome and ol Arles, with other documents on the subject, may be found in the fourth volume of Routh.294 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. annihilate the less important differences which struck at the vital principle of Do- natism. They had confronted all the mal- ice of the persecutor, they had disdained to compromise any principle, to concede the minutest point; and were they to abandon a superiority so hardly earned, and to acquiesce in the readmission of all those who had forfeited their Christian privileges to the same rank! Were they not to exercise the high function of read- mission into the fold with proper severi- ty 1 The decision of the council was fa- vourable to the cause of Ca3cilian. Dona- tes appealed to the emperor, who retained the heads of both parties in Italy to allow time for the province to regain its quiet. In defiance of the emperor, both the leaders fled back to Africa, to set themselves at the head of their respective factions. The pa- a.d. 314, tient Constantine summoned a new, 1st Aug. a more remote council at Arles: Caecilian and the African bishops were cited to appear in that distant province ; public vehicles, were furnished for their conveyance at the emperor’s charge; each bishop was attended by two of his inferior clergy, with three domestics. The Bishop of Arles presided in this council, which confirmed the judgment of that in Rome. . A second Donatus now appeared upon the scene, of more vigorous and more persevering character, greater ability, and with all the energy and self-confidence which enabled him to hold together the faction. They now assumed the name of Donatists. On the death of Majormus, Donatus succeeded to the dignity of anti- Bishop of Carthage: the whole African province continued to espouse the quarrel; the authority of the government, which had been invoked by both parties, was scornfully rejected by that against which the award was made. Three times was the decision repeated in favour of the Catholic party, at Rome, at Arles, and at Milan; each time was more strongly es- a d 316 taWished. the self-evident truth, ‘ which was so late recognised by the Christian world, the incompetency of any council to reconcile religions differ- ences. The suffrages of the many cannot bind the consciences, or enlighten the minds, or even overcome the obstinacy, of the few. Neither party can yield with- out abandoning the very principles by which they have been constituted a party. A commission issued to Allies, praefect of the district, to examine the charge against Felix, bishop of Apthunga, gave a favour- able verdict.* An imperial commission * Seethe ActaPurgationisFelicis, in Routh,iv.,71. of two delegates to Carthage ratified the decision of the former councils. At every turn the Donatists protested against the equity of the decree; they loudly com- plained of the unjust and partial influence- exercised by Osius, bishop of Cordova, over the mind of the emperor. At length the tardy indignation of the government had recourse to violent measures. The Donatist bishops were driven into Donate exile, their churches destroyed or persecuted., sold, and the property seized for the im- perial revenue. The Donatists defied the armed interference as they had disclaimed the authority of the government. This first development of the principles of Christian sectarianism was as stern, as inflexible, and as persevering as in later times. The Donatists drew their narrow pale around their persecuted sect, and asserted them- selves to be the only elect people of Christ; the only people whose clergy could claim an unbroken apostolical succession, vitia- ted in all other communities of Christians by the inexpiable crime of tradition. Wher- ever they obtained possession of a church, they burned the altar; or, where wood was scarce, scraped off the infection of heretical communion; they melted the cups, and sold, it was said, the sanctified metal for profane, perhaps for pagan uses; they rebaptized all who joined their sect; they made the virgins renew their vows; they would not even permit the bodies oi the Catholics to repose in peace, lest they should pollute the common cemeteries. The implacable faction darkened into a sanguinary feud. For the first time hu- man blood was shed in conflicts between followers of the Prince of Peace. Each party recriminated on the other, but nei- ther denies the barbarous scenes of massa- cre and license which devastated the Afri- can cities. The Donatists boasted of their martyrs, and the cruelties of the Catholic party rest on their own admission: they deny not, they proudly vindicate their bar- barities. “ Is the vengeance of God to be defrauded of its victims'?”* and they ap- peal to the Old Testament to justify, by the examples of Moses, of Phineas, and oi Elijah, the Christian duty of slaying by thousands the renegades or the unbeliev- ers. In vain Constantine-at length published * This damning passage is found in the work of the Catholic Optatus: Quasi orrmino in vindiefam Dei nullus mereatur occidi. Compare the whole chapter, iii.. 6. There is a very strong statement of the persecutions which they endured from the Catholics in the letter put in by the Donatist bishop Habet Deum in the conference held during the reign of Honorius — Apud Dupin, No 258, in tin®HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. an edict of peace: the afflicted ‘ * province was rent asunder till the close of his reign, and during that of his son, oy mis religious warfare. For, on the other hand, the barbarous fanaticism of the Circumcellions involved the Do- TheCircum- natist party in the guilt of in- ceilions. surrection, and connected them with revolting atrocities, which they were accused of countenancing, of exciting, if not actually sanctioning by their presence. That which, in the opulent cities or the well-ordered communities, led to fierce and irreconcilable contention, grew up among the wild borderers on civilization into fanatical phrensy. Where Christian- ity has outstripped civilization, and has not had time to effect its beneficent and humanizing change, whether in the bosom of an old society or within the limits of savage life, it becomes, in times of violent excitement, instead of a pacific principle to assuage, a new element of ungoverna- ble strife. The long peace which had been enjoyed by the province of Africa, and the flourishing corn-trade which it conducted as the granary of Rome and of the Italian provinces, had no doubt ex- tended the pursuits of agriculture into the Numidian, Gaetulian, and Mauritanian vil- lages. The wild tribes had gradually be- come industrious peasants, and among them Christianity had found an open field for its exertions, and the increasing agri- cultural settlements had become Christian bishoprics. But the savage was yet only half tamed ; and no sooner had the flames of the Donatist conflict spread into these peaceful districts, than the genuine Chris- tian was lost in the fiery marauding child of the desert. Maddened by oppression, wounded in his religious feelings by the expulsion and persecution of the bishops, from his old nature he resumed the fierce spirit of independence, the contempt for the laws of property, and the burning de- sire of revenge : of his new religion he retained only the perverted language, or, rather, that of the Old Testament, with an implacable hatred of all hostile sects; a stern ascetic continence, which perpetu- ally broke out into paroxysms of unbri- dled licentiousness; and a fanatic passion for martyrdom, which assumed the acts of a kind of methodical insanity. The Circumcellions commenced their ravages during the reign of Constantine, and continued in arms during that of his successor Constans. No sooner had the provincial authorities received instructions to reduce the province by force to religious unity, than the Circumcellions, who had at first confined their ravages to disorderly 295 and hasty incursions, broke out into open revolt.* They defeated one body of the imperial troops, and killed Ursacius, the Roman general. They abandoned by a simultaneous impulse their agricultural pursuits ; they proclaimed themselves the instruments of Divine justice, and the pro- tectors of the oppressed; they first as- serted the wild theory of the civil equali- ty of mankind, which has so often, in later periods of the world, become the anima- ting principle of Christian fanaticism; they proclaimed the abolition of slavery ; they thrust the proud and opulent master from his chariot, and made him walk by the side of his slave, who, in his turn, was placed in the stately vehicle ; they cancelled all debts, and released the debtors; their most sanguinary acts were perpetrated in the name of religion, and Christian language was profaned by its association with their atrocities ; their leaders were the captains of the saints ;f the battle hymn, Praise to God! their weapons were not swords, for Christ had forbidden the use of the sword, to Peter, but huge and massy clubs, with which they beat their miserable victims to death.J They were bound by vows of the severest continence, but the African temperament, in its state of feverish ex- citement, was too strong for the bonds of fanatical restraint; the companies of the saints not merely abused the privileges of war by the most licentious outrages on the females, but were attended by troops of drunken prostitutes, whom they called their sacred virgins. But the most extra- ordinary development of their fanaticism was their rage for martyrdom. Passion for When they could not obtain it martyrdom, from the sword of the enemy, they in- flicted it upon themselves. The ambi- tious martyr declared himself a candidate for the crown of glory: he then gave him- self up to every kind of revelry, pam- pering, as it were, and fattening the vic- tim for sacrifice. When he had wrought himself to the pitch of phrensy, he. rushed out, and, with a sword in one hand and money in the other, he threatened death and offered reward to the first comer who would, satisfy his eager longings for the * The Circumcellions were unacquainted with the Latin language, and are said to have spoken only the Punic of the country. f Augustine asserts that they were led by their clergy, v. xi., p. 575. t The Donatists anticipated our Puritans in those strange religious names which they assumed. Ha- bet Deum appears among the Donatist bishops in a conference held with the Catholics at Carthage A.D. 411. See the report of the conference in the Donatistan Monumenta collected by Dupin, at the end of his edition of Ontatus296 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. glorious crown. They leaped from preci- pices ; they went into the pagan temples to provoke the vengeance of the worship- pers. Such are the excesses to which Chris- tianity is constantly liable, as the religion of a savage and uncivilized people; but, on the other hand, it must be laid down as a political axiom equally universal, that this fanaticism rarely bursts out into disorders dangerous to society, unless goaded and maddened by persecution. Donatism was the fatal schism of one province of Christendom : the few com- munities formed on these rigid principles in Spain and in Rome died away in neg- lect; but, however diminished its influ- ence, it distracted the African province for three centuries, and was only finally ex- tirpated with Christianity itself, by the all- absorbing progress of Mohammedanism. At one time Constantine resorted to milder measures, and issued an edict of toleration. But in the reign of Constans, the persecu- tion was renewed with more unrelenting severity. Two imperial officers, Paul and Macurius, were sent to reduce the prov- ince to religious unity. The Circumcel- lions encountered them with obstinate valour, but were totally defeated in the sanguinary battle of Bagnia. In’ the la- ter reigns, when the laws against heresy became more frequent and severe, the Do- natists were named with marked reproba- tion in the condemnatory edicts. Yet, in die time of Honorius, they boasted, in a conference with the Catholics, that they equally divided at least the province of Numidia, and that the Catholics only ob- tained a majority of bishops by the unfair means of subdividing the sees. This con- ference was held in the vain, though then it might not appear ungrounded, hope of reuniting the great body of the Donatists with the Catholic communion. The Do- natists, says Gibbon, with his usual sar- casm, and more than his usual truth, had received a practical lesson on the conse- quences of their own principles. A small sect, the Maximinians, had been formed within their body, who asserted them- selves to be the only genuine church of God, denied the efficacy of the sacra- ments, disclaimed the apostolic power of the clergy, and rigidly appropriated to their own narrow sect the merits of Christ and the hopes of salvation. But neither this fatal warning, nor the eloquence of St. Augustine, wrought much effect on the Puritans of Africa; they still obstinately denied the legality of Geecilian’s ordina- tion ; still treated their adversaries as the dastardly traditors of the Sacred Writings; still dwelt apart in the unquestioning con- viction that they were the sole subjects of the kingdom of Heaven ; that to them alone belonged the privilege of immortali- ty through Christ, while the rest of the world, the unworthy followers of Christ, not less than the blind and unconverted heathen, were perishing in their outcast and desperate state of condemnation CHAPTER II. CONSTANTINE BECOMES SOLE EMPEROR. By the victory over Maxentius, Constan- The East tine had become master of half still pagan, the Roman world. Christianity, if it had not contributed to the success, shar- ed the advantage of the triumph. By the edict of Milan the Christians had resumed all their former rights as citizens, their churches were re-opened, their public ser- vices recommenced, and their silent work of aggression on the hostile paganism be- gan again under the most promising auspi- ces. The equal favour with which they were beheld by the sovereign appeared both to their enemies and to themselves an open declaration on their side. The public acts, the laws, and the medals of Constantine,* * Eckhel supposes that the heathen symbols dis- show how the lofty eclectic indifferentism of the emperor, which extended impartial protection over all the conflicting faiths, or attempted to mingle together their least in- harmonious elements, gradually but slow- ly gave place to the progressive influence of Christianity. Christian bishops ap- peared as regular attendants upon the appeared from the coins of Constantine after his victory over Licinins.—Doctr. Nuram. in Constant. I may add here another observation of this great authority on such subjects. Excute universam Constantini monetam, nunquam in ea aut Christi imaginem aut Constantini effigiem cruce insignem reperies * * * * In nonnullis jam monogramma Christi ^ ip inseritur labaro aut vexillo, jam in area nummi solitary excubat, jam aliis, ut patebit, comparat modis. .HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 297 c yurt; the internal dissensions of Chris- tianity became affairs of state ; the pagan party saw, with increasing apprehension for their own authority and the fate of Rome, the period of the secular games, on the due celebration of which depended the duration of the Roman sovereignty, pass away un- honoured.* It was an extraordinary change in the constitution of the Western ^ ' ' world when the laws of the em- pire issued from the court of Treves, and Italy and Africa awaited the changes in their civil and religious constitution from the seat of government on the barbarous German frontier. The munificent grant of Constantine for the restoration of the African churches had appeared to commit him in favour of the Christian party, and had, perhaps, indirectly contributed to in- flame the dissensions in that province. A new law recognised the clerical order Clerical or- as a dist;inct and privileged class, tier recogni- It exempted them from the oner- Fawby lhf ous municipal offices, which had aw’ begun to press heavily upon the more opulent inhabitants of the towns. It is the surest sign of misgovernment when the higher classes shrink from the posts of honour and of trust. During the more flourishing days of the empire, the decu- rionate, the chief municipal dignity, had been the great object of provincial ambi- tion. The decurions formedThe senates of the towns ; they supplied the magis- trates from their body, and had the right of electing them.f Under the new financial system intro- duced by Dioclesian, the decurions were made responsible for the full amount of taxation imposed by the cataster or as- sessment on the town and district. As the payment became more onerous or dif- ficult, the tenants, or even the proprietors, either became insolvent or fled their coun- try. But the inexorable revenue still ex- acted from the decurions the whole sum assessed on their town or district. The office itself grew into disrepute, and the law was obliged to force that upon the re- luctant citizen of wealth or character which had before been an object, of eager emulation and competition.J The Chris- tians obtained the exemption of their ec- clesiastical order from these civil offices. The exemption was grounded on the just * Zosimus, 1. ii, c. 1. f Savigny, Romische Recht, i., 18. Compare the whole book of the Theodosian Code, De Decurion- ibus. Persons concealed their property to escape serving the public offices.—Cod. Theod., iii, 1-8. X See two dissertations of Savigny on the taxa- tion of the empire, in the Transactions of the Ber- lin Academy, and translated in the Cambridge Classical Researches. Pp plea of its incompatibility with their re- ligious duties.* The emperor declared in a letter to Caecilian, bishop of Carthage, that the Christian priesthood ought not to be withdrawn from the worship of God, which is the principal source of the pros- perity of the empire. The effect of this immunity shows the oppiessed and disor- ganized state of society :f numbers of per- sons, in order to secure this exemption, rushed at once into the clerical order of the Christians; and this manifest abuse demanded an immediate modification of the law. None were to be admitted into the sacred order except on the A ^ 320> vacancy of a religious charge, Exemption and then those only whose pov- de‘ erty exempted them from the municipal functions.J Those whose prop- erty imposed upon them the duty of the decurionate, were ordered to abandon their religious profession. Such was the des- potic power of the sovereign, to which the Christian Church still submitted, either on the principle of passive obedience, or in gratitude for the protection of the civil au- thority. The legislator interfered without scruple in the domestic administration of the Christian community, and the Chris- tians received the imperial edicts in silent submission. The appointment of a Chris- tian, the celebrated Lactantius, to super- intend the education of Crispus, the eldest son of the emperor, was at once a most decisive and most influential step towards the public declaration of Christianity as the religion of the imperial family. An- other important law, .the groundwork of the vast property obtained by the Church, gave it the fullest power to receive the be- quests of the pious. Their right of hold- ing property had been admitted apparently by Alexander Severus, annulled by Dio- clesian, and was now conceded in the most explicit terms by Constantine.§ But half the world remained still disu- nited from the dominion of Con- wars with stantine and of Christianity. The Licinius* * The officers of the royal household and their descendants had the same exemption, which was likewise extended to the Jewish archisynagogi or elders.—Le Beau, 165. Cod. Theodos.,xvi., 8, 2. The priests and the flamines, with the decurions, were exempt from certain inferior offices, xii., v. 2. f See the various laws on this subject.—Codex Theodos., xvi,, 2, 3, 6-11. % Cod. Theodos., xvi., 2, 17, 19. § Habeat unusquisque licentiam, sanctissimo Catholicse venerabilique concilio, decedens bono- rum, quod placet, relinquere. Non sint cassa ju- dicia. Nihil est, quod magis hominibus debetur, quam ut supremoe voluntatis, postquam aliud jam velle non possint, liber sit status, et licens, quotf iterum non redit, imperium.—Cod. Th., xvi., 2,1 De Episcopis. This law is assigned to the year 321HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 2118 first war with Lieinius had been closed by the battles of Cibalse and Mardia, and a new partition of the empire. It was suc- ceeded by a hollow and treacherous peace of nine years.* * * * § The favour shown by Constantine to his Christian subjects seems to have thrown Lieinius upon the opposite interest. The edict of Milan had been issued in the joint names of the two emperors, in his conflict with Max- imin, Lieinius had avenged the oppres- sions of Christianity on their most re- lentless adversary. But when the crisis approached which was to decide the fate of the whole empire, as Constantine had adopted every means of securing their cordial support, so Lieinius repelled the allegiance of his Christian subjects by disfavour, by mistrust, by expulsion from offices of honour, by open persecution, till, in the language of ihe ecclesiastical historian, the world was divided into two regions, those of day and of night.f The Lieinius be- vices, as well as the policy of conies more Lieinius, might disincline him to decidedly endure the importunate presence pagan. 0f the Christian bishops in his court; but he might disguise his hostile disposition to the churchmen in his de- clared dislike of eunuchs and of cour- tiers :f the vermin, as he called them, of the palace. The stern avarice of Lieinius would be contrasted to his disadvantage with the profuse liberality of Constantine ; his looser debaucheries with the severer morals of the Western emperor. Licin- ius proceeded to purge his household troops of those whose inclination to his rival he might, not without reason, mis- trust ; none were permitted to retain their rank who refused to sacrifice. He pro- hibited the synods of the clergy, which he naturally apprehended might degener- ate into conspiracies in favour of his rival. He confined the bishops to the care of their own dioceses.§ He affected, in his care for the public morals, to prohibit the promiscuous worship of men and women in the cfiurches ;|| and insulted the sanc- tity of the Christian worship, by com- manding that it should be celebrated in the open air. The edict prohibiting all access to the prisons, though a strong and unwilling testimony to the charitable exertions of the Christians, and by their 'writers represented as an act of wanton * 314 to 323. t Euseb., Vita Constant., i., 49. f Spadonum et Aulicorum omnium vehemens domitor, tineas soricesque palatii eos appellans.— Aur. Viet., Epit. % Vit. Constant., i., 41. ^ Tit. Constant. Women were to be instructed by the deaconesses alone.—Vit. Const, i., 53. and unexampled inhumanity, was caused probably by a jealous policy rather than by causeless cruelty of temper. It is quite clear that the prayers of the Chris- tians, perhaps more worldly weapons, were armed in favour of Constantine. The Eastern churches would be jealous of their happier Western brethren, and naturally would be eager to bask in the equal sun- shine of imperial favour. At length, ei- ther fearing the effect of their prayers with the Deity whom they addressed,* or their influence in alienating the minds of their votaries from, his own cause to that of him who, in the East, was considered the champion of the Christian cause, Li- cinius commanded the Christian churches in Pontus to be closed; he destroyed some of them, perhaps for the defiance of his edicts. Some acts of persecution took place; the Christians fled again into the country, and began to conceal them- selves in the woods and caves. Many instances of violence, some of martyr- dom, occurred,! particularly in Pontus. There was a wide-spread apprehension that a new and general persecution was about to break out, when the Emperor of the West moved, in the language of the Christian historian, to rescue the whole of mankind from the tyranny of one J Whether, in fact, Lieinius avowed the imminent war to be a.strife for mastery between the two religions, the decisive struggle between the ancient gods of Rome and the new divinity of the Chris- tians whether he actually led the chief officers and his most eminent political partisans into a beautiful consecrated grove, crowded with the images of the godsand appealed, by the light of bla- zing torches and amid the smoke of sac- rifice, to the gods of their ancestors against his atheistic adversaries, the foh * IwreXelodai yap ova 7]yelra vrcr.p avroi rag svxac, gvvelSotl (pav?^o) tovto TioyL^opsvog, a/OC virep tov fieodiXovg (3aGiAEa>g rcavra 7rpcir- telv ‘hp.ag Kal rov -Q-eov iXsovadai hettelgto.— Euseb., x., 8. f Sozomen, H. E., i., 7, asserts that many of the clergy, as' well as bishops, were martyred.' Dod- well, however, observes (De Paucitate Martyrum, 91), Caveant fabulatores ne quos alios sub Licinio martyres faciant prGeterquam episcopos.—Compare Ruinart. There is great difficulty about Basileus, bishop of Affiasa. He is generally reckoned by the Greek writers as a martyr (see Pagi, ad an. 316, n. x.); but he is expressly stated by Philostorgius (lib. i.), confirmed by Athanasius (Orat.. 1, contra Arianos), to have been present at the Council of Nice some years afterward. % Vit. Const., ii, 5. § 'TCTraxdelc TLGl^vmap(vov(ievoig avrfi rparij- gelv, elg kTJirjviupo'b krpaTcr}.—Sozomen, i., 7. Sacrifices and divinations were resorted to, and promised to Lieinius universal empire.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. lowers of a foreign and unknown deity, whose ignominious sign was displayed in the van of their armies; yet the propaga- tion of such stories shows how complete- ly, according to their own sentiments, the interests of Christianity were identified with the cause of Constantine.* On both sides were again marshalled all the super- natural terrors which religious hope or superstitious awe could summon. Divi- ners, soothsayers, and Egyptian magi- cians animated the troops of Licinius.f The Christians in the army of Constan- tine attributed all their success to the prayers of the pious bishops who accom- panied his army, and especially to the holy labarum, whose bearer passed un- hurt among showers of fatal javelins.{ The battle of Hadrianople, and the na- Uattie Of val victory of Crispus, decided Hadrianople. the fate of the world, and the A.D. 323. establishment of Christianity as the religion of the empire. The death of Licinius reunited the whole Roman world under the sceptre of Constantine. Eusebius ascribes to Constantine, during this battle, an act of Christian mercy at least as unusual as the appearance of the banner of the cross at the head of the Roman army. He issued orders to spare the lives of his enemies, and offered re- wards for all captives brought in alive. Even if this be not strictly true, its exag- geration or invention, or even its relation as a praiseworthy act, shows the new spirit which was working in the mind of man.§ Among the first acts of the sole em- peror of the world was the repeal of all the edicts of Licinius against the Christians, the release of all prisoners from the dun- geon or the mine, or the servile and hu- miliating occupations to which some had been contemptuously condemned in the manufactories conducted by women; the recall of all the exiles; the restoration of all who had been deprived of their rank in the army or in the civil service ; the restitution of all property of which they had been despoiled—that of the martyrs to the legal heirs, where there were no heirs to the Church—that of the churches was not only restored, but the power to receive donations in land, already granted to the Western churches, was extended to the Eastern. The emperor himself set * Vit. Constant.., ii., 4. + Euseb., Vit. Constant., i., 49. j Eusebius declares that he heard this from the lips of Constantine himself. One man, who, in his panic, gave up the cross to another, was imme- diate ly transfixed in his flight. No one actually around the cross was wounded. $ Vit Const., ii., 13. 299 the example of restoring all which haa been confiscated to the state. Constantine issued two edicts, recount- ing all these exemptions, restitutions, and privileges: one addressed to the church- es, the other to the cities of the East; the latter alone is extant. Its tone migh) certainly indicate that Constantine con- sidered the contest with Licinius as in some degree a war of religion : his own triumph and the fate of his enemies are adduced as unanswerable evidences to the superiority of that God whose followers had been so cruelly persecuted ; the res- toration of the Christians to all their property and immunities was an act, not merety of justice and humanity, but of gratitude to the Deity. But Constantine now appeared more openly to the whole world as the head of the Christian community. Fie sat, not in the Roman senate, deliberating on the affairs of the empire, but presiding in a. council of Christian bishops, summoned from all parts of the world, to de- cide, as of infinite importance to ' A0' the Roman empire, a contested point of the Christian faith. The council was held at Nice, one of the most ancient of the Eastern cities. The transactions of the council, the questions which were agita- ted before it, and the decrees which it is- sued, will be postponed for the present, in order that this important controversy, which so long divided Christianity, may be related in a continuous narrative ; we pass to the following year. Up to this period Christianity had seen much to admire, and little that Conductof it would Venture tO disapprove, Constantino in the public, acts or the domes- 10hisene- tic character of Constantine. His nues* offences against the humanity of the Gos- pel would find palliation, or, rather, vindi- cation and approval, in a warrior and a sovereign. The age was not yet so fully leavened with Christianity as to condemn the barbarity of that Roman pride which exposed without scruple the brave captive chieftains of the German tribes in the amphitheatre. Again, after the triumph of Constantine over Maxentius, this bloody spectacle had been renewed at Treves, on a new victory of Constantine over the Barbarians. The extirpation of the family of a competitor for the empire 'would pass as the usual, perhaps the necessary, policy of the times. The public hatred would applaud the death of the voluptuous Max- entius, and that of his "family would be the inevitable consequences of his guilt. Li. cinius bad provoked his own fate by re- sistance to the will of God and his per-300 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. secution of the religion of Christ. Nor was the fall of Licinius followed by any general proscription; his son lived for a few years to be the undistinguished victim of a sentence which involved others, in whom the public mind took far deeper in- terest. Licinius himself was permitted to live a short time at Thessalonica :* it is said by some that his life was guaran- teed by a solemn oath, and that he was permitted to partake of the hospitality of the conqueror ;f yet his death, though the brother-in-law of Constantine, was but an expected event.J The tragedy which took place in the family of Constantine betray- ed to the surprised and anxious world that, if his outward demeanour showed respect or veneration for Christianity, its milder doctrines had made little impres- sion on the unsoftened paganism of his heart. Crispus, the son of Constantine by ad 326 Minervina, his first wife, was a Crispus, son youth of high and brilliant prom- of Constan- jse# in his early years his a?ie education had been intrusted to the celebrated Lactantius, and there is reason to suppose that he was imbued by his eloquent preceptor with the Christian doctrines ; but the gentler sentiments in- stilled by the new faith had by no means unnerved the vigour or tamed the martial activity of youth. Had he been content with the calmer and more retiring virtues of the Christian, without displaying the dangerous qualifications of a warrior and a statesman, he might have escaped the fatal jealousy of his father, and the arts which were no doubt employed for his ruin. In his campaign against the Bar- barians, Crispus had shown himself a wor- thy son of Constantine, and his naval vic- tory over the fleet of Licinius had com- pleted the conquest of the empire. The conqueror of Maxentius and of Licinius, the undisputed master of the Roman world, might have been expected to stand supe- * Le Beau (Hist, des Empereurs, i., 220) recites with great fairness the various accounts of the death of Licinius, and the motives which are said to have prompted it. But he proceeds to infer that Licini- us must have been guilty of some new crime to in- duce Constantine to violate his solemn oath. f Contra religionem sacramenti Thessalonicae privatus occisus est.—Eutrop., lib. x. % Eusebius says that he was put to death by the laws of war, and openly approves of his execution arid that of the other enemies of God. No//

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 813. distinct and separate beings, both parties ascribed the attributes of the Godhead, vith the exception of self-existence, which was restricted by the Arians to the Fa- ther. Both admitted the anti-mundane Be- ing of the Son and the Holy Spirit. But, according to the Arian, there was a time, before the commencement of the ages, when the parent Deity dwelt alone in un- developed, undivided unity. At this time, immeasurably, incalculably, inconceivably remote, the majestic solitude ceased, the Divine unity was broken by an act of the sovereign Will, and the only-begotten Son, the image of the Father, the vicegerent of all the Divine power, the intermediate agent in all the long subsequent work of creation, began to be* Such was the question which led to all the evils of human strife : hatred, perse- cution, bloodshed. But, however pro- foundly humiliating this fact in the history of mankind, and in the history of Chris- tianity an epoch of complete revolution from its genuine spirit, it may fairly be inquired whether this was not an object more generous, more unselfish, and at least as wise, as many of those motives of per- sonal and national advantage and aggran- dizement, or many of those magic words which, embraced by two parties with blind and unintelligent fury, have led to many of the most disastrous and sanguinary events in the annals of man. " It might, in- deed, have been supposed that a profound metaphysical question of this kind would have been far removed from the passions of the multitude; but with the multitude, and that multitude often comprehends nearly the whole of society, it is the pas- sion which seeks the object, not the object which, of its own exciting influence, in- flames the passion. In fact, religion was become the one dominant passion of the whole Christian world, and everything al- lied to it; or rather, in this case, which seemed to concern its very essence, could no longer be agitated with tranquillity or debated with indifference. The pagan par- ty, miscalculating the inherent strength of the Christian system, saw, no doubt, in these disputes the seeds of the destruction of Christianity. The contest was brought on the stage at Alexandrea ;f but there was no Aristophanes, or, rather, the serious and unpoetic time could not have produ- ced an Aristophanes, who might at once show that he understood, while he broadly ridiculed, the follies of his adversaries. * Compare the letter of Arius, in Theodoret, lib. C c. v. [and the translation of it in Mosheim’s Instit. *.rf Eccl.. Hist., vol. i., p. 288, n. (16)]. f Euseb., Yit. Constant,, ii., 61, Socrates, i., 6, R R The days even of a Lucian were past.* Discord, which at times is fatal to a na- tion or to a sect, seems at others, by the animating excitement of rivalry, the stir- ring collision of hostile energy, to favour the development of moral strength. The Christian republic, like Rome when it was rent asunder by domestic factions, calmly proceeded in her conquest of the world. The plain and intelligible principle which united the opponents of Arius was no doubt a vague, and, however perhaps overstrained, neither ungenerous nor un- natural jealousy, lest the dignity of the Redeemer, the object of their grateful ado- ration, might in some way be lowered by the new hypothesis. The divinity of the Saviour seemed inseparably connected with his coequality with the Father; it was. endangered by the slightest conces sion on this point. It was their argument, that if the Son was not coeval in existence with the Father, he must have been crea- ted, and created out of that which was not pre-existent. But a created being must be liable to mutability; and it was assert- ed in the public address of the patriarch of Alexandrea, that this fatal consequence had been extorted from an unguarded Ari- an, if not from Arius himself: that it was possible that the Son might have fallen, like the great rebellious angel.f The patriarch of this important see, the metropolis of Egypt, was named Alexander Alexander. It was said that Ari- patriarch of us, a presbyter of acute powers Ale*andrea- of reasoning, popular address, and blame- less character, had declined that episcopal dignityThe person of Arius§ was tali and graceful; his countenance calm, pale, and subdued; his manners en- nUb" gaging; his conversation fluent and per- suasive. He was well acquainted with human sciences ; as a disputant, subtle, in- genious, and fertile in resources. His enemies add to this character, which them- selves have preserved, that this humble and mortified exterior concealed unmeas- ured ambition; that his simplicity, frank- * The Philopatris, of whatever age it may be, is clearly not Lucian’s ; and, at most, only slightly touches these questions. f Epiphan., Haer., 69, tom. i., p. 723-727. X See Philostorgius (the Arian writer). Theo- doret, on the other hand, says that he brought for- ward his opinions from envy at the promotion of Alexander, i., 2.—See the Epistle of Alexander, in Socrat., Hist. Eccl., 1, 6. $ Arius is said, in his early life, to have been im- plicated in the sect of the Meletians, which seems to have been rather a party than a sect. They were the followers of Meletius, bishop of Lycopolis, who had been deposed for having sacrificed daring the persecution. Yet this sect or party lasted for more than a century.314 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ness, and honesty only veiled his craft and love of intrigue ; that he appeared to stand aloof from all party merely that he might guide his cabal with more perfect com- mand, and agitate and govern the hearts of men. •Alexander was accustomed, whether for the instruction of the people or the display of his own powers, to debate in public these solemn questions on the nature of the Deity, and the relation of the Son and the Holy Spirit to the Father. According to the judgment of Arius, Alex- ander fell inadvertently into the heresy of Sabellianism, and was guilty of confound- ing in the simple unity of the Godhead the existence of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.* * The intemperate indignation of Alexan- der at the objections of Arius betrayed more of the baffled disputant or the wound- ed pride of the dignitary, than the sereni- ty of the philosopher or the meekness of the Christian. He armed himself ere long in all the terrors of his office, and promul- gated his anathema in terms full of exag- geration and violence. “ The impious Arius, the forerunner of Antichrist, had dared to utter his blasphemies against the Divine Redeemer.'” Arius, expelled from Alexandrea, not indeed before his opinions had spread through the whole of Egypt- and Libya,f retired to the more congenial atmosphere of Syria.J There his vague theory caught the less severely reasoning and more imaginative minds of the Syrian * Socrates, i., 5, 6. f The account of Sozomen says that Alexander at first vacillated, but that he afterward command- ed Arius to adopt his opinions: rov vApeiov d/uoiog £p7]Gd£, ftSVELV £CGO) hoyiGflOV TVpOG- TjKEt) Tcp rfjg diavoiaq arcopprjnp rrjpovjiEVOL. — Ku- seb., Vit. Const., ii., 71. t Vit. Const., iii., 4. t *Epideg ev Zadary 7ToAet teal KG)(iy, teal \id%ai 'Ttepl rtiv &eiG)v doyfidrcov kyiyvovro,—Theodoret, i., 6. Jews darkens more and more into abso- lute antipathy. In the month of May or June (the 20th*), in the year 325, met the great A D 325 Council of Nice. Not half a cen- tury before, the Christian bishops had been only marked as the objects of the most cruel insult and persecution. They had been chosen, on account of their eminence in their own communities, as the peculiar victims of the stern policy of the govern- ment. They had been driven into exile, set to work in the mines, exposed to eve- ry kind of humiliation and suffering, from which some had in mercy been released by death. They now assembled, under the imperial sanction, a religous senate from all parts at least of the Eastern world, for Italy was represented only by two presbyters of Rome ; Hosius appeared for Spain, Gaul, and Britain. The spectacle was altogether new to the world. No wide-ruling sovereign would ever have thought of summoning a conclave of the sacerdotal orders of the different religions ; a synod of philosophers to debate some grave metaphysical or even political ques- tion was equally inconsistent with the or- dinary usages and sentiments of Grecian or Roman society. The public establishment of post-horses was commanded to afford every facility, and that gratuitously, for the journey of the assembling bishops.f Vehicles or mules were to be provided, as though the assembly were an affair of state, at the public charge. At a later period, when councils became more frequent, the hea- then historian complains that the public service was impeded, and the post-horses harassed and exhausted by the incessant journeying to and fro of the Christian delegates to their councils. They were sumptuously maintained during the sitting at the public charge.{ Above three hundred bishops were pres- ent, presbyters, deacons, acolyths Number oi without number,^ a considerable bishops body of laity: but it was the presellt* presence of the emperor himself which gave its chief weight and dignity to the assembly. Nothing could so much con- firm the Christians in the opinion of their altered position, or declare to the world af large the growing power of Christiani- * One of these, dates rests on the authority of Socrates, xiii:, 26; the other of the Paschal Chron- icle, p. 282. —Compaie Pagi, p. 404. f Euseb., Vit. Const., iii., 6. Theodoret, i., 7. t Euseb., iii., 9. The' e was one bishop from Persia, one from Scythia. Eusebius states the number at 250; that in the text is on the authority of Theodoret, and of the numl irs said to have signed the-creed.316 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY ■ y, as this avowed interest taken in their domestic concerns, or so tend to raise the importance attached even to the more remote and speculative doctrines of the new faith, as this unprecedented conde- scension, so it would seem to the heathen, First meet- on the part of the emperor. The mgs of the council met, probably, in a spa- council. cious basilica.* Eusebius de- scribes the scene as himself deeply im- pressed with its solemnity. The assem- bly sat in profound silence, while the great officers of state and other dignified persons (there was no armed guard) en- tered the hall, and awaited in proud and trembling expectation the appearance of the emperor of the world in a Christian council. Constantine at length entered ; he was splendidly attired ; the eyes of the bishops were dazzled by the gold and pre- cious stones upon his raiment. The ma- jesty of his person and the modest dignity of his demeanour heightened the effect: the whole assembly rose to do him hon- our ; he advanced to a low golden seat prepared for him, and did not take his seat (it is difficult not to suspect Eusebius of highly colouring the deference of the emperor) till a sign of permission had been given by the bishops.f One of the leading prelates (probably Eesebius the historian) commenced the proceedings with a short address, and a hymn to the Almighty God. Constantine then deliv- ered an exhortation to the unity in the Latin language, which was interpreted to the Greek bishops. His admonition seems at first to have produced no great effect. Mutual accusation, defence, and recrimi- Behaviour of nation prolonged the debate-! Constantine. Constantine seems to have been present during the greater part of the sittings, listening with patience, soft- ening asperities, countenancing those whose language tended to peace and union, and conversing familiarly, in the best Greek he could command, with the different prelates. The courtly flattery * There is a long note in Heinichen’s Eusebius to prove that they did not. meet in the palace, but in a church; as though the authority of their pro- ceedings depended on the place of their assembly. It was probably a basilica, or hall of justice; the kind of building usually made over by the govern- ment for the purposes of Christian worship ; and, in general, the model of the earliest Christian edi- fices. f Oil 7rporepov 7/ Tovg kTUGHonovg ertLvev&ai. See also Socrates, i., 8. In Theodoret (i., 7) this has grown into his humbly asking permission to sit down. i Constantine burned the libels which the bish- ops had presented against each other. Many of these (the ecclesiastical historian intimates) arose out of private animosities,- Socrates, i„ 6. of the council might attribute to Con- stantine himself what was secretly, sug- gested by the Bishop of Cordova. For, powerful and comprehensive as his mind may have been, it is incredible that a man so educated, and engaged during the early period of his life with military and civil affairs, could have entered, particu- larly being unacquainted with the Greek language, into these discussions on reli- gious metaphysics. The council sat for rather more than two months.* Towards the close, Con- stantine, on the occasion of the com- mencement of the twentieth year of his reign,f condescended to invite the bishc.ps to a sumptuous banquet. All attended, and, as they passed through the imperial guard, treated with every mark of respect, they could not but call to mind the total revolution in their circumstances. Euse- bius betrays his transport by the acknowl- edgment that they could scarcely believe that it was a reality, not a vision ; to the grosser conception of those who had not purified their minds from the millennial notions, the banquet seemed^the actual commencement of the kingdom of Christ. The Nicene Creed was the result of the solemn deliberation of the assem- Nicene bly. It was conceived with some Creed* degree of Oriental indefiniteness, harmo- nized with Grecian subtlety of expression. The vague and somewhat imaginative ful- ness of its original Eastern terms was not too severely limited by the fine precision of its definitions. One fatal word broke the harmony of assent with which it was received by the whole council. Christ was declared Homoousios, of the same sub- stance with the Father,! and the undenia- ble, if perhaps inevitable, ambiguity of this single term involved Christianity in centuries of hostility. To one party it implied absolute identity, and was there- fore only ill-disguised Sabellianism ; to the other it was essential to the coequal * According to some, two months and eleven days ; to others, two months and six days. f This seems to reconcile the difficulty stated by Heinichen. The twentieth year of Constantine’s reign began the 8t.h Cal., Aug., A.D. 325. Euse- bius uses the inaccurate word hvXTjpovro.—Yit. Const., iii., 14. t Athanasius himself allowed that the bishops who deposed Paul of Samosata were justified m rejecting the word dfioovaiov, because they un- derstood it in a material or corporeal sense. But the privilege allowed to those who had died in or- thodox reputation was denied to the Arians and semi-Arians.—De Synodis, Athanas., Oper., i., p. 759. It is impossible to read some pages of this treatise without the unpleasant conviction that Athanasius was determined to make out the Arians to be in the wrong.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 317 and coeval dignity oi the three persons in the Godhead. To some of the Syrian bishops it implied or countenanced the material notion of the Deity.* * It was, it is said by one ecclesiastical historian, a battle in the night, in which neither party could see the meaning of the other.f Three hundred and eighteen bishops Five recu- confirmed this creed by their sig- hts. natures ; five alone still contest- ed the single expression, the Homoousion : Eusebius of Nicomedia, Theognis of Nice, Theonas of Marmarica, Maris of Chalce- don, and Eusebius of Caesarea. Eusebius of Nicomedia and Theognis were banish- ed. Eusebius of Caesarea, after much hes- itation, consented to subscribe, but sent the creed into his diocese with a com- ment explanatory of the sense in which he understood the contested word. His chief care was to guard against giving the slightest countenance to the material con- ception of the Deity. Two only with- stood with uncompromising resistance the Banishment decree of the council. The sol- of Arias. emu anathema of this Christian senate was pronounced against Arius and his adherents ; they were banished by the civil power, and they were especially in- terdicted from disturbing the peace of Al- exandrea by their presence. J * Mt]ts yap dvvacdai ttjv avloy ml vospav ml dadparov §vglv, Gtopdrucov ri TidOog v^iuraadaL. This is the language of Eusebius. $aat de opug Kepi tovtov, tig dpa dDxjv 6 Qeog ttjv yevveTTjv KTLaai Qvglv, EKEidij ktipa p?j dvvapevev avrrjv peTaox&v rfjg rov rrarpog uKpdrov, ml rrjg nap’ ai)TOv djjpiovpyiag, notcl teal ktl&l KpLOTog povog povov 'iva, ical mXeZ tovtov vlov ical Xoyov. Iva tovtov peaov yevops- vov, oi’TCjg Xolkov ml to, irdvTa dt,’ avrov yevia- 6cu dvvrjdrj. ravra ov povov eipr/icaoiv, dXXd ml ypcnbai TEToXprjmGLV Evoefiiog re, teal *Apeiog ml 6 'Q'vaag ’korkpcog.—Athan., Orat. ii., c. .24. Compare Mohler (a learned and strongly orthodox Roman Catholic writer), Athanasius der Grosse, b. i., p. 195. Mohler but dimly sees the Gnostic or Oriental origin of this notion, which lies at the bot- tom of Arianism. f This remarkable sentence does credit to the judgment and impartiality of Socrates: Nvtcropaxlag de ovSev ukeIxs rd yiyvopeva, ovre yap dXXrjXovg e(patvovro voovvreg, d^’ tiv dXXrjXovg (SXaGeprjpEZv vneXdpdavov ol pev yap rov dpoovaiov ttjv Xetjtv etaeMvovrcg ttjv 'ZabeXXiov ml Movravov do^av eiorjyeZodat avrrjv rovg Tvpoabexopevovg hopi^ov ml did tovto f3Xaa turbed during his reign, and that pagan- ism remained unchanged.* All historical records strongly confirm the opinion that paganism was openly professed ; its temples restored ;f its rites celebrated ; neither was its priesthood de- graded from their immunities, nor the es- tates belonging to the temples generally alienated; in short, that it was the public religion of a great part of the empire ; and. still confronted Christianity, if not on equal terms, still with pertinacious resistance, down to the reign of Theodosius, and even that of his sons. Constantine himself, though he neither offered sacrifices, nor consulted the Sibylline books, nor would go up to the temple of the Capitoline Ju- piter with the senate and the people, per- formed, nevertheless, some of the func- tions, at least did not disdain the appella- tion, of supreme pontifff Perhaps we may safely adopt the fol- lowing conclusions. There were two kinds of sacrifices abolished by Constan- tine. I. The private sacrifices, connected with unlawful acts of theurgy and of ma- gic ; those midnight offerings to the pow- ers of darkness, which in themselves were illegal, and led to scenes of unhallowed li- cense.§ II. Those which might be con- sidered the state sacrifices, offered by the emperor himself, or by his representatives in his name, either in the cities or in the * T?/f Kara vbjiov 6s 'dspa-Ksiag sk/.vjjgsv ov6e ev.—Pro Templis, vol. ii., p. 162. Libanus adds that Constantius, on a certain change of circumstances, first prohibited sacrifice. — Compare also Orat., 26. Julian, Orat. vii., p. 424. ■f See, in Gruter, p. 100, n. 6, the inscription on the restoration of the Temple of Concord during the consulship of Paulinus (A.C.331, 332), by the authority of the prafect of the city, and S. P. Q. R. Altars were erected to other pagan gods.—Compare Beugnot, i., 106. M. Beugnot, in his Destruction du Paganisme en Occident, has collected with great industry the proofs of this. fact, from inscriptions, medals, and other of the more minute contemporary memorials. t There is a medal extant of Constantine as su- preme pontiff. § See the laws relating to divination, above, p. 290. . M. la Bastie and M. Beugnot would consider the terms ra fiVGapa rrjg elduTioTiarpicig, in the rescript of Constantine, and the “ insana superstitio” of the law of Constans, to refer exclusively to these noc- turnal and forbidden sacrifices. M. Beugnot has ob- served that Constantine always uses respectful and courteous language concerning paganism. Yretus observantia, vetus consuetudo; templorum solem- nia ; consuetudinis gentilitiae solemnitas. The laws of the later emperors employ very different terms. Error; dementia; error veterum; profanus ritus; sacrilegus ritus; nefarius ritus; superstitio pa- gana, damnabilis, damnata, deterrima, impia; fu- nestse superstitionis errores; stolidus paganorum error.—Cod. Theodos., t. v., p. 255. Beugnot, tom i , p. 80.324 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. army. Though Constantine advanced many Christians to' offices of trust, and no doubt many who were ambitious of such offices conformed to the religion of the em- peror, probably most of the high dignities of the state were held by pagans. An edict might be required to induce them to depart from the customary usage of sacrifice, which with the Christian officers would quietly fall into desuetude.* But still, the sacrifices made by the priesthood, at the expense of the sacerdotal establishments, and out of their own estates—though, in some instances these estates were seized by Constantine, and the sacerdotal colle- ges reduced to poverty—and the public sacrifices, offered by the piety of distin- guished individuals, would be made as usual. In the capital there can be little doubt that sacrifices were offered, in the name of the senate and people of Rome, till a much later period. Christianity may now be said to have Legal estab- ascended the imperial throne : lishment of with the single exception of Ju- christiamty. pan^ frorn this period the mon- archs of the Roman empire professed the religion of the Gospel. This important crisis in the history of Christianity almost forcibly arrests the attention to contem- plate the change wrought in Christianity by its advancement into a dominant pow- er in the state ; and the change in the con- dition of mankind up to this period, attrib- utable to the direct authority or indirect Effects of influence of the new religion. By this on the ceasing to exist as a separate religion, community, and by advancing its pretensions to influence the general gov- ernment of mankind, Christianity, to a cer- tain extent, forfeited its independence. It could not but submit to these laws, framed, as it might seem, with its own concurrent voice. It was no longer a republic, gov- erned exclusively—as far, at least, as its re- ligious concerns—by its own internal pol- ity. The interference of the civil power in some of its most private affairs, the pro- mulgation of its canons, and even, in some cases, the election of its bishops by the state, was the price which it must inevita- bly pay for its association with the ruling power. The natural satisfaction, the more than pardonable triumph, in seeing the em- peror of the world a suppliant with them- selves at the foot of the cross, would blind the Christian world in general to these consequences of their more exalted posi- tion. The more ardent and unworldly would fondly suppose that a Christian em- * The prohibition to the dr/uot and oTpaTLUTucoi (see quotation above from Eusebius) refer, I con- ceive, to these. peror would always be actuated by Chris- tian motives; and the imperial authority, instead of making aggressions on Christian independence, would rather bow in humble submission to its acknowledged dominion. His main object would be to develop the energies of the new religion in the amplest freedom, and allow them free scope in the subjugation of the world. The emperor as little anticipated that he was introducing as an antag- On the civil onist power an indistinguishable Power- principle of liberty into the administration of human affairs. This liberty was based on deeper foundations than the hereditary freedom of the ancient republics. It ap- pealed to a tribunal higher than any which could exist upon earth. This antagonist principle of independence, however, at times apparently crushed, and submitting to voluntary slavery, or even lending it- self to be the instrument of arbitrary des- potism, was inherent in the new religion, and would not cease till it had asserted, and, for a considerable period, exercised an authority superior to that of the civil government. Already in Athanasius might be seen the one subject of Constantine who dared to resist his will. From Atha- nasius, who submitted, but with inflexible adherence to his own opinions, to .Am- brose, who rebuked the great Theodosius, and from Ambrose up to the pope who set his foot on the neck of the prostrate emperor, the progress was slow, but natu- ral and certain. In this profound pros- tration of the human mind, and the total extinction of the old sentiments of Ro- man liberty; in the adumbration of the world, by what assumed the pomp and the language of an Asiatic despotism, it is* impossible to calculate the latent as well as open effect of this moral resist- ance. In Constantinople, indeed,' and in the East, the clergy never obtained suffi- cient power to be formidable to the civil authority; their feuds too often brought them in a sort of moral servitude to the foot of the throne ; still the Christian, and the Christian alone, throughout this long period of human degradation, breathed a kind of atmosphere of moral freedom, which raised him above the general level of servile debasement. During the reign of Constantine Chris- tianity had made a rapid ad- how far the vance, no doubt, in the number religion or of its proselytes as well as in its the empire* external position. It was not yet the es- tablished religion of the empire. It did not as yet stand forward as the new religion adapted to the new order of things, as a part of the great simultaneous changeHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 325 which gave to the Roman world a new capital, a new system of government, and, in some important instances, a new jurisprudence. Yet, having sprung up at once, under‘the royal favour, to a perfect equality with the prevailing heathenism, the mere manifestation of that favour, where the antagonist religion hung so loose upon the minds of .men, gave it much of the power and authority of a dominant faith. The religion of the em- peror would soon become that of the court, and, by somewhat slower degrees, that of the empire. At present, however, as we have seen, little open aggression took place upon paganism. The few tem- ples which were closed were insulated cases, and condemned as offensive to pub- lic morality. In general the temples stood in all their former majesty, for as yet the ordinary process of decay from neglect or supineness could have produced fittle effect. The difference was, that the Christian churches began to assume a more stately and imposing form. In the new capital they surpassed in grandeur, and probably in decoration, the pagan temples, which belonged to old Byzan- tium. The immunities granted to the Christian clergy only placed them on the same level with the pagan priesthood. The pontifical offices were still held by the distinguished men of the state : the emperor himself was long the chief pontiff; but the religious office had become a kind of appendage to the temporal dignity. The Christian prelates were constantly admitted, in virtue of their office, to the imperial presence. On the state of society at large, on its Effect of the different forms and gradations, legal estab- little impression had as yet been Christianity made by Christianity. I he on society. Christians were still a separate people ; their literature was exclusively religious, and addressed, excepting in its apologies, or its published exhortations against paganism, to the initiate alone. Its language would be unintelligible to those uninstructed in Christian theology. Yet the general legislation of Constan- tine, independent of those edicts which concerned the Christian community, bears some evidence of the silent underworking Laws relating of Christian opinion. The re- tto Sundays, script, indeed, for the religious observance of the Sunday, which enjoined the suspension of all public business and private labour, except that of agriculture, was enacted, according to the apparent terms of the decree, for the whole Roman empire. Yet, unless we had direct proof that the decree set forth the Christian reason for the sanctity of the day, it may be doubted whether the act would not' be received by the greater part of the empire as merely adding one more festival to the fasti of the empire ; as proceeding entire- ly from the will of the emperor, or even grounded on his authority as supreme pontiff, by which he had the plenary pow- er of appointing holydays.* In fact, as we have before observed, the day of the Sun would be willingly hallowed, by al- most all the pagan world, especially that part which had admitted any tendency towards the Oriental theology. Where the legislation of Constantine was of a humaner cast, it would Lawstend. be unjust not to admit the influ- ing to hu ence of Christian opinions, spread- mailit>'- ing even beyond the immediate circle of the Christian community, as at least a con- current cause of the improvement. In one remarkable instance there is direct au- thority that a certain measure was adopt- ed by the advice of an influential Chris- tian. During the period of anarchy and confusion which preceded the universal empire of Constantine, the misery had been so great, particularly in Africa and Italy, that the sale of infants for slaves, their exposure, and even infanticide, had become fearfully common. Constantine is- sued an edict, in which he declared that the emperor should be considered the father of all such children. It was a cruelty ir- reconcilable with the spirit of the times to permit any subjects of the empire to perish of starvation, or to be reduced to any unworthy action by actual hunger. Funds were assigned for the food and clothing of such children as the parents should declare themselves unable to sup- port, partly on the imperial revenues, part ly on the revenues of the neighbouring cities. As this measure did not prevent the sale of children, parents were declared incapable of reclaiming children thus sold, unless they paid a reasonable price for their enfranchisement.f Children which had been exposed could not be reclaimed from those who had received them into their families, whether by adoption or as slaves. Whatever may have been the wisdom, the humanity of these ordinances is unquestionable. They are said to have been issued by the advice of Lactantius, to whom had been intrusted the education of Crispus, the son of Constantine. * Cod. Theod., 1. 2, tit. 8 ; 1. 8, tit. 8; 1. 5, tit. 3. Cod. Just., iii., 12. Euseb., Vit. Const., 18, 19, 20. Sozom , i., 8. f Codex Theodos., w, vii., 1. On the exposure of children at this time, compare Lactantius.—D. I., ii.f 20.32.6. .HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Child-stealing, for the purpose of selling Concerning them for slaves, was visited with slavery. a penalty which, both in its na- ture and barbarity, retained the stamp of the old Roman manners. The criminal was condemned to the amphitheatre, either to be devoured by wild beasts or exhibited as a gladiator. Christianity had not as yet allayed the passion for these savage amusements of the Roman people ; yet, in conjunction with the somewhat milder manners of the East, it excluded gladia- torial exhibitions from the new capital. The Grecian amusements of the theatre and of the chariot-race satisfied the popu- lace of Constantinople. Whatever might be the improved condition of the slaves within the Christian community, the tone of legislation preserves the same broad and distinct line of demarcation between the; two classes of society. The master, indeed, was deprived of the arbitrary pow- er of life and death. The death of a slave under torture, or any excessive severity of punishment, was punishable as homi- cide ; but if he died under a moderate chas- tisement, the master was not responsible. In the distribution of the royal domains, care was to be taken not to divide the fam- ilies of the praedial slaves. It is a cruelty, says the law, to separate parents and chil- dren, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives.* But marriages of free women with slaves were punishable with death; the . children of such unions were indeed free, but could not inherit their mothers’ property. The person of dignity and sta- tion who had children by a marriage con- tract with a woman of base condition, could not make.a testament in their fa- vour ; even purchases made in their names or for their benefit might be claimed by the legitimate heirs. The base condition comprehended not only slaves, but freed women, actresses, tavern-keepers and their daughters, as well as those of courte- sans or gladiators. Slaves who were con- cerned in the seduction of their masters’ children were to be burned alive without distinction of sex. The barbarity of this punishment rather proves the savage man- ners of the time than the inferior condi- tion of the slave ; for the receivers of the royal domains who were convicted of dep- redation or fraud were condemned to the same penalty.f * Cod. Theod. t Manumission, which was performed under the sanction of a religious ceremonial in the heathen temples, might now be performed in the church; the clergy might manumit their slaves in the pres- ence of the Church.—Cod. Theod., iv., 7, 1. This law must have connected Christianity in the It can scarcely be doubted that the strict- er moral tone of Constantine’s legislation more or less remote- rape and ab. ly emanated from .Christianity. ducfi011- The laws against rape and seduction were framed with so much rigour as probably to make their general execution difficult,, if not impracticable.* * The ravisher had before escape/! with impunity: if the in- jured party did not prosecute him for hia crime, she had the right of demanding reparation by marriage. By the law of Constantine, the consent of the female made her an accomplice in the crime ; she was amenable to the same penalty. What that penalty was is not quite clear, but it seems that the ravisher was exposed to the wild beasts in the amphitheatre. Even where the female had suffered forcible ab- duction, she had to acquit herself of all suspicion of consent, either from levity of manner or want of proper vigilance. Those pests of society, the panders, who abused the confidence of parents, and made a traf- fic of the virtue of their daughters, were in the same spirit condemned to a punish- ment so horrible as no doubt more fre- quently to ensure their impunity: melted lead was to be poured down their throats. Parents who did not prosecute such of- fences were banished, and their property confiscated. It is not, however, so much the severity of the punishments, indica- ting a stronger abhorrence of the crime, as the social and moral evils of which it took cognizance, which shows the remoter workings of a sterner moral principle. A religion which requires of its followers a strict, as regards the Christianity of this period, it may be said, an ascetic rigour, desires to enforce on the mass of mankind by the power of the law that which it can- not effect by the more legitimate and per- manent means of moral influence. In a small community, where the law is the echo of the public sentiment, or where it rests on an acknowledged Divine authori- ty, it may advance farther into the province of morality, and extend its provisions into every relation of society. The Mosaic law, which, simultaneously with Law against the Christian spirit, began to en- adultery, ter into the legislation of the Christian em- perors, in its fearful penalties imposed upon the illicit commerce of the sexes, concurred with the rigorous jealousy of the Asiatic tribes of that region concern- ing the honour of their women. But when general sentiment with the emancipation of slaves, —Compare Sozomen, i., 9, who says that Constan tine issued three laws on the subject. The manu- mission took place publicly at Easter.—Greg. Nyss. * Cod. Theod.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 827 the laws of Constantine suddenly classed the crime of adultery with those of poison and assassination, and declared it a capi- tal offence, it may be doubted whether any improvement ensued, or was likely to en- sue, in the public morals. Unless Chris- tianity had already greatly corrected the general licentiousness of the Roman world, not merely within but without its pale, it may safely be affrmed that the general and impartial execution of such a statute was impossible.* The severity of the law Concerning against the breach of conjugal divorce. ° fidelity was accompanied with strong restrictions upon the facility of di- vorce. Three crimes alone, in the husband, justified the wife in demanding a legal separation: homicide, poisoning, or the violation of sepulchres. This latter crime was apparently very frequent, and looked upon with great abhorrence.f In these cases the wife recovered her dowry; if she separated for any other cause, she for- feited all to a single needle, and was lia- ble to perpetual banishment.J The hus- band, in order to obtain a divorce, must convict his wife of poisoning, adultery, or keeping notoriously infamous company. In all other cases he restored the whole of the dowry. If he married again, the former wife, thus illegally cut off, might claim his whole property, and even the dowry of the second wife. These im- pediments to the dissolution of the mar- riage tie, the facility of which experience and reason concur in denouncing as de- structive of social virtue and domestic happiness, with its penalties affecting the property rather than the person, were more likely to have a favourable and ex- tensive operation than the sanguinary pro- scription of adultery. Marriage being a civil contract in the Roman world, the state had full right to regulate the stabil- ity and the terms of the compact. Iii oth- er respects, in which the jurisprudence as- sumed a higher tone, Christianity, I should conceive, was far more influential through its religious persuasiveness than by the rigour which it thus impressed upon the * It may be admitted, as some evidence of the in- efficiency of this law, that in the next reign the penalties were actually aggravated. The criminals were condemned either to be burned alive or sew- ed up in a sack and cast into the sea. t Codex Theodos , iii. 16, 1. t The law of Constantine and Constans, which made intermarriage with a niece a capital crime, is supposed by Godefroy to have been a local act, di- rected against the laxity of Syrian morals in this respect.—Cod. Theod , iii., 12, 1. The law issued at Rome, prohibiting intermarriage with the sister of a deceased wife, annulled the marriage and bas- tardized the children.—-iii., 12, 2. laws of the empire. That nameless crime, the universal disgrace of Greek Against pas- and Roman society, was far derasty. more effectively repressed by the abhor- rence infused into the public sentiment by the pure religion of the Gospel, than by the penalty of death enacted by statute against the offence. Another law of un- questionable humanity, and prob- Making oi ably of more extensive opera- eunu hs* tion, prohibited the making of eunuchs. The slave who had suffered this mutilation might at once claim his freedom.* Perhaps the greatest evidence of the secret aggression of Christian- LawsfaV0ur- ity, or rather, in our opinion, able to eoli- th e foreign Asiatic principle bacy* which was now completely interwoven with Christianity, was the gradual’relax- ation of the laws unfavourable to celibacy. The Roman law had always proceeded on the principle of encouraging the multipli- cation of citizens, particularly in the higher orders, which, from various causes, es- pecially the general licentiousness under the later republic and the early empire, were in danger of becoming extinct. The parent of many children was a public bene- factor; the unmarried man a useless bur- den, if not a traitor, to the well-being of the state. The small establishment of the vestal virgins was evidently the remains of an older religion, inconsistent with the general sentiment and manners of Rome. 'On this point the encroachment of Chris- tianity was slow and difficult. The only public indication of its influence was the relaxation of the Papiapoppaean law. This statute enforced certain disabilities on those who were unmarried, or without children by their marriage, at the age of twenty- five. The former could only inherit from their nearest relations ; the latter obtained only the tenth of any inheritance which might devolve on their wives, the moiety of property devised to them by will. The forfeiture went to the public treasury, and was a considerable source of profit. Con- stantine attempted to harmonize the two conflicting principles. He removed the disqualifications on celibacy, but he left the statute in force against married per- sons who were without children. In more manifest deference to Christianity, he ex- tended the privilege hitherto confined to the vestal virgins, of making their will, and that before the usual age appointed by the law, to all who had made a reli- gious vow of celibacy. Even after his death, both religions vied, * All these laws will be found in the Theodosian Code, under the name of Constantine, at the com mencement of each book.328 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Burial of as it were, for -Constantine. He Constantine, received with impartial favour, the honours of both. The first Christian emperor was deified by the pagans ; in a later period he was worshipped as a saint by part of the Christian Church. On the same medal appears his title of “ God,” with the monogram, the sacred smybol of Christianity; in another he is seated in the chariot of the Sun, in a car drawn by four horses, with a hand stretched forth from the clouds to raise him to heaven.* * * § But to show respect at once to the em- peror and to the Christian apostle, con- trary to the rigid usage, which forbade any burial to take place within the city, Constantine was interred in the porch of the church dedicated to the apostles. Con- stantius did great honour (in Chrysos- tom’s opinion) 1 a his imperial father by burying him in the Fisherman’s Porch.f During the reign of Constantine Chris- conversion tianity continued to advance be- of Ethiopia, yond the borders of the Roman empire, and n. some degree to indemnify herself for the losses which she sustained in the kingdom of Persia. The Ethiopi- ans appear to have attained some degree of civilization; a considerable part of the Arabian commerce was kept up with the other side of the Red Sea through the port of Adulis; and Greek letters appear, from inscriptions recently discovered,J to have made considerable progress among this barbarous people. The Romans call- ed this country, with that of the Homer- ites on the other side of the Arabian gulf, by the vague name of the nearer India. Travellers were by no means uncommon in these times, whether for purposes of trade, or, following the traditional history of the ancient sages, from the more dis- interested desire of knowledge. Metro- dorus, a philosopher, had extended his travels throughout this region,§ and, on * Inter Divos meruit referri.—Eutrop., x., 8. Eck- hel., doct, numm. viii., 92, 93. Bolland, 21st Maij. Compare Le Beau, Hist, du Bas Empire, i., p. 388. Beugnot, i., 109. There exists a calendar in which the festivals of the new god are indicated.—Acad, des Inscrip., xv., 106. f Chrysost., Horn. 60, in 2 Cor. t That published by Mr. Salt, from the ruins of Axum, had already appeared in the work of Cos- mas Indicopleustes, edited by Montfaucon; Nie- buhr published another, discovered by Gau in Nu- bia, relating to Silco, king of that country. § The same Metrodorus afterward made a jour- ney into farther India; his object was to visit the Brahmins, to examine their religious tenets and practices. Metrodorus instructed the Indians in the construction of water-mills and baths In their gratitude, they opened to him the inmost sanctuary of their temples. But the virtue of the philosopher Metrodorus was not proof against the gorgeous his return, the account of his adventures induced another person of the same class, Meropius of Tyre, to visit the same re- gions. Meropius was accompanied by two youths, Edesius and Frumentius. Mero pius, with most of his followers, fell in a massacre arising out of some sudden in- terruption of the peace between the Ethi- opians and the Romans. Edesius and Frumentius were spared on account of their youth. They were taken into the service of the king, and gradually rose till one became the royal cup-bearer, the other the administrator of the royal finan- ces. The king died soon after they had been elevated to these high distinctions, and bequeathed their liberty to the stran- gers. .The queen entreated them to con- tinue their valuable services till her son should attain to full age. The Romans complied with her request, and the su- preme government of the kingdom of Ethiopia was administered by these two Romans, but the chief post was occupied by Frumentius. Of the causes which dis- posed the mind of Frumentius towards Christianity we know nothing ; he is rep- resented as seized with an eager desire of becoming acquainted with its tenets, and anxiously inquiring whether any Chris- tians existed in the country, or could be found among the Roman travellers who visited it.* It is more probable, since there were so many Jews both on the Arabian and African side of the gulf, that some earlier knowledge of Christianity had spread into these regions. But it was embraced with ardour by Frumentius; treasures which dazzled his eyes; he stole a great quantity of pearls and other jewels; others he said that he had received as a present to Constan- tine from the King of India. He appeared in Con- stantinople. The emperor received, with the high- est satisfaction, those magnificent gifts which Me- trodorus presented in his own name. But Metro- dorus complained that his offerings would have been far more sumptuous if he had not been at- tacked on his way through Persia, contrary to the spirit of the existing peace between the empires, and plundered of great part of his treasures. Con- stantine, it is said, wrote an indignant remon- strance to the King of Persia. This story is cu- rious, as it shows the connexion kept up by tra- ders and travellers with the farther East, which accounts for the allusions to Indian tenets and usa- ges in the Christian as well as the pagan writers of the time. It rests on the late authority of Ce- drenus (t. i., p. 295), but is confirmed by a passage of Ammianus Marcellinus, wno, however, places it in the reign of Constantius. Sed Constantium ardores Parthicossuccendisse, cum Metrodori men* daciis avidius acquiescit, 1. xxv., c. 4. Compare St. Martin’s additions to Le Beau, i., 343. * Sozomen, in his ignorance, has recourse to vis ions or direct Divine inspiration. Qelaig latog ttpo- Toairelg km^aveLaig, ?} ml avrofiarug rov k vovvrog.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 329 ne built a church, and converted many of the people. When the young king came of age, notwithstanding the remonstrances of the prince and his mother, Frumentius passed through Alexandrea, and, having communicated to Athanasius the happy beginnings of the Gospel in that wild re- gion, the influence of that commanding prelate induced him to accept the mission of the Apostle of India. He was conse- crated Bishop of Axum by the Alexan- drean prelate, and that see was always considered to owe allegiance to the patri- archate of Alexandrea. The preaching of Frumentius was said to have been emi- nently successful, not merely among the Ethiopians, but the neighbouring tribes of Nubians and Blemmyes. His name is still reverenced as the first of the Ethio- pian pontiffs. But probably in no coun- try did Christianity so soon degenerate into a mere form of doctrine ; the wild in- habitants of these regions sank downward rather than ascended in the scale of civili- zation ; and the fruits of Christianity, hu- manity and knowledge, were stifled amid the conflicts of savage tribes by ferocious manners and less frequent intercourse with more cultivated nations. The conversion of the Iberians* was the of the work of a holy virgin. Nino was Iberians, among the Armenian maidens who fled from the persecutions of the Persians, and found refuge among the warlike na- tion of Iberia, the modern Georgia. Her seclusion, her fasting and-constant pray- ers, excited the wonder of these fierce warriors. Two cures which she is said to have wrought, one on the wife of the king, still farther directed the attention of the people to the marvellous stranger. The grateful queen became a convert to Christianity. Mihran, the king, still wa vered between the awe of his ancient dei ties, the fear of his subjects, and his men nation to the new and wonder-working faith. One day, when he was hunting in a thick and intricate wood, he was en veloped in a sudden and impenetrable mist. Alone, separated from his com- panions, his awe-struck mind thought ol the Christians’ God; he determined to embrace the Christian faith. On a sud- den the mist cleared off, the light shone gloriously down, and in this natural im- age the king beheld the confirmation of the light of truth spread abroad within his soul. After much opposition, the temple of the great god Aramazd (the Ormuzd of the Persian system) was levelled with the earth. A cross was erected upon its ru- ins by tbe triumphant Nino, which was long worshipped as the palladium of the kingdom.* Wonders attended on the con- struction of the first Christian church. An obstinate pillar refused to rise, and defied the utmost mechanical skill of the people to force it from its oblique and pendant position. The holy virgin pass- ed the night in prayer. On tfie morning the pillar rose majestically of its own ac- cord, and stood upright upon its pedestal. The wondering people burst into accla- mations of praise to the Christians’ God, and generally embraced the faith. The King of Iberia entered into an alliance with Constantine, who sent him valuable presents and a Christian bishop. Eusta- thius, it is said, the deposed patriarch of Antioch, undertook this mission by the command of the emperor, and Iberia was thus secured to the Christian faith. CHAPTER V. CHRISTIANITY UNDER THE SONS OF CONSTANTINE. If Christianity was making such rapid Accession of progress in the conquest of the the sons of world, the world was making Constantine. fearful reprisals on Christianity. By enlisting new passions and interests in its cause, religion surrendered itself to an inseparable fellowship with those passions and interests. The more it mingles with the tide of human affairs, the more turbid becomes the stream of Christian history. * Socrates, i., 20. Sozomen, ii., c. 7. Rufin., x., 10. Theodoret, i., 24. Moses Choren, lib. ii., c. 83. Klaproth, Travels in Georgia.- T T In the intoxication of power, the Christian, like ordinary men, forgot his original char- acter: 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 dis ord and misery into the society of man. The Christian emperor dies ; he is sue-. * In 1801 this cross, or that which perpetual tra- dition accounted as the identical cross, was remo- ved to Petersburg by Prince Bagration. It was re- stored, to the great joy of the nation, by order oi the Emperor Alexander.330 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. cecded 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 aiephews of the deceased sov- ereign, who were guilty of being named in the 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 sus- picion, at least, of connivance in these bloody deeds. Christianity appears only in a favourable light as interposing be- tween 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 Con- stantine, to the causes of fraternal ani- mosity usual on the division of a kingdom between several brothers was added that Religious re^g*ous hostility. The two differem-is of emperors (for they were speed- ihe two sur- ily reduced to two) placed them- vivmg sons. sejves a£ 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 tyran- nical Constantius to that of Arianism. The East was arrayed against the West. At Rome, at Alexandrea, at Sardica, and afterward at Arles and Milan, Athanasius was triumphantly acquitted; at Antioch, cA Philippopolis, and finally at Rimini, he was condemned with almost equal una- nimity. Even within the Qhurch itself, the distribution of the superior dignities became an object of fatal ambition and Aife. The streets of Alexandrea and 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 mel- ancholy facts is alike inconsistent with Christian truth and wisdom. In some de- gree they are accounted for by the pro- verbial reproach against history, that it is the record of human folly and crime; and history, when the world became impreg- nated 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 interpreta- tion of its precepts, into solitary commu- nion with the Deity, or, in its more genuine spirit, was content with exercising its hu- manizing influence in the more remote and obscure quarters of the general social system. Even the annals of the Church take be Je notice of those cities where the Christian episcopate passed calmly down through a succession of pious and beneficent prel- ates, who lived and died in the undisturb- ed attachment and veneration of their Christian disciples, and respected by the hostile pagans ; men whose noiseless course of beneficence was constantly di- minishing 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, afterward of the empire. But, in fact, the theological opinions of Christianity naturally made more rapid progress than its moral in- slow* thanu fluence. The former had only to religious overpower the resistance of a re- reV0iul1011* ligion which had already lost its hold upon the mind, or a philosophy too speculative for ordinary understandings and too un- satisfactory for the more curious and in- quiring ; 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 man- ners 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 pagan- ism 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 senti- ments or habits ; with a third, and perhaps the more considerable part, there was a transfer of the passions and the intellect- ual 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 between its doctrines and its moral perfection. Its * “If,” said the dying Bishop of Constantinople, “ you would have for my successor a man who would edify you by the example of his life and improve you by the purity of his precepts, choose Paul; if a man versed in the affairs of the world, and able to maintain the interests of religion, you suffrages must be given to Macedonius.”—Socr.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 331 dogmatic purity was the sole engrossing subject; 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 hu- man virtue. Faith not only overpowered, but discarded from her fellowship Love and Peace. Everywhere there was exag- geration of one of the constituent elements of Christianity ; that exaggeration which is the inevitable consequence of a strong impulse upon the human mind. Wherev- er men feel strongly, they act violently. The more speculative Christians, there- fore, 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 prac- tical, 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 dog- matical 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 them- selves are both disposed and think them- selves entitled to enforce the same sever- ity on others. The other, as his sphere became more extensive, was satisfied with an adhesion to the Christian creed instead of that total change of lifeAlemanded of the early Christian, and watched over with such jealous vigilance by the mutual su- perintendence of a. small society. The creed, thus become the sole test, was en- forced with all the passion of intense zeal, and guarded with the most subtle and scru- pulous jealousy. In proportion to the ad- mitted importance of the creed, men be- came more sternly and exclusively wed- ded to their opinions. Thus an antago- nist principle of exclusiveness coexisted with the most comprehensive ambition. While they swept in converts indiscrim- inately 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 al- legiance in this respect was blind and complete. Hence a far larger admixture of human passions, and the common vul- gar incentives of action, were infused into the expanding Christian body. Men be- came 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 to- gether by a new and more indissoluble bond. The world divided into two par- ties. Though the shades of Arianism, perhaps, if strictly decomposed, of Trini- tarianism, 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 Ni- cene 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 definitiveness of the Athan- asian doctrine admitted less discretion; and, no doubt, though political vicissitudes had some influence on the final establish- ment of their doctrines, the more illiterate and less imaginative West was predis- posed to the Athanasian opinions by its natural repugnance to the more vague and dubious theory. All, however, were en- rolled under one or the other standard, and the part}" which triumphed eventually would rule the whole Christian world. Even the feuds of Christianity at this period, though with the few more dispas- sionate and reasoning of the pagans they might retard its progress, in some respects contributed to its advancement; they as- sisted in breaking up that torpid stagna- tion which brooded over the general mind. It gave a new object of excitement to the popular feeling. The ferocious and igno- rant populace of the large cities, which found a new aliment in Christian faction for their mutinous and sanguinary out- bursts of turbulence, had almost been bet- ter left to sleep on in the passive and un- destructive quiet of pagan indifference. They were dangerous allies, more than dangerous, fatal to the purity of the Gos- pel. Athanasius stands out as the prominent character of the period in the , , history, not merely of Christian- 1 *',asms‘ ity, but of the world. That history is one long controversy, the life of Athanasius one unwearied and incessant strife.* . It .is neither the serene course of a being el- evated 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 mis- ery of an unconverted people. Yet even •now (so eompletely.has this polemic spirit become incorporated with Christianity) the memory of Athanasius is regarded by * Life of Athanasius prefixed to his works — Tillemont, Vie d’Athanase,332 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. many wise and good men with reverence, which in Catholic countries is actual ad- oration, in Protestant approaches towards it.* It is impossible, indeed, not to ad- mire the force of intellect which he cen- tred 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 1 Was the term consubstantialism absolute- ly essential to Christianity 1 If a some- what wider creed had been accepted, would not the truth at least as soon and as generally have .prevailed 1 Could not the commanding or persuasive voice of Christianity have awed or charmed the troubled waters to peace I But Athanasius, in exile, would consent to no peace which did not prostrate his antagonists before his feet. He had ob- tained 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 af- fection of Constantius, it was a question of peace or war. Constantius submitted; he .received the prelate on his return with courtesy, or, rather, with favour and dis- tinction. Athanasius entered Alexandrea a.d. 338. at head °f a triumphal pro- Restoration cession; the bishops of his par- sfAoAie'*- ty resumed their sees; all Egypt andrea. returned to its obedience; but a.d. 340. the more inflexible Syria still waged the war with unallayed activity. A council was held at Tyre, in which new charges were framed against the Alexan- drean prelate : the usurpation of his see in defiance of his condemnation by a coun- cil (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 reoccupation of the see ; and malversation of sums of money intended for the poor, but appropriated to his own use. A rival council at Alexandrea at once acquitted Athanasius on all these points; asserted his right to the see ; ap- pealed to and avouched the universal rejoi- cings at his restoration; his rigid adminis- tration of the funds intrusted to his care.f * Compare Mohler, Athanasius der Grosse nnd seine zeit (Maintz, 1827), and Newman’s Arians. The former is the work of a very powerful Roman Catholic writer, labouring to show that all the vital principles of Christianity were involved in this con-' troversy, and stating one side of the question with consummate ability. It is the panegyric of a dutiful son on him whom he calls the father of Church theology.—P. 304. •f Compare throughout the ecclesiastical histo- rians Theodoret, Socrates, and Sozomen. A more august assembly of Christian prelates met in the presence of A.D, 34]< the emperor at Antioch. Ninety Council a* bishops celebrated the consecra- Antloch* tion 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 con- substantial or Homoousion. The council ratified the decrees of that of Tyre with regard to Athanasius. It is asserted, ou his part, that the majority had withdrawn to their dioceses before the introduction of this question, and that a factious mi- nority of forty prelates assumed and abu- sed the authority of the council. They proceeded to nominate a new bishop of Alexandrea. Pistus, who had before been appointed to the see, was passed over in silence, probably as too inactive or unam- bitious for their purpose. Gregory, a na- tive of the wilder region of Cappadocia, but educated under Athanasius himself in the more polished schools of Alexandrea, wras invested with this more important dignity. Alexandrea, peaceably reposing, it is said, under the paternal episcopate of Athanasius, was suddenly startled by the appearance of an edict, signed by the im- perial praefect, announcing the degradation of Athanasius and the appointment of Gregory. Scenes of savage conflict en- sued ; the churches.were taken, as it were, by storm ; the priests of the Athanasian party were treated with the utmost indig- nity ; virgins scourged; every atrocity perpetrated by unbridled multitudes, im- bittered by every shade of religious fac- tion. The Alexandrean populace were always ripe for tumult and bloodshed. The pagans and the Jews mingled in the fray, and seized the opportunity, no doubt, of showing their impartial animosity to both parties, though the Arians (and, as the original causes of the tumult, not with- out justice) were loaded with the unpopu- larity of this odious alliance. They ar- rayed themselves on the side of the sol- diery appointed to execute the decree of the praefect; and the Arian bishop is charged, not with much probability, with abandoning the churches to their pillage. Athanasius fled; a second time Athanasius an exile, he took refuge in the flies to West. He appeared again at Rome- Rome, in the dominions and. under the protection of an orthodox emperor; for Constans, who, after the death of Con- stantine, 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 NkHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 333 cene 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 Alexandrea, 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 on 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 at- tempted to regain their authority. Greg- Usurpation ory is said to have attempted to of Gregory, 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 Alexandrea was disturbed by the hostile excesses of the Arians; in Con- stantinople itself the conflicting religious parties gave rise to the first of those popu- lar 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 world- ly 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 un- justly deposed froiji the see ; the Arians Bloody supported Macedonius. The dis- quarrei at pute spread from the church into nopietanti" ^e streets’ from the clergy to SUs the populace ; blood was shed ; the whole city was in arms on one part or the other. The emperor was at Antioch ; he com- manded 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 * Athanas., Oper., p. 112, 149, 350, 352, and the ecclesiastical historians in loc. of Hermogenes was dragged through the streets, and at length cast into the sea. Constantius heard this extraordinary in- telligence at Antioch. The contempt of the imperial mandate, the murder of an imperial officer in the contested nomina- tion of a bishop, were as yet so new in the annals of the world ‘as to fill him with equal astonishment and indignation. He mounted his horse, though it was 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 resent- ment : 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 par- ties, the election of Macedonius was not confirmed, although he was allowed to exercise the episcopal functions. Paul retired, first to Thessalonica, subsequent- ly to the court of Constans. The remoter consequences of the Ath- anasian controversy began to directs of the develop themselves at this ear- Trinitarian ly period. The Christianity of controversy the East and the West gradual- m tle ef5t* ly assumed a divergent and independent character. Though, during a short time, the Arianism of the Ostrogothic conquer ors gave a temporary predominance in It- aly to that creed, the West in general sub- mitted in uninquiring acquiescence to the Trinitarianism of Athanasius. In the East, on the other hand, though the doc- trines of Athanasius eventually obtained the superiority, the controversy gave birth to a long and unexhausted line of subordi- nate disputes. The East retained its min- gled character of Oriental speculativeness and Greek subtlety. It could not abstain from investigating and analyzing the Di- vine nature, and the relations of Christ and the Holy Ghost to the Supreme Being. Macedonianism, Nestorianism, Eutychian- ism, with the fatal disputes relating to the procession of the Holy Ghost during al- most the last hours of the Byzantine em- pire, may be considered the lineal descend- ants of this prolific controversy. The op- position of the East and W~est 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 doc trines*, enabled him to stand forth in un disputed authority as at once the chief of the Western episcopate and the chamoion334 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. of orthodoxy. The age of Hosius, and his residence in a remote province, with- drew the only competitor for this superi- Athanasius ority. Athanasius took up his at Roma, residence at Rome, and, under the protection of the Roman prelate, de- fied his adversaries to a new contest. Ju- juiius, bisti- lius summoned the accusers of op Of Home. Athanasius to plead the cause before a council in Rome.* The Eastern prelates altogether disclaimed his jurisdic- tion, and rejected his pretensions to re- judge the cause of a bishop already con- demned by the council of Tyre. The an- swer of Julius is directed rather to the justification of Athanasius than to the as- sertion of his own authority. The synod synod at of Rome solemnly acquitted Atli- iiome. anasius, Paul, and all their adhe- rents. The Western emperor joined in the sentiments of his clergy. A second a.d. 343. council at Milan, in the presence At Milan. 0f Constans, confirmed the decree of Rome. Constans proposed to his broth- er to convoke a general council of both empires. A neutral or border ground was chosen for this decisive conflict. At Sar- Councii of dica met one hundred prelates Sardica. from the West, from the East a.d. 345-6. orqy seventy-five.f Notwith- standing his age and infirmities, Hosius travelled from the extremity of the empire ; and it is remarkable that the Bishop of Rome, so zealous in the cause of Athana- sius, alleged an excuse for his absence, which may warrant the suspicion that he was unwilling to be obscured in this im- portant scene by the superior authority of Hosius. Five of the Western prelates, among whom were Ursacius of Singidu- num 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.J In all these coun- cils :it appears not to have occurred that, religion being a matter of faith, the suf- frages of the majority could not possibly ' * Julius is far from asserting any individual au- thority or pontifical supremacy. “ Why do you alone write V’ “ Because I represent the opinions of the bishops of Italy.”—Epist. Julian, Athanas., Op., i., 146. The ecclesiastical historians, however, in the next century, assert that Rome claimed the right of ad- judication. Tvuplfrvaiv ovv r& hmcnfattp Tcopyg 'lovXup to, Kad’ kauTovg- 6 6s are irpovopsa rye sv T6pr] sm\yatag sxovcryg^—Socr., E. H., ii., 15. Ola 6e rC)v 'kllvtqv Ky6sp.ovlag avr$ TrpoarjKovayg 6ta rrjv a^lav rod d-povov.—Soz. E. H., iii., 8. . f By som? accounts there were 100 Western bishops, 73 Eastern. % Concilia Labbe, vol. iii., Athanas. contr. Arian, &.c. impose a creed upon a conscientious mi- nority. 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 numerous 'party might have weight, in the personal condemnation, for instance, or the acquittal of Athanasius; but as these suffrages could not convince the un- derstanding of those who voted on the other side, the theological decisions must of necessity be rejected, unless the minor- ity would submit likewise to the humilia- ting 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. 11. these two cities sat the rival Rivai C01!n councils, each asserting itself cii at Phii- the genuine representative of 1I,popolls Christendom, issuing decrees and anathe- matizing their adversaries. The Arians are accused of maintaining their influence, even in the East, by acts of great cruelty. In Adrianople, in Alexandrea, they enfor- ced submission to their tenets by the scourge and by heavy penalties.! The Western council at Milan accepted and ratified the decrees of the council of Sardica, absolving Athanasius of all crim- inality, and receiving his doctrines as the genuine and exclusive truths of the Gos- pel. On a sudden affairs took ReconciHa- a new turn ; Constantius threw tio11 of Co;y himself, as it were, at the feet Athanasius, of Athanasius, and in three sue- a.d. 349. cessive letters entreated him to resume his episcopal throne. The emperor and the prelate (who had delayed at first to obey, either from fear or from pride, the flatter- ing invitation) met at ^ntioch with mutu- al expressions of respect and cordiality.J Constantius commanded all the accusa- tions against Athanasius to be erased from the registers of the city. He commended the prelate to the people of Alexandrea in terms of courtly flattery, which harshly contrast with his former, as well as with * The Oriental bishops protested against the as- sumption of supremacy by the Western. Novatn legem introduces putaverunt, ut Orientales Epis- copi ab Occidentalibus judicarentur.—Apud Hilar, Fragm., iii. f The cause of Marcellus of Ancyra, whom the Eusebian party accused of. Sabellianism, was throughout connected with that of Athanasius. f The emperor proposed to Athanasius to leavo one church to the Arians at Alexandrea ; Athana- sius dexterously eluded the request by very fairly demanding that one church in Antioch, where the Arians predominated, should be set apart for those of his communion.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 335 his subsequent, conduct to Athanasius. The Arian bishop, Gregory, was dead, and Athanasius, amid the universal joy, re-en- tered 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 recan- tation of Ursacius and Valens, two of his most powerful antagonists.* This sudden change in the policy of a D 349 Constantius 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 Constan- tius. The aged prelate was charged with incontinence, but the accusation recoiled on its inventors. A man of infamous char- acter, Onager the wild ass, the chief con- ductor of the plot, on being detected, avow- ed himself the agent of Stephen, the Arian bishop of Antioch. Stephen was igno- miniously 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 sub- sequent conduct when, as emperor of the whole world, he could again dare to dis- play his deep-rooted hostility to Athana- sius, induces the suspicion of political rea- sons. Constantius was about to be em- „ . barrassed with the Persian war; at this dangerous crisis, the ad- monitions of his brother, not unmingled with warlike menace, might enforce the expediency at least of a temporary recon- ciliation with Athanasius. The political troubles of three years suspended the re- ligious 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 Death of murdered brother, the surviving constans. Son 0f 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 War with to the arms of Magnentius.f Ur- Magnentius. sacius and Yalens, after their re- a.d. 351. cantation, had relapsed to Arian- ism. Yalens was the Bishop of Mursa, and in the immediate neighbourhood of * Greg. Nazian., Enc. Athanas. Athanas., Hist. Arian. f Sulpicius Severus, ii., c. 5T. that town was fought the decisive Battle of battle. Constantius retired with Mursa. Yalens into the principal church, to assist with his prayers, rather than with his di- rections or personal prowess, the success of his-army. The agony of his mind may be conceived during the long suspense of a conflict on which the sovereignty of the world depended, and in which the con- querors lost more men than the vanquish- ed.* Yalens 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 vic- tory ; intelligence communicated to the prelate by an angel from heaven. Whether Yalens had anticipated the event by a bold fiction, or arranged some plan for obtain- ing rapid information, he appeared from that time to the emperor as a man espe- cially favoured by Heaven, a prophet, and one of good omen. But either the fears of the emperor or the caution of the Arian party de- a.d. ssi layed yet for three or four years t0 355. 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 Macedonius on the episcopal throne of Constantinople. Philip remembered the fate of Hermogenes; he secured himself in the thermae of Zeuxippus, and summon- ed the prelate to his presence. He then communicated his instructions, and fright- ened or persuaded the aged Paul to con- sent to be secretly transported in a boat over the Bosphorus. In the pauI dep0SPd morning Philip appeared in his from the bish- ear, with Macedonius by his XminopiT1 side in the pontifical attire ; he Macedonius drove directly to the church, reinstated, but the soldiers were obliged to hew their way through the dense and resisting crowd to the altar. Macedonius passed over the murdered bodies (three thousand are said to have fallen) to the throne of the Chris- tian prelate. Paul was carried in chains first to Emesa, afterward to a wild town in the deserts about Mount Taurus. He had disappeared from the sight of his fol lowers, 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 praefect Philip.f *. Magnentius is said by Zonaras to have sacri- ficed a girl to propitiate the gods on this moment ous occasion.—Lib. xiii.. t. ii., p. 16, 17. f Athanas., Oper., i.,322, 348. Socrat., E. H.. ii., 26338 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. But, before the decisive blow was struck against Athanasius, Constantius endeav- oured to subdue the West to the Arlan opinions. The emperor, released from the dangers of war, occupied his triumph- ant 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 West- ern bishops firmly opposed the conqueror Councils of °f Magnentius. At the councils, Aries and first of Arles and afterward of Milan. Milan, they refused to subscribe the condemnation of Athanasius, or to communicate with the Arians. Liberius, Persecution the new bishop of Rome, refused of Liberius, the timid and disingenuous com- bishop of promise to which his representa- E°me. tive at Arles, Vincent, deacon of Rome, had agreed; to assent to the con- demnation 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 ap- plauded 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 embarrass- ed 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 New char- were of very different degrees {?«* against of magnitude and probability. Athanasius. jqe was accllsed of exciting the hostility of Constans 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 gra- cious reception of Athanasius by the em- peror, 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 ac- cused of treasonable correspondence with the usurper Magnentius. Athanasius re- pelled tlxis charge with natural indigna- tion. He must be a monster of ingrati- tude, worthy a thousand deaths, if he had leagued with the murderer of his bene- factor, Constans, He defied his enemies to the production of any letters; he de- manded the severest investigation, the strictest examination, of his own secre- taries or those of Magnentius. The de- scent is rapid from these serious charges to that of having officiated in a new ana splendid church, the Caesarean, without the permission of the emperor; and the exercising a paramount and almost mo- narchical authority over the churches along the whole course of the Nile, even beyond his legitimate jurisdiction. The first was strangely construed into an in- tentional disrespect to the emperor, the latter might fairly be attributed to the zeal of Athanasius for the extension of Chris- tianity. Some of these points might ap- pear beyond the jurisdiction of an eccle- siastical tribunal; and in the Council of Milan there seems to have been an incli- nation to separate the cause of Athana- sius from that of his doctrine. As at Arles, some proposed to abandon the per- son of Athanasius to the will of the em- peror, if a general condemnation should be passed against the tenets of Arius. Three hundred ecclesiastics formed the Council of Milan. Few of these council of were from the East. The Bishop MiJan- of Rome did not appear in person to lead the orthodox party. His chief representa- tive was Lucifer of Cagliari, a man of ability, but of violent temper and un- guarded 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 imme- diately under, his own superintendence, adjourned the, assembly from*the church to the palace. This unseemly intrusion of a layman in the deliberations of the clergy, unfortunately, was not without precedent. Those who had proudly hail- ed the entrance of Constantine into the Synod of Nice could not consistently dep- recate the presence of his son at Milan. The controversy became a personal question between the emperor and A D 355 his refractory subject. The emper- or 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 di- rect 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 obse- quious and almost adoring court of the emperor must have stood aghast at the audacity of the ecclesiastical synod. Their language was that of vehement in-HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 33? vective rather than dignified dissent or calm remonstrance. Constantius, con- cealed 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 Atha- nasius. Yet flatteries, persuasions, bribes, menaces, penalties, exiles, were necessa- ry to extort the assent of the resolute as- sembly. Then they became conscious of the impropriety of a lay emperor’s intru- sion into' the debates of an ecclesiastical synod. They demanded a free council, m which the emperor should neither pre- side in person nor by his commissary. They lifted up their hands, and entreated the angry Constantius not to mingle up the affairs of the state and the church.* Three prelates, Lucifer of Cagliari, Euse- bius of Vercellae, Dionysius of Milan, were sent into banishment, to places remote from each other, and the most inhospita- ble 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 Fan of Li- and garrisoned by some of his berius. faithful flock, Liberius was seiz- ed at length and carried to Milan. He withstood, somewhat contemptuously, the personal entreaties and arguments of the emperor.f 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 1” He was exiled to Berbea, a city of Thrace. An Arian prelate, Fe- lix, was forced upon the unwilling city. But two years of exile broke the spirit of Liberius. He began to listen to the ad- vice of the Arian bishops of Berbea; the solitude, the cold climate, and the dis- comforts of this uncongenial region, had more effect than the presents or the men- aces of the emperor. He signed the Arian formulary of Sirmium ; he assented to the condemnation of Athanasius. The Fail of fall of the aged Hosius increased Hosius. the triumph of the Arians. Some of the Catholic writers reproach with un- due bitterness the weakness of an old man, whose nearer approach to the grave, they assert, ought to have confirmed him * MrjSe ava/iLGysiV ttjv Tofia'acyv ry rfo c/c- K'Xeaiag diarayy.—-Athanas/ ad Mon., c. 34, 36. Compare c 62. f Theodoret, iv. 16. V v in his inalienable fidelity to Christ. Bui 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 by an address, pre- Receptionof sented by some of the principal Constantius females of the city in their most al Rome* splendid 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 fe- males rejected with indignant disdain this dishonourable compromise; and when Constantius commanded a similar proposi- tion to be publicly read in the circus at the time of the 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 1 or are we to suppose that the whole populace of Rome took an interest in the appointment of a Christian pontiff? Athanasius awaited in tranquil dignity the bursting storm. He had orders to re- eluded the imperial summons to moveAthan- appear at Milan, Upon the plea asms* that it was ambiguous and obscure. Con- stantius, either from some lingering re- morse, from reluctance to have his new condemnatory ordinances confronted with his favourable and almost adulatory testi- monies to the innocence of Athanasius, or from fear lest a religious insurrection in A'lexandrea 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 con- venient, of disowning his emissaries. Two secretaries were despatched with a ver bal 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 farther instruc- tions 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 in- vest 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, totake338 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. . 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 sac- ramental service of the next day, in the Church of St. Theonas. Suddenly the , . sound of trumpets, the trampling me Church of steeds, the clash oi arms, the of Aiexan- bursting the bolts of the doors, in- drea‘ terrupted the silent devotions of the assembly. The bishop on his throne, in the depth of the choir, on which fell the dim light of the lamps, beheld the gleam- ing arms of the soldiery as they burst into the nave of the church. The archbishop, as the ominous sounds grew louder, com- manded the chanting 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 burden, “ For his mer- cy endureth forever!” 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 follow- ers. The riches of the altar, the sacred ornaments of the church, and even the consecrated virgins, were abandoned to the license of an exasperated soldiery. 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. Constantius confirmed the acts of his officers.* The Arians were prepared to replace the George of deposed prelate; their choice fell Cappadocia, on another Cappadocian, more savage and unprincipled than the former one. Constantius commended George of * Athanas., Apol rie Fug&, vol. i., p. 334; ad Monachos, 373, 378, 393, 395; ad Const., 307, 310. rilletnont., Vied’Athauase. Cappadocia to the people of Alexandrea 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 turn 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 prel- ate 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 pos- sessed, no doubt, great worldly ability ; he was without fear and without remorse. He entered Alexandrea 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 plun- dered; monasteries burned ; tombs broken open to search for concealed Athanasians, or for the prelate himself, who still eluded their pursuit; bishops were insulted; vir- gins scourged; the soldiery encouraged to break up every meeting of the Catho- lics by violence, and even by inhuman tor- tures. 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 em- ployed 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 an- ticipated the triumphant restoration oi their own religion. Men,. they thought must grow weary and disgusted with a re ligion productive of so much crime, blood- shed, and misery. Echoing back the lan guage of the Athanasians, they shouted out, “ Long life to the Emperor Constan- tius, 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 wrere necessary to maintain his interest with the eunuchs, to whom he owed his promotion. The prel- ate of Alexandrea forced himself into the secular affairs of the city. He endeavour- ed to secure a monopoly of the nitron pro- duced in the Lake Mareotis, of the salt- works, and of the ^papyrus. He became a manufacturer of those painted coffinsHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 339 which were still in use among the Egyp- tians. Once he was expelled by a sud- den insurrection of the people, who sur- rounded the church in which he was offi- ciating, and threatened to tear him in pie- ces. 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 rein- stated tyrant is in general the most cruel oppressor; and, unless party violence has blackened the character of George of Cap- padocia beyond even its ordinary injustice, the addition of revenge, and the haughty sense of impunity derived from the impe- rial protection, to the evil passions already developed in his soul, rendered him a still more intolerable scourge to the devoted city. Everywhere 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 destina- tion ; many of them bearing the scars, and wounds, and mutilations which had been indicted upon them by. their barba- rous persecutors, to enforce their compli- ance with the Arian doctrines. Athanasius, after many strange adven- Escape and ^res, having been concealed in retreat of a dry cistern and in the charn- Athanasius. ker 0f a beautiful wo man, who attended him with the mdst officious de- votion (his awful character was not even tinged with the breath of suspicion), found refuge at length among the monks of the a d 356 ^esert* Egypt bordered on all .....sides by wastes of sand, or by barren rocks broken into caves and intri- cate passes; and all these solitudes were now peopled by the fanatic followers of the hermit Antony. They were all de- voted 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 digni- fied, 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 equal- led, if not outdone, in their fasts and aus- terities by the lofty Patriarch of Alexan- drea. Among these devoted adherents his security was complete : their passion- ate reverence admitted not the fear of treachery. The more active and inquisi- tive the search of his enemies, he had * He was at Sirmium, May, 359; restored in Oc- tober. only to plunge deeper into the inaccessi- ble and inscrutable desert. From this solitude Athanasius himself is supposed sometimes to have issued forth, and, pass- ing 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 im- plies 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 em- pire, the government was more or less publicly assailed in addresses, which ar- raigned its measures as unjust, and as transgressing its legitimate 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 freedom of invective. The book of Hilary of Poictiers against Con- stantius is said not to have been Hilary of made public till after the death of Poictiers. the emperor; but it was most likely cir- culated among the Catholics of the West; and the author exposed himself to the activity of hostile informers, and the in- discretion of fanatical friends. The em- peror is declared to be Antichrist, a ty- rant, not in secular, but likewise in re- ligious affairs; the sole object of his reign was to make a free gift to the devil of the whole world,' for which Christ had suf- fered.! Lucifer of Cagliari, whose violent * Athanas., Oper., vol. i., p. 869. Compare Tille- mont, Vie d’Athanase. t Nihil prorsus aliud egit, quam ut orbem tei- rarum, pro quo Christus passus est, diabolo con- donaret.—Adv. Constant., c. 15. Hilary’s highest, indignation is excited by the gentle and insidious manner with which he confesses that Constantins endeavoured to compass his unholy end. He would not honour them with the dignity of martyrs, but he used the prevailing persuasion of bribes, flatteries, and honours: Non dorsa credit, sed ventrem palpat; non trudit carcere ad libertatem, sed intra palatium honorat ad servitutem; non latera vexat, sed cor occupat * * non contendit ne vincatur; sed adulatur ut dominetur. There are several other remarkable passages in this tract. Constantius wished to con- fine the creed to the language ol Scripture. This: was rejected, as infringing on the authority of the bishops, and the forms of apostolic preaching. Nolo, inquit, verba quae non scripta sunt dici. Hoc tan- den rogo, quis episcopis jubeat et quis apostoli- cae praedicationis vetet formam ? c. 16. Among the sentences ascribed to the Arians, which so much shocked the Western bishops, there is one which is evidently the argument of a strong anti-materialist asserting the sole existence of the Father, and that the terms of son and generation, &c., are not to be received in a literal sense. Erat Deus quod est. Pater non erat, quia neque ei Alius; nam si Alius,-' necesse est ut et fasmina sit, &c. One phrase has1340 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Lucifer of temper afterward distracted the Cagliari. Western Church with a schism, is now, therefore, repudiated by the com- mon consent of all parties. But Athana- sius 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 ban- ishment, sent five books full of the most virulent invective to the emperor. Con- stantins—it was the brighter side of his religious character—received these ad- dresses with almost contemptuous equa- nimity. 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 re- spect for the imperial dignity, in his Epis- tle to the Solitaries gives free vent and expression to his vehement and contemp- tuous sentiments. His recluse friends are cautioned, indeed, not to disclose the dan- gerous document, in which the tyrants of the Old Testament, Pharaoh, Ahab, Bel- shazzar, are contrasted to his disadvan- tage with the base, the cruel, the hypo- critical Constantius. It is curious to ob- serve this new element of freedom, how- ever at present working in a concealed, irregular, and, perhaps, still-guarded man- ner, mingling itself up with, and partially upheaving, 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 sov- ereign. The Christian community was a singularly Oriental, I would say, Indian cast. How much soever the Son expands himself to- wards the knowledge of the Father, so much the Father super-expands himself, lest he should be known by the Son. Quantum enim Filius se ex- tendit cognoscere Patrem, tantum Pater superex- tendit se, ne cognitus Filio sit, c. 13. The parties, at least in the West, were speaking two totally dis- tinct languages. It would be unjust to Hilary not to acknowledge the beautiful and Christian senti- ments scattered through his two former addresses to Constantius, which are firm but respectful, and if rigidly, yet sincerely dogmatic. His plea for toleration, if not very consistently maintained, is expressed with great force and simplicity. Deus cognitionem sui docuit potius quam exegit. * * Deus universitatis est Dominus; non requirit coac- tam confessionem. Nostra potius non sua causa venerandus est * * simplicitate quserendus est, confessione discendus est, charitate amandus est, timore venerandus est, voluntatis probitate retinen- dus est, lib i., c. 6. 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 man- kind into one civil society, those two pow- ers, that of the church and the state, be- came co-ordinate authorities, which, if any difference should arise between the heads of the respective supremacies, if the enr peror and the dominant party in Christen- dom should take opposite sides, led to in- evitable collision.. This crisis had alrea- dy arrived. An Arian emperor was virtu- ally excluded from a community in which the Athanasian doctrines prevailed. The son of Constantine belonged to an excom- municated 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 sen- timent), instead of gently counteracting and mitigating each other, came at once into direct and angry conflict. The em- peror might with justice begin to suspect that, instead of securing a 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 in- corporated with the empire. It may be doubted how far the violences and barbar- ities ascribed by the Catholics to their Arian foes may be attributed to the indig- nation of the civil power at this new and determined resistance. Though Constan- tius might himself feel or affect a com- passionate disdain at these unusual at- tacks on his person and dignity, the gener- al feeling of the heathen population, and many of the local governors, might resist this contumacious contempt of the su- preme authority. It is difficult otherwise to account for the general tumult excited by these disputes in Alexandrea, in Con- stantinople, 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 con- stantly assert that the Arians courted, or, at least, did not decline, the invidious alli- ance of the pagans. But, in truth, in the horrible cruelties perpetrated during these unhap- Mutual ac- py divisions, it was the same sav- cusafions age ferocity of manners which, ofcruelty- half a century before, had raged againstHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. the Christian Church, which now appa- rently raged in its cause.* The abstruse tenets of the Christian theology became the ill-understood, perhaps unintelligible, watchwords of violent and disorderly men. The rabble of Alexandrea 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 imme- diate exciting cause of these disastrous scenes, the predisposing principle was in that uncivilized nature of man, which not merely was unallayed by the gentle and humanizing tenets of the Gospel, but, as it has perpetually done, pressed the Gos- pel itself, as it were, into its own unhal- lowed service. The severe exclusiveness of dogmatic theology attained its height in this contro- versy. Hitherto the Catholic and hereti- cal doctrines had receded from each other at the first outset, as it were, and drawn off to opposite and irreconcilable ex- tremes. The heretics had wandered away into the boundless regions of spec- ulation ; they had differed on some of the most important elementary principles of * See the depositions of the^bishops assembled at Sardica, of the violence which they had them- selves endured at the hands, of the Arians. Alii autem gladiorurn signa, plagas et cicatrices osten- debant. Alii se fame ab ipsis excruciates quere- oantur. Et haec non ignobiles testificabantur viri, sed de ecclesiis omnibus electi propter quas hue convenerunt, res gestas edocebant, milites arma- tos, populos cum fnstibus, judicum minas, falsa- rum literarum suppositiones. * * Ad hsec virginum nudationes, incendia ecclesiarum, carceres ad ver- sos ministros Dei.—Hilar., Fragm., Op. Hist., ii., c. 4. The Arians retort the same accusations of vio- lence, cruelty, and persecution against Athanasius. They say, Per vim, per caedem, per bellum, Alex- andrinorum ecclesias depraedatus; and this, Per pugnas et cades gentilium. Decretum Synodi Ori- entalium Episcoporum apud Sardicam, apud S. Hilarium. Immensa autem confluxerat ad Sardicam multi- tude sceleratorum omnium et perditorum, adven- tantium de Constantinopoli, de Alexandrea, qui rei homicidiorum, rei sanguinis, rei csedis, rei latrocini- orum, rei praedarum, rei spoliorum, nefandorumque omnium sacrilegiorum et criminum rei; qui altaria confregerunt, ecclesias incenderunt, domosque pri- vatorum compilaverunt ; profanatores mysterio- irum, proditoresque sacramentorum Christi; qui impiam sceleratamque hasreticorum doctrinam con- tra ecclesise fidefn asserentes, sapientissirnos pres- byteros Dei, diacones, sacerdotes, atrociter demac- taverunt.—Ibid., 19. And this protest, full of these tremendous charges, was signed by the eighty se- ceding Eastern'bishops 311 belief; they had rarely admitted any com- mon basis for argument. Here the con- tending parties set out from nearly the same principles, admitted the same au- thority, and seemed, whatever their se- cret 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 Athanasians taunted the Arians with the infinite varia- tions 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 ad- vance towards a reunion, provided they might be excused the adoption of the one obnoxious word, the Homoousion,or Con- substantialism. But the inflexible ortho- doxy of Athanasius will admit no compro- mise ; 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 en- emies of Christ; he presses them with consequences drawn from their opinions ; and, instead 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 inquisito- rial scrutiny into the most secret arcana of his belief. In the writings of Athanasius is imbod-‘-: ied the perfection of polemic di- Athanasius vinity. His style, indeed, has no as a writer, splendour, no softness, nothing to kindle the imagination or melt the heart. Acute even to subtlety, he is too earnest to de- generate 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 in- quiry, no calm statement of his Adversa- ries’ 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 peremp- tory, dictatorial, imperious; the severe conviction of the truth of his own opin- ions, and the inference that none but cul- pable motives, either of pride, or strife, or ignorance, can blind his adversaries to. their cogent and irrefragable certainty. Athanasius walks on the narrow and per- ilous edge of orthodoxy with a firmness and confidence which it is impossible not343 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. to admire It canno* be doubted that he was deep!}', intimately persuaded that the vital power and energy, the truth, the con- solatory force of Christianity, entirely de- pended 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 con- stantly occurs, whether a milder and more conciliating tone would not have healed the wounds of afflicted Christianity; wheth- er 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 civilization of mankind, Christianity was about to pass through the ordeal of those dark age which followed the irruption of the barba- rians. During this period Christianity was to subsist as the conservative princi pie 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 bar- barous minds of its new proselytes, and one which might be performed by an illit- erate 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 for- mularies of doctrine. As the original lan- guages, and even the Latin, fell into disuse, and before the modern languages of Eu- rope were sufficiently formed to admit of translations, the sacred writings receded from general use ; they became the depos- itaries of Christian doctrine, totally inac- cessible to the laity, and almost as much so to the lower clergy. Creeds therefore Necessity of became of essential importance iinedthesuc to comPress the leading points seeding cen- of Christian doctrine into a small turies. 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 proposi- * At a later period Athanasius seems to have b£en less rigidly exclusive against the semi-Arians. -^Oomrne Mohler, ii., p. 230. tions. The theological language was firm- ly established before the violent breaking up of society, and no more was required of the barbarian convert than to accept, with, uninquiring submission, the establish- ed formulary of the faith, and gaze in awe- struck veneration at the solemn ceremo- nial. The Athanasian controversy powerfully contributed to establish the su- T _ premacy of the Roman pontiff the Attiaim- lt became almost a contest be- con n o- tween Eastern and Western grovvihof*1*1 Christendom; at least the West hie papal was neither divided like the power* East, nor submitted with the same com paratively willing obedience to the dom ination of Arianism under the imperial au- thority. it was necessary that some one great prelate should take the lead in this internecine strife. The only Western bishop whom his character would desig- nate as this leader was Hosius, the bishop of Cordova. But age had now disqualified this good man, whose moderation, abili- ties, and probably important services to Christianity in the conversion of Constan- tine had recommended him to the com- mon 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, Alexan- dra, or Constantinople could alone rival, in pretensions to Christian supremacy, tbe old metropolis of the empire ; and those sees were either fiercely contested or oc- cupied by Arian prelates. Athanasius him- self, by his residence at two separate pe- riods at Rome, submitted, as it were, his cause to the Roman pontiff. Rome be- came the centre of the ecclesiastical af- fairs of the West; and, since the Trinita- rian opinions eventually triumphed through the whole of Christendom, the firmness and resolution with which the Roman pontiffs, notwithstanding the temporary fall of Li berius, adhered to the orthodox faith; their uncompromising attachment to Athana- sius, who by degrees was sanctified and canonized 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 inalien- able spiritual heirloom of the Roman pon- tiffs. Christian history will hereafter show how powerfully this monarchical principle, if not established, yet greatly strengthen- ed by these consequences of the Athan*HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 343 asian controversy, tended to consolidate, and so to maintain, in still expanding in- fluence, the Christianity of Europe.* This conflict continued with unabated superiority of vigour till the close of the reign Animism.' of Constanlius. Arianism grad- ually 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 dis- grace. Though the personal influence of Athanasius was still felt throughout Chris- tendom, his obscure place of concealment was probably unknown to the greater part of his own adherents. The aged Hosius had died in his apostacy. Hilary of Poic- tiers, the bishop of Milan, and the violent Lucifer of Cagliari, were in exile, and though Constantins had consented to the return of Liberius to his see, he had re- turned with the disgrace of having con- sented to sign the new formulary framed at Sirmium, where the term Consubstan- tial, if not rejected, was at least suppress- ed. Yet the popularity of Liberius was undiminished, and the whole city indig- nantly rejected the insidious proposition of Constantius, that Liberius and his rival Felix should rule the see with conjoint au- thority. 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 resist- ance of the Athanasians was no doubt con- firmed, not merely by the variations of 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 eonsequen- * The orthodox Synod of Sardica admits the su- perior dignity of the successor of St. Peter. Hoc enim optimum et valde congruentissimum esse vi- debitur, si ad caput, id est, ad Petri Apostoli sedem, de singulis quibusque provinciis Domini referant sacerdotes.—Epist Syn. Sard, apud Hilarium, Fragm., Oper. Hist., ii., c. 9. It was disclaimed with equal distinctness by the seceding Arians. Novarrs legem introducere putaverunt, ut Orientales Episcopi ab Occidentalibus judicarentur.—Fragm., iii., c. 12. In a subsequent clause they condemn Julius, bishop of Rome, by name. It is difficult to calculate the effect which would commonly be pro- duced on men’s minds by their involving in one common cause the two tenets, which, in fact, bore no relation to each other—The orthodox belief in the Trinity, and the supremacy of the Bishop of Rome. —Sozomen, iv., II, 13. Theodoret, ii., 17. Phi- iostorgius, iv., 3. ces. Aetius fanned a new sect, which not merely denied the eonsub- Heresy of stantiality, but the similitude of Aetns, 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 adversities, was a bold and unprin- cipled 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 an hum- ble artisan, first as a worker in copper, af- terward in gold. His dishonest practices obliged him to give up the trade, but not before he 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 fhat see, named Athanasius ; re- turned to Antioch ; was ordained deacon, and again expelled the city. Discomfited in a public disputation with.a Gnostic, he retired to Alexandrea, where, being exer- cised 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 es- cape 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 farther brought disrepute on the Arian party. Macedonius, the bish- op of Constantinople, to the Arian orMacedo- tenet of the inequality of the Son nius- fo 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 bish- ops 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 mel- ancholy truth in their statement. “ The * Socrates, ii., 35. Sozomen, iii., 15; iv., 12. Philostorg., iii., 15, 17. Suidas, voc. A trios. Epi- phan , Hseres., 76. Gregor. Nyss. contra Eunom. The most curious part in the history of Aetius is his attachment to the Aristotelian philosophy. With him appears to have begun the long strife between Aristotelianism and Platonism in the Ch urch. Ae- tius, to prove his unimaginative doctrines, employ- ed the severe and prosaic categories of Aristotle, repudiating the prevailing Platonic mode of argu- ment used by Origen and Clement of Alexandrea — Socrates, ii., c. 35.344 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. East and the West are in a perpetual state of restlessness and disturbance. Desert- ing 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 dis- tances, some of us infirm with age, with feeble constitutions or ill health, and are sometimes obliged to leave our sick breth- ren on the road. The whole administra- tion of the empire, of the emperor him- self, the tribunes, and the commanders, at this fearful crisis of the state, are sole- ly occupied with the lives and the condi- tion of the bishops. The people are by no means unconcerned. The whole broth- erhood watches in anxious suspense the event of these troubles; the establish- ment of post-horses is worn out by our journeyings ; and all on account of a few wretches, who, if they had the least re- maining sense of religion, would say with 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 us..’ ”* 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 prel- ates 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 Ae- tius, ruled his untractable but passive Council of mind. The Council of Rimini Rimini. consisted of at least 400 bishops, of whom not above eighty were Arians. Their resolutions were firm and peremp- tory. They repudiated the Arian doc- trines ; they expressed their rigid adhe-* rence to the formulary of Nice. Ten bishops, however, of each party were de- puted to communicate their decrees to Oonstantius. The ten Arians were re- ceived with the utmost respect, their ri- vals with every kind of slight and neg- lect. Insensibly they wTere admitted to more intimate intercourse ; the flatteries, perhaps the bribes, of the emperor pre- vailed ; they returned, having signed a formulary directly. opposed to their in- structions. 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 * Hilar., Oper. Hist, .Fragm , xi., bition, which turned the defensive into a war of aggression on all the imperilled frontiers; the broad and vigorous legisla- tion;-the unity of administration; the severer tone of manners, which belonged to the better days of Rome ; the fine cul- tivation ; the perspicuous philosophy ; the lofty conceptions of moral greatness and purity, which distinguished the old Athe- nian. 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 Tra- jan, the times were more in fault than the general; if the latter (the Grecian eleva- tion and elegance of mind) more resem- bled 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,f Julian had advanced so far in the restoration of the internal vigour and unity of adminstration, that it is doubt- ful how much farther, 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 Valen- tinian and Valens. But, difficult and des- perate as the enterprise might appear, the reorganization 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 lias 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 saga- cious mind of Julian be blind to this essen- tial 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; the loftiest speculation with the most practical spirit. The vague theory of another life, timidly and dimly announced by the later pagan- * [Mosheim (Instit of E. H., vol. i., p. 21.9, &c.) will not allow Julian to have possessed true great- ness. “ If he was in some respects superior to the sons of Constantine, he was in many respects in- ferior to Constantine himself, whom he censures so immoderately.”] f One year, eight months, and twenty-three days. —La Bleterie, Vie de Julien, p. 494. ism, could ill compete with the de ip ana 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 at- tempted to work into his new re- Religion 0/ ligion, the two incongruous char- Juluul- acters of a zealot for the older supersti- tions and for the more modern philosophy of Greece. He had fused together, in that which appeared to him a harmonious sys- tem, Homer and Plato. Pie thought that the whole ritual of sacrifice would com- bine 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 cold and pow- erless. The one Supreme Deity was a name and an abstract conception, a meta- physical being. The visible representa- tive of the Deity, the Sun, which was in general an essential part of the new sys- tem, was, after all, foreign and Oriental; it belonged to the genuine mythology neither of Greece nor Rome. The The- urgy, or awful and sublime communion of the mind with the spiritual world, was ei- ther, too fine and fanciful for the vulgar be- lief, or associated, in the dim confusion of the popular conception, with that magic against which the laws of Rome had pro- tested with such stern solemnity, and which, therefore, however eagerly pursu- ed, and reverenced wdth involuntary awe, was always associated with impressions of its unlawfulness and guilt. Christiani- ty, on the other hand, had completely in- corporated with itself all that it had admit- ted 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 and angelic agency which became more and more mingled up with Christi- anity. 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 initi- ate few rather than the all-pervading su- perstition of the many. The Christian daemonology, on the other hand, which be- gan to be heightened and multiplied by the fantastic imagination of the monks brood- ing in their solitudes, seemed at least to grow naturally out of the religious system The gradual darkening into superstitionHISTORY OF CHRISTIAF/TY. 347 was altogether imperceptible, and harmo- nized 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 sap- less trunk of paganism withered even the living boughs which were blended with it by its own inevitable decay. On the other hand, Christianity at no Unfavoura- period could appear in a less bie stat« of amiable and attractive light to a Christianity. mjn(j preindisposed to its recep- tion, It was in a state of universal fierce and implacable discord : the chief cities of the empire had run with blood shed in re- ligious 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 anathematize to that eternal death, which were revealed by the Gospel, and placed, according to the general belief, un- der the special authority of the clergy. Society seemed to be split up into irrec- oncilable 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 proclama- tion of its doctrines to man: of the digni- ty with which it stood aloof from the in- trigues 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 nov- elty ; nor were they yet universally and profoundly implanted in the general mind by hereditary transmission or early edu- cation, 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 vir- tuous Bishop of Arethusa, it is of course impossible to conjecture. But his first in- structer was a man who, born a Scythian and educated in Greece,* united the severe morality of his. ruder ancestors with the * His name was Mardonius.—Julian., ad Athen. et Misopogon. Socrat., E. H., iii., 1. Amm. Marc.., xxii.. 12. elegance of Grecian accomplishments. He enforced upon his young pupil the strictest modesty, contempt for the licen- tious or frivolous pleasures of youth, the theatre and the bath. At the same time, while he delighted his mind with the poe- try 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 Gallus, in Macellse, a fortress in Asia Minor, and committed, in this sort of honourable prison, to the rigid superin- tendence of ecclesiastics. By his Education Christian instructors the young 01 Jullan* and ardent Julian was bound down to a course of the strictest observances; the midnight vigil, the fast, the long and wea- ry prayer, and visits to the tombs of mar- tyrs, rather than a wise and rational initi- ation in the genuine principles of the Gos- pel, or a judicious familiarity with the originality, the beauty, and the depth of the Christian morals and Christian reli- gion. He was taught the virtue of im- plicit submission to his ecclesiastical su- periors ; the munificence of conferring gifts upon the churches ; with his brother Gallus he was permitted, or, rather, inci- ted to build a chapel over the tomb of St. Mammas.f For six years he bitterly as- serts that he was deprived of every kind of useful instruction.J 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 les- sons; and in the mind of Julian, Christi- anity, thus taught and enforced, was in- separably 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 in- dignantly declares, to the debasing socie- ty of slaves. At the age of twenty Julian was per- * See the high character of this man in the Mis- opogon, p. 351. f Julian is said even thus early to have betrayed his secret inclinations ; in his declamations he took delight in defending the cause of paganism against Christianity. A prophetic miracle foreboded his fu- ture course. While this church rose expeditiously under the labour of Gallus, the obstinate stones would not obey that of Julian ; an invisible hand disturbed the foundations, and threw down all his work. Gregory Nazianzen declares that he had heard this from eyewitnesses ; Sozomen, from those who had heard it from eyewitnesses.—• Greg., Of. iii.. p. 59-61. Sozomen, v., 2. X Uuyrot '.adijfiaTQg anovdatov348 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. mitted to reside in Constantinople, after- ward at Nicomedia. The jealousy of Con- stantins was excited by the popular de- meanour, sober manners, and the reputa- tion for talents, which directed all eyes towards his youthful nephew. He dis- missed him to the more dangerous and fatal residence in Nicomedia, in the neigh- bourhood 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 inclina- tions of Julian brought him into close in- timacy ; the sophists, the men of letters, the rhetoricians, the poets, the philoso- phers. He was forbidden, indeed, perhaps by the jealousy of his appointed instruct- or Ecebolus, who at this time conformed to the religion of the court, to hear the dangerous lectures of Libanius, equally celebrated for his eloquence and his ar- dent attachment to the old religion. But Julian obtained his writings, which he de- intercourse vourecl with all the delight of a with the stolen enjoyment.* He formed philosophers. an intimate acquaintance with the heads of the philosophic school, with. iEdesius, his pupils Eusebius and Chry- santhius, and at last with the famous Max- imus. These men are accused of practi- sing 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 im- pressed more deeply by significant and awful ceremonies. A magician at Nico- media first excited his curiosity and tempt- ed him to enter on these exciting courses. At Pergamus he visited the aged iEdesius ; and the manner in which these philoso- phers passed Julian onward from one to another, as if through successive stages of initiation in their mysterious doc- trines, bears the appearance of a deliber- ate scheme to work him up to their pur- poses. The aged iEdesius addressed him as the favoured child of wisdom; declined the important charge of his instruction, but commended him to his pupils Euse- bius and Chrysanthius, who could unlock the inexhaustible source of light and wis- dom. “ If you should attain the supreme felicity of being initiated in their myste- ries, 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. Eusebius pro- fessed to despise the vulgar arts of won* * Liban., Orat. Par., t, i,, p. 526. der-working, at least in comparison with the purification of the soul; but he de- scribed 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 no- thing. 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 speak- er; “ do thou, like us, think only of the in- ternal purification of the reason.” u Keep to your book,” broke out the impatient youth; “ this is the man 1 seek.”* He hastened to Ephesus. The person and demeanour of Maximus were well suited to keep up the illusion. He was a vener- able man, with a long white beard, with keen eyes, great activity, soft and persua- sive voice, rapid and fluent eloquence. By Maximus, who summoned Chrysan- thius 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 conduct- ed 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 historians,! which, as they were little likely to be admitted into the secrets of these dark and hidden rites, is to be re- ceived with grave suspicion, more espe- cially as they do not scruple to embellish them with Christian miracle. Julian was led first into a temple, then into a subter ranean crypt, in almost total darkness. The evocations were made; wild and ter- rible sounds were heard; spectres of fire jibbered around. Julian, in his sudden ter- ror, made the sign of the cross. All dis- appeared, 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 com- munion with so profane a worshipper.” From this time it is said, on better au- thority,! that Julian burst, like a lion in his wrath, the slender ties which bound him to Christianity. But he was still con* strained to dissemble his secret apostacy. His enemies declared that he redoubled * Eunapins, in Vit. flEdesii et Maximi. f Greg. Naz., Orat, iii, 71. Theodoret, iii„ 3. i Libanius.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 349 Ins 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 con- firm him in the faith. How far Julian, in this time of danger, Conduct of stooped to disguise his real sen- Constantius timents, it were rash to decide, to Julian. jgut -t woupj py no means com- mend Christianity to the respect and at- tachment 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 af- terward publicly avowed his belief 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 reli- gion of Constantius; his embarking with alternate violence and subtlety in theo- logical disputations; his vacillation be- tween timid submission to priestly au- thority and angry persecution, were not likely to make a favourable impression on a wavering mind. The pagans them- selves, if we may take the best historian of the time as the representative of their opinions,f considered- that- Constantius dishonoured the Christian religion by min- gling 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 jeal- ousy, mitigated no hatred ; it had not re- strained his temper from overbearing tyr- anny, 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 unhumanized tyranny of Constantius, a fearful omen of the un- certainty of his own life under such a despotism. He had beheld the advance- ment and the fate of his brother; and his future destiny presented the alternative either of ignominious obscurity or fatal distinction. His life was spared only ■through the casual interference of the hu- mane 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 ar- rest and imprisonment, and a fearful sus- pense of seven weary months.* His mo- tions, his words, were watched; his very heart scrutinized; he was obliged to sup- press the natural emotions of grief for the death of his brother; to impose silence on his fluent eloquence, and act the hypo- crite to nature as well as to religion. His retreat was Athens, of all cities Julian at in the empire that, probably, in Athens, which paganism still maintained the high- est 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 intellect- ual 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 stud- ies in those arts of grammar, rhetoric, philosophy, which, however, by no mean? 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 resi- dence to this great centre of intellectual culture, were Basil and Gregory of Nazi anzum. The latter, in the orations with which, in later times, he condemned the memory of Julian, has drawn, with a coarse and unfriendly hand, the picture of his person and manners. His manners did injustice to the natural beauties of his person, and betrayed his restless, inquisi- tive, and somewhat incoherent character. The Christian (we must remember, in- deed, that these predictions were publish * ed subsequent to their fulfilment, and that, by their own account, Julian had already betrayed, in Asia Minor, his secret pro- pensities) already discerned in the unquiet a$d unsubmissive spirit the future apos tate. 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 foGorn and perilous position. Of all existing pagan rites, those which still maintained the greatest re- junan initi- spect, and would impress a mind atcd at Eie- like Julian’s with the profound-' US1S- est veneration, were the Eleusinian Mys- teries. They united the sanctity of al- * ’E^e de atyyice / oyig, brrra firjv&v oXcov £a- tivcrag rrjde naKslae. -Ad. S P. Ath., p 272. * Ad Senatum Populumque Atheniensem.—Ju- lian., Oper,, p. 270. f Amirianus Marcellinus.350 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. most immemorial age with some simili- tude to the Platonic paganism of the day, at least, sufficient for the ardent votaries of the latter to claim their alliance. The Hierophant of Elen sis 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 machinery, and its high speculative and imaginative doctrines; the impenetrable, the ineffable tenets of the sanctuary, con- summated the work of Julian’s conver- sion. The elevation of Julian to the rank of Elevation of Caesar was at length extorted Julian to thy from the necessities, rather than rank of Css- freely bestowed by the love, of the emperor. Nor did the jeal- ous hostility of Constantius cease with this apparent reconciliation. Constan- tius, with cold suspicion, thwarted all his measures, crippled his resources, and ap- propriated to himself, with unblushing in- justice, the fame of his victories.! Ju- lian’s'assumption of the purple, whether forced upon him by the ungovernable at- tachment of his soldiery, or prepared by his own subtle ambition, was justified, and perhaps compelled, by the base ingrati- tude of Constantius; and by his mani- fest, if not avowed, resolution of prepa- ring the ruin of Julian, by removing his best troops to the East.J The timely death of Constantius alone Death of prevented the deadly warfare in < oustantius. which the last of the race of Constantine were about to contest the empire. The dying bequest of that em- pire 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 se- cret hostility; still less could it allay the dislike or contempt of Julian for his weqk and insolent predecessor, who, governed * Compare (in Eunap., Vit. Andes., p. 52, edit. Boissonade) the prophecy of the dissolution of pa- ganism ascribed to this pontiff; a prediction which may do credit to the sagacity, or evince the appre- hensions of the seer, but will by no means claim the honour of divine foreknowledge. f Ammianus, 1. xv., 8, et seqq. Socrates, iiiM 1. Sozomen, v., n. La. Bleterie, Vie de Julien, 89, et seqq. The campaigns of Julian, in La Bleterie, lib. ii. Gibbon, i., p. 404-408. The well-known passage in Ammianus shows the real sentiments of the court. towards Julian. In odium venit cum victoriis suis capella non ho- mo; ut hirsutum Julianum carpentes appellan- tesque loquacem t'alpam, et purpuratam simiam, et lilterionem Grsecum.—Amm. Marc., xvii., 11. + Amm. Marc , xx., &c. Zosimus, iii. Liban., Oi. x. Jul. ad S. P. Q. A. by eunuchs, wasted the 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 apos- tacy. Up to the time of his revolt against Constantius, Julian had respected conduct the dominant Christianity. The ofjuiian. religious acts of his early youth, perform- ed in obedience, or under the influence of his instructors ; or his submissive con- formity, 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 en- gaged 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 him- self 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 sooth- sayer announced the death of Constan- tius. The army followed the example of their victorious general. At his command the neglected temples resumed their cere- monies ; he adorned them with offerings; he set the example of costly sacrifices.j The Athenians in particular obeyed with alacrity the commands of the new emper- or; the honours of the priesthood became again a worthy object of contest; two dis- tinguished females claimed the honour of representing the genuine Eumolpidae, and of officiating in the Parthenon. Julian, already anxious to infuse as much of the real Christian spirit as he could into re- viving paganism, exhorted the contending parties to peace and unity, as the most ac- ceptable sacrifice to the gods. The death of Constantius left the whole Roman world open to the civil and re- ligious schemes which lay, floating and un- formed, before the imagination of Julian. The civil reforms were executed with ne- * Amm. Marc., xxi., I. f The Western army was more easily practised upon than the Eastern soldiers at a subsequent pe- riod. Op7]cn<.evojLLev rovg Qeovg avafyavdov Kal to n:\rjdog rod avyicars^dovrog pot Groaronedov $to- ae6eg koriv.—Epist. xxxviii.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 351 cessary .severity, our, in some instances, with more than necessary cruelty. The* *- elevation of paganism into a rational and effective faith, and the depression, and even the eventual extinction, of Christian- ity were the manifest objects of Julian’s religious policy. Julian’s religion was the eclectic paganism of the new Platonic phi- losophy. 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 ob- ject of worship was the great Sun,* the living and animated, and propitious and beneficent, image of the immaterial Fa- ther.f Below this primal Deity 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 pos- sessed invisible powers, and manifested themselves in various ways, in dreams and visions, through prodigies and ora- cles, the flights of. birds, and the signs in the sacrificial victims,} This vague and comprehensive paganism might include 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 doctrines but it is remarkable how rarely it is put forward as an important point of differ- ence in his religious writings, while in his private correspondence he falls back to the dubious and hesitating language of the ancient heathens : “1 am not one of those who disbelieve the immortality of the soul; but the gods alone can know; man can only conjecture that secretj| but his best * fTov fdyav TLU07;, to £cov dya%pa ical Efiipvxov, $ tl evvovv ical ayadospybv, rov votjtov iraTpog. + Compare Julian, apud Cyril., lib. ii., p. 65. “ i Julian asserts the various offices of the subor- dinate deifies, apud Cyril., lib. vii., p. 235. One of the most remarkable illustrations of this wide-spread worship of the sun is to be found in the address of Julius Firmicus Maternus to the Emper- ors Constantins and Constant. He introduces the sun as remonstrating against the dishonourable hon- ours thus heaped upon him, and protests against be- ing responsible for the acts, or involved in the fate, of Liber, Attys, or Osiris. Nolo ut errori vestro nomen meum fomenta suppeditet. * * Quicquid sum simpliciter Deo pareo, nec aliud volo de me intelligatis, nisi quod videtis, c. 8. § Lib. ii., 58. H Ov yap d?j ical rjfielg kopev rtiv ttetteicrfievuv Tag Tirol TzpoairokJ^aQai rCov acoudriov tj consolation on the loss of friends was the saying of the Grecian philosopher to Da- rius, that if he would find three persons who had not suffered the like calamities, he would restore his beautiful wife-to life.44 His dying language, however, though still vague, and allied to the old Pantheistic system, sounds more like serene, confi- dence in some future state of being. The first care of Julian was to restore the outward form of paganism Restoration to its former splendour, and to of paganism, infuse the vigour of reviving youth into the antiquated system. The temples were everywhere to be restored to their ancient magnificence; the municipalities were charged with the expense of these costly renovations. Where they had been de- stroyed 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; it revived outrages almost forgotten, and in- juries perpetrated, perhaps with the sanc- tion, unquestionably with the connivance, of the former government. In many in- stances it may have revenged on the in- nocent and peaceful the crimes of the ava- ricious and irreligious, who eitheir plun- dered under the mask of Christian zeal, or seized the opportunity when the zeal of others might secure their impunity. That which takes place in all religious revolu- tions had occurred to a considerable ex- tent : the powerful had seized the oppor- tunity of plundering the weaker party for their own advantage. The eunuchs and favourites of the court had fattened on the spoil of the temples.f 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 lamenta- tions of Libanius. The soul of Julian, ac- cording to the orator, burned for empire, in order to restore the ancient order of things. Gwa/rcoXkvGQai. * * 'Of Tolg fiev avOpQTcoi.g up- fjCo&i rcspl toiovtov e’uc&&iv, kniGraaQat it avru Tovg dsovg dvdyKT).— Epist. lxiii, p. 452. * Epistle to Amerius on the loss of his wife.— Ep. xxxvii., p. 412. f Pasti templorum spoliis is the strong expres- sion of Ammiarius. Libanius says that'some per- sons had built themselves houses from the materi- als of the temples. ILpijfiara ds ete2.ovv ol ro/bj . T&v iepov TitOoig cv duccLLov, og ovk olada tl llev iepsvg, rt de id'iornc. —Fragm., Epist. lxii. t See Epist. xlix.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 353 to be present at the moderate banquets of the virtuous ; they were never to be seen drinking in taverns, or exercising any base or 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 the- atre, that second temple, as it might be called, of the older religion, was sternly proscribed ; so entirely was it considered sunk from its high religious character, so incapable of 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 in- discriminately all'applicants to their char- ity ; it was a disgrace to the pagans to be inattentive to such duties ; and the author- ity of Homer is alleged to show the prod- igal hospitality of the older Greeks. They His charita- were to establish houses of re- bie institu- ception for strangers in every llons city, and thus to rival or surpass the generosity of the Christians. Supplies of corn from the public granaries were as- signed 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 stran- imitated from gers. The benevolent institu- ciiristianity. tions of Christianity were to be imitated and associated to paganism. A tax was to be levied in every province for the maintenance of the poor, and dis- tributed by the priesthood. Hospitals for the sick and for indigent strangers of eve- ry creed were to be formed in convenient places. The Christians, not without jus- tice, called the emperor “ the ape of Chris- tianity.” 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 hu- man mind. Something like a universal ritual formed Y Y part of the design of Julian. Three times a day prayer was to be pub- nuua1' licly offered in the temples. The power- ful 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 organized 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. Julian would invest the pagan priest- hood in that respect, or, rather, Respect that commanding majesty, with for^empies which the profound reverence of the Chris tian world arrayed their hierarchy, Sol emn silence was to reign in the temples All persons in authority were to leave their guards at the door when they enter- ed the hallowed precincts. The emperor himself forbade the usual acclamations on his entrance into the presence of the gods. Directly as he touched the sacred thresh- old, he became a private man. It is said that he meditated a com- plete course of religious instruc- Religious tion. Schoolmasters, catechists, instruction, preachers, were to teach—are we to sup- pose the Platonic philosophy 1—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 apostatizing Christians, the value of the privilege was to be enhanced by the difficulty of attain- ing it.f 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 initi- ation. Prayers, expiations, lustrations, severe trials, could alone purify their bodies and their minds, and make them worthy participants in the pagan myster- ies. But Julian was not content with this moral regeneration of paganism ; Animal he attempted to bring back the sacrifices; 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 num- ber of slaughtered beasts. The philoso- phers must have smiled in secret over the * On Music.—See Epist. lvi. f See Epist. lii354 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. superstition of the philosophic emperor. Julian himself washed off his Christian baptism by the new Oriental rite of asper- sion by blood, the Taurobolia or Kriobolia of the Mithraic mysteries ;* * * § * he was regen- erated anew to paganism.f 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 vic- tims, to learn the secrets of futurity. The enormous expenditure lavished on the sacrifices, the hecatombs of cattle, the choice birds from all quarters, drained the re venue. J The Western soldiers, espe- cially the intemperate Gauls, indulged in the feasts of the victims to such excess, and mingled them with such copious liba- tions of wine, as to be carried to their tents amid the groans and mockeries of the more sober.§ The gifts to diviners, soothsayers, and impostors of all classes offended equally the more wise and ration- al. In the public as well as private con- duct of Julian, there was a heathen Phari- saism, 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 even- ing 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 before the image of the deity, busying himself about the ceremony, performing the menial offices 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, Ju- Phiinwip™ lian hastened to environ him- ‘ self with the most distinguished of the heathen philosophers. Most of these, indeed, pretended to be a kind of priesthood. Intercessors between the de- ities and the world of man, they wrought miracles, foresaw future events ; they pos- sessed the art of purifying the soul, so that * Gregor. Naz., iii., p. 70. f The person initiated descended into a pit or trench, and through a kind of sieve, or stone pierced with holes, the blood of the bull or the ram was poured over his whole person. t Julian acknowledges the reluctance to sacri- fice in many parts. “ Show me,” he says, to the philosopher Aristomenes, “ a genuine Greek in Cap- padocia.” Teof yap rove; [ikv ov j3ovXojU,evovg, oXtyovg de tlvclq kdeXovrag pev, ovk eldorag de tSvelv, dpti.—Epist. iv., p. 375. § I do not believe the story of human sacrifices in Alexandrea and Athens, Socrat., E. H., iii., 13. || Innumeros sine parsimonia mactans; ut cred- eretur, si revertisset de Parthis, boves jam defec- turos.—Amm. Marc., xxv., 4. it should be reunited to the Primal Spirit; the divinity dwelt within them. The obscurity of the names which Ju- lian thus set up to rival in popular estima- tion an Athanasius or a Gregory of Nazi- anzum, 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 ques- tions which it was alike useless to agitate, and impossible to solve. The hand of death was alike upon the religion, the phi- losophy, the eloquence of Greece ; and the temporary movement which Julian exci- ted was but a feeble quivering, a last im- potent struggle, preparatory to total dis- solution. Maximus appears, in his own time, to have been the most eminent of his class. The writings of Libanius and of lamblichus alone survive to any extent the general wreck of the later Grecian lit- erature. The genius and the language of Plato were alike wanting in his degener- ate disciples. Julian himself is, perhaps, the best, because the plainest and most perspicuous, writer of his time: and the “ Caesars” may rank as no unsuccessful attempt at satiric irony. Maximus was the most famous of the school. He had been among the M early instructers of Julian. The axllnus- 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 im- portant public ceremonial, he broke it off at once, and hastened to welcome his phil- osophic guest. The roads to the metrop- olis were crowded with sophists, hurrying to bask in the sunshine of imperial favour.f 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 of the philosophers. Chrysan- thius, another sophist of great reputation, * Epist. xv. The nameless person to whom the first epistle is addressed is declared superior to Py thagoras or Plato.—Epist. i., p. 372. i The severe and grave Priscus despised the youths who embraced philosophy as a fashion. Kopv6avTi6vr(‘)v em ootyia peLpcudov,—Vit. Prise apud Eunap., ed. Boisson., p. 67.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 355 was more modest and more prudent; he declined the dazzling honour, and prefer- red the philosophic quiet of his native town. Julian appointed him, with his wife, to the high-priesthood of Lydia ; and Chry- santhius, with the prophetic discernment of worldly wisdom, kept on amicable terms with the Christians. Of Libanius, Julian writes in rapturous admiration. Iamblichus had united all that was excel- lent in the ancient philosophy and poetry; Pindar, Democritus, and Orpheus were blended in his perfect and harmonious syncretism.* The wisdom of Iamblichus so much dazzled and overawed the emper- or that he dared not intrude too much of his correspondence on the awful sage. “ One of his letters surpassed in value all the gold in Lydia.” The influence of men over their own age may in general be es- timated by the language of contemporary writers. The admiration they excite is a 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 dis- appointed the high expectations which they had excited of their dignified superi- ority to the baser interests and weakness- es of mankind. They were by no means proof against the intoxication of court fa- vour; they betrayed their vanity, their love of pleasure. Maximus himself is ac- cused of assuming the pomp and insolence of a favourite ; the discarded eunuchs had been replaced, it was feared, by a new, not less intriguing or more disinterested, race of courtiers. To the Christians Julian assumed the Toleration language of the most liberal tol- ofJulian, gration. 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 hypo- crites, who are unbelievers throughout life, or martyrs honoured after death.f He strictly prohibited the putting to death the Galileans (his favourite appellation of the Christians), as worthy rather of compas- sion than of hatred.f “ Leave them to punish themselves, poor, blind, and mis- guided beings, who abandon the most glo- rious privilege of mankind, the adoration of the immortal gods, to worship the moulder- * Epist. xv. t Liban., Orat. Parent., v. i:, p. 562. t He assexts,; in his 7th epistle, that he is willing neither to put to death, nor to injure the Christians in any manner, but the worshippers of the gods were on all occasions to be preferred—TrponiJ.acdai. -Compare Epist. lii. ing remains and bones of the dead.”* He did not perceive that it was r.ow too late to reassume the old Roman contempt for the obscure and foreign religion. Christianity had sat 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 to inflame, rather than to allay, the internal feuds of Christianity. Julian revoked the sentence of banishment pronounced against Arians, Apollinarians, and Donatists. He deter- mined, it is said, to expose them to a sort of public exhibition of intellectual gladia- torship. He summoned the ad- Hissarcas- vocates of the several sects to tic tone, 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 bar- barian warriors with whom he had been engaged, “ Hear me,” exclaimed the em- peror ; “ 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 “ For- tune of Constantinople,” bearing a cross in its hand, had been set up by Constan- tine. Julian took away the cross, and re- moved the deity into a splendid temple. While he was employed in sacrifice, he was interrupted by the remonstrances of Maris, the Arian bishop of Chalcedon, to whom age and blindness had added cour- age. “ Peace,” said the emperor, “ blind old man, thy Galilean God will not restore thine eyesight.” “ I thank my God,” an- swered Maris, “for my blindness, which spares me the pain of beholding an apos- tate like thee.” Julian calmly proceeded in his sacrifice.! The sagacity of Julian perceived the advantage to be obtained by con- Taunts their trasting the wealth, the power, professions and the lofty tone of the exist- of poverty* ing priesthood with the humility of the primitive Christians. On the occasion of a dispute between the Arian and ortho- dox party in Edessa, he confiscated their wealth, in order, as he said, to reduce them to their becoming and boasted pov- erty. “ Wealth, according to their admi- rable law,” he ironically says, “ prevents them from attaining the kingdom of heav- en.”!. * His usual phrase was “ worshippers of the dead and of the bones of men.” f Socrates, iii., 12. t Ibid., iii., 13.356 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. But his hostility was not confined to Privileges these indirect and invidious mea- withdrawn. sures, 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 praefects, as their law prohibited their adjudging capital punish- ments. He resumed all the grants made on the revenues of the municipalities, and the supplies of corn for their mainte- nance. It was an act of more unwar- Exciusion rantable yet politic tyranny to from public exclude them altogether from education. ^ pUblic education. By a fa- miliarity with the great models of anti- quity, 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, adhe- red 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 meta- physics of Iamblichus. Julian perceived the danger, and resented this usurpation, as it were, of the arms of 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 Education of sys^m of education for the free the higher and superior classes had grad- ciasses. ually spread through the em- pire.* * Each city maintained a certain number of professors, according to its size and population, who taught grammar, rhetoric, and philosophy. They were ap- pointed 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 en- joyed considerable immunities, exemption from military and civil service, and from all ordinary taxation. There can be no doubt that this education, as originally de- signed, was more or less intimately allied with the ancient religion. The gramma- rians, the poets,f the orators, the philos- * There is an essay on the professors and gen- eral system of education, by Monsieur Naudet, M&n. de l’Institut., vol. x., p. 399. f Homer, then considered, if not the parent, the ophers of Greece and Rome, were the wri- ters whose works were explained and in- stilled into the youthful mind. “ The vi- tal principle, Julian asserted, in the wri- tings of Homer, Hesiod, Demosthenes, Herodotus, Thucydides, Isocrates, Lysias, was the worship of the gods. 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 sor- did 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 in- struction, 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 meas- ure 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 com- pletely out of their senses, and, at the same time, affected condescension to their weakness and obstinacy.f But, if the em- peror did not compel them to learn, he forbade them to teach. The interdict, no doubt, extended to their own private and separate schools for Hellenic learning. They were not to instruct in Greek let- ters without the sanction of the municipal magistracy. He added insult to this nar- row 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 pro- great authority for the pagan mythology, was the elementary schoolbook. * When Christianity resumed the ascendancy, this act of intolerance was adduced in justification of the severities of Theodosius against paganism. Petunt etiam, ut illis privilegia deferas, qui loquen di et docendi nostris communem usum Juliani lege proxima denegarunt. — Ambros., Epist. Resp. ad Symmach. f Julian, Epist. xlii, p. 420. Socrates, v., 18. Theodoret, iii., 8. Sozomen, v., 18. Greg. Naz.< Or. iii., p. 51, 96, 97. i Julian , Enist. xlv.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, 357 lessors obeyed the imperial edict.* Pro- aeresius, who taught rhetoric with great success at Rome, calmly declined the overtures of the emperor, and retired into a private station. Musonius, a rival of the great Proseresius, was silenced. But they resorted to an expedient which shows that they had full freedom of Christian instruc- tion. A Christian Homer, a Christian Pin- dar, 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 great- ly admired these Christian parodies, which, however, do not seem to have maintain- ed their ground even in the Christian schools.f Julian is charged with employing un- Arts of Ju- worthy or insidious arts to ex- iian to tin- tort an involuntary assent to derrmnc paganism. Heathen symbols everywhere replaced those of Christianity. The medals display a great variety of deities, with their attributes. Jupiter is crowning the emperor. Mars and Mercury inspire him 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 bgfore him. The Christians were horror-stricken when they found that, instead of a^n act of legitimate respect to the emperor, they had been be- trayed into paying homage to idols. Some bitterly lamented their involuntary sacri- lege, and indignantly threw down their arms ; some of them are said to have sur- rounded 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 ex- ecution. 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 con- * The more liberal heathens were disgusted and ashamed at this measure of Julian. Iliad autem erat inclemens, obmendum perenni silentio, quod arcebat docere magistros, rhetoricos, et grammati- cos, ritus Christiani cultores.—Amin. Marcell., xx., c. 10. f After the death of Julian they were contempt- uously thrown aside by the Christians themselves, T&v 6e oi 7tovol kv r& Icro) /lit} ypa^fjvat, Tioyc^ov- rat.—Socrates, E. H., iii., 16. t Jovian, Valentinian, and Yalens, the future emperors, are said to have been among those who refused to serve in the army. Julian, however, de- clined to accept the resignation of the former. tented himself with expelling them from the army and sending them into banish- ment. Actual persecutions, though unauthor- ized by the imperial edicts, would Persecu- take place in some parts from the tions- 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 vio- lation of their temples or the interruption of their rites by the more zealous Chris- tians. No doubt the language of an ad- dress delivered to Constantius and Con- stans 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 em- peror 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 res- titution. 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 Cses- area, the pagans had perpetrated cruelties too horrible to detail. Not content with massacring the Christians with every kind of indignity, they had treated their lifeless remains with unprecedented out- rage. They sprinkled the entrails of their victims with barley, that the fowls might be tempted to devour them. At Heliopo- lis their cannibal fury did not shrink from tasting the blood and the inward parts of murdered priests and virgins. Julian calm- ly expresses his regret that the Restoration restorers of the temples of the of temples, gods have in some instances exceeded his expressed intentions; which, however, seem to have authorized the destruction of the Christian churches, or, at least, some of their sacred places.f * Julius Firmicus Matemus, de Errors Profano- rum Religionum, c. 29 t Greg. Nazianz. Socrates, iii., 14. Sozomen,358 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Julian made an inauspicious choice in the battle-field on which he at- tention011" tempted to decide his conflict iii-chosen with Christianity. Christianity ground. predominated to a greater ex- tent in Constantinople and in Antioch than in any other cities of the empire. In Rome he might have appealed to the an- tiquity of heathenism, and its eternal as- sociation with the glories, of the republic. In Athens he would have combined in more amicable confederacy the philoso- phy and the religion. In Athens his ac- cession had given a considerable impulse to paganism ; the temples, with the rest of the public buildings, had renewed their youth.* * Eleusis, which had fallen into ruin, now reassumed its splendour, and might have been wisely made the centre of his new system. But in Constantino- ple all was modern and Christian. Piety to the imperial founder was closely con- nected with devotion to his religion. Ju- lian could only restore the fanes of the tu- telary gods of old Byzantium; he could strip the fortune of the city of her Chris- tian attributes, but he could not give a pa- gan character to a city which had grown up under Christian auspices. Constan- Constan- tinople remained contumaciously tinopie. and uniformly Christian. Antioch had been a chief seat of that mingled worship of the Sun which had grown up . in all the Hellenized parts of Asia; Antl0C ‘ 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 incon- gruous but equally dominant passions, de- votion 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 singu- lar coincidence, Antioch came into collis- v., 9. Compare Gibbon, vol. ii., p. 42, who has re- ferred the following passage in the Misopogon to these scenes. * 0£ ra pev t&v 'd-euv avsoTrjoav avr'uca rephr}' rovg Ta,(j>ovg Ss t&v adeov avsrps'ipav ttdvrag vtco tov (Tvvd^fj-arog, d 6% dzdorai 7rap’ kfiov irpdrjv, ovrog endpdevreg tov vovv, Kal persQpoi yevopevoi ttjv diavoiav, 6g Kal tt/1 eov krce^eKBelv rolg eig rovg &eovg 7vlrjppelovacv, 7} poi rjv.— Misopogon, p. 361. Did he mean by the rd Ari_ Alexandra, is loaded by hea- an bfshop of then as well as by Christian Aiexandrea. 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, extra- ordinary 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 unpopu- larity of George was the assertion of the imperial right over the fee-simple of the land on which Alexapdrea was built. This right was gravely deduced from Alexander the Great. During the reign of Constan- tius, George had seized every opportunity of depressing and insulting paganism ; he * Arum. Marc., xxii., 13. Theodor., iii., 11. Soz- omen, v., 20.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 3(30 had interdicted the festivals and the sacri- fices of the heathen; he had*pillaged the gifts, the statues, and ornaments of their temple; he had been heard, as he passed the temple either of Serapis himself, or of the Fortune of the city, to utter the con- temptuous expression, “ How long will this sepulchre be permitted to standi”* He had discovered a cave where the Mithraic 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 the pa- gans. The fate of Artemius, the Duke of Egypt, the friend and abettor of George in all his 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 Alexandrea. 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 intelli- gence of his execution was the signal for a general insurrection of the pagans in Alexandrea. The palace of George was invested by a frantic mob. In an instant he was dragged forth, murdered, Ils eath' trampled under foot, dragged along the streets, and at length torn limb from limb. With 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,f whom the general hatred, if it did not excite them to assist in his massacre, prevented them from attempting to defend. Julian ad- dressed a letter to the people of Alexan- drea. While he admitted, in the strongest terms, the guilt of George, he severely re- buked their violence and presumption in thus taking the law into their own hands, and the horrible inhumanity of tearing like * Amm. Marcell., xxii., 11. Socrates, iii., 2. f Poterantque miserandi homines ad crudele sup- plicium devoti, Christianorum adjumento defendi, ni Georgii odio omnes indiscrete flagrabant^— A ai- rman Marcell., xxii., 11. dogs the bodies of men in pieces, and the*! 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 ex- acted the due punishment from the offend- er. 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 pre- cious, 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 character of Atha- .... nasius, who during these tumults 1 ldndsiu,s- had quietly resumed his authority over the orthodox Christians of Alexandrea. The general edict of Julian for the recall of ah exiles contained no exception, and Atha- nasius availed himself of its protecting au- thority.! 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, that some pagan females had received baptism from Athanasius. Julian expressed his astonishment, not that Athanasius had re- turned from exile, but that he had dared to resume his see. He ordered him into instant banishment. He appealed, in a letter to the prasfect, 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. “ 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 Chris- tian inhabitants of the city in favour of Athanasius, he returned a sarcastic and contemptuous reply, reminding the people of Alexandrea of their descent from pagan ancestors, and of the greatness of the gods they worshipped, and expressing his aston- ishment that they should prefer the wor- ship of Jesus, the Word of God, to that of the Sun, the glorious, and visible, and eter- nal emblem of the Deity.J In other parts, justified perhaps in their former excesses, or encouraged to future acts of violence, by the impunity of the * Julian, Epist. ix. and x. f lb., xxvi., p. 398- t Ib*» xi , p. 378.HISTORY )F CHRISTIANITY. 361 Alexandreans, paganism awoke, if not to make reprisals by conversion, at least to take a bloody revenge on its Christian ad- versaries.* 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 sanctified even by the rumour which as- cribed the preservation of Julian, when an Death of infant, to the pious bishop. Mark Mark of was accused of having destroyed Arethusa. 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.f 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.J Julian is said to have express- ed no indignation, and ordered no punish- ment. The praefect Sallust reminded him of the disgrace to which paganism was exposed by being thus put to shame by a feeble old man. The policy of Julian induced him to Julian courts seek out every -alliance which the Jews. could strengthen the cause of paganism against • Christianity. Polythe- ism courted an unnatural union with Juda- ism ; their bond of connexion was their common hatred to Christianity. It is not clear whether Julian was sufficiently ac- quainted with the writings of the Chris- tians distinctly to apprehend that they considered the final destruction of the Jew- ish Temple to be one of the great proph- ecies oh which their religion rested. The rebuilding of that temple was bringing, as it were, this question to direct issue; it was an appeal to God whether he had or had not finally rejected the people of Is- rael, 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. * Julian., Epist. x., p. 377. f According to Theodoret, 'O de, laov elg das- 6eiav i-opag yEvsodai dccMJTjftoTEpov. He was deceived by the Genethli- aci.—Greg. Nyss., de Fato388 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. tc party were more directly and exclu- sively implicated in the fatal event, which was disclosed to the trembling Valens at Antioch, and brought as wide and relent- less desolation on the East as the cruelty ad nos °*r 011 ^ie West. It was mingled up with treasonable de- signs against the throne and the life of the emperor. The magical ceremony of divination, which was denounced before Valens, was pagan throughout all its dark and mysterious circumstances.* The tri- pod 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 cere- monies, according to the established ritu- al. The house where the rite was held was purified by incense; a kind of char- ger 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 hea- then 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 div- ination 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 Theodoms, as the fated successor of Va- lens. 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 intrust- ed with the fatal secret, were almost all the chiefs of the philosophic party. Hi- lary of Phrygia, with whom is associated, by one historian, Patricius of Lydia and Andronicus of Caria, all men of the most profound learning! and skilled in divina- tion, were those who had been consulted on that unpardoned and unpardonable of- fence, the inquiring the name of the suc- cessor to the reigning sovereign. They were, in fact, the conductors of the magic ceremony, and on their confession betray- ed the secret circumstances of the incan- tation. Some, among whom appears the * Philostorgius describes it as a prediction of the Gentile oracles. Tov 'EXTltjvik&v xpV^TVp'^v-— Lib. viii., c. 15. I cannot but suspect that the prohibition of sacri- fice mentioned by Libanius, which seems contrary to the general policy of the brothers, and was but partially carried into execution, may have been con- nected with these transactions. t Zosimus, iv., 15. name of Iamblichus, escaped by miracle from torture and execution.* Libanius himself (it may be observed, as evidence how closely magic and philosophy were mingled up together in the popular opin- ion) had already escaped with difficulty two charges of unlawful practices;! 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 accu- sers of his- friends, exempted him from the common peril. Of those whose suf- ferings 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 ad- mitted that he was cognizant of the dan- gerous 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 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 un- seemly in a philosopher, was sent back to Ephesus, and amerced in a heavy fine utterly disproportioned to philosophic pov- erty. The fine was mitigated, but in its diminished amount exacted by cruel tor- tures. 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 Constan- tinople, and resumed his former state. The fatal secret had been communicated to Maximus. He had the wisdom, his par- tisans 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 posses- sion 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. Maxi- mus was apprehended and carried to An- tioch. After a hasty trial, in which he * See Zonaras, 13, 2. t Vit., i., 114.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. confessed his knowledge of the oracle, but declared that he esteemed it unwor- thy of a philosopher to divulge a secret intrusted to him by his friends, he was taken back to Ephesus, and there exe- cuted with all the rest of his party who were implicated in the conspiracy. Fes- tus, it is said, who presided over the exe- cution, was haunted in after life by a vis- ion of Maximus dragging him to judg- ment 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 dei- ties appear involved with that of the per- secuted philosophers. Nor was this persecution without con- siderable influence on the literature of Greece. So severe an inquisition was instituted into the possession of magical books, that, in order to justify their san- guinary proceedings, vast heaps of man- uscripts relating to law and general litera- ture were publicly burned, as if they con- tained unlawful matter. Many men of letters throughout the East in their ter- ror destroyed their whole libraries, lest some innocent or unsuspected work should be seized by the ignorant or malicious in- former, and bring them unknowingly with- in the relentless penalties x>f the law.f Ffom this period philosophy is almost ex- tinct, and paganism in the East drags on its silent and inglorious existence, de- prived of its literary aristocracy, and op- posing only the inert resistance of habit to the triumphant energy of Christianity. Arianism, under the influence of Yalens, state of maintained its ascendancy in the Christianity East. Throughout the whole of in the East, division of the empire the two forms of Christianity still subsisted in irreconcilable hostility.. Almost every city had two prelates, each at the head of his separate communion; the one, ac- cording 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 Atha- nasius the see of Alexandrea remained faithful to the Trinitarian doctrines. For a short' period, ihdeed, 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 * Eunap., Vit. Maxim. A mm. Marc., xxix., 1. f Amm. Marcell., xxix., 1. Inde factum est per Orientales provineias, ut omnes m'etu similium ex- urerent libraria omnia : tantus universos invaserat terror,xxix.,2.—Compare Heyne,note on Zosimus. 3 A 3fl» acclamations of his followers, and the baffled imperial authority acquiesced in his peaceful rule till his decease. But at his death, five years afterward, were re- newed the old scenes of discord and blood- shed. Palladius, the praefect of AD 3?3 Egypt, received the imperial com- mission to install the Arian prelate, Lu- cius, on the throne of Alexandrea. Pal- ladius was a pagan, and the Catholic wri- ters bitterly reproach their rivals with this monstrous alliance. It was rumour- ed that the pagan population welcomed the Arian prelate with hymns of gratula- tion as the friend of the god Serapis, as the restorer of his worship. In Constantinople Valens had received baptism from Eudoxus, the aged A D 3rQ Arian prelate of that see. Sacer- dotal influence once obtained over the feeble mind of Yalens, was likely to car- ry him to any extreme ; yet, on the other hand, he might be restrained and over- awed by calm and dignified resistance. In general, therefore, he might yield him- self up as an instrument to the passions, jealousies, and persecuting violence of his own party; while he might have re course to violence to place Demophilus on the episcopal throne of Constantinople, he might be awed into a more tolerant and equitable tone by the eloquence and com- manding character of Basil. It is unjust to load the memory of Valens with the most atrocious crime which has been charged upon him by the vindictive exag- geration of his triumphant religious ad- versaries. As a deputation of eighty Catholic ecclesiastics of Constantinople were returning from Nicomedia, the ves- sel 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 secret- ly issued by Yalens to perpetrate this wan- ton barbarity.* [* The story is circumstantially narrated by Soc- rates, H. E., iv., c. 16; by Sozomen, H. E., vi., 14; and by Theodoret, H. E., iv., 24. They say that Valens ordered his minister Modestus to put these envoys to death. Modestus, fearing it would pro- duce an insurrection, pretended to have orders to send them into exile; and, under this pretence, put them on board the vessel, ordering the captain, when well out at sea, to fire the vessel and leave the envoys to perish, while the captain and sailors escaped in the boat. This was done. But, after the sailors left the vessel on fire, a strong wind drove it to the shore, where it was consumed, with the .persons on board. Most historians admit the facts as slated.—See Schroeckh, K. G., vol. xii., p. 35, Ac. Milman’s confident assertion.needs quali fication.]370 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. The memorable interview with Saint interview Basil, as it is related by the Cath- with Basil. olic party, displays, if the weak- ness, certainly the patience and tolera- tion, of the sovereign; if the uncompro- mising 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. Modes - tus, the violent and unscrupulous favour- ite of Yalens, was sent before, to persuade the bishop to submit to the religion of the emperor. Basil was inflexible. A‘ “ Know you not,” said the of- fended officer, “that 1 have power to strip you of all your possessions, to banish you, to deprive you of life 1” “ He,” answer- ed 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 ; everywhere 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 L been dead to this world.” _ Modestus expressed his surprise at this unusual tone of intrepid address. “You have never, then,” replied the prelate, “ con- versed before with a bishop 1” Modestus returned to his master. “ Violence will fee 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 hum- bler supplication confined itself to the ad- mission of Arians into the communion of Basil; but he implored in vain. The em- peror mingled with the crowd of undis- tinguished worshippers; but he was so impressed by the solemnity of the Catho- lic 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 at- tendant clergy, which appeared more like the serenity of angels than the busy scene of mortal men, that, awe-struck and over- powered, 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; Ba- sil at length, while the trembling emperor leaned for support on an attendant priest, condescended to advance and accept the oblation. . But neither supplications, nor bribes, nor threats could induce the bish- op to admit the sovereign to the commu- nion. In a personal interview, instead of convincing the bishop, Yalens was so over- powered by the eloquence of Basil as to bestow an endowment on the Church ior the use of the poor. A scene of mingled intrigue and asserted miracle ensued. The exile of Basil was determined, but the mind of Yalens was alarmed by the dan- gerous illness of his son. The prayers of Basil were said to have restored the youth to life; but a short time after, hav ing been baptized by Arian hands, he re lapsed and died. Basil, however, main tained his place and dignity to the end.* * * But the fate of Yalens drew on ; it was followed by the first permanent Effect of establishment of the barbarians Christianity within the frontiers of the Ro- [U^evifsot,S man empire. Christianity now barbarian in began to assume a new and im- vaslon* portant function, that assimilation and union between the conquerors and the conquered which prevented the total ex- tinction of the Roman civilization, and the oppression of Europe by complete and al- most hopeless barbarism. However Chris- tianity might have disturbed the peace, and therefore, in some degree, the stabili- ty of the empire, by the religious factions which distracted the principal cities ; how- ever that foreign principle of celibacy, which had now become completely identi- fied with it, by withdrawing so many ac- tive and 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 en- terprising and victorious religion amply repaid those injuries by its influence in remodelling the new state of society. H treacherous to the interests of the Roman empire, it was true to those of mankind. Throughout the whole process of the re- settling of Europe and the other provinces of the empire by the migratory tribes from the north and east, and the vast system of colonization and conquest which intro- duced one or more new races into every province, Christianity was the one com- mon bond, the 'harmonizing 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 * Greg. Naz., Orat. xx. Greg. Nyss. contra Eu- nom.; and the ecclesiastical historians in loco. f Yalens, perceiving the actual operation of this unwarlike dedication of so many able-bodied men to useless inactivity, attempted to correct the evil by law, and by the strong interference of the gov- ernment. He invaded the monasteries and solitary hermitages of Egypt, and swept the monks by thousands into the ranks of his army. But a re- luctant Egyptian monk would, in general, make but no 'TunTevent soldi****HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 371 subdue, the advance of. barbarism ; it was constrained to accommodate itself to the spirit of the times; 'while struggling to counteract barbarism, itself became bar- barized. It lost at once much of its purity and its gentleness; it became splendid and imaginative, warlike, and at length chival- rous. When a country in a comparatively high state of civilization is overrun by a foreign and martial horde, in numbers too great to be absorbed by the local popula- tion, the conquerors usually establish themselves as a kind of armed aristocracy, while the conquered are depressed into a race of slaves. Where there is no con- necting, no intermediate power, the two races coexist in stern and irreconcilable 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 com- munion in blood. Intermarriages, if not, as commonly, prohibited by lav/, are al- most entirely discountenanced by general opinion. Such was, in fact, the ordinary process in the fprmation of the societ}^ which arose out of the ruins of the Roman empire. The conquerors became usually a military aristocracy; assumed the prop- erty 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 afterward developed with more or less completeness in different countries of Europe. One thing alone in some cases tempered, influence of during the process of conquest, {.heclergy, the irreclaimable hostility; in all, after the final settlement, moulded up together in some degree the adverse powers. Where, as in the Gothic inva- sion, it had made some previous impres- sion on the invading race, Christianity was constantly present, silently mitigating the horrors of the war, and afterward blending together, at least to a certain ex- tent, the rival races. At all times it be- came the connecting link, the intermediate power, which gave some community of interest, so me-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 a harmonizing and equalizing superintendence. The Chris- tian clergy occupied a singular position in this new state of society. At the .earlier period they were in general Ro- man ; 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 command- ing attitude, and possessed certain au- thority. 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 in- discriminate warfare, though their per- sons were not always secure from insult or from slavery, yet, on the whole, re- tained, 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, Chris- tianity had in general mingled up the in- vaders with the invaded; till at length Europe, instead of being a number of dis- connected kingdoms, hostile in race, in civil polity, in religion, was united in a kind of federal Christian republic, on i principle of unity, acknowledging the su- premacy of the pope. The overweening authority claimed and exercised by the clergy ; their . . existence as a separate and ex- tance- in this elusive caste, at this particular new state of period in the progress of civiliza- tllings* tion, became of the highest utility. A re ligion without a powerful and separate- sacerdotal order, even perhaps if that order had not in general been bound to celibacy, and so prevented from degenera- ting 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 author- ity, and that authority asserted by an ac- tive and incorporated class, would scarcely have struggled through this complete dis- organization 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 en- gaged in war. A religion which rests on a written record, however that record may be 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 com- mitted to writing, and becomes another subject of honoured and laborious study. All other kinds of literature, as Iflfluence 0f far as they survive, gladly rank Christianity themselves under the protection 011 literature of that which commands reverence 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,372 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. though almost with unproductive, yet with life-sustaining warmth, over these seclu- ded treasures. But it was not merely an inert and quiescent resistance which was thus offered to barbarism ; it was perpetu- ally extending its encroachments, as well as maintaining its place. Perhaps the de- gree to which the Roman language modi- fied the Teutonic tongues may be a fair example of the extent to which the Roman civilization generally modified the man- ners and the laws of the Northern nations. The language of the conquered people ~ . lived in their religious ritual. n anguage. ThrernglKMi; the rapid succes- sion 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 con- servators, the Vulgate Bible and the offi- ces of the Church its depositaries, unvio- lated by any barbarous interruption, re- spected as the oracles of Divine truth. But the constant repetition of this lan- guage 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. The old municipal institutions of the On the muni- empire probably owed their per- cipai institu- manence,1 in no inconsiderable turns. degree, to Christianity. It has been observed in what manner the decu- rionate, the municipal authdrities of each town, through the extraordinary and op- pressive system of taxation, from guardi- ans of the liberties of the people became mere passive and unwilling agents of the government. Responsible for payments which they could not exact, men of opu- lence, men of humanity, shrunk from the public offices. From objects of honour- able ambition they had become burdens, loaded with unrepaid unpopularity, as- sumed by compulsion, and exercised with reluctance. The defensors, instituted by Valentinian and Valens, however they might afford temporary protection and re- lief 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 administer- ing the laws; and, as the law became more and more impregnated with Christian sen- timent, it assumed something of a religious as well as civil authority. The magis- trate 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 civilization 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 disorganization 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 con- federative principle arose in these smaller aggregations, as well as in the general population of the empire. The Church became another centre of union. JVIen in- corporated themselves together, not only nor so much as fellow-citizens, as fellow Christians. They submitted to an au- thority co-ordinate with the civil power, and united as members of the same reli gious fraternity. Christianity, to a certain degree, chan- ged the general habits of men. on genera' For a time, at least,. they were habits, 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 attend ance on the courts of law, which were superseded by their own peculiar arbitra- tion; their repugnance to the ordinary amusements, which soon, however, in the large cities, such as Antioch and Constan- tinople, wore off; all these principles of disunion ceased to operate when Chris- tianity 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 New Testament, 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 Christianity was perpetually dis- charging the double office of conservator with regard to the social institutions withHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 373 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 be- tween the foreign conqueror and the con- quered inhabitant of the empire was that of master and slave, the Roman ecclesi- astic 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 cer- tain degree Romanized ; and there can be no doubt that the gentle influence of Chris- tian 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 hu- miliation 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 pow- erful federative principle, it condensed them much more speedily into one people, and assimilated their manners, habits, and usages. Christianity had early, as it were, pre- Earfy Chris- pared the way for this amalga- «canity among mation of the Goths with the theGoihs. Roman empire. In their first inroads, during the reign of Gallienus, when they ravaged a large,, part of the Roman empire, they carried away num- bers of slaves, especially from Asia Minor and Cappadocia. Among these were many Christians. The slaves subdued the con- querors ; the gentle doctrines of Christi- anity 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, ui hiias’s atteilded Council of Nice ; version^ Ulphilas, at the time of the inva-. the scrip- sion in the reign of Valens, con- tures* . secrated bishop of the Goths du- ring an embassy to-Constantinople, was of Cappadocian descent.f Among the Goths Christianity first assumed its new office, the advancement of general civilization, as well as of purer religion. It is difficult to suppose that the art of writing was alto- gether unknown to the Goths before the time of Ulphilas. The language seems to have attained a high degree of artifi- cial perfection before it was employed by that prelate in the translation of the Scrip- tures.! Still the Maeso-Gothic alphabet, w Philo6torgius, ii., 5. f Socrates, ii., 41. $ The Gothic of Ulphilas is the link between the East and Europe, the transition state from the San- scrit to the modern Teutonic languages. It is pos- of which the Greek is by far the principal element, was generally adopted by the Goths.* It was universally dissemina- ted ; it was perpetuated, until the extinc- tion or absorption of the Gothic race in other tribes, by the translation of the sa- cred writings. 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 Christi- anity, 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 miti- gate the violence of the shock with which, for the first time, a whole host of North- ern barbarians was thrown upon the em- pire, never again to be shaken off. This Gothic invasion, which first established s Teutonic nation within the frontier of the empire, was conducted with all the feroci- ty, provoked, indeed, on the part of the Romans, by the basest treachery, of hos- tile races with no bond of connexion.! The pacificatory effect of the general conversion of the Goths to Christianity sible 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 bebn reduced to the barbarous runes of the heathen tribes.—Compare Bopp, Conjugations System. * The Mseso-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. f The greater part of the fragments of Ulphilas’s version of the Scriptures now extant is contained in the celebrated Codex Argenteus, now at Upsala. This splendid MS., written in silver letters on parchment of a purple ground, contains almost the whole four Gospels. Knittel, in 17G2, discovered five chapters of St. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans in a Palimpsest MS. at Wolfenbuttel. The best edition of the whole of this is by J. Christ. Zahn, Weisenfels, 1805. Since that time M. Mai has published, from Milan Palimpsests, several other fragments, chiefly of the other Epistles of St. Paul, Milan, 1819—St. Martin, notes to Le Beau, iii., 100. On the Gothic translation of the Scrip- tures. See Socrates, iv„ 33. Sozomen, vi., 37. Philostorgius, ii., 5. Compare Theodoret, v.,30,3L $ It is remarkable to find a Christian priest em- ployed as an ambassador between the Goths and the Romans, and either the willing or undesigning instrument of that stratagem of the Gothic general which was so fatal to V alens.—Aram. Marc.. xxxU 12.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ‘374 was impeded by the farm of faith which they embraced. The Gothic prelates, Arianism of Ulphilas among the rest, who the Goths, visited the court of Constantino- ple, found the Arian bishops in possession of the chief authority ; they were the rec- ognised prelates of the empire. Whether Hjeir less cultivated minds were unable to com'pre&end, 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 settle- ment within the empire. The whole na- tion received this form of Christianity ; from them it appears to have spread, first embracing the other branch of the nation, the Ostrogoths, among the Gepidae, the Vandals, and the Burgundians.* Among the barbaric conquerors was the strong- hold of Arianism ; while it was gradually repudiated by the Romans both in tire 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 a:* a proud distinction, more cordially detest- ed by the Roman population as the creed of their barbarous masters, Arianism ap- peared 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 Trinita- rianism in the West (we shall hereafter resume the Christian history of that di vision 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 Christi- anity. 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 vigor- ous and harmonious system. The rele- gation, as it were, of Arianism among the Goths and other barbarous tribes, though it might thereby gain a temporary acces- sion of strength, did not permanently im- pede the final triumph of Trinitarianism. While the imperial power was thus lend- ing it's strongest aid for the complete tri- umph and concentration of Christianity, from the peculiar character of the mrnd of Theodosius, the sacerdotal order, on the strength and unity of which was to rest the permanent influence of Christi- anity during the approaching centuries of darkness, assumed new energy. A re- ligious emperor, under certain circum- * Sic quoque Visigothi a Valente Imperatore Ariani potius quam Christiani effecti. De coetero tam Ostrogothis, quam Gepidis parentibus suis per affectionis giatiam .evangelizanies, hujus perfidise culturam edocentes omnem ub.ique linguas hujus nationem ad culturam hujus sectae incitavere.— Jornand., c. 25. stances, might have been the most’danger- ous adversary of the priestly power; he would have asserted with vigour, which could not at that time be resisted, the su- premacy of the civil authority. But the weaknesses, the vices of the great Theo- dosius, bowed him down before the aspi- ring priesthood, who, in asserting and ad- vancing their own authority, were assert- ing the cause of humanity. The passion- ate tyrant at the feet of the Christian prel- ate, 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 humani- ty, 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 universal enthusiasm through- 379 out the empire. The pressing fears A* of barbaric invasion on every frontier si- lenced for a time the jealousies of Chris- tian 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 Per- sians, the Armenians, the Iberians were prepared to pass the Euphrates on the eastern frontier; the Danube had alreadyHI6T0KV OF OilRI»TI A Nl TV. afforded a passage to the Goths; behind „ them were the Huns, in still more formi- dable and multiplying swarms ; the Franks and the rest of the German nations were crowding to the Rhine. Paganism, as weil as Christianity, hastened to pay its grateful homage to the deliverer of the empire; the eloquent Themistius address- ed the emperor in the name of the imperi- al city; Libanius ventured to call on the Christian emperor to revenge the death of Julian, that crime for which the gods were exacting just retribution; pagan poetry awoke from its long silence ; the glory of Theodosias and his family inspired its last noble effort in the verse of Claudian. 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. Christi- anity was early and permanently estab- lished in the Peninsula. Tq 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 harmoni- ous fabrics of Europe would probably create no feeling but that of aversion from the shrines of idolatry. Iiis Chris- tianity was pure from any of the old pa- gan associations ; unsoftened, if may per- haps 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 con- summate vigour and ability, and a choler- ic and vehement temperament. Spain, throughout the Trinitarian con- troversy, perhaps from the commanding influence of Hosius, had firmly adhered to the Athanasian doctrines. The Maniche- an tenets, for which Priscillian and his followers suffered (the first heretics con- demned to death for their opinions), were but recently introduced into the province. Thus by character and education deep- ly impressed with Christianity, and tliat of a severe and uncompromising orthodoxy, Theodosius undertook the sacred obliga- tion of extirpating paganism, and resto- ring to Christianity its severe and invio- lable unity. Without tracing the succes- sion of events throughout his reign, we may survey the Christian emperor in his acts ; first, as commencing, if not com- pleting, the forcible extermination of pa- ganism; secondly, as confirming Christi- anity, and extending the authority of the sacerdotal order; and, thirdly, as estab- 375 lishing the uniform orthodoxy of the West- ern Roman Church. The laws of Theodosius against the pa- gan sacrifices grew insensibly Hostility or more and more severe. The Theodosius inspection of the entrails of vie- t0Pasa,l,sir‘- tims and magic rites were made a capital offence. In 391 issued an edict prohibit- ing 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 with- out the temples. In 392 all immolation is prohibited under the penalty of death, and all other acts of idolatry under for- feiture of the house or land in which the offence shall have been committed.* The pagan temples, left standing in all their majesty, deserted, overgrown, would have been the most splendid monument to the triumph of Christianity. If, with the disdain of conscious strength, she had al- lowed them to remain without victim, without priest, without worshipper, but uninjured, and only exposed to natural de- cay from time and neglect, posterity would not merely have been grateful for the pres- ervation of such stupendous models of an, but would have been strongly impressed with admiration of her magnanimity. But. such magnanimity was neither to be ex- pected from the age nor the state of the re- ligion. The Christians believed in the ex- istence of the heathen deities, with, per- haps, more undoubting faith than the hea- thens themselves. The daemons who inhabited the temples were spirits of ma- lignant 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 conse- crated spot, though rebuked and control- led by the mightier name o.f Christ, yet able to surprise the'careless Christian in his hour of supineness or negligent adhe- rence to his faith or his duty. When zeal inflamed the Christian populace to aggres- * Cod. Theod., xvi., 10, 7, 11, 12. f Dii enim Gentium dsemonia, ut Scriptura docet —Ambros., Epist. Resp. ad Symmach. in init.376 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. sion upon any of these ancient and time- hallowed buildings, no doubt some latent awe lingered within ; something of the suspense of doubtful warfare watched the issue of the strife. However they might have worked themselves up to the convic- tion that their ancient gods were but of ? his inferior and hostile nature, they would still be haunted by some apprehensions lest they should not be secure of the pro- tection 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 control- led a,s 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; une- qual indeed, particularly where the faith of the Christian was fervent and sincere, yet dependant for its event on the confi- dence of that faith, which sometimes trembled at its own insufficiency, and fear- ed lest it should be abandoned by the Di- vine 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 account of their proceed- ings relate to the East. Their desultory attacks were chiefly confined to the coun- try, 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 rever- ence of their worshippers, were under the protection of the municipal police.* Chris- tianity was long almost exclusively the religion of the towns; and the term pa- ganism (notwithstanding the difficulties which .embarrass this explanation) ap- pears to owe its origin to this general dis- tinction. The agricultural population, li- able to frequent vicissitudes, trembled to offend the gods, on whom depended the plenty or the failure of the harvest. Hab- its are more intimately enwoven with the whole being in the regular labours of hus- bandry than in the more various and changeable occupations of the city. The whole heathen ritual was bound up with the course of agriculture: this was 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 * Tokfiarai fiev ovv kuv ralg 7roTiscrt, ro ttoTiv tie tv rolg aypoXg.—Liban. pro Templis. in every grove, by every fountain. The drought, the mildew, the murrain, the lo- custs, whatever was destructive to the harvest or to the herd, were in the power of these capricious deities ;* even when con- verted to Christianity, the peasant trem- bled at the consequences of his oyvn apos- tacy ; 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 paganizing Christianity, saints, martyrs, and angels, that Christianity was extensively or per- manently established in the rural dis- tricts.! During the reign of Constantine, that first sign of a decaying religion, Alienalionof the alienation of the property the revenue attached to its maintenance, be- °J'the tem- gan to be discerned. Some es- pes' tates belonging to the temples were seized by the first Christian emperor, and appro- priated to the building of Constantinople. The. favourites of his successor, as we have seen, were enriched by the donation of other sacrqd estates, and even of the temples themselves.$ Julian restored the greater part of these prodigal gifts, but they were once more resumed under Val- entinian, and the estates escheated to the imperial revenue. Soon after the acces- sion of Theodosius, the pagans, particu- larly in the East, saw the storm gathering in the horizon. The monks, with perfed impunity, traversed the rural districts, de- molishing all the unprotected edifices. In vain did the pagans appeal to the episco- pal authority ; the bishops declined to re- press the over-active, perhaps, but pious zeal of their adherents. Already much destruction had taken, place among the smaller rural shrines ; the temples in An- tioch, of Fortune, of Jove, of Athene, of Dionysus, were still standing; but the de- molition of one stately temple, either at Edessa or Palmyra, and this under the pre- text of the imperial authority, had awaken- ed all the fears of the pagans. Libanius ad- dressed an elaborate oration to the emper- * Kal rolg yeopyovaiv h avroXg al klirlStg, baai Tvepl re avdp&v ko'l ywauctiv, Kal tskvov Kal fiotiv, Kal rfjg OTTEipofievrig yf/g Kal 'jrefyvrev/Lievrjg. —Liban. de Tempi. f This difference prevailed equally in the West. Fleury gives an account of the martyrdom of three missionaries by the rural population of a district in the Tyrol, who resented the abolition of their dei ties and their religious ceremonies.—Hist. Eccles. v., 64. t They were bestowed, according to Libanius, with no more respect than a horse, a slave, a dog, or a golden cup. The position of thesla?>e between the horse and the dog, as cheap gifts, is curious enough.—Liban., Op., v. ii., p. 185.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 877 Oration of or, “For the Temples.”* * * § * Like i.ibanius. Christianity under the Antonines, paganism is now making its apology for its public worship. Paganism is reduced to still lower humiliation ; one of its mod- est 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.f 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 Liba- nius were wasted on deaf and unheeding ears. The war against the temples com- Syrian tem- menced in Syria, but it was pies destroyed, 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 splen- did temples, of which the ruins have re- cently been discovered, at Petra,J were defended by the zealous worshippers ; and in those, as well as at Areopolis and Ra- phia, in Palestine, the pagan ceremonial continued without disturbance. In Gaza, the temple of the tutelar deity Manias, the lord of men, was closed; but the Chris- tians did not venture to violate it. The form of some of the Syrian edifices allow- ed 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 wor- ship. Marcellus of Apamea was the mar- tyr in this holy warfare. He had signal- ized himself by the destruction of the tem- ples 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 mir- acle to undermine them. But, on an ex- pedition into the district of Apamea, called the Aulon, the rude inhabitants rose in de- fence of their sacred edifice, seized Mar- cellus, and burned him alive. The synod of the province refused to revenge on his * This oration was probably not delivered in the presence of Theodosius. f Liban. pro Templis, p. 190. J Laborde’s Journey. In most of these buildings Roman architecture of the age of the Antonines is manifest, raised in general on the enormous sub- structions of much earlier ages. § If this (as indeed is not likely) was the vast Temple of the Sun, the work of successive ages, it is probable that a Christian church was enclosed in some part of its precincts. The sanctuary was usually taken for this purpose. 2 B barbarous enemies a death so happy for Marcellus and so glorious for his family.* 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 an- nounce that Polytheism had forever lost its hold upon the minds of men. It was considered the highest praise of the magnificent temple at Edes- Ternple of Sa, Of which the roof Was Of Serapis at remarkable construction, and Alexandrea- which contained in its secret sanctuary certain very celebrated statues of wrought iron, and whose fall had excited the indig- nant eloquence of Libanius, h) compare it to the Serapion in Alexandrea. The Se- rapion at that time appeared secure in the superstition which connected its invi- olable sanctity and the honour of its godf 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, be- fore many years, would be levelled to the ground. The temple of Serapis, next to that of Jupiter in the Capitol, was the a.d. 339 proudest monument of pagan re- or 391. ligious architecture.:]: Like the more cel- ebrated structures of the East, and that of Jerusalem in its glory, it comprehended within its precincts a vast mass of build- ings, of which the temple itself formed the centre. It was built on an artificial hill, in the old quarter of the city called Rha- cotis, to which the ascent was by a hun- dred 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 the worship of the god. Within these outworks of this city rather than temple was a square, sur- 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 Gre cian art. The god himself was the espe- * Sozomen, vii., 15. Theodoret, v., 21. f Libanius expresses himself to this effect. t Post Capitolium, quo se venerabilis Roma in sternum attollit nihil orbis terrarum ambitiosius cernat.—Ammtan. Marcell,, xxii., 16.378' HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. cial object of adoration throughout the whole country, and throughout every part of the empire into which the Egyptian worship had penetrated,* but more par- ticularly in Alexandrea ; and the wise pol- icy of the Ptolemies had blended together, under this pliant and all-embracing reli- gion, the different races of their subjects Egyptian and Greek met as worshippers worship of of Serapis. The Serapis of sm-apis. 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 worship- ped in Serapis the great vivific principle of the universe, the fecundating Nile, hold- ing the Kilometer 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, Aesculapius, and Hades,f The colossal statue of Serapis imbodied statue of these various attributes.! It filled Serapis. the sanctuary : its 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 Se.sostris ; it was made of all the metals fused to- gether, gold, silver, copper, iron, lead, and tin; it was inlaid with all kinds of precious stones; the whole was polished, and ap- peared 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.§ The serpent, the symbol of eternity, wound round the whole and returned, resting its" head oif the hand of the. god. The more completely the adoration of Serapis had absorbed the worship of the whole Egyptian pantheon, the more eager- ly Christianity desired to triumph over the representative of Polytheism. However, * In Egypt alone he had forty-two temples ; in- numerable others in every part of the Roman em- pire,— Aristid., Orat. in Canop. f This appears to me the most natural interpre- tation of the celebrated passage in Tacitus.—Com- pare De Guigniaut, Le Dieu Serapis et son Origine, originally written as a note for Bournouf’s trans- lation of Tacitus. t The statue is described by Macrobius, Saturn., i., 20. Clemens Alexandria, Exhortat. ad Gent., i., p. 42. Rufinus, E. H., xii., 23. § According to the interpretation of Macrobius, the three heads represented the past, the present, and the future; the rapacious wolf the past, the central lion the intermediate present, the fawning dog the hopeful future.. in the time of Hadrian, the philosophic party may have endeavoured to blend and harmonize the two faiths,* they stood now in their old direct and irreconcilable oppo- sition. The suppression of the internal feuds between the opposite parties in Alexandrea enabled Christianity to direct all its concentred lorce against paganism. Theophilus, the archbishop, was The first aN a man of boldness and activity, tacks on pa- eager to seize, and skilful to sanism- avail himself of, every opportunity to in- flame the popular mind against the he a-1 tffens. 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 favour- able darkness caused by the sudden ex- tinction 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 Alexandrea. Theophilus ob- tained from the emperor a grant of the vacant site for a new church, to accom- modate the increasing numbers of the Catholic Christians. On digging the found- ation, 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 dis- gusting 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 martyrdom. Aphilos- Olympus the opher named Olympus placed philosopher, himself at the head of the pagan party. Olympus had foreseen and predicted the ruin of the external worship of Polytheism. He had endeavoured to implant a profound feeling in the hearts of the pagans which might survive the destruction of their or- dinary objects of worship. u 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 * See the letter of Hadrian, p. 223. t ’"T2.7JV deserted buildings had now neither public authority nor private zeal and munificence to maintain them against the encroach- ments of time or accident, to support the tottering roof or repair th« broken column. There was neither public fund nor private, contribution for their preservation, till at length the Christians, in many instances, paganism, and almost renews the old accusation of Atheism against Christianity. He impersonates some deity, probably Discord, who summons Bello- na to take arms for the destruction of Rtnne ; and, in# strain of fierce irony, recommends to her, among other fatal .measures, to extirpate the gods of Rome: Roma, ipsique tremant furialia murmura reges. Jam superos terris, atque hospita numinapelle: Romanos populate Deosy et nullus in aris Vestas exoratas, fotus strue, palleat ignis. His instructa dolis palatia celsa subibo, Majorum mores, et pectora prisca fugabo Funditus, atque sirnul, nullo discrimine rerum, Spernantur fortes, nec sit reverentia justis. Attica neglecto pereat facundia Phoebo, Indignis con ting at honos, et pondera rerum. Non virtus sed casus agat, tristisque cupido ; Pectoribus saevi demens furor aestuet aevi; Omniaque has'c sine mente Jovis, sine numine summo, —Merobaudes, in Niebuhr’s edit, of the Byzantine* * Zosimus, v. Sozomen, ix., 6388 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. took possession of the abandoned edifice, converted it to their own use, and hallow- ed it by a new consecration.* * * § * Thus, in many places, though marred and disfig- ured, the monuments of architecture sur- vived, with no great violation of the ground- plan, distribution, or general proportions.! Paganism was in fact left to die out by gradual dissolution.} 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 an- cient faith, eight celebrated temples were dedicated to the Mother of God.6 It was not till the seventh century that the Pan- theon was dedicated by Pope Boniface IV. to the Holy Virgin. Of the public festi- vals, the last which clung with tenacious grasp to the habits of the Roman people was the Lupercalia. It was suppressed a tw.*80. 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 emper ors, will that all our subjects follow the religion taught by St. Peter to the Ro- mans, professed by those saintly prelates, Damasus, pontiff of Rome, and Peter, bish- op of Alexandrea; that we believe the one divinity of the Father, Son, and Holy Spir- it, of majesty coequal, in the Holy Trin- ity. We will that those who embrace this creed be called Catholic Christians; we * Seethe sermons of Maximus, bishop of Turin; quoted in Beugnot, ii., 253. t Codex Theodos., xvi ,1,2.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 38# brand all the*senseless followers of other religions by the infamous name of here- tics, and forbid their conventicles to as- sume 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.f The next year witnessed the condemnation of all here- tics, particularly the Photinians, Arians, and Eunomians, and the expulsion of the Arians from the churches of all the cities in the East,J and their surrender to the only lawful form of Christianity. On the assembling of the Council of Chalcedon, t.wo severe laws were issued against apos- tates 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 All the mere coincided with the design of The- powerfui ec- odosius to concentre the whole wrftersfa1 ^ir*s^a11 world into one vigor- vounibie^tG ous and consistent system. The, Trinitarian- more legitimate influence of ar- 2sm' gument, and intellectual and re- ligious superiority, concurred with the stern mandates of the civil power. All the great and commanding minds of the age were on the same side as to the mo- mentous 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 pro- geny of heresies. Everywhere the Trin- itarian prelates rose to ascendancy, not merely from the support of the govern- ment, but from their pre-eminent charae- * Post etiarn motus nostri, quem ex coslesti ar- foitrio sumpserimus, ultione plectendos. Godefroy supposes these words not to mean “ coeleste oracu- tum,” but “ Dei arbitrium, regulam et formulam juris divini.” + Baronins, and even Godefroy, call this law a golden, pious, and wholesome statute. Happily it was on the right side. t 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 as- serts that they were enacted merely in terrorem, and with no design of carrying them into execution. •—H. E., vii., 12. ter or intellectual powers. Each prov- ince seemed to have produced some indi- vidual adapted to the particular period and circumstances of the time, who devoted himself to the establishment of the Atha- nasian opinions. The intractable Egypt, more particularly turbulent Alexandrea, was ruled by the strong arm of the bold and unprincipled Theophilus. The dreamy mysticism of Syria found a congenial rep- resentative in Ephrem. A more intellect- ual, yet still somewhat imaginative, Orien- talism animates the writings of St. Basil; in a less degree those of Gregory of Na- zianzum ; still less those of Gregory of Nyssa. The more powerful and Grecian eloquence of Chrysostom swayed the pop- ular 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 the severer thought and more prosaic reasoning of the Latin world. In Gaul, where Hilary of Poictiers had long maintained the cause of Trinita- rianism on the borders of civilization, St. Martin of Tours acted the part of a bold and enterprising missionary; while in Mi lan, the court capital of the West, the strong practical character of Ambrose, his sternly conscientious moral energy, though hardening at times into rigid in- tolerance 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 pas- sion of the African mind with the most comprehensive and systematic views, and intrepid dogmatism on the darkest sub- jects. United in one common cause, act- ing in their several quarters according to their peculiar temperaments and charac- ters, these strong-minded and influential ecclesiastics almost compelled the world into a temporary peace, till first Pelagian- ism and afterward Nestorianism unsettled again the restless elements; the contro- versies, first concerning grace, free-will, and predestination, then on the incarnation and two natures of Christ, succeeded to the silenced and exhausted feud concern- ing the trinity of persons in the Godhead. Theophilus of Alexandrea^* performed his part in the complete subjec- Theoptiiius tion of the world by his energy as a ruler, not by the slower and fom sS to’ more legitimate influence of Hu- moral persuasion through his preaching * I have not placed these writers in their strict chronological order, but according to the countries in which they lived.390. HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, or his writings,* He suppressed Arian- ism by the same violent and coercive means with which he extirpated pagan- ism. 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 Alexandrea, and insisting on the pure spiritual nature of the Deity. Yet he condescended to ap- pease these turbulent adversaries by an unmanly artifice. He consented to con- demn the doctrines of Origen, who, hav- ing 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 dan- .gerous heresiarch. The Oriental doc- trines with which Origen had impregna- ted his system were unpopular, and per- haps not clearly understood.! The na- tion that the reign of Christ was finite was rather an inference from his wri- tings than a tenet of Origen. For if all bodies were to be finally annihilated (ac- cording to his anti-materialist system), the humanity of Christ, and, consequent- ly, his personal reign, must cease. The possibility that the devil might, after long purification, be saved, and the corruptibil- ity of the body after the resurrection, grew out of the same Oriental cast of opinions. But the perfectly pure and im- material nature of the Deity was the tenet of Origen which was the most odious to the monks; and Theophilus, by anathe- matizing Origenism in the mass, while he himself held, certainly the sublimest, but to his adversaries the most objectionable, part of the system, adopted a low and undig- nified deception. The persecution of Isi- dore, and the heads of the monasteries who befriended his cause (the tall , breth- ren, as they were called), from personal motives of animosity, display the Alex- andrean prelate in his ordinary character. We shall again encounter Theophilus in the lamentable intrigues against the ad- vancement and influence of Chrysostom. The character of Ephrem,J the Syrian, s. Ephrem, was the exact counterpart to the Syrian, that of the busy and worldly died 37!). Theophilus. A native of Nisi- bis, or, rather, of its neighbourhood, Ephrem passed the greater part of his life at Edessa, and in the monastic estab- lishments which began to abound in Mes- * The Trinitarian doctrines had been maintained in Alexandrea by the virtues and abilities of Didy- inus the Blind. f Socrates, vi., 10. Sozomen, viii., 13*. $ See the Life of Ephrem prefixed to his works; and in Tillemont. opotamia and Syria, as in Egypt. Hh genius was that of the people in whos# language he wrote his numerous compo- sitions in prose and verse.* In Ephren something of the poetic mysticism of the ‘Gnostic was allied with the most rigid orthodoxy of doctrine. But with his im- aginative 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 natu- • ral to him as perspiration ; day and night., in his devout seclusion, he wept for the sins of mankind and for his own; his very writings, it was said, weep ; there is a deep and latent sorrow even in his panegyrics or festival homilies.f Ephrem was a poet, and his hymns, poured forth in the prodigality of his zeal, succeeded at length in entirely disenchant' mg the popular ear from the heretical strains of Bardesanes and his son Har- 4 monius, which lingered after the general • decay of Gnosticism.$ The hymns ol Ephrem were sung on the festivals of the martyrs. His psalms, the constant occu- pation which he enjoins upon his monkish companions, were always of a sorrowful and contrite tone. Laughter was the source and the indication of all wicked- ness, sorrow of all virtue. During the melancholy psalm, God was present with his angels; all more joyous strains belong- ed to heathenism and idolatry. The monasticism as well as the Tri'm- tarianism of Syria received a strong im- pulse from Ephrem, and in Syria monas- ticism began to run into its utmost ex- travagance. There was one class of as- cetics 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 de- light of all these gentle and irreproachable fanatics; and, as Ephrem was rigidly Trinitarian, he contributed to fix the doc- trinal language of the various ccenobitie institutions and solitary hermitages. In fact, the quiescent intellect probably re- joiced in being relieved from these severe and ungrateful inquiries ; and full freedom being left to the imagination, and ample scope to the language, in the vague and * According to Theodoret, he was unacquainted with Greek. IIaidetag yap ov yeyevpevog eXkr) viKTjg, tovq re ‘TroTiVGXLdetg raxv ijvuv 'sostom. his cause, he was condemned by a second hostile council, not on any 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 dangerous enemies than the prel- Aj>. 404. ates. In the midst of the sol- Tumults m emn celebration of Good Friday, the Church' in the great 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 around ; their garments were bedewed with the blood o.f the Re- deemer.* 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.f * Chrysostom, Epist. ad Innocentium, c. iii., v. iii., p. 519. Chrysostom exempts the emperor from all share in this outrage, but attributes it to the hostile bishops f See Letter to Olympias, p. 548.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 405 Chrysostom at length withdrew from Chrysostom the contest; he escaped from the surrenders, friendly custody of his adherents, and surrendered himself to the imperial officers. He was immediately conveyed by night to the Asiatic shore. At the in- stant of his departure, another fearful ca- lamity 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, reach- ed 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 Chry- sostom, and Chrysostom himself, were, of course, accused of this act, the author of which was never discovered, and in which no life was lost. But the bishop was charged with the horrible design of de- stroying 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 sav- age 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; wom- en of rank and opulence sought his soli- tude in .disguise. The bishops of many distant sees sent him assistance, and cov- eted his advice. The Bishop of Rome received his letters with respect, and wrote back ardent commendations of his patience. The exile of Cucusus exer- cised, perhaps, more extensive authority than the Patriarch of Constantinople.! * There are three laws in the Theodosian Code igainst unlawful and seditious meetings (conventi- cula), directed against the followers of Chrysos- tom : the Joannitae, as they were called, “ qui sac- rilege animo auetoritatem nostri numinis ausi fue- rint expugnare ” The deity is the usual term, hut the deity of the feeble Arcadius and the passionate Eudoxia reads strangely. f Among his letters may be remarked those written to the celebrated Olympias. This wealthy widow, who had refused the solicitations or com- He was not, howevei, permitted to re- main in peace in this miserable seclu- sion : sometimes his life was endangered by the invasions of the Isaurian marau- ders ; 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 re- turn ; but he miscalculated the obstinate and implacable resentment of his perse- cutors. At length an order came to re- move him to Pityus, on the Euxine, a still more savage place on the verge of the empire. He died on the journey, near Comana, in Pontus. Some years afterward, the remains of Chrysostom were transported to His remain8 Constantinople with the utmost transported reverence, and received with J°no°{eSlan' solemn .pomp. Constantinople p 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 Chris- tian orator. His persecution had not the dignity of conscientious bigotry ; it was a struggle for power between the tempo- ral and ecclesiastical supremacy; but the passions and the personal animosities of ecclesiastics, the ambition, and perhaps the jealousy of the Alexandrean patri. arch as t*o 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 hab- its, the ambition to extend his authority, perhaps, beyrnnd 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 would have been lost in the splendour of his talents and his virtues. Though he might not have weaned the general mass of the peo- ple from their vices or their amusements, which he proscribed with equal severity, yet he would have commanded general respect; and nothing less than a schism mands of Theodosius to marry one of his favourites, had almost washed away, by her austerities and virtues, the stain of. her nuptials, and might rank in Christian estimation with those unsullied vir- gins who had never been contaminated by mar- riage. She was the friend of all the distinguished and orthodox clergy; of Gregory of Nazianzum, and of Chrysostom. Chrysostom records to hei praise, that by her austerities she had brought on painful diseases, which baffled the art of medicine. —Chrysost, Foist., viii., p. 540.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 406 arising out 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 epis- copate to assume its legitimate power, far less to have encroached on the tem- poral 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 I the empire before the capricious will of j 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 doc- trine. Christianity thus remained in some re- spects an antagonist principle, counter- acting by its perpetual remonstrance, and rivalling by its attractive ceremonial, the vices and licentious diversions of the cap- ital ; but its moral authority was not al- lied with power; it quailed under the uni- versal despotism, and was entirely ineffi- cient as a corrective of imperial tyranny. It thus escaped the evils inseparable from the undue elevation of the sacerdotal char- acter, and the temptations to encroach be- yond 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 oI violence, and infuse justice and humanity into the manners of the. court and of the people. CHAPTER X THE GREAT PRELATES OF THE WEST. The character and the fate of Ambrose Ambrose, °^*er strongest contrast with Archbishop that of Chrysostom. Ambrose of Milan. was n0 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 sta- tion in the imperial service. His elo- quence had little of the richness, imagina- tive variety, or dramatic power of the Gre- cian orator; hard but vigorous, it was Ro- man, forensic, practical; we mean where it related to affairs of business or address- ed men in general; it has, as we shall hereafter observe, a very different charac- ter 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 Athana- sius to the imperial authority had been firm but deferential, passive rather than aggressive. In his public addresses he had respected the majesty of*the empire ; at all events, the hierarchy of that period only questioned the authority of the sov- ereign in matters of faith. But in Am- brose the episcopal power acknowledged no limits to its moral dominion, and ad- mitted no distinction of persons. While the bishops of Rome were comparatively without authority, and still partially ob- scured by the concentration of paganism in the aristocracy of the Capitol, the Archbishop of Milan began to develop pa- pal power and papal imperiousness. Am- brose was the spiritual ancestor of the Hil- debrands and the Innocents. Like Chry- sostom, Ambrose had to strive against the passionate animosity of an' empress, not merely exasperated against him by his sus- pected 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 bis father, the great Theodosius. We cannot, indeed, but recognise something of the un- degraded Roman of the Whst in Ambrose; Chrysostom lias something of the feeble- ness and degeneracy of the Byzantine. The father of Ambrose, who bore the same name, had administered the Youth of province of Gaul as prsetorian pre- Ambrose-., feet. The younger Ambrose, while pur- suing his studies at Rome, had attractedHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 407 uie notice of Probus, praetorian prefect of Italy. Ambrose, through his influence, was appointed to the administration of the provinces of AEmilia and Liguria.* * * § Pro- bus was a Christian, and his parting ad- monition to the young civilian was couch- ed in these prophetic words: “ Rule the province, not as a judge, but as a bishop.”f Milan was within the department assigned to Ambrose. This city had now begun al- most to rival or eclipse Rome, as the capi- tal of the Occidental empire, and from the celebrity of its schools it was called the Athens of the West. The Church of Mi- lan was rent with divisions. On a vacan- cy caused by the death of Auxentius, the celebrated Arian, the two parties, the Ari- an and the Athanasian, violently contested the appointment of the bishop. Ambrose appeared in his civil character, Ambrose aRay the tumult by the awe of bishop^ his presence and by the persua- a.d.374. sjve force 0f hjs eloquence. He spoke so wisely, and in such a Christian spirit, that a general acclamation suddenly broke forth, “Ambrose, be bishop—Am- brose, be bishop.” Ambrose was yet only a catechumen; he attempted in every way, by assuming a severe character as a ma- gistrate, and by flight, to elude the unex- pected honour.J The ardour of the peo- ple and the approbation of the emperor^ compelled him to assume the office. Am- brose cast off* at once the pomp and maj- esty of his civil state ; but that which was in some degree disadvantageous to Chry- sostom, his severe simplicity of life, only increased the admiration and attachment of the less luxurious, or, at least, less ef- feminate West to their pious prelate: for Ambrose assumed only the austerity, nothing of the inactive and contemplative seclusion, of the monastic system. The Ambrose ihe only Eastern influence which advocate of fettered his strong mind was his celibacy. earnest admiration of celibacy ; in all other respects he was a Roman 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 Mi- lan, made it the more impressive : it was received with all the ardour of novelty, and the impetuosity of the Italian charac- ter ; it captivated all ranks and all orders. * Chiefly from the life of Ambrose affixed to the Benedictine edition of his works; the life by Pauli- nus, and Tillemont. f Paul., Vit. Ambros., 8. t He Offic. Vita S. Arnbros., p. xxxiv. Epist. xxi., p. 865. Epist. Ixiii. § Compare the account of Valentinian’s conduct in Theodoret, iv., 7. 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, for- feit the hope of becoming Roman matrons. Ambrose, immediately on his appointment under Valentinian I., asserted that eccle- siastical power which he confirmed under the feeble reign of Gratian and Valentinian II. ;* he maintained it when he was con- fronted by a nobler antagonist, the great Theodosius. He assumed the office of director of the royal conscience, a*id he administered it with all the uncompromi- sing moral dignity which had no indul- gence for unchristian vices, for injustice or cruelty, even in an emperor, and with ail 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 hos- tility to idolatry, the abhorrence of every deviation from the established formulary of belief; the wise and courageous benev- olence, the generous and unselfish devo- tion to the great interests of humanity. If Christianity assumed a haughtier and more rigid tone in the conduct and wri- tings of Ambrose, it was by no means for- getful of its gentler duties, in allaying hu- man 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 fron- tier, might seem to threaten individually the whole free population of the empire. Rome, which 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 bar- tered by her insatiable slave-trade. The splendid offerings of piety, the Redemption ornaments, even the consecrated of captives vessels of the churches, were byArnbrose* prodigally expended by the Bishop of Mi- lan in the redemption of captives.f “ The Church possesses gold, not to treasure up, but to distribute it for the welfare and hap- piness of men. We are ransoming the souls of men from eternal perdition. It is not merely the lives of men and the hon- our of women which are endangered in captivity, but the faith of their children. The blood of redemption which has gleam- ed in those golden, cups has sanctified ■* Theodoret, iv., 7. f Numerent quos redemerint templa captivo<- So Ambrose appeals in excusable pride to a hea- then orator.—Ambros., Epist. ii., in Syrnmachum.408 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. them, not for the service alone, but for the redemption of man.”* These arguments may be considered as a generous repudia- tion of the ecclesiastical spirit for the no- bler 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 pe- riod of human society, the example and authority of Ambrose perpetually encour- aged the generosity of the more liberal, and repressed the narrow views of those who considered the consecrated treasures of the Church inviolable, even for these more sacred objects.f 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 ortho- dox bishop. The strength of the opposite . party lay in the zeal and influence ' of the Empress .Tustina. Ambrose defied both, and made himself a powerful and irreconcilable enemy. 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 Maxi- mus (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 negotia- tion was forced upon the Bishop of Milan. The character and weight of Ambrose ap- peared th*e best protection of the young Valentinian. Ambrose is said to have re- ad 375 fused t0 communicate with Maxi- /0’ mus, the murderer of his sover- eign. The interests of his earthly mon- arch or of the empire would not induce him to sacrifice for an instant those of his heavenly Master; he would have no fel- lowship with the man of blood.J Yet so completely, either by his ability as a ne- gotiator, 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 es- sential service could not avert the collision of hostile religious creeds. The empress * Offic., c. 15, c. 28. f Even Fleury argues that these could not be consecrated vessels. t The seventeenth Epistle of Ambrose relates the whole transaction, p. 852. demanded one of the churches Dispute wan- in Milan for the celebration of the Empress the Arian service. The first Justnm- and more modest request named the Por- cian Basilica without the gates, but these demands rose to the new and largest edi- fice within the walls.* The answer of Ambrose was firm and distinct; it assert- ed the inviolability of all properly in the possession of the Church : “ A bishop can- not alienate that which is dedicated to God.” After some fruitless negotiation, 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 arose : an Arian priest was severely han- dled, 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 answer- ed, “ 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 func- tions, 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.J Ambrose ascended the pulpit; his sermon was on the Book of Job; he enlarged on the con duct of the wife of the patriarch, who com- manded him to blaspheme God; he com-* pared the empress with this example of impiety ; he went onto compare her with Eve, with Jezebel, with Herodias. “ The emperor demands a church : what has the emperor to do with the adulteress, the church of the heretics 1” Intelligence ar- rived that the populace were tearing down * Paul., Vit. Ambrose. Ambros., Epist. xx. f Referebam in meo jure esse, ut non excitarem, in Dei manu, uti mitagaret. t It would be curious if we could ascertain the different constitution of the troops employed in the irreverent scenes in the churches of Alexandrea and Constantinople, and here at Milan. Were the one raised from the vicious population of the East- ern cities, the other partly composed of barbarians ?■ How much is justly to be attributed to the charactei of the prelate?HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 409 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 em- peror. 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 en- tered into the inheritance of the Lord, but the armed Gentiles have become Chris- tians and coheirs of God. My enemies are now my defenders.” A confidential secretary of the emperor appeared, not to expel or degrade the re- fractory prelate, but to deprecate his tyr- anny. “ Why do ye hesitate to strike down the tyrant,” replied Ambrose ; “ my only defence is in my power of exposing my lifje for the honour of God,” He pro- ceeded 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 ap- pealed to his influence over Maximus, which had averted the invasion of Italy. The emperor The imperial authority quailed yields to Am- before the resolute prelate; the brosc- soldiers were withdrawn, the prisoners released, and the fines annulled.* When the emperor himself was urged to confront Ambrose in the Church, Ihe timid or 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.f But the pertinacious animosity of the empress was not yet exhausted. A law was passed authorizing the assemblies of the Arians. A second struggle took place : a new triumph for Ambrose ; anew defeat for the imperial power. From his inviola- ble 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 re- ligious power, and proclaimed the subor- dination of the emperor within the mys- * Certatim hoc nuntiare milites, irruentes in al- taria, osculis significare pacis insigne. Ambrose perceived that God had stricken Lucifer, the great dragon (vermern antelucanum). t Ambrose relates that one of the officers of the court, more daring than the rest, presumed to resent this outrage, as he considered it, on the emperor. “ While 1 live, dost thou thus.treat Valentinian with contempt? I will strike off thy head.” Ambrose replied, “ God grant that thou mayst fulfil thy men- ace. 1 shall suffer the fate of a bishop ; thou wilt do the act of a eunuch (tu facies, quod spadones). 3 F terious circle of st eerdotal authority: “ The emperor is of the Church, and in the Church, but not above the Church.” Was it to be supposed that the remon- strances 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, as- sumed the right to dictate on subjects which appeared more completely within his sphere of jurisdiction? If Arianism in the person of the empress' was com- pelled to bow, paganism could scarcely hope to obtain even a patient hearing. We have already related the contest be- tween expiring Polytheism and ascendant Christianity in the persons of Symmachus and of Ambrose. The more polished pe- riods and the gentle dignity of Symma- chus might delight the old aristocracy of Rome. But the full flow of the more ve- hement 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 incor- porated 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 es- tablished 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 awfulness of his sacerdo- tal character, to control the public mind. The champion of the Church was invested by popular belief, perhaps by his own ar- dent faith, with miraculous power, and the high state of religious excitement was maintained in Milan by the increasing dig- nity 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 * The most curious fact relating to Ambrose is the extraordinary contrast between his vigorous, practical, and statesmanlike character as a man, as well as that of such among his writings as may be called public and popular, and the mystic subtlety which fills most of his theological works. He treats the Scripture as one vast allegory, and propounds his own fanciful interpretation or corollaries witl as much authority as if they were the plain sense o. the sacred writer. No retired schoolman follows out the fantastic analogies and recondite significa- tions which he perceives in almost every word, with the vain ingenuity of Ambrose : every word or num- ber reminds him of every other place in the Scrip- ture in which the same word or number occurs ; ar„J, stringing them together with this loose con nexion, he works out some latent mystic significa- tion which he would suppose to have been within the intention of the inspired writer.—See particu larly the Hexaemeron.410 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 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 cler- gy possessed a full and dominant power, the claim to supernatural power is more frequently and ostentatiously made, while, where they possess a less complete as- cendancy, miracles cease. While Am- brose 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 dis- avows miraculous powers in his own per- son, but asserts that long ago they had (mine to an end.* * But in Milan the arch- bishop asserts his own belief in, and the eager enthusiasm of the people did not hesitate 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 ap- proached 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.f The bodies * A la tovto Tzapa /xev tj]v apxvv ,lCLL ava^loig XaptouaTa ecYlSoto’ xpeiav yap eIxe to 7tahaiov, r?]g ttlgtcQc Evstca, TCLVTTjQ Trig (3o'/]dsLag* vvv 6e ovde a^ioig didorai.—In Act., vol. lii., 65. Mr/ tol- vvv to fir/ yivEoQai vvv orpiEla, TE/c/ir/p/ov ttolov tov fiy yoyEvrjodai tote, /cal yap drj tote xpvolpug kyivETO, /cal vvv XPV^'^Q °v ylvETai.—See the whole passage in Cor., Horn, vi., xi., 45. On Psalm cx., indeed, vol. v, p. 271, he seems to assert the continuance of miracles, particularly during the reign of Julian and of Maximin. But he gives the death of Julian as one of those miracles. Kcu. yap teal Sea tovto, /cal St’ '&T£pov to, OTjfiEia EnavoEv 6 Qsog, in Matt., vii., 375. Compare also vol. i., p: 411; xi., 397, in Coloss., on Psalm cxlii., vol. v., p. 4,55. Middleton has dwelt at length on this sub- ject.—Works, vol. i., p. 103. Augustine denies the continuance of miracles with equal distinctness. Cum enim Ecclesia Ca- tholica per totum orbem diffusa atque fundata sit, nec miracula ilia in nostra tempora durare permis- sa sunt, ne animus semper visibilia quaereret, et eorum consuetudine frigesceret genus hurnanum, quorum novitate flagravit.—De Vera Kelig., c; 47. Oper., i„, 765. Yet Fleury appeals, and not without ground, to the repeated testimony of St. Augustine as eyewitness of this miracle ; and the reader of St. Augustine’s works, even his noblest (see lib xx., c. 8), the City of God, cannot but call to mind per- petual instances of miraculous occurrences related with unhesitating faith. It is singular how often we hear at one time the strong intellect of Augus- tine, at another the age of Augustine, speaking in his works; f The Arians denied this miracle.—Ambrose, were disinterred, and conveyed in solemn pomp to the Ambrosian Church. They were reinterred under the altar; they be ■ came the tutelary saints of the spot.* A blind butcher, named Severus, recovered his eyesight by the application of a hand- kerchief whichhad touched the relics, and this was but one of many wonders which were universally supposed to have been wrought by the smallest article of dress which had imbibed the miraculous virtue of these sacred bones. The awe-struck mind was never per- mitted to repose; more legitimate means were employed to maintain the ardent be- lief thus enforced upon the multitude. The whole ceremonial of the Church was conducted by Ambrose with unrivalled so- lemnity 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 dis- tinguished the Church of Milan by the grave dignity and simple fulness of its harmony, f 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 youthful emperor. He had undertaken a second 'em- second bassy to the usurper Maximus, embassy to Maximus, as if he feared the aw- Maximus- ful 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 It- aly, and had lost the opportunity of becom- ing master of the unresisting province. Epist. xxii. Invenimus mine magnitudinis viros duos, ut prisca (Bias ferebat. 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 a highly-excited audience. He acknowledges that these martyrs were unknown, and that the Church of Milan was before barren of relics. * “ Succedunt victim® triumphales in locum ubi Christus natus est; sed ille super altare qui pro omnibus passus est; ist-i sub altari qui illius reveriti sunt passionembut Ambrose calls them the guar- dians and defenders of the Church. t This subject will recur at a later part of this volume.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 411 Ambrose answered with pardonable pride that he accepted the honourable accusa- tion of having- saved the orphan emperor. Me then arrayed himself, as it were, in his priestly inviolability, reproached Maximus with the murder of Gratian, and demand- ed his remains. He again refused all spiritual communion with one guilty of in- nocent blood, for which, as yet, he had sub- mitted to no ecclesiastical penance. Max- imus, 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 out- rage, to his Italian diocese.* The arms of Theodosius decided the Accession of contest, and secured the trem- Theodosius. bling throne of Valentinian the a.d.-3o8. Younger. But the accession of Theodosius, instead of obscuring the ri- val 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 oilier events, to overawe mankind. Everywhere else throughout the Roman world, the state, and even the Church, bowed at the feet of Theodosius; in Mi- lan 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 Jewish syn- Callinicum, in Osroene, had agogue de- been burned by the Christians, stroyed. was at instigation, if not under the actual sanction, of the bish- op. The church of the Valentinian Gnos- tics had likewise been destroyed and plun- dered by the zeal of some monks. Theo- dosius commanded the restoration of the synagogue at the expense of the Chris- tians, and a fair compensation to the he- retical 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 vi- Conduct of olence of the Christian party. Ambrose. [qe st0od forward, designated, it might seem, by his situation and charac- ter, as the acknowledged champion of the whole of Christianity; the sacerdotal power was imbodied in his person. In a letter to the emperor, he boldly vindicated the bishop ; he declared himself, as far as * Epist. xxiv. his approbation could make him so, an ac- complice in the glorious and holy crime. If martyrdom was the consequence, he claimed the honour of that martyrdom ; declared it to be utterly irreconcilable with Christianity that it should in any way contribute to the restoration of Jew- ish or heretical worship.* If the bish- op should comply with the mandate, he would be an apostate, and the emperor would be answerable for his apostacy. This act was but a slight and insufficient retaliation for the deeds of plunder and de- struction perpetrated by the Jews and here- tics against orthodox Christians. The let- ter of Ambrose did not produce the desired effect; but the bishop renewed his address in public in the church, and at length ex- torted 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 sa- cerdotal ambition rather than to- the pro- found 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 ven- tured within the forbidden precincts. Am- brose, with lofty courtesy, pointed to the seat or throne reserved for the emperor at the head of the laity. Theodosius sub- mitted to the rebuke, and withdrew to the lowlier station. But if these acts of Ambrose might to some appear unwise or unwarrantable ag- gressions on the dignity of the civil ma- gistrate, or if to the prophetic sagacity * Hac proposita conditione, puto dicturum epis- copum, quod ipse ignes sparserit, turbas compu- lerit, populos concluserit, ne amittat occasionem marly rii, ut pro invalidis subjiciat validiorem. O beatum inendacium quo adquiritur sibi aliorum absolutio, sui gratia. Hoc est, Imperator, quod poposci et ego, ut in me magis vindicares, et hoc si crimen putares mihi adscriberes. Quid mandas in absentes judicium ? Habes pragsentem, habes confitentem reum. Proclamo, quod ego synago- gam incenderim, cert& quod ego illis mandaverim, ne esset locus, in quo Christus negaretur. Si objiciatur mihi, cur hie non incenderim? Divino jam coepit cremari judicio ; meum cessavit opus.—^ Epist. xxiv., p. 561.412 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. of others they might foreshow the growth of an enormous and irresponsible authori- ty, and awaken well-grounded apprehen- sion 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 despot- sm, the voice of a subject was heard in deliberate, public, and authoritative con- demnation 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. With all his wisdom and virtue, Theo- Massacre or dosius was liable to paroxysms Thessaionica. of furious and ungovernable an- a.d. 390. ger< a dispute had arisen in Thessaionica about a favourite charioteer in the circus ; out of the dispute a sedi- tion, in which some lives were lost. The imperial officers, who interfered to sup- press the fray, were wounded or slain, and Botheric, the representative of the em- peror, treated with indignity. Notwith- standing every attempt on the part of the clergy to allay the furious resentment of Theodosius, the counsels of the more vi- olent-advisers prevailed. Secret orders were issued ; the circus, filled with the whole population of the city, was sur- rounded by troops, and a general and in- discriminate massacre of all ages and sexes, the guilty and the innocent, re- venged the insult on 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 sover- eign. The letter expressed the horror of Ambrose and his brother bishops at this inhuman deed, in which he should consid- er himself an accomplice if he could re- frain from expressing liis detestation of its guilt; if he should not refuse to com- municate with a man stained with the in- nocent blood, not of one, but of thousands. He exhorts him to penitence ; he promis- es 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 remon- strance were alike in vain; to an urgent minister of the sovereign, Ambrose calm- ly 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 difficul- ty he was persuaded to permit him to en- ter, not into the church itself, but into the outer porch, the place of the public peni- tents. At length the interdict was re- moved on two conditions: that.the em- peror should issue an edict prohibiting the execution of capital punishments for thir- ty 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 con- queror 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 appear- ed before the world as the champion and vindicator of outraged humanity ; as hav- ing 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 foui years before) had been revealed First capita, the latent danger from this new punishment unlimited sovereignty over the human mind. The first blood was judicially shed for religious opinion. Far, however, from apprehending the fatal consequences which might arise out of their own exclusive and intolerant senti- ments, or foreseeing that the sacerdotal authority, which they fondly and sincere- ly 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 a usurping emperor and a few foreign bishops, was solemnly disclaimed by all the more influ- ential dignitaries of the Western Church. Priscillian, a noble and eloquent PriscilIian Spaniard, had embraced some and his roi- Manichean or rather Gnostic lowers- opinions. The same contradictory accu- sations of the severest asceticism and of licentious habits, which were so perpet- ually adduced against the Manicheans, formed the chief charge against PrisffiFHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 413 kan and his followers. The leaders of the sect had taken refuge from the perse- cutions of their countrymen in Gaul, and propagated their opinions to some extent in Aquitaine. They were pursued with unwearied animosity by the Spanish bish- ops Ithacius and Idacius. Maximus, the usurping emperor of Gaul, who then re-, sided at Treves, took cognizance of the case. In vain the celebrated Martin of Martin of Tours, whose life was almost an Tours, unwearied campaign against idol- atry, and whose unrelenting hand had de- molished every religious edifice within his reach ; a prelate whose dread of heresy was almost as sensitive as of paganism, urged his protest against these proceed- ings with all the vehemence of his char- acter. During his absence, a capital sen- tence was extorted from the emperor ; Friscillian arid some of his followers were put to death" by the civil authority for the crime of religious error. The fatal pre- cedent was disowned by the general voice of Christianity. It required another con- siderable period of ignorance and bigotry to deaden the fine moral sense of Chris- tianity to the total abandonment of its Conduct of spirit of love. When Ambrose Ambrose, reproached the usurper with the murder of his sovereign Gratian, he re- minded him likewise of the unjust execu- tion of the Priscillianists ; he refused to communicate with the bishops who had any concern in that sanguinary and. un- christian transaction.* Ambrose witnessed and lamented the. ad 392. death of the young Valentinian, Heath of over whom- he pronounced a IaDn393iaR* funera* oration. On the usur- pation 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 ot his homage to Christianity and to its representative. Under the influence of Ambrose, he refrained for a time from communicating in the Christian myste- ries, because his hands were stained with blood, though that blood had been shed in a just and necessary war.f To Ambrose Death of the dying emperor commended Theodosius, his sons, and the Bishop of Mi- a.i). 395. ]an pronounced the funeral ora- tion over tlig last great emperor of the world. He did not long survive his imperial Death of friend* It' is related that, when 'Ambrose.. Ambrose was on his deathbed, a.d.397 stilicho, apprehending the loss of * Ambros., Epist. xxiv. The whole transaction in Sulpicius Sever., E. II., and Life of St. Martin. i Oratio de Obitu Theodos.. 34. 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 dje.” Am- brose expired in the attitude and in the act of prayer. While Ambrose was thus assuming an unprecedented supremacy over his own age, and deepening and strengthening the foundation of the ecclesiastical power, Au- gustine was beginning gradually to con- summate that total change in human opin- ion which was to influence the Christian- ity of the remotest ages. Of all Christian writers since the apos- tles, Augustine has maintained the most permanent and exten- ll?ustine” sive 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 Chry- sostom spoke a language foreign or dead to the greater part of the Christian world. The Greek empire, after the reign of Jus- tinian, 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 on frivolous and insignifi- cant points of difference. The more im- portant feuds, as of Nestorianism, made little progress in the West; the West re- pudiated almost with one voice the icon- oclastic opinions; and at length Moham- medanism swept away its fairest provin- ces, 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 imper- ceptibly imbibed the tone of religious doc- trine or sentiment. Of these, Augustine 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, inHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 414 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 un- compromising system by the severe intel- lect of Calvin; it was remoulded into the Roman Catholic doctrine by- Jansenius ; the popular theology of most of the Prot- estant sects is but a modified Augustin- ianism. Christianity had now accomplished its Augustinian Divine mission, so far as impreg- theoiogy. nating the Roman world with its lirst principles, the unity of God, the im- mortality of the soul, and future retribu- tion. These vital questions between the old paganism and the new religion had been decided by their almost general adop- tion into the common sentiments of man- kind. 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, had begun pro- foundly to agitate the human heart. The nature of man had been stirred in its in- most depths. The hopes and fears, now centred 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 deep- ly penetrated, with the belief that they had souls to be saved,, the means, the process, the degree of attainable assurance con- cerning salvation became subjects of anx- ious inquiry; Every kind of information on these momentous topics was demand- ed with importunity and hailed with ea- gerness. With the ancient philosophy, the moral condition of man was a much simpler and calmer subject of considera- tion. It could coldly analyze every emo- tion, trace the workings of every passion, and present its results ; if in eloquent lan- guage, kindling the mind of the hearer rather by that language than by the ex- citement of the inquiry. It was the at- tractive form of the philosophy, the ad- ventitious emotion produced by bold para- dox, 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 deteri- oration which was to be weighed and ex- amined in the day of judgment. The ul- timate and avowed object of philosophy, the summum bonum, the greatest attaina- ble 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 so- ber reason. The solution of these diffi- culties was the more acceptable in pro- portion as it was peremptory and dogmat- ic; anything 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 dictating to Christianity on these abstruse topics. The influence of Augustine thus concentred the Chris- tian mind on subjects to which Christian ity led, but did not answer with fulness or precision. The Gospels and apostol- ic 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 wri tings, framed a complete, it must be ac- knowledged, and, as far as its own con- sistency, a harmonious system ; but of which it was the inevitable tendency to give an overpowering importance to prob- lems on which Christianity, wisely meas- uring, 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 unques- tioned and undefined; and though. they could not but cross the path of Christian reasoning, 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 re- mote, the direct or indirect, the sensible or the imperceptible, influence of the Di- vine agency (grace) on the human soul, with the inseparable consequences of ne- cessity and free-will, thus became the absorbing and agitating points of Chris- tian doctrine. From many causes, these inevitable questions have forced them- selves at this period on the general atten- tion ; Manicheisrn on one hand, Pelagian- ism on the other, stirred up their darkest * In the Historia Pelagiana of Vossius may be found quotations expressive of the sentiments of the earlier fathers on many of these points. [The whole subject is far better handled in Walch’s Ket- zerhistorie, vol. iv.. p. 519, &c.; Miinscher’s I-Tndb. der Dogmengesch., vol. iv., p. 170, &c.; and in G. F. Wiggers' Hist. of Augustinianism and l elagi- anism, translated by Prof. Emerson].HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 415 depths. The Christian mind demanded on all these topics at once excitement and rest. Nothing could be more acceptable than the unhesitating and peremptory de- cisions of Augustine; and his profound piety ministered perpetual emotion ; his glowing and perspicuous language, his con- fident dogmatism, and the apparent com- pleteness of his system, offered repose. But the primary principle of the Au- gustinian theology was already deeply rooted in the awe-struck piety of the Christian world. In this state of the gen- eral 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 untraceable influences, a general rev- erential trust 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 in- tervention in each separate case. The whole course of human events, and the moral condition of each individual, were alike under the acknowledged, or con- scious and direct, operation of the Deity. But, the more distinct and unquestioned this principle, the morejthe problem which, in a different form, had agitated the East- ern world—the origin of evil—forced it- self on the consideration. There it had taken a kind of speculative or theogonical turn, and allied itself with physical no- tions ; here it became a moral and prac- tical, and almost every-day question, in- volving the prescience of God and the free- dom 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 Man- icheism lent an unconscious colouring to his maturer opinions.* In another form, he divided the world into regions of cloud- less light and total darkness. But he did not mingle the Deity in any way in the darkness which enveloped the whole of mankind, a chosen portion of which alone were rescued, by the gracious interven- tion of the Redeemer and the Holy Spirit. The rest were separated by an insupera- ble barrier, that of hereditary evil; they bore within the fatal and inevitable pro- [* This derivation of the peculiarities of Augus- tine’s theory to his early Manicheism is ingenious, hut is ;t capable of proof?] scription. 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 anni- hilated, in overleaping the profound though narrow gulf which divided the two king- doms 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 won- derful work of Omnipotence, a being en- dowed with free agency. While the in- ternal consciousness was not received as sufficient evidence of the freedom of tne will, it was considered as unquestionable testimony ■ to the operations of Divine grace. At all events, these questions now be- came unavoidable articles of the Christian faith; from this time the simpler Apos- tolic Creed, and the splendid amplifica- tions of the Divine attributes of the Trin- ity, were enlarged, if not by stern defini- tions, by dictatorial axioms on original sin, on grace, predestination, the total de- pravity of mankind, election to everlast- ing life, and final reprobation. To the appellations which awoke what was con- sidered righteous and legitimate hatred in all true believers, Arianism and Maniche- ism, was now added, as a term of equal obloquy, Pelagianism.* * The doctrines of Pelagius have been repre- sented 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 be- fore 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 inherent weakness and depravity of human nature, induced the colder and more severe Pelagius to embrace his peculiar tenets : the rejec- tion 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 Cselestius appears to have been a secluded ascetic; they dwelt in Rome for some time, where they propagated their doctrines.-' Of his character perhaps still less is known* unless from his tenets, and some fragments of his wri- tings 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 vio- lent Jerome bears testimony to his innocence of life.416 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Augustine, by the extraordinary adapta- tion of his genius to his own age, the com- prehensive grandeur of his views, the in- tense earnestness of his character, his in- exhaustible activity, the vigour, warmth, and perspicuity of his style, had a right to command the homage of Western Chris- tendom. 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 sub- jects of immediate or local interest. Au- gustine retained the fervour and energy of the African style, with much purer and more perspicuous Latinity. His ardent imagination was tempered by reasoning 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 propagation of children, even in lawful marriage.—(See, among other writers, Jer. Taylor’s Vindication of his Deus Justificatus.) Even this concupiscentia carnis pec- catum 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 bv monastic discipline; men like Fulgentius, to whose name the title of saint is prefixed, and who lavs down this benignant and Christian axiom : '• Firrnissime tene et nullatenus dubit.es, parvulos, sive in uteris matrum vivere. incipiunt, et ibi mori- uutur, sive cum de matribus nati, sine Sacramento sancto baptismatis de hoc seculo transeunt, ignis (Bterni 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 seems to have received the doctrine.of Divine grace, con- fining it to the influences of the Divine revelation, appear to arise out of philosophical reasonings rather than out of the monastic spirit. The se- vere monastic discipline was more likely to infuse the sense of the slavery of the will; and the brood- ing over bodily and mental emotions, the general cause and result of the monastic spirit, would tend to exaggerate rather than to question or limit the actual, and even sensible workings of the Divine spirit within the soul. The calmer temperament, indeed, and probably more peaceful religious de- velopment of Pelagius, may have disposed him to his system ; as the more vehement character and agitated religious life of Augustine, to his vindica- tion, founded on his internal experience of the con- stant Divine agency upon the beau and the soul. powers which boldly grappled with every subject. He possessed and was unem- barrassed by the possession of all the knowledge which had been accumulated in the Roman world. He commanded the whole range of Latin literature, and per- haps his influence over his own hemi- sphere was not diminished by his igno- rance, or, at best, imperfect and late-ac- quired 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 Chris- tian 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 con- victions 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 en- thralling all the various powers and facul- ties of the human mind. That life was the type of his theology ; and as it passed through its various changes of age, of cir- cumstance, and of opinion, it left its own impressions strongly and permanently stamped upon the whole Latin Christian- ity. The gentleness of his childhood, the passions of his youth, the studies of his adolescence, the wilder dreams of his im- mature Christianity, the Manicheism, the intermediate stage of Platonism, through which he passed into orthodoxy, the fer- vour with which he embraced, the vigour with which he developed, the unhesitating confidence with which he enforced his final creed, all affected more or less the general mind. His Confessions became the manual of all those who were forced by their temperament or inclined by their disposition to brood over the inward sen- sations of their own minds ; to trace within themselves all the trepidations, the mis- givings, the agonies, the exultations of the religious conscience ; the gradual for- mation of opinions till they harden into dogmas, or warm into objects of ardent passion. Since Augustine, this internal autobiography of the soul has always had the deepest interest for those of strong re- ligious convictions; it was what multi- * On St. Augustine’s knowledge of Greek, com- pare Tillemont, in his Life, p. 7. Punic was still spoken by the common people in the neighbour- hood of Carthage.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 417 tudes had felt, but no one had yet imbodied in words; it was the appalling yet attract- ive manner in which men beheld all the conflicts and adventures of their own spiritual life reflected with bold and speak- ing 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 charac- ter, 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 bom A.D. 354, in Tagasta, an episcopal city of Numidia. His parents were Chris- tians of respectable rank. In his child- hood he was attacked by a dangerous ill- ness ; 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 Au- gustine remained for some years in the humbler rank of catechumen. He received the best education in grammar and rhet- oric which the neighbouring city of Ma- daura could afford. At seventeen a.d. 3/i. wag gent Qar{-]lage £0 finish his studies. Augustine has, perhaps, high- ly 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 enjoy- ments of the theatre, and his excited pas- sions demanded every kind of gratification. He had a natural son, called by the some- what 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 litera- ture. He learned from Cicero, not from the Gospel, the higher dignity of intellect- ual attainments. From his brilliant suc- cess 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 Hortensius of Cicero which awoke his mind to nobler aspirations and the con- tempt 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 in- imitable beauty of the New Testament. Its simplicity of style appeared rude after the stately march of Tully’s eloquence. But Manicheism seized at once upon his kindled imagination. For nine years, from the age of nineteen to twenty-eight, the 3 G mind of Augustine wandered among the vague and fantastic reveries of Oriental theology. The virtuous and holy Monica, with the anxious apprehensions and pre- scient hopes of a mother’s heart, watched over the irregular development of his powerful mind. Her distress at his Man- ichean 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 Mani- chean doctrines, which neither satisfied the religious yearnings of his heart, nor the philosophical demands of his understand- ing. 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 rhet- oric ; and, notwithstanding his mother’s tears, he left Carthage for Rome. a.d. 383. The fame of his talents obtained -Etat. 29. him an invitation to teach at Milan. He was there within the magic circle of the great ecclesiastic of the West. But we cannot pause to trace the throes A‘ ‘ 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 apostles; he opened on the passage which contains the awful denunciations of Paul against the dissolute morals of the heathen. The conscience of Augustine recognised “ in the chambering and wan- tonness” the fearful picture of his own life; for, though he had abandoned the looser indulgences of his youth (lie 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 connexion. But he burst at once his thraldom ; shook his old nature from his heart; renounced forever all, even lawful indulgences, of the carnal desires; forswore the world, and with- drew himself, though without exciting any unnecessary astonishment among his hear- ers, from his profaner function as teacher of rhetoric. His mother, who had Baptism of followed him to Milan, lived to Augustine witness his baptism as a Catholic AJ)* 38/‘ Christian by the hands of Ambrose; and in all the serene happiness of her accom- plished hopes md prayers, expired in his418 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. arms before his return to Africa. His son, Adeodatus, who died a few years afterward, was baptized at the same time. To return to the writings of St. Augus- controver- tine, or, rather, to his life in his siai writings, writings. In his controversial treatises against the Manicheans and against Pelagius, Augustine had the pow- er of seemingly, at least, bringing down those abstruse subjects to popular com- prehension. 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 sus- pended charge of impiety. The imagina- tion was at the same time kept awake by a rich vein of allegoric interpretation, dic- tated by the same bold decision, and en- forced as necessary conclusions from the sacred writings, or latent truths intention- ally wrapped up in those mysterious phrases. The City of God was unquestionably the noblest work, both in its original iyo 0 ‘ 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 exi- gences : they were either brief and preg- nant statements of the Christian doct rines; refutations of prevalent calumnies ; invec- tives against the follies and crimes of pa- ganism ; or confutations of anti-Christian works, like those of Celsus, Porphyry, or Julian, closely following their course of argument, and rarely expanding into gen- eral 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 pa- ganism and Christianity, the connexion 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 com- prehensive 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 God was not merely a defence, it was likewise an ex- position 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. The immediate occasion of this impor- tant work of Augustine was wor- thy of this powerful concentration of his talents and knowledge. The cap- ture of Rome by the Goths had occasion or appalled the whole empire. So its eomposi- long as the barbarians only broke tl0!1* 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 Ro- man supremacy ; and in the rapid alterna- tions of power, the empire, under some new Csesar 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 mis- tress of the world. The capture of Rome dissipated forever 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 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 re- ligion as the cause of this disastrous con- summation : the deserted gods had de- serted in their turn the apostate city.* There seems no doubt that pagan cer- emonies 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 waveringvotaries of paganism, strengthen the feeling of some remote connexion be- tween the destroyer of the civil power and the destroyer of the ancient religions. The Roman aristocracy, which fled to dif- ferent parts of the world, more particu- larly to the yet peaceful and uninvaded province of Africa, and among whom the feelings of attachment to the institutions * Orosius attempted the same theme: the pa- gans, he asserts, “ prsesentia tantum ternpora, ve- luti malis extra solitum infestissima, ob hoc solum, quod creditur Christus, et colitur, idola autern mi- nus coluntur. infamant.” Hevne has well observed on this work of Orosius: Excitaverat Augustini vibrantis arma exemplum Orosium, discipulum, ut et ipse arma sumeret, etsi imbellibus manibr*- - Opusoula, vi., p 130.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 410 and to ‘he 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 pow- er of the alienated deities. Augustine dedicated thirteen years to a.d. 413 the completion of this work, which to 426. was forever to determine this sol- emn question, and to silence the last mur- murs of expiring paganism. The City of 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 idol- atry; it hailed at the same time the uni- versal dominion which awaited.the'new theocratic polity. The earthly city had undergone its predestined fate; it had passed away with all its vices and super- stitions, with all its virtues and its glories (for the soul of Augustine was not dead to the noble reminiscences of Roman great- ness), 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 so- cial 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 connexion between the prosperity and the religion of Rome ; five to the influence of paganism in this world ; five to that in the world to come. Augus- tine appeals in the first five to the mercy shown by the conqueror, as the triumph of Christianity. Had the pagan Radagai- sus 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 Christum brethren. He denies that worldly prosperity is an unerring sign of the Divine favour; he denies the exemption of the older Romans from dis- grace 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 domes- tic virtues; he assigns their vices, their frightful profligacy of manners, the.'r pr'de, their luxury, their effeminacy, as the prox- imate causes of their ruin. Even in their ruin they could not forget' heir dissolute amusements ; the theatres Carthage were crowded with the fug; ves 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 pop- ular 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 des- tinies 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 heathen- ism. With him the triumph of Christian- ity is not complete till the world itself, not merely its outward framework of so- ciety and the constitution of its kingdoms, has experienced a 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 abhor- rence) ; and that, finer and subtler spirit- ualism which is ever approaching to pan- theism, and, by the rejection of the bodily resurrection, renders the existence of the disimbodied spirit too fine and impalpable for the general apprehension. The uneventful personal life of St. Au- gustine, at least till towards its Life 0f close, contrasts with that of Am- Augustine, brose and Chrysostom. After the first throes and travail of his religious life, de- scribed with such dramatic fidelity in his Confessions, he subsided into a peaceful bishop in a remote and rather inconsider- able town.* He had not, like Ambrose, to interpose between rival emperors, or to rule the conscience of the universal sov- ereign ; or, like Chrysostom, to enter into a perilous conflict with the vices of a cap- ital and the intrigues of a court. Forced by the devout admiration of the people to assume the episcopate in the city of Hip- po, 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 Do- natists, the Manicheans, the Arians, and * He was thirty-five before he was ordained presbyter, A.D. 389 : he was chosen coadjutor to the Bishop of Hippo, A.D. 395.420 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Pelagians, and his presence in the councils of Carthage, displayed his power of deal- ing with men. His letter to Count Bon- iface showed that he was not unconcern - ed with the public affairs ; and his former connexion with Boniface, who at one time had expressed his determination to em- brace the monastic life, might warrant his remonstrance against the fatal revolt, which involved Boniface and Africa in ruin. At the close of his comparatively peace- ful 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 ca- lamities which desolated the whole Afri- can 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 fruit- ful region presented to the view only ru- ined 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 impo- sed 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; wheth- er they were to seek their own security, or to confront the sword of the ravager. The advice of Augustine was at once lofty and discreet. Where the flock re- mained, it was cowardice, it was impiety in the clergy to desert them, and to de- prive them in those diastrous 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 anoth- er; where the flock was massacred or dispersed, or had abandoned their homes, the clergy might follow them, and, if pos- sible, 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. In the third month of the siege AD<430 he was released by death, and es- caped the horrors of the capture, the cru- elties of the conqueror, and the desolation of his church.* CHAPTER IV. JEROME. THE P/IONASTIC SYSTEM. Though not so directly or magisterially . dominant over the Christianity of Jerome* the West, the influence of Jerome has been of scarcely less importance than that of Augustine. Jerome was the con- necting link between the East and the West; through him, as it were, passed over into the Latin hemisphere of Chris- tendom that which was still necessary for its permanence and independence during the succeeding ages. The time of separ- ation approached, when the Eastern and Western empires, the Latin and the Greek languages, were to divide the world. West- ern 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 West- ern Christendom. But before this vast and silent revolution took place, certain preparations, in which Jerome was chief- ly instrumental, gave strength, and har- mony, and vitality to the religion of the West, from which the precious inherit- ance 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 Monachism in the West; 2d, The establishment of an authoritative and universally recognised version of the sa cred writings into the Latin language. For both these important services Je- rome qualified himself by his visits to the East; he was probably the first Occi- dental (though bora in Dalmatia, he may be almost considered a Roman, having * In the life of Augustine, I have chiefly consult- ed that prefixed to his works, and Tillernont, W'i the passages in his Confessions and Epistle?HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 421 passed all his youth in that city) who be- came completely naturalized and domi- ciliated in Judsea ; and his example, though it‘did not originate, strengthened to an extraordinary degree the passion for pilgrimages to the Holy Land ; a sen- timent in later times productive of such vast and unexpected results. In the ear- lier 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 rath- er 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 Hadri- an ; their dispersion into other lands, with the simultaneous progress of Christianity in Palestine, and their settlement in Allia, 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.* Already, before the time of Jerome, pilgrims had flowed from all quarters of the world; and during his life, whoever had attained to any proficiency hi religion, in Gaul, or in the secluded isl- and of Britain, was eager to obtain a per- sonal knowledge of these hallowed places. They were met by strangers from Arme- nia, Persia, India (the Southern Arabia), ./Ethiopia, the countless monks of Egypt, and from the whole of Western Asia.f Yet Jerome was no doubt the most influ- ential pilgrim to the Holy Land; the in- creasing and general desire to visit the soil printed, as it were, with the foot- * Augustine asserts that the whole world flocked to Bethlehem to see the place of Christ’s nativity, t. i., p 561. Pilgrimages, according to him, were undertaken to Arabia to see the dung-heap on which Job sat, t. ii., p. 59. For 180 years, accord- ing to Jerome, from Hadrian to Constantine, the statue of Jupiter occupied the place of the resur- rection, and a statue of Venus was worshipped on the rock of Calvary. But as the object of Hadrian was to insult the Jewish, not the Christian, reli- gion, it seems not very credible that these two sites should be chosen for the heathen temples.—Hier- onym., Oper., Epist. xlix., p. 505. f Quicunque in Gallia fuerat primus hue prope- rat. Divisus ab orbe nostros Britannus, si in reli- yione processerit, occiduo sole dimisso, quaerit lo^- eurn fama sibi tantum, et Scripturarum relatione cognitum. Quid referamus Armenios, quid Persas, quid Indiae,quid Althiopiae populos, ipsamque juxta AEgyptumi fertilem monachorum, Pontum et Cap- padociam, Syriam, Cretam, et Mesopotamiam cunc- taque Orientis examina. This is the letter of a Ro- man female, Paula.—Hieronym., Oper., Epist. xliv., fi. 551- steps, 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.* But besides this subordinate, if indeed subordinate, effect of Jerome’s peculiar po- sition between the East and West, he was thence both incited and enabled to accom- plish his more immediately influential un- dertakings. In Palestine and in Egypt, Jerome became himself deeply imbued with the spirit of Monachism, and labour- ed with all his zeal to awaken the more tardy West to rival Egypt and Syria in displaying this sublime perfection of Chris- tianity. By his letters, descriptive of the purity, the sanctity, the total estrange- ment 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 me- tropolis 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 achieve- ments, the version of the sacred Scrip- tures, Jerome derived inestimable advan- tages, and acquired unprecedented author- ity, by his intercourse with the East. His residence in Palestine familiarized him with the language and peculiar habits of the sacred writers. He was the first Chris- tian writer of note who thought it worth while to study Hebrew. Nor was it the language alone; the customs, the topog- * See the glowing description of all the religious wonders in the Holy Land, in the Epitaphium Pau- las. An epistle, however, 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 at- tendants, eiljher strangers or friends, on a lonely road ; the dissolute words and sights which 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. He as- serts the religious superiority of Cappadocia, which had more churches than any part of the world; and inquires, in plain terms, whether a man will believe the virgin birth of Christ the more by see- ing Bethlehem, or his resurrection by visiting his tomb, or his ascension by standing on the Mount of Olives.—Greg. Nyss , de eunt. Hieros. The authenticity of this epistle is indeed con tested by Roman Catholic writers; but I can see no internal evidence against its genuineness. Je- rome’s more sober letter to Paulinus, Epist. xxix. vol. iv.4 p. 563, should also be compared.422 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. raphy, 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, opinions, and general 1 onaciIsm* character of Christianity, as 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 Je- rome, 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 develop more fully its origin and principles. It is singular to see this Oriental influ- ence successively enslaving two religions, in their origin and in their genius so totally opposite to Monachism as Christianity and the religion of Mohammed. Both gradual- ly 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 in- quiry as the perfection and consummation of its own theory. Its advocates and their willing auditors equally forgot that if Christ and his apostles had retired into the desert, Christianity would never have spread beyond the wilderness of Judaea. The transformation which afterward took place of the fierce Arab marauder, or the proselyte to the martial creed of the Ko- ran, 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. Still that which might appear most ad- ,, .... verse to the universal dissemina- ceno nism, tjon 0f Christianity eventually tended to its entire and permanent incor- poration with the whole of society. When Eremitism gave place to Ccenobitism, when the hermitage grew up into a con- vent, the establishment of these religious fraternities in the wildest solitudes gather- ed round them a Christian community, or spread, as it were, a gradually-increasing belt of Christian worship, which was main- tained by the spiritual services of the monks, who, though not generally ordain- ed as ecclesiastics, furnished a constant supply for ordination. In this manner the rural districts, which in most parts, long after Christianity had gained the predom- inance in the towns, remained attached by undisturbed habit to the ancient supersti- tion, were slowly brought within the pale of the religion. The monastic communi- ties 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 afterward they introduced civilization and Christianity among the barbarous tribes of North Germany or Poland, so now they continued in all parts a quiet but successful aggression on the lurking pa- ganism. Monachism was the natural result of the incorporation of Christian- origin or ity with the prevalent opinions Monachism. 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 East- ern religions as of the Platonism of the* West, coincided with the somewhat am- biguous use of the term world in the sa- cred writings. Both were alike the irre- claimable 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 ever- lasting part of our being, the concentra- tion of all its energies on its own indi- vidual welfare, withdrew it entirely with- in itself. A kind of sublime selfishness excluded all subordinate considerations.* The only security against the corruption which environed it on all sides seemed entire alienation from the contagion of matter; the constant mortification, the extinction, if possible, of those senses which were necessarily keeping up a dan- gerous 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 in- dispensable. Communion with God alone was at once the sole refuge and perfection * 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 bom from Christian parents and brought up in Christian principles. It is always argued with re- lation to the interests and the perfection of the in- dividual soul; and even with regard to that, the writers seem almost unconscious of the softening and humanizing effect of the natural affections, the beauty of parental tenderness and filial loveHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. T23 cf the abstracted spirit; prayer the sole imendangered occupation, alternating only with that coarse industry which might give employment to the refractory mem- bers, 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 pres- ence 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 labour- ing 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. On both principles, of course, mar- riage was inexorably condemned.* Celibacy. Some expressions in the writings of St. Paul,f and emulation of the Gnostic sects, combining with these general senti- ments, had very early raised celibacy into the highest of Christian virtues : marriage was a necessary evil, and inevitable in- firmity of the weaker brethren. With the more rational and earlier writers, Cyprian, Athanasius, and even in occasional pas- sages 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 transcendent virtue, the presump- tion of the angelic state, the approxima- tion to the beatified existence. J Everything conspired to promote, no- * There is a sensible and judicious book, entitled “ Die Entfiihrung der Erzwungenen Ehelosigkeit bei dern Christlichen und ihre Folge,” von J. A. und Aug. Theiner, Altenburg, 1828, which enters fully into the origin and consequences of celibacy in the whole Church. + 1 agree with Theiner f this less stern and gloomy tendency.* He visited the most distinguished ancho- rites, 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 ma- cerations, the love of study, the passion- ate contemplation of the Deity, the chari- ty towards mankind. It was his devout ambition to equal or transcend each in his particular austerity or distinctive excel- lence. But man does not violate nature with „ , impunity; " the solitary state Demonology. ^ its%assions, its infirmi- ties, its perils. The hermit could fly from his fellow-men, but not from himself. The vehement and fervid temperament which drove him into the desert was not subdu- ed ; it found new ways of giving loose to its suppressed impulses. The self-cen- tred imagination began to people the des- ert with worse enemies than mankind. Daemonology, in all its multiplied forms, was now an established part of the Chris- tian creed, and embraced with the greatest ardour by men in such a state of religious excitenint 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 pro- found religious meditation, in the visions of the agitated and exhausted spirit, they were undiscernible from reality.f It is impossible, in the wild legends which be- came an essential part of Christian litera- ture, to decide how much is the disordered imagination of the saint, the self-decep- * Vita St. Hilarion, p. 85. 1 Compare Jerome’s Life of St. Hilarion, p. 76. 3 H tion of the credulous, or the fiction of the zealous write?;. The very effort to sup- press certain feelings has a natural ten- dency to awaken and strengthen 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 their own hearts, and by anxiously searching for the guilt of lurking lust, or desire of worldly wealth 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 no shape at all, howled, and yelled, and shrieked about him while he knelt in prayer or snatched his broken slumber. “ Oh, how often in the desert,” says Je- rome, “ in that vast solitude which, parch- ed by the sultry sun, affords a dwelling to the monks, did I fancy myself in the midst of the luxuries of Rome. .1 sat alone, for I was full of bitterness. My misshapen limbs were rough with sackcloth, 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 unaware, my naked bones, which scarcely held together, clash- ed 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 dun- geon, the companion only of scorpions and wild beasts, was in the midst of girls dan- cing. My face was pale with fasting, but the mind in my cold body burned with de- sires ; 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 rebel- lious flesh by a whole week’s fasting.” After describing the wild scenes into which he fled, the deep glens and shaggy preci- pices, “ The Lord is my witness,” he con- cludes ; “ 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 some- times the baffled daemon would humbly acknowledge himself to be rebuked before him. But this was in general after a fear- * Song of Solomom.—Hieronym., Epist. xxii.426 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ful struggle. Desperate diseases require desperate remedies. The severest pain could alone subdue or distract boif-iorture, the refract01y 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 agonizing exer- cises. 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 him- self to stand in a fiery climate on the nar- row top of a pillar.* Nor were these al- ways rude or uneducated fanatics. St. Arsenius had filled, and with universal re- spect, the dignified post of tutor to the Em- peror Arcadius. But Arsenius became a hermit; and, among other things, it is re- lated 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 even- ing Arsenius laid down with his back to' the setting sun, and continued awake, in fervent prayer, till the rising sun shone on his eyes ;f so far had Christianity depart- ed 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 de- gree these self-inflicted tortures added to or diminished the real happiness of man; how far these privations and bodily suffer- ings, which to the cool and unexcited rea- son appear intolerable, either themselves produced a callous insensibility, or were * The language of Evagrius (H. E., i., 13) about Simeon vividly expresses the effect which he made on his own age. “ Rivalling, while yet in the flesh, the conversation of angels, he withdrew himself from all earthly things, and doing violence to na- ture, which always has a downward tendency, he aspired after that which is on high; and standing midway between earth and heaven, he had com- munion with God, and glorified God with the an- gels ; from the earth offering supplications (TTpsa- Beiag Tcpouyov) as an ambassador to God; bringing down from heaven to men the Divine blessing.” The influence of the most holy martyr in .the air (nava- ylov ical depiov fiaprvpog) on political affairs, lies beyond the range of the present history, f Compare Fleury, 1. xx., 2. met by apathy arising out of the strong counter-excitement of the mind ; to what extent, if still felt in unmitigated anguish, they were compensated by inward com- placency from the conscious fulfilment of religious duty; the stem 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 recom- pense from the respect, veneration, almost adoration of men. Emperors visited the cells of these ignorant, perhaps supersti- tious 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 influen t* his monastic tenets.f His fame °r Amony. and his example tended still farther to dis- seminate the spreading contagion. In ev- ery 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 ren- der them unapproachable to their fellow- creatures. But in all parts the determin- ed solitary found himself constantly obli- ged to recede farther and farther; he could scarcely find a retreat so dismal, a cavern so profound, a rock so inacces- sible, but that he would be pressed upon by some zealous competitor, or invaded by the humble veneration of some dis- ciple. It is extraordinary to observe this in- fringement on the social system of Chris- tianity, this disconnecting principle, which, pushed to excess, might appear fatal to that organization in which so much of the strength of Christianity consisted, gradu- ally self-expanding into a new source of power and energy, so wonderfully adapt- ed to the age. The desire of the ancho- rite to isolate himself in unendangered se- clusion was constantly balanced and cor- rected by the holy zeal or involuntary tendency to prosely tism. The farther the saint retired from the habitations of men, the brighter and more attractive became the light of his sanctity; the more he con- * Evagr., Yit. St. Paul, c. 1. Theodoret, v. 24. See Flechier, Yie de Theodose, iv., 43. f Hujus vitae auctor Paulus illustrator Anto- nius.—Jerom., p, 46.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY 427 coaled himself, the more was he sought out by a multitude of admiring and emu- lous followers. Each built or occupied his cell in the hallowed neighbourhood. A monastery was thus imperceptibly form- ed 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 cele- brated Egyptian establishments gathered, as it- were, around the central cell of an Antony or Pachomius.* Something like a uniformity of usage Ccenobitic appears to have prevailed in the establish- Egyptian monasteries. Thebroth- tiiems. ers were dressed after the fash- ion of the country, in long linen tunics, with a woollen girdle, a cloak, and over it a sheepskin. They usually went bare- footed, but at certain very cold or very parching seasons they wore a kind of san- dal. They did not wear the haircloth.f Their food was bread and water ; their luxuries occasionally a little oil or salt, a few olives, pease, or a single hg : they ate in perfect silence, each deeury 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.f 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. Ev- ery 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. The tears of the au- * Pachomius was, strictly speaking, the founder of the ccenobitic establishments in Egypt; Eusta- thius in Armenia; Basil in Asia. Pachomius had 1400 monks in his establishment; 7000 acknowl-. edged his jurisdiction. t Jerome speaks of the cilicium as common among the Syrian monks, with whom he lived.— Epist. i. Horrent, sacco membra deformi. Even women assumed it.—Epitaph. Paulae, p. 678. Cas- sian is inclined to think it often a sign of pride.— Instit , i., 3. t The accounts of Jerome (in Eustochium, p. 45) and of Cassian are blended. There is some difference as to the hours of meeting for prayers, hut probably the ccenobitic institutes differed as to that and on some points of diet. dieuce alone, or, if he spoke 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 ;f 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 ascet- ics. Cappadocia and the provinces bor- dering 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 perva- ded all orders. Men of rank, of family, of wealth, of education, suddenly changed the luxurious palace for the howling wil- derness, the flatteries of men for the total silence of the desert. They voluntarily abandoned their estates, their connexions, their worldly prospects. The desire of fame, of power, of influence, which might now swell the ranks of the ecclesiastics, had no concern in their sacrifice. Multi- tudes 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 canonization, or that celebrity which Je- rome 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.J But the ccenobitic establishments had their dangers no less than the Dangers of cell of the solitary hermit. Be- ccenobuism. sides those consequences of seclusion from the world, the natural results of con- finement in this close separation from * Tantum a cunctis praebetur silentium, ut cum in imum tarn numerosa fratrum multitudo conve- niat., prater ilium, qui consurgens psalmum decan- tat in medio, nullus hominum penitus adesse cred- atur. . No one was heard to spit, to sneeze, to cough, or to yawn ; there was not even a sigh or a groan: nisi fort& haec quae per excessum mentis claustra oris effugerit, qua.que insensibiiiter cordi obrepserit, immoderato scilicet atque intolerabili spiritus fervore succenso, dum ea quae ignita mens in semetipsa non praevalet continere, per ineffabi lem quendam gemitum pectoris sui conclavibus eva- porare conatur.—Cassian, Instit., ii., 10. t Jerom. ad Eustoch., p. 44. f.Quae cum Christo vivit in cash's, in hominum quoque ore viclura est. * * Nunqnam in meis moritura est libris.—Epist. sxiii, p. go.428 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 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 sys- tem. A morose, and sullen, and contemp- tuous ignorance could not but grow up where there was no communication with the rest of mankind, and the human under- standing 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 m austerity, are merciless to them- 'lg0 ry‘ selves, are apt to be merciless to others :* their callous and insensible hearts have no sense of the exquisitely delicate and poignant feelings which arise out of the domestic affections. Bigotry has al- ways found its readiest and sternest ex- ecutioners among those who have never known the charities of life. These fatal effects seem inherent con- sequences 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 more gen- erous and sacred feelings of humanity. In the coenobitic institutes was fanaticism. aq^e(^ a strong corporate spirit, and a blind attachment to their own opin- ions, which were identified with religion and the glory of God. The monks of Nitria, from simple and harmless enthusi- asts, became ferocious bands of partisans; instead of remaining aloof in jealous se- clusion from the rest of the world, they rushed do wn armed into Alexandrea: what * There is a cruel history of an abbot. Mucins, in Cassian. Mucius entreated admission into a mon- astery. He had one little boy with him of eight years old. They were placed in separate cells, lest the father’s heart should be softened and indisposed to total renunciation of all 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. “ Nev- ertheless, for .the love of Christ ! ! ! and from the vir- tue of obedience, the heart of the father remained hard and unmoved,” 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 in- terposed, “ 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. they considered a sacred cause inflamed and warranted ferocity not surpassed by the turbulent and bloodthirsty rabble of that city. In support of a favourite doc- trine, or in defence of a popular prelate, they did not consider that they were vio- lating 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 dan- gerous to enlightened religion as to Chris- tian charity. We might have expected to find among those who separated them- selves from the world, to contemplate, un- disturbed, the nature and perfections of the Deity, in general, the purest and most spiritual notions of the Isnorance- Godhead. Those whose primary principle was dread of a corruption of matter, would be the last to materialize 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 concep- tion 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 vul- gar 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 be understood as a condescension to the weakness of our nature ; they seem- ed 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 demand- ed and received the same implicit and resolute obedience as religion itself. Once having humanized the Deity, they could not be weaned from the object of their worship. The great cause of quarrel be- tween Theophilus, the archbishop of Alex- andrea, and the monks of the adjacent es- tablishment, was his vain attempt to en- lighten 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 monksHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 429 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 in- stance, contrary to their primary princi- ples, small communities are with the ut- most difficulty induced to surrender those tenets in which they support and strength- en each other by the general concurrence. The anthropomorphism of the Egyptian monks resisted alike argument and author- ity. The bitter and desperate remon- strance of the aged Serapion, when he was forced to surrender his anthropomor- phic, 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. En- thusiasm of any particular kind wastes it- self as soon as its votaries become numer- ous ; it may hand down its lamp from in- dividual to individual for many genera- tions ; but when it would include a whole section of society, it substitutes some new incentive, strong party or corporate feel- ing, habit, advantage, or the pride of ex- clusiveness, for its original disinterested zeal; and can never for a long period ad- here to its original principles. The effect of Monachism on Christiani- oenerai ef- tyj and on society at large, was fectsofMon- of very mingled character. Its Christianity actua^ influence on the popula- tion of the empire was probably not considerable, and would scarcely coun- terbalance the increase arising out of the superior morality, as regards sexual inter- course, introduced by the Christian reli- gion.f Some apprehensions, indeed, were betrayed on this point; and when the op- polients of Monachism urged, that if such principles were universally admitted, the human race would come to an end, its resolute advocates replied, that the Al- mighty, if necessary, would appoint new means for the propagation of mankind. * Cassian, Collat., x., 1. f There is a curious passage of St. Ambrose on this point. “Si quis igitur putat, conservatione virginum minui genus humanum, consideret, quia, ubi paucae virgines, ibi etiam pauciores homines : ubi virginitatis studia crebriora, ibi numerum quo- que hominum esse majorem. Dicite,quantas Alex- andrena, totiusque Orientis, et Africana ecclesia, quotannis sacrare consueverint. Pauciores hie homines prodeunt, quam illic virgines consecran- tur.” We should wish to know whether there was any statistical ground for this singular assertion, that, in those regions in which celibacy was most prac- tised, the population increased ; or whether Egypt, the East, and Africa were generally more prolific than Italy. The assertion that the vows of virgini- ty in those countries exceeded the births in the lat- ter, is most probably to be set down to antithesis. The withdrawal of so much ardour, tal- ent, and virtue into seclusion, on political which, however elevating to the affairs, 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 independ- ence of character which might, it should seem, have rendered important active ser- vice to mankind. If barbarians were ad- mitted 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 Chris- tianity, which reluctantly permitted its votaries to enter into the army, but still more by Monachism, which withdrew them altogether into religious inactivity 1 The civil and fiscal departments, and es- pecially that of public education, conduct- ed 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 trea- sonable indifference to the public welfare to break all connexion with mankind, and to dwell in unsocial seclusion entirely on individual interests. Such might have been the remonstrance of a sober and dis- passionate pagan,* and in part of those few more rational Christians who could not consider the rigid monastic Christi- anity as the original religion of its Divine founder. If, indeed, this peaceful enthusiasm had counteracted any general outburst of patri- otism, 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 dis- organization of public affairs. The par- * Compare the law of Valens, de Monachis, quoted above.430 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. tial and unjust distribution of the rewards of public service; the uncertainty of dis- tinction in any career, which entirely de- pended 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 gen- eral 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 con- viction that its productive energies in knowledge, literature, and arts were ex- tinct 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, gen- erate 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 it- self of, not produce, the despondent de- termination to abandon an ungrateful Some of its world ; it would ennoble and advantages, exalt the 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 justi- fication for the total desertion of social duty. Monaehism, in short, instead of precipitating the fall of the Roman em- pire, 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 man- kind to a state of serene indifference; to render some, at least, superior to the gen- eral calamities. Monaehism, indeed, di- rectly 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 few- est, vulnerable points of feeling or sympa- thy.: the natural affections, in which, in ordinary times, consists the best happi- ness of man, were in those days such perilous indulgences, that he who was en- tirely detached from them embraced, per- haps, considering temporal-'views'alone, the most prudent course.1 The solitary could not 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 en- thusiasm 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 short- ened 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 help- less children clinging around his knees : the blessings which he had enjoyed, the wealth or comfort of his house, the beau- ty 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 ref- uge for the sad remainder of their bereav ■ ed life, others may have taken warning in time, and with deliberate forethought re- fused to implicate themselves in tender connexions which 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 incur- ring all its bitterest reverses. Monaehism tended powerfully to keep up the vital enthusiasm of Chris- tianity. Allusion has been made maintenance to its close connexion with the ofcimstian- conversion both of the Roman uy* 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 Christian- ity through the neighbourhood in a gradu- ally-expanding circle. Its peaceful colo- nies within the frontier of barbarism slow- ly but uninterruptedly subdued the fierce or indolent savages to the religion of Christ and the manners and habits of civ- ilization. But its internal influence was not less visible, immediate, and inexhaust- ible. The more extensive dissemination of Christianity naturally weakened its au- thority. V"hen the small primitive as-HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 431 Bembly of the Christians grew into a 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 impel*' ceptibly 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 gen- erous rivalry in religious attainment keeps up regularity in attendance on the sacred institutions, and at least propriety of de- meanour. Such small communities may be disturbed by religious faction, but are long before they degenerate into unchris- tian licentiousness, or languish into reli- gious apathy. But when a large propor- tion 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 flourish- ing cause, it became inexpedient as well as impossible to maintain the severer dis- cipline of former times. But Monachism was constantly reorganizing small socie- ties, in which the bond of aggregation was the common religious fervour, in which emulation continually kept up the excite- ment, and mutual vigilance exercised un- resisted authority. The exaggeration of their religious sentiments was at once the. tenure of their existence and the guaran- tee for their perpetuity. Men would nev- er be wanting to enrol themselves in their ranks, and their constitution prevented them from growing to an unmanageable size; when one establishment, or institu- tion wore out, another was sure to spring up. The republics of Monachism were constantly reverting to their first princi- ples, and undergoing a vigorous and thor- ough reformation. Thus, throughout the whole of Christian history, until, or even after, the reformation within the Church of Rome, we find either new monastic orders rising, or the old remodelled and regula- ted by the zeal of some ardent enthusiast; the associatory principle, that great politi- cal 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- imbodied some of the fervour of primitive Christianity, and awakened the growing lethargy by the example of unusual aus- terities, 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 Ro- man empire. In this respect, likewise, their lofty pretensions ensured their utili- ty. Where reason itself was about to be in abeyance, rational religion would have had but little chance : it would have com- manded 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, calculated to impress barbarous minds with a feeling of their peculiar' sanctity. The less they were like to ordinary men, the more, in the ordinary estimation, they were ap- proximated to the Divinity. At all events, this apparently broad and manifest evi- dence of their religious sincerity would be mofe impressive to unreasoning minds than the habits of the clergy, which ap- proached more nearly to those of the common laity.* The influence of this continual rivalry of another sacred, though not influence on decidedly sacerdotal class, upon the clergy, the secular clergy, led to important re- sults. We may perhaps ascribe to the constant presence of Monachism the con- tinuance 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 sup- port which they received from the monas- tic orders; without the indirect authority over the minds of men which flowed from their example, and inseparably connected, in the popular mind, superior sanctity with the renunciation of marriage, the ambitious popes would never have been able, par- ticularly in the north, to part the clergy by this strong line of demarcation from the * The monks were originally laymen (Cassian, v.,26); gradually churches were attached to the. monasteries, but these were served by regularly or- dained clergy (Pallad., Hist. Lausiaca): but their reputation f6r sanctity constantly exposed them to be seized and consecrated by the ardent admiration of their followers.: Theiner has collected, with con- siderable labour, a long list of the more celebrated prelates of the Church who had been monks, p. 108. Ita ergo age et vive in monasterio, ut clericus ess* merearis.—Hieron., Epist. ad Rustic., 05.432 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. profane laity. As it was, it required the most vigorous and continued effort to es- in promoting .tablish, by ecclesiastical regula- ceiibacy. tion and papal power, that which was no longer in accordance with the reli- gious sentiments of the clergy themselves.' The general practice of marriage, or of a kind of legalized concubinage, among the northern clergy, showed the tendency, if it had not been thus counteracted by the rival order and by the dominant ecclesias- tical policy of the Church.* But it is im- possible to calculate the effect of that com- plete blending up of the clergy with" the rest of the community which would proba- bly havfe ensued from the gradual abroga- tion of this single distinction at this junc- ture. The interests of their order, in men connected with the community by the or- dinary social ties, would have been second- ary 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 am- bition, which induced them to consider the cause of their order as their own ; that de- sire of riches, which wore the honourable appearance of personal disinterestedness, and zeal for the splendour of religion, could not have existed but in a class com- pletely insulated from the common feel- ings and interests of the community. In- dividual members of the clergy might have become wealthy, and obtained authority over the ignorant herd; but there would have been no opulent and powerful Church, acting with vigorous unity, and arranged Jn simultaneous hostility against barbarism and paganism. Our history must hereafter trace the connexion of the independence and sep- arate existence of the clergy with the maintenance and the authority of Chris- tianity. 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 neces- sary, when knowledge was a distinction which alone commanded respect, the clergy were, not without advantage, se- cured 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 civ-’ ilization, and as preventing, partly by emu- * The general question of the celibacy of the clergy will be subsequently examined. lation, partly by this enforce men of ^>eli- bacy, the secular clergy from degenera- ting universally into that state of total ig- norance 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 civilization, the propagator of humble and peaceful reli- gion. To the dominant spirit of Mona- chism may be ascribed some part at least of the gross superstition and moral ineffi- ciency of the Church in the Byzantine em- pire ; to the same spirit much of the salu- tary authority of Western Christianity, its constant aggressions on barbarism, and its connexion with the Latin literature. Yet neither will the different genius of the East and West account for this contradic- tory 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 appa- rently opposed to the designs of the God of nature, and to the mild and beneficent spirit of Christianity; nothing more hos- tile to the dignity, the interests, the happi- ness, and the intellectual and moral per- fection of man, than the monk afflicting himself with unnecessary pain, and thrill- ing his soul with causeless fears; con- fined 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 becoming humility of man. 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 feli- city of that state which is removed far above the tears or the necessities of life; that sole passion of admiration and lovetflSTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. of the Deity, which no doubt was attained by some of the purer and more imagina- tive enthusiasts of the cell or the cloister. Who, still more, will dare to depreciate that heroism of Christian benevolence, which underwent this self-denial of the lawful enjoyments and domestic charities of which it had neither extinguished the de- sire 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 amelio- ration and spiritual hopes of Christianity to the wretched and the barbarous ; of be- ing 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 un- Life of necessary, digression to the life of Jerome. Jerome, the great advocate of JYIon- achism 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 presby- ter against his will, he escaped the epis- copal dignity which was forced upon his distinguished contemporaries. He left to Ambrose, to Chrysostom, and to Augus- tine the authority of office, and was con- tent 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 cit- ies and consulted their libraries ; he was received in Cyprus by the Bishop Epipha- nius. In Syria he plunged at once into the severest austerities of asceticism. We have already inserted the lively de- scription of the inward struggles and ag- onies which tried him during his first re- treat in the Arabian desert. But Jerome had other trials peculiar to Trials Of Je- himself. It was not so much rome.in his the indulgence of the coarser retreat. 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 reminiscenses 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 com- * Jerome, says : “ Prima est virginitas a nativi- tate; secunda. virginitas a secunda nativitate; he ingenuously confesses that he could only boast of the second.—Epist. xxv., iv., p. 242; Oper., iv., p. 459. 3 I 43c panions, 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, appear rude and barbarous. In his retreat in His classic^ Bethlehem he had undertaken sludies- the study of Hebrew,* as a severe occu- pation to withdraw him from those impure and worldly thoughts which his austerities had not entirely subdued ; and in the wea- ry hours when he was disgusted with his difficult task, he could not refrain from re- curring, as a solace, to his lavourite au- thors. 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 lan- guage 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, ap- peared to him as an impious offence against his religion.f The inward struggles of his mind threw him into a fever; he was thought to be dead, and in the lethargic drearn of his distempered imagination he thought that he beheld himself before the throne of the great Judge, before the bright- ness of which he dared not.liftup his eyes. “Who art thou'?” demanded the awfui voice. “ A Christian,” answered the trem- bling Jerome.J “ ’Tis false,” sternly re- plied the voice; “ thou art no Christian, thou art a Ciceronian. Where the treas ure is, there is the heart also.” Yet, however the scrupulous conscience of Je- rome might tremble at this profane admix- ture of sacred and heathen studies, he was probably qualified in a high degree by this * His description of Hebrew, as compared with Latin, is curious : “ Ad quam edomapdarn, cuidem fratri, qui ex Hebrseis crediderat, me in diseiplinam dedi ut post Quintiliani acumina, gravitatemque Frontonis, et levitatem Plinii, alphabetum discerem et stridentia afthelaque verba meditarer— quid ibi la- boris insurnserim'{—Epist. xcv., ad Rusticum, p. 774. t Si quando in memetreversus, prophetas legere ccepissem, sermo horrebat incultus—Epist. xviii , ad Eustoch., iv , p. 42. X Interim parantur exequise, et vitalis animae ca lor, toto frigescente jam corpore, in solo tantum te pente pulvisculo, palpitabat; quum subito raptus in spiritu, ad tribunal judicis pertrahor; ubi tantum luminis, et tantum eratex circumstantium claritate fulgoris, ut projectus in terram, sursum aspicere non auderum. Interrogatus de conditione, Chris tianum me esse respondi. Et ille qui prsesidebat mortuies ait, Ciceronianus es, non Christianus; uhi enim thesaurus tuns, ibi et cor tuvm.—Ad Eustoch., Epist. xviii., iv., p. 42.434 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. very discordant collision of opposite tastes for one of the great services which he was to render to Christianity. No writer, with- out that complete mastery over the Latin language which could only be attained by constant familiarity with its best models, could so have harmonized 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 ge- nius and its influence; but we may con- jecture 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 ob- scurity of writers like Ammianus Marcel- linus. Jerome could not, in the depths of his Return to retreat or in the absorbing oceu- Rome. pation of his studies, escape being involved in those controversies which dis- tracted the Eastern churches and pene- trated to the cell of the remotest anchorite. He returned to the West to avoid the rest- less polemics of his brother monks. On his return to Rome, the fame of his piety and talents commended him to the confi- dence of the Pope Damasus,* by whom he was employed in the most important af- fairs of the Roman see. But either the Morality of influence or the opinions of Je- the Roman rome excited the jealousy of the clergy. Roman clergy, whose vices Je- rome 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 be- tween 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 ecclesias- tics, which is described by the concurrent testimony of the heathen historianf and the Christian Jerome, would not humbly brook, the greater popularity of these se- verer doctrines, nor patiently submit to the estrangement of some of their more opu- lent and distinguished proselytes, particu- larly among the females. Jerome admits, indeed, with specious but doubtful humili- ty, the inferiority of the unordained monk * Epist. xii, p. 744. Tillemont, Vie de Jerome. + Ammianus Marcellinus. See Postea. to the ordained priest. The clergy were the successors of the apostles ; their lips could make the body of Christ; they had the keys of heaven until the day of judg- ment ; they were the shepherds, the monks only part of the flock. Yet the clergy, no doubt, had the sagacity to foresee the dan- gerous rival as to influence and authority which was rising up in Christian society. The great object of contention now was the command over the highborn lnfluence and wealthy females of Rome, over ferrmi. s Jerome, in his advice to the ofRome clergy, cautiously warns them 3gainst the danger of female intimacy.* He, how- ever, either considered himself secure, or under some peculiar privilege, or justified by the prospect of greater utility, to sus- pend his laws on his own behalf. He be- came 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 inter- course 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 lan- guage with which female ascetics were celebrated as united by the nuptial tie to Christ,! and exhorted, in the glowing im- agery of the Song of Solomon, to devote themselves to their spiritual spouse. They were the brides of Christ; Christ, wor- shipped by angels in heaven, ought to have angels to worship him on earth.J With regard to Jerome and his highborn friends, their suspicions were doubtless unjust. It is singular, indeed, to contrast the dif- * Epist. ad Heliodorum, p. 10. f See the Epistle ad Eustochium. The whole of this letter is a singular union of religious earnest- ness and what, to modern feeling, would seem strange indelicacy, if not immodesty, with still stranger liberty with the language of Scripture. He seems to say that Eustochium was the first no- ble Roman maiden who embraced virginity: “ Qua? * * prima Romanae urbis virgo nobilis esse eoepisti.” He says, however, of Marcella, “Nullaeo tempore nobilium foeminarum noverat Romae propositum monacharum, nec audebat propter rei novitatem, ignominiosum, uttunc putabatur, et vile in populis, nomen assumere.”—Marcellse Epitaph., p. 780. ! In Jerome’s larger interpretation 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. 3sHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 435 ciiara;ter of ^rent descriptions of the female Roman fe- aristocracy of Rome, at the va- maies. rious 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 pro'fligacy, of the later days of the republic and of the empire, the Julias and Messalinas, 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 Ro- man matron of the age of Roman virtue whom Christianity induced to abandon her domestic duties, and that highest of all du- ties to her country, the bringing up of no- ble and virtuous citizens ; it was the soft, and, at the same time, the savage female, who united the incongruous, but too fre- quently 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 per- haps with her own delicate hand for the mortal blow to the exhausted gladiator. We behold with wonder, not unmixed with admira'tion, women of the same race and city either forswearing from their earliest youth all intercourse with men, or pre- serving the state of widowhood with irre- proachable dignity; devoting their wealth to the foundation of hospitals, and their time to religious duties and active benevo- lence. These monastic sentiments were carried to that excess which seemed in- separable from the Roman character. At twelve years old the young Asella devoted herself to God; from that time she had never conversed with man; her knees were as hard as a camel’s, by constant genuflexion and prayer.* * Paula, the fer- Pauia vent disciple Jerome, after devo- aua' ting the wealth of an ancient and opulent house to charitable uses.f to the * Hieronym., Epist. xxi. f Jerome thus describes the charity of Paula: Quid ego referam, amplseet nobilis domus, et quon- dam opulentissimse, omnes psene divitias in paupe- res erogatas. Quid in cunctos clementissimum ani- mum, et bonitatem etiam in eos quos nunquam yiderat, evagantem. Quis inopurn moriens, non illius vestimentis obvolutus est,? Quis clinicorum non ejus facultatibus sustentatus est? Quos curi- osissim& tota urbe perquirens, damnum putabat, si quis debilis et esuriens cibo sustentaretur alterius. Spoliabat jilio$,et inter objurgantes propinquos, ma- impoverishing of her own children, desert- ed her family. Her infant son and hei marriageable daughter watched with en- treating looks her departure; she did not even turn her head away to hide her ma- ternal tears, but lifted up her unmoistened eyes to heaven, and continued her pilgrim- age 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 not softened by his Controver. monastic austerities, nor humbled sies of Je*- by the severe proscription of the rome- gentler affections. His life, in the capital and the desert, was one long warfare. After the death of his friend and protec- tor, Damasus, the growing hostility of the clergy, notwithstanding the attachment oi his disciples, rendered his residence in Rome disagreeable. Nor was the peace of the monastic life his reward for his zealous exertions in its cause. He retired to Palestine, where he passed the Retreat to rest of his days in religious studies Palestine, and in polemic disputes. Wherever any dissentient from the doctrine or the prac- tice 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 perpet- ually involved in controversy, or opposed with greater rancour of personal hostility, than this earnest advocate of unworldly re- ligious seclusion. He was engaged in a ve- hement dispute with St. Augustine on the difference between St. Peter and St. Paul. But his repose was most imbittered by the acrimonious and obstinate contest with Ru- finus, which was rather a personal than a polemic strife. In one controversy Chris tendom acknowledged and hailed him as jorem se eis haereditatem, Christi misericordiam di- mittere loquebatur.—Epitaph. Paulse, p. 671. Ai her death, Jerome relates with great pride that she did not. leave a penny to her daughter, but a load of debts (magnum aes alienum). * It is a passage of considerable beauty: Desceh dit ad portum, fratre, cognatis, aflinibus, et (quod his majus est) liberis prosequentibus, et clementis- simam matrem pietate vincere cupientibus. Jam carbasa tendebantur, et remorum ductu navis in al- tum protrahebatur. Parvus Toxotius supplices manus tendebat in littora. Rufina, jam nubilis, ut suas expectaret nuptias, tacens fletibus obsecrabat, et tamen ilia siccos ad ccelum oculos, pietatem in filios, pietate in Deum superans nesciebat se ma- trem ut Christi probaret ancillam. * * Hoc contra jura naturse plena fidespatiebatur, imo gaudens ani- mus appetebat.—Epitaph. Paulse, 672. This was her epitaph : Aspicis angustum precisa rupe sepulcrum ? Hospitium Paulae est, coelestia regna tenentis. Fratrem, cognatos, Rornarn, patriamque relinquens, Divitias, sobolem, Bethlehemite conditur antro. Hie prsesepe tuum, Christe, atque hie mystica Magi Munera portantes, hominique, Deoque dedere.436 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Jovinian her champion. Jovinian and Vi- and vigi- gilantius are involved in the dark Jantius. Yist of heretics; but their error ap- pears to have been that of unwisely at- tempting to stem the current of popular Christian opinion rather than any depar- ture from the important doctrines of Chris- tianity. They were premature Protest- ants ; they endeavoured, with vain and ill- timed efforts, to arrest the encroaching spirit of Monachism, which had now en- slaved the whole of Christianity;* they questioned the superior merit of celibacy; they protested against the growing wor- ship of relics.f Their effect upon the dominant sentiment of the times may be estimated by the language of wrath, bit- terness, 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, 1st, That virgins had no high- er merit, unless superior in their good works, than widows and 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 pre- served the grace of baptism would meet with an equal reward in heaven. This last clausq was perhaps a corollary from the first, as the panegyrists of virginity uniformly claimed a higher place in heav- en 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 rel- ics ; he questioned the miracles performed at their tombs; he condemned the light- ing lamps before them as a pagan super- stition ; he rejected the intercession of the saints ; he blamed the custom of send- ing alms to Jerusalem, and the selling all property to give it to the poor; he assert- ed that it was better to keep it and dis- tribute its revenues in charity; he pro- tested 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 * Hieronym. adv. Vigilantium, p. 281. t The observation of Fleury shows how mis- timed was the attempt of Vigilantius to return to the simpler Christianity of former days: “ On ne voit pas que l’heresie (de Vigilance), ait eu de suite ; ni qu’on ait eu besoin d’aucun concile pour la condamner tant elle etoit contraire a la tradition de I’Eglise Universelle,” 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 fair* est and most dispassionate writer of his church [liv, xix., c. 19], tom. iv., p. 602 [liv. xxii., c. 5], lom. v., p. 275. of Jerome was imbittered 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 Vigilan - tius, and, asserting that the high profes- sions of continence led the way to de bauchery, 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 oppo- sition ; his resentment at being thus cross- ed is mingled with a kind of wonder that men should exist who could entertain such 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 ne- cessary to refute such obvious errors. Throughout it is the master condescend- ing to teach, not the adversary to argue. He fairly overwhelms him with a mass ol 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 mar- riage. Even the friends of Jerome, the zealous Pammachius himself, were offend- ed by the fierceness of his first invective against Jovinian* and his contemptuous disparagement of marriage. The injustice of his personal charges are refuted by the more temperate statements of Augustine and by his own admissions.f 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 contempt- uous tone of an orator who is speaking * Indignamini mihi, quod Jovinianum non doc- uerim, sed vicerim. Imo indignantur mihi qui il- ium anathematization 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-dress- ed meats : to the sauces of an Apicius or a Paxa- mus, to baths, and shampooings (fricticulse : 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 colons ejus) the king- dom of heaven. Yet this handsome, this corpulent, smooth monk always goes in whhe like a bride- groom : 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 afterward says, Ille Ro- manae ecclesise auctoritate damnatus inter fluviales aves, et carnes suillas, non tam emisit ai.imam quam eructavit.— P. 183.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 437 on the popular side, with his audience al- ready in his favour. But his language to Jovinian is sober, . dispassionate, and argumenta- lg] antius. tjve -n comparjson with that to Vigilantius, He describes all the mon- sters ever invented by poetic imagina- tion, the centaurs, the leviathan, the Ne- mean lion, Cacus, Geryon. Gaul, by her one monster Vigilantius,* had surpassed 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 wan by thee; lest the eye of a harlot should captivate me, and a beautiful form seduce me to un- lawful love.” But his great and conclu- sive 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 Constan- * His brief sketch of the enormities of Vigilan- tius is as follows: Qui immundo spiritu pugnat contra Christi spiritum, et martyrum negat sepul- cra esse veneranda; damnandas dicit esse vigil- sas; nunquam nisi in Pascha Alleluia cantandum : icontinentiam hagresim, pudicitiam libidinis semi- tine sacrilegious, who transported the rel- ics of Andrew, Luke, and Timothy to Con- stantinople, at whose presence the devils (such devils as inhabit the wretched Vigi- lantius) roar and are confounded! or the Emperor Arcadius, who translated the bones of the holy Samuel to Thrace * Are all the bishops sacrilegious who en- shrined 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 on 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 con- stantly hovering to hear the prayers of the supplicant!” The great work of Jerome, the authori- tative Latin version of the Scriptures, will demand our attention as one of the pri- mary elements of Christian literature; a subject which must form one most impor- tant branch of our inquiry into the extent and nature of the general revolution in the history of mankind brought about by the comolete establishment of Christianity.BOOK IV. CHAPTER I. THE ROMAN EMPIRE UNDER CHRISTIANITY. The period is now arrived when we may General sur- survey the total change in the *®y °af tl^ect habits and manners, as well as e/bjfChris-" in the sentiments and opinions, tianity. of mankind effected by the dominance of the new faith. Christianity is now the mistress of the Roman world; on 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 per- mitted to drag on a precarious and inglori- ous existence. The Christians are now no longer a separate people, founding and maintaining their small independent re- publics, 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 man- ners 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 abstain- ing from the common pursuits and avoca- tions of society. The Christian writers, Sources of therefore, become our leading, information, almost our only, authorities for the general habits and manners of man- kind (for the notice of such matters in the heathen writers are few and casual), ex- Theodosian cept the Theodosian Code. This, Code. indeed, is of great value as a rec- ord of manners, as well 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 ab- stract 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 ex- isting statutes, or, as new cases arose, adapting those statutes to temporary exi- gences. But the Christian preachers are me great painters of Roman manners; Christian Chrysoslbm of the East, more par- writers, ticularly of Constantinople ; Jerome, and, though much less copiously, Ambrose and Augustine, of Roman Christendom. Con- siderable allowance must of course be made in all these statements for oratorical vehemence; much more for the ascetic habits of the writers, particularly of Chry- sostom, 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 con- siderable 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 on the silent and unpretending virtues. There might be, and probably was, an under-current of quiet Christian piety and gentleness, and domestic happi- ness, 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 re- lations 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 and the slave, as yet it made no Savery° 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. * The laws of Justinian, it must be remembered, are beyond this period. [Yet these laws recognise slavery as perfectly lawful. See Justiniani, Inst it,, lib. i., tit. 5-8, and Digest., lib. i., tit. 5, 6.]HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 439 In the new relation established between mankind and the Supreme Being, the slave was fully participant; he shared in the re- demption through Christ; he might receive all the spiritual blessings, and enjoy all the immortalizing hopes of the believer; he might be dismissed from his deathbed to heaven by the absolving voice of the priest; and besides this inestimable con- solation in misery and degradation, this religious equality, at least with the reli- gious 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 human- ity. The axiom of Clement of Alexandrea, 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.! Still, down to the time of Justinian, the inexorable law, ,which, as to their treat- ment, had already been wisely tempered by the heathen emperors as to their rights, 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 punish- ment of extraordinary cruelty, the mas- ter was guilty of homicide; if under more moderate application of the scourge, or any other infliction, the master was not accountable for their death.J While it re- fused to protect, the law inflicted on the slave punishments disproportionate to those of the freeman. If he accused his master for any crime except high treason, he was to be burned if free women married slaves, they sank to the abject state of their husbands, and forfeited their rights as free women ;|| if a free woman intrigued with a slave, she was capitally punished, the slave was burned.^ The possession of slaves was in no de- gree 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.** * Clemens Alex., Psedagog., iii., 12. t See Blair on Slavery, p 288. t Cod. Theodos., ix., 12, 1. $ lb., ix., 6, 2. H lb., iv, 9, 1, 2, 3. 1 lb., ix., 11, 1. ** Clemens Alex., Psedagog., iii., 12. It is curi- ous to compare this passage of Clement with the | On the pomp and magnificence of the court Christianity either did not Manners of aspire, or despaired of enforcing the court- moderation or respect for the common dignity of mankind. The manners of the East, as the emperor took up his resi- dence in Constantinople, were too strong for the religion. With the first Christian emperor commenced that Oriental cere- monial, 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 insult- ed by the open degradation of the first men in the empire to the language, atti- tudes, and titles of servitude. The eunuchs, who, however admitted in solitary instances to the confi- Government dence or favour of the earlier the eu- emperors, had never formed a nuchs- party or handed down to each other the successive administrations, now ruled in almost uncontested sovereignty, and, ex- cept in some rare instances, seemed de- termined 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 contemptu- ous expressions, the thousand cooks, the thousand barbers, and more than a thou- sand cup-bearers, 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 dis- dain. The heathen writers, perhaps with the design of contrasting Theodosius with the severer Julian, who are the represent- atives, oi', 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 _ • .i • • i • a Ji lie 6ifii)6ror« in the imperial service a count- less multitude of cooks and other attend- ants on the splendour and indulgence of the court.f That which in Theodosiiu was the relaxation or the reward for mili- tary services, and the cares and agitations of an active administration, degenerated with his feeble sons into indolent and ef- feminate luxury. The head of the empire beautiful essay of Seneca. See likewise Chry- sostom almost passim. Some had 2000 or 3000, t. vii., p. 633. * Libanius, Epitaph. Julian., p. 565. t Zosimus, iv., 28.440 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. became a secluded Asiatic despot. When, on rare occasions, Arcadius condescended to reveal to the public the majesty of the sovereign, he was preceded by a vast mul- titude of attendants, dukes, tribunes, civil and military officers, their horses glitter- ing 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 re- clined oil 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 contem- plated at a distance the snow-white cush- ions, the silken carpets, with dragons in- woven upon them in rich colours. Those who 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 emper- or, in all their sutures embroidered with precious stones. The wondering people, on their return to their homes, could talk of nothing but the splendour of the spec- tacle : the robes, the mules, the carpets, the size and splendour of the jewels. On nis return to the palace the emperor walk- ed on gold; ships were employed with the express purpose of bringing gold-dustf from remote provinces, which was strewn by the officious care of a host of attend- ants, so that the emperor rarely set his foot on the bare pavement. The official aristocracy, which had suc- The aris- ceeded to the hereditary patriciate toeracy. 0f Rome, reflected in more mod- erate 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 mili- tary officers, in the splendour of their trappings and accoutrements, vied with the gorgeousness of the court favourites; and even the barbarians, who began to * Montfaucon, in an essay in the last volume of the works of Chrysostom, and in the twelfth vol. of the Memoirs of the Academy of Inscriptions; and Muller, in his treatise de Genio, Moribus, et Luxu iEvi Theodosiani, have collected the princi- pal features of this picture, chiefly from Chrysos- tom. t XpvcuTiv.—See Muller, p. 10. force their way by their valour to these posts in the capital, caught the infection of luxury and pomp. As in all despot- isms, 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 wri- ters directly as they had lost the protect- ing favour of the court. Men then found out that the enormous wealth, the splen- dour, the voluptuousness, in which a Eu- tropius or a Rufinus had indulged, had been obtained by the sale of appoint- ments, by vast bribes from provincial governors, by confiscations, and every abuse of inordinate power.* Christianity had not the power to ele- vate despotism into a wise and beneficent rule, nor to dignify its inseparable conse- quence, 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 no unfa- vourable comparison, with the heathen emperors of Rome. Human nature is not so outraged; our belief in the possible de- pravity of man is not so severely tried as by the monstrous vices and cruelties of a Tiberius, a Caligula, or a Nero. Theo- dora, even if we credit the malignant sat- ire of Procopius, maintained some decen- cy 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 a eunuch or a favourite; yet even the most servile and intriguing of the hie- rarchy could not be entirely forgetful of their high mission ; there wras 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 have been character- Manners o*. ized by gorgeous magnificence the aristoc- without grandeur, inordinate lux- racy* • ury without refinement, the pomp and prodigality of a high state of civilization with none of its ennobling or humanizing effects. The walls of the palaces were lined with marbles of all colours, crowded * Hie Asiam villa pactus regit; ille redemit Conjugis ornatu Syriam ; dolet ille paterna Bithynos mutasse dorno. Suffixa patenti Vestibulo pretiis distinguit regula gentes. Claud, in Eutrop., i., 199 Clientes Fallit, et ambitos a principe vendit honores, * * * * * Congest® cumulantur opes, orbisque rapinas Accipit una domus. Populi servire coacti Plenaque privato succumbunt oppida regno. In Rufln.j i., 179-193-HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 441 with statues of inferior workmanship; mo- saics, of which the merit consisted in the arrangement of the stones; the cost, rath- er than the beauty^ or elegance, was the test of excellence and the object of admi- ration. They were surrounded with hosts of parasites or servants. “You reckon up,” Chrysostom thus addresses a patri- cian, “ so many acres of land, ten or twenty palaces, as many baths, a thou- sand or two thousand slaves, chariots pla- ted with silver or overlaid with gold.”* Their banquets were merely sumptuous, without social grace or elegance, ema es. ^ress 0f the females, the fond- ness for false hair, sometimes wrought up to an enormous height, and especially af- fectingthe golden dye, and for paint, from which irresistible propensities they were not to be estranged even by religion, ex- cite the stern animadversion of the ascetic Christian teacher. “ What business have rouge and paint on a Christian cheek 1 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 Ma- ker cannot recognise as his workman- ship ?”f T.heir necks, heads, arms, and fingers were loaded with golden chains and rings; their persons breathed pre- cious odours, their dresses were of gold stuff and silk; and in this attire they ven- tured to enter the Church. Some of the wealthier--Christian matrons*gave a reli- gious air to their vanity, while the more profane wore their thin silken dresses em- broidered with hunting-pieces, wild beasts, or any other fanciful device; the more pi- ous had the miracles of Christ, the mar- riage 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.J It might indeed be supposed that Chris- tianity, by the extinction of that feeling for the beauty, grandeur, and harmony of outward form, which was a part of the re- ligion of Greece, and was enforced by the 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 ex- * T. vii, p. 533. f Hieronym., Epist. 54. . Compare Epist. 19, vol. i., p.284. f Muller, p. 112. There are several statutes pro- hibiting the use of gold brocade or dresses of silk in the Theodosian Code, x., tit. 20. Other statutes regulate the dress in Rome, xiv., 10, 1. 3 K travagant. But it was rather the Roman character than the influence of Christian- ity which was thus fatal to the refine- ments of life. The degeneracy of taste was almost complete before the predom- inance of the new religion. The manners of ancient Rome had descended from the earlier empire,* and the manners of Con- stantinople were in most respects an elab- orate imitation of those of Rome. The provincial cities, according to the national character, imitated the old and new Rome; and in all, no doubt the no- bility 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 exer- cised by no means a commanding, cer- tainly no exclusive, influence. Either su- perior merit, or court intrigue, or favour bestowed civil offices with impartial hand on Christian and pagan. The Rufinus or the Eutropius cared little whether the bribe was offered by a worshipper in the Church or in the temple. The heathen Themistius was appointed prefect of Con- stantinople by the intolerant Theodosius ; Praetextatus and Sy m machus held the high- est civil functions in Rome. The prefect who was so obstinate an enemy to Chry- sostom 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 mu- nicipalities, there now appeared a new order of functionaries, with recognised, if undefined powers, the religious magis- trates of the religious community. In this magisterial character the new hie- rarchy differed from the ancient priest- hoods 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 Christia'nity had its own distinct and separate aristocracy, which not merely officiated in the Church, but ruled the public mind, and mingled itself with the various affairs of life far beyond this narrow sphere of religious ministra- tion. The Christian hierarchy was complete* ly organized and established in the minds of men before the great revolutions which, under Constantine, legalized Christianity, and, under Theodosius and his successors, * Compare the description of the manners and habits of the Roman nobles in Ammianus Marcel linus, so well transferred intD English in tho 31st chapter of Gibbon, vol. ii., p. 245*248.442 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. identified the Church and state. The strength of the sacerdotal power was con- solidated 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, Gradual de- the clerical order had been the veiopmentof sole magistracy of the new ca? howerChi' C0111™1111^68- But it is HOt ca power. a}one from scantiness of au- thentic documents concerning the earliest Christian history, but from the inevitable nature of things, that the development of the hierarchical power, as has already been partially shown,* was gradual and untraceable. In the infant Christian com- munity we have seen that the chief teach- er and the ruler, almost immediately, if not immediately, became the same person. It was not so much that he was formally invested in authority, as that his advice, his guidance, his control, 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. Com- munity 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 for- mal 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.f 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 ac- clamation ; and without this sacred com- mission by the bishop, no one, from the earliest times of which we have any rec- ord, presumed, it should seem, to invest himself in the sacred office.} The civil * Book if, ch. 4. f The growth of the Christian hierarchy, and the general constitution of the Church, are developed with learning, candour, and moderation by Planck, in his Geschichte der Christlich-Kirchlichen Ver- fassung, Hanover, 1803-1809, 6 vols. t Gradually the admission to orders became a and religious power of the hierarchy grew up side by side, or intertwined with each other, by the same spontaneous vital en- ergy. Everything in the primary forma- tion 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 sacer- dotal character, the rigid separation of this sacred order from the mass of the believ- ers, could not but arise out of the unavoid- able development 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 con- fidence of the community. The hopes and fears of men would have forced this hon- our upon them had they been humbly re-, luctant to accept it. Man, in his state of religious excitement, imperiously required some authorized interpreters of those mys- terious revelations from Heaven which be could read himself but imperfectly and ob- scurely ; he felt the pressing necessity of a spiritual guide. The privileges and dis- tinctions of the clergy, so far from being aggressions on his religious independence, were solemn responsibilities undertaken for the general benefit. The Christian commonalty, according to the general sen- timent, could not have existed without them, nor cotild such necessary but grave functions be intrusted to casual or com- mon 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 peo- ple 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 profound- est feelings. If they had not assumed the keys of heaven and hell; if they had not appeared legitimately to possess the pow- er of pronouncing the eternal destiny of subject not merely of ecclesiastical, but of civil reg- ulation. It has been observed that the decurion was prohibited from taking orders in order to obtain ex- emption 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 (murilegulus), 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 Iliiberis had made a restriction that no freedman, whose patron was a Gentile, could be ordained; he was still too much under control.—Can. lxxx.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. man—to suspend or excommunicate from those Christian privileges which were in- separably 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 be- lievers, the uncertainty, the terror, the ag- ony of minds fully impressed with the conviction of their immortality, and yearn- ing by every means to obtain the assu- rance 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 exaggerate their powers, they could uot extend them beyond the ready acqui- escence of the people. They could not possess the power of absolving without that of condemning; and men were con- tent 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 tend- ed to the advancement of the hierarchy. At first there was no necessity to guard the admission into the society with rigid or suspicious jealousy, since the profes- sion of Christianity in the face of a hos- tile world was in itself almost a sufficient test of sincerity. Expulsion from the so- ciety, or a temporary exclusion from its privileges, which afterward grew into the awful forms of interdict or excommunica- tion, must have been extremely rare or unnecessary,* since he who could not en- dure 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, and propri- ety of conduct, as well as for the ejection Expulsion or of unworthy disciples. As men excommuni- began to be Christians, not from canon. personal conviction, but from hereditary descent as children of Chris- tian parents ; as the Church was filled * The case in St. Paul’s Epistle to the Corinthi- ans (I Cur., v., 5), which seems to have been the first of forcible expulsion, was obviously an act of apostolic authority [or, rather, was an act which apostolic injunction authorized them to perforrri). This, it is probable, was a Jewish convert; and these persons stood in a peculiar position; they would be ashamed, or would not be permitted, to return into the bosom of the Jewish community, which they had abandoned, and, if expelled from the Christian Church, would be complete outcasts. Not so the heathen apostate, who might one day leave, and the next return, to his old religion, with all its advantages. 41$ with doubtful converts, some from the love of novelty, others, when they incur- red less danger and obloquy, from less sincere faith; some,no doubt,of the base and profligate, from the desire of parta- king of 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, be- came necessary for admission into the society, a more summary authority for the expulsion of improper members.* These powers naturally devolved on the heads of the community, who had either originally possessed, and transmitted by regularly-appointed descent, or held by general consent, the exclusive adminis- tration of the religious rites, the sacra- ments, which were the federal bonds of the community. Their strictly increase in civil functions became likewise their civil more extensive and important. inttuence- All legal disputes had from the first been submitted to the religious magistracy, not as interpreters of the laws of the empire, but as best acquainted with the higher principles of natural justice and Christian equity. The religious heads of the com- munities were the supreme and univer- sally recognised arbiters in all the trans- actions of life. When the magistrate be- came likewise a Christian, and the two communities were blended into one, con- siderable 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; govern- ment gradually became an affair of as- serted superiority on one hand, of exact- ed 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 unoppressive, and, therefore, unques- * It is curious to find that both ecclesiastical and civil laws against apostacv were constantly neces- sary. The Council of Elvira readmits an apostate to communion who has not worshipped idols, after ten years’ penance. The laws of Gratian and Theodosius, and even of Arcadius and Valentinian III., speak a more menacing language : the Chris- tian who has become a pagan forfeits the right of bequeathing by will; his will is null and void.— Cod. Theod., xvi., 7, 1, 22. A law of Valentinian II. inflicts the same penalty (only with some limita- tion) on apostates to Judaism or Manicheism. The laws of Arcadius and Valentinian III. prove, by the severity of their prohibitions, not only that cases of apostacy took place, but that sacrifices were still frequently offered.'-Cod. Theodos., xvi., tit. de Apostatis*44 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. tioned 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 1 He was the religious superior, elected by general acclamation, or, at least, by general con- sent, as commanding that station by his unrivalled religious qualifications ; he was solemnly invested in his office by a reli- gious ceremony ; he was the supreme ar- biter in such civil matters as occurred among the members of the body, and thus the conservator of peace ; he was the censor of morals, the minister in holy The bishop rites, the instructer in the doc- iii the early trines of the faith, the adviser community. jn aq scruples, the consoler in all sorrows ; he was the champion of the truth, in the hour of trial the first victim of persecution, the designated 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 I Pow- er might generate ambition, distinction might be attended by pride, but the tran- sition would not be perceived by the daz- zled sight of respect, of reverence, of ven- eration, and of love.. Above all, diversities of religious opin- Pissensions ion would tend to increase the in the Church influence and the power of those who held the religious suprem- sacerdotal acy. It has been said, not with- power. out some authority, that the es- tablishment of episcopacy in the apostolic times arose from the control of the dif- ferences with the Judaizing 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 confi- dence 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 Gnosti- cism which the bishops of Asia Minor and of Syria had to combat was not a Chris- tian sect or heresy, but another religion, although speaking in some degree Chris- tian language. The justifiable alarm of these dangerous encroachments would in- duce the teachers and governors to as- ■* No doubt this kind of constant and of natural appeal to the supreme religious functionary must have materially tended to strengthen and confirm this power —See page 196, and note. sume a loftier and more dictatorial tone , those untainted by the new opinions would vindicate and applaud their acknowledg- ed 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 apos- tles, but of Christ himself, for the bishops, precisely in this character, as maintainers of the true Christian doctrine.* In the pseudo-Apostolic Constitutions, which be- long probably to the latter end of the third century, this more than apostolic authori- ty is sternly and unhesitatingly asserted.f Thus, the separation between the clergy and laity continually widened ; the teach- er or ruler of the community became 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 from an historical argu ment, which I have suggested, p. 222, 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., c. 8); taken as detached sentences, and without regard to the figurative style and ar- dent manner of the writer, would seem so extraor- dinary a transition from the tone of the apostles, as to throw still farther 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 doc- trine. In another passage he says, “ Be ye subject to the bishop and to each other (rep eTUGnoiru kcu aXkrjTiotg), as Jesus 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, according to my judgment, to the apostolic wri- tings. His eager desire for martyrdom, his depre- cating the interference of the Roman Christians in his behalf, is remarkably at variance witfi 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 6 k'KLOKO'Kog elg Qeov ren^Gdo).—The bish- op 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: cTepyeiv btyeiMri 6g irarepa,—fyofelaQai c5g ^aaiT^ea. t Ovrog vplv emyecog Qeog p,£Ta Beov—Lib ii., c. 26.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 445 dictator of .doctrine, the successor, not of the bishop, appointed by apostolic author- ity* * * § * 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 asso- ciations 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 than to invalidate the authority of the general body, in which all particular and adverse interests were ab- sorbed in those of the clerical order.f The language of the Old Testament, Language of which was received perhaps the oid Tes- with greater readiness, from the tament. contemptuous aversion in which it was held by the Gnostics, on this as on other subjects, gradually found its way into the Church.J But the strong and marked clergy and line between the ministerial or laity- magisterial order (the clergy) and the inferior Christians, the people (the la- ity), had been drawn before the bishop be- came a pontiff (for the heathen names were likewise used), the presbyters, the sacer- dotal 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 distinguish- ing them by their innocent and dedicated character from the profane heathen, as- serted in the Epistle of St. Peter, was the only notion of the sacerdotal character at first admitted into the popular sentiment.§ The appellation of the sacerdotal order began to be metaphorically applied to the * The full apostolic authority was claimed for the bishops, I think, first distinctly at .a later pe- riod.—See the letter from Firmilianus in Cyprian’s works, Epist. Ixxv. Potestas peccatorum remit- tendorum apostolis data est * * et episcopis qui eis vicaria ordinatione successerunt. f 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 gerere.—Epist. v. In other passages he says, Cui rei non potui me solum ju- dicem dare. He had acted# therefore, cum collegis meis, et cum plcbe ipsa umversa.—Epist. xxviii. t It is universally adopted in the Apostolic Con- stitutions. The crime of Korah is significantly ad- duced ; tithes are mentioned, I believe, for the first time, ii, 25, Compare vi., 2. § See the well-known passage of Tertullian : Nonne et. laici sacerdotes surnus? * * Differen- tiam inter ordinem et plebem constituit ecclesise auctoritas. Tertullian evidently Montanizes in this treatise, de Exhort. Castit., c. 7, yet seems to de- liver these as maxims generally acknowledged. Christian clergy,# but soon became reai titles; and by the close of the third cen- tury they were invested in the names and claimed the rights of the Levitical priest- hood in the Jewish theocracy.f The Epis- tle of Cyprian to Cornelius, bishop of Rome, shows the height to which the epis- copal power had aspired before the reli- gion of Christ had become that of the Ro- man empire. The passages of the Old Testament, and even of the New, in which honour or deference is paid to the He- brew 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, j 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-sight- ed minds of the vast system of sacerdotal domination, of which they were thus lay- ing the deep foundations in the Roman world, there was no recollection or tradi- tion of any priestly tyranny from which they could take warning or imbibe cau- tion. These sacerdotal castes were obso- lete or Oriental; the only one within their sphere of knowledge was that of the Ma- gians 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 pre- side over the amusements of the people. The emperor had now at length disdain- fully cast off the supreme pontificate of the heathen world, which had long been a litle 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 Tal- muds had assumed a complete despotism over the Jewish mind, was not a priest- hood; the rabbins carlie promiscuously * We find the first appearance of this in the fig- urative Ignatius. Tertullian uses the term summi sacerdotes. f The pass-age in the Epistle of Clemens (ad Ro-r man., c., 40), in which the analogy of the ministe- rial offices of the Church with the priestly func tions of the Jewish temple is distinctly developed, is rejected as an interpolation by all judicious and, impartial scholars. X See his 68th Epistle, in which he draws the analogy between the legitimate bishop and the sa cerdos of the law, the irregularly elected and Corah, Dathan, and Abiram: Neque enim aliunde hsereses obortoe sunt, aut nata sunt schismata, quam inde quod sacerdoti Dei non obtempcratur, nec unus in ec- clesia ad tempus sacerdos, el ad tempus Judex., vice Christi cogitatus: cui si secundum magisteria divi- na obtemperaret fraternitas universa, nemo advei sum sacerdotium tollegium quicqurm moverat.— Ad Cor eh, Epist. Iv.446 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. from all the tribes ; their claims rested on learning and on knowledge of the tradi- tions of the fathers, not on Levitical de- scent. Nor, indeed, could any danger be appa- rent, so long as the free voice of the com- munity, guided by fervent piety, and rarely perverted by less worthy motives, sum- moned the wisest and the holiest to these important functions. The nomination to the sacred office experienced the same, more gradual, perhaps, but not less inevi- table, 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 com- munity, whose utmost desire was to wor- ship God, and to fulfil their Christian du- ties in uninterrupted obscurity. But as Change in ^ie episcopate became an object the mo ie of of ambition or interest, the dis- eiection. turbing forces which operate on ffie justice and wisdom of popular elec- tions could not but be called forth; and slowly the clergy, by example, by influ- ence, 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.! 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.! But each church was still a * Plebs ipsa maxima habeat potestatem vel eli- gendi dignos' sacerdotes, vel indignos recusandi.— Epist. lxvii. Cornelius was testimonio cleri, ac suffragio populi electus.—Compare Apostol. Con- stit., viii., 4. The Council of Laodicea (at the be- ginning of the fourth century) ordains that bishops are to be appointed by the metropolitans, and that the multitude, oi are not to designate per- sons for the priesthood. | Ammianus Marcell., xxvii., 3. Hieron. in Chron. Compare Gibbon, vol. ii, 94. $ A canon of the Council of Chalcedon (can. 7) prohibits the return of a spiritual person to the lai- ty, and his assumption of lay offices in the state. —See also Cone. Turon., i., c. 5. The laws of Jus- tinian confiscate to the Church the property of any priest who has forsaken his orders.—Cod. Just., i., tit. iii., 53; Nov., v., 4, 125, c. 15. This seems to separate and independent community; the bishop as its sovereign, the presbyters, and sometimes the deacons, as a kind of reli- gious senate, conducted all its internal con- cerns. Great deference was paid from the first to the bishops of the more important sees; the number and wealth of the con- gregations 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 ene- mies of Eusebius, the Arian or semi-Arian bishop of Constantinople, bitterly taunted him with his elevation from the less im- portant see of Nicomediato the episcopate of the Eastern metropolis. This transla- tion was prohibited by some councils.* The level of ecclesiastical or episcopal dignity gradually broke up; some Metr01j,,. bishops emerged into a higher itan bish- rank; the single community over °ps- which the bishop originally presided grew into the aggregation of several communi- ties, and formed a diocese ; the metropol- itan rose above the ordinary bishop, the patriarch assumed a rank above the met- ropolitan, 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 larger cities, the rapid in- Formation crease of the Christians led ne- of the dio- cessarily to the formation of sep- cese- arate congregations, which, to a certain extent, required each its proper organi- zation, yet invariably remained subordi- nate to the single bishop. In Rome, to- wards the beginning of the fourth century, there were above forty churches render- ing allegiance to the prelate of the me- tropolis. 2. Christianity was first established in the towns and cities, and from each centre diffused itself with more or less success into the adjacent country. In some Chorepig. of these country congregations copi. F bishops appear to have been established, yet these chorepiscopi, or rural bishops, maintained some subordination to the head of the mother church ;f or, where the converts were ^ewer, the rural Chris- tians remained members of the mother church in the city.J In Africa, from the imply that the practice was not uncommon even at that late pefiod.—Compare Planck, vol. i., 399. * Synod. Nic., can. 15. Cone. Sard., c. 2. Cone. Arel ,21. f See in Bingham, Ant., b. ii., c. 14, the contro- versy about the chorepiscopi or rural bishops. X Justin Martyr speaks of the country converts •HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 447 immense number of bishops, each com- munity seems to have had its own supe- rior ; but this was peculiar to the prov- ince. 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 be- came 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.* The rank of the metropolitan bishop, who presided over a certain number of inferior bishops, and the convocation of ecclesiastical or episcopal synods, grew up apparently at the same time and from the same causes. The earliest authentic synods seem to have arisen out of the dis- putes about the time of observing Easter ;f but before the middle of the third century, these occasional and extraordinary meet- ings of the clergy in certain districts took the form of provincial synods. These be- gan in the Grecian provinces,{ but extend- ed throughout the Christian world. In some cases they seem to have been as- semblies 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 con- firmed his metropolitan dignity by this presidency.§ * ^ As the metropolitans rose above the Archbishops bishops, so the archbishops or and patri- patriarchs rose above the met- archs. ropolitans. These ecclesiastical dignities seem to have been formed ac- cording to the civil divisions of the em- pire. || The patriarchs of Antioch, Jeru- salem, Alexandrea, Rome, and, by a for- mal decree of the Council of Chalcedon, Constantinople, assumed even a higher dignity. They asserted the right, in some JJavrcov Kara TrSTietq 7} aypovq fievovruv, em to avro avveTievacg yiverai.—Apolog., i., 67. * Concil. Antioch., can. 10. Concil. Ancyr., c. 13. Cone. Laod., c. 57. t See the list of earlier synods chiefly on this subject.—Labbe, Concilia, vol. i., p. 595, 650, edit. Paris, 1671. % See the remarkable passage in Tertullian, de Jejunio, with the ingenious commentary of Mo- sheim, De Reb. Christ, ante Const. M., p. 264, 268 [and Instit. of E. H., i., 116, n. (2)]. <$> Necessario apud nos fit, ut per singulos annos semores et prtepositi in unum conveniamus, ad dis- ponenda ea, quae curae nostrae commissa sunt.— Firm, ad Cyprian., Ep. 75. 11 Bingham names, thirteen or fourteen patriarchs. Alexandrea, Antioch, Caesarea, Jerusalem, Ephe- sus, Constantinople, Thessalonica, Sirmium, Rome, Carthage, Milan, Lyons, Toledo, York. But their respective claims do not appear to have been equal- ly recognised, or at the same period. cases, of appointing, in others of deposing, even metropolitan bishops.* While Antioch, Alexandrea, and Con- stantinople 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 distin- guished of the apostolic body. Before the end of the third century, the lineal de- scent of her bishops from St. Peter was unhesitatingly claimed, and obsequiously admitted by the. Christian world.f The name of Rome was still imposing and P6rnp 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 con- course and resort; and the pious stran- gers who visited the capital would not withhold their oblations to the metropol- itan church. Within the city he presided over above forty churches, besides the suburbicarian districts. The whole cler- ical establishment at Rome amounted to forty-six presbyters, seven deacons, seven sub-deacons, forty-two acolyths, 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 found- ation of Rome, arrayed her in pre-eminent 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 * Chrysostom deposed Gerontius, metropolitan of Nicomedia.—Sozomen, viii., 6. t The passage of Irenaeus (lib. ii., c. 3), as is well known, is the first distinct assertion of any primacy in Peter, and derived from him to the see of Rome. This passage would be better authority if it existed in the original language, not in an indifferent trails lation ; if it were the language of an Eastern, not a Western prelate, who might acknowledge a su premacy in Rome which would not have been ad mitted by the older Asiatic sees ; still more if it die not assert what is manifestly untrue, the founda tion of the Church of Rome by St. Peter, and St. Paul (see p. 188) ; and, finally, if Irenaeus could be conclusive authority on such a subject. Planck justly observes that the potior principalitas of the city of Rome was the primary reason why 3 potior principalitas was recognised in the see of Rome.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 448 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 separ- ated classes of votaries, imposed the ne- cessity for new functionaries, besides the bishops, priests, and deacons. These were the archdeacon and the five subordinate officiating ministers, who received a kind of New sacred ordination. 1. The sub-deacon, offices. who in the Eastern Church col- lected 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 aeolyth, 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 energou- rnenoi, 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 mani- fest civil existence, the closer correspond- ence, the more intimate sympathy between its remote and scattered members, became indispensable to its strength and consist- ency. Its uniformity of development 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 unity of universally disseminated , body the Church. _ bf ■'Christians,' had been main- tained by the general similarity of doctrine, of sentiment, of its first simple usages and institutions, and the common dangers vvhich it had endured in all parts of the * While I deliver my own conclusions without fear or compromise, I would avoid all controversy on this as well as on other subjects. It is but right, therefore, for me to give .the two apparently conflicting passages in Cyprian on the primacy of St. Peter: Nam nec Petrus quern primum Domi- nus elegit, et super quern aedificavit ecclesiam suam * * vindicavit sibi aliquid insolenter aut arro- ganter assumpsit, ut diceret se primatum tenere, et obtemperari a novellis et posteris sibi potius oportere.”—Epist. lxxi. Hoc erant utique cseteri apostoli, quod fuit Petrus, pari consortio praediti et honoris et potestatis; sed exordium ab unitate pro- ficiscitur, et primatus Petro datur, ut una Christi ecclesia, et cathedra una monstretur.—De Unit. Eccles. world. It possessed its consociating prin ciples in the occasional correspondence be- tween its remote members, in those recom- mendatory letters with which the Chris- tian who travelled was furnished to his brethren in other parts of the empire; above all, in the common literature, which, including the sacred writings, seem to have spread with more or less regularity through the various communities. No- thing, however, tended so much, although they might appear to exacerbate and per- petuate diversities of opinion, to the main- tenance of this unity, as the assemblage and recognition of general coun- General cils as the representatives of uni- couneiis. versal Christendom.* The bold imper- * The earliest councils (not cecumenic) were those of Rome (1st and 2d) and the seven held at Carthage, concerning the lapsi, the schism of Nova- tianus, and the rebaptizing of heretics. The sev- enth in Routh, Reliquiae Sacra (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 man- ners. Abhorrence of heresy is the prevailing feel- ing in this council, vvhich 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. 269) con- demned Paul of Samosata. The Council of Illiberis (Elvira or Granada), A.D. 303, affords some curi- ous notices of the state of Christianity in that re- mote province. Some of the heathen flamines ap- pear to have attempted to reconcile the perform- ances 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 per- mit them to reap . the harvest. Gambling is forbid- den. The councils of Rome and of Arles were held • to settle the Donatist controversy ; but of the lattei there are twenty-two canons chiefly of ecclesiastical regulations. : The Council of Ancyra principally re- lates to the conduct of persons during the time of persecution. The Council of Laodicea has some curious general canons. The first cecumenic coun- cil was that of Nice;—See book iii., c. iv. It was followed by the long succession of Arian and anti- Arian councils at Tyre, Antioch, Rome, Milan, Sardica, Rimini, &c. The Arian Council of An- tioch is very strict in its regulations for the resi- dence of the bishops and the clergy, and their re- striction of their labours to their own dioceses or cures (A.D. 341) —Apud Labbe, vol. ii., 559. The first of Constantinople was the second cecumenic council (A.D. 381). It re-established Trinitarian- ism as the doctrine of the East; it elevated the bishopric of Constantinople into a patriarchate, to rank after Rome. The two other of the cecumenicHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 440 sonation, the Church, seemed now to as- sume a more imposing visible existence. Its vital principle was no longer that un- seen 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, Manicheism,had been thrown aside ; and the Church stood, as it were, individualized or idealized, by the side of the other social impersonation, the State. The emperor was the sole ruler of the latter, and at this period the aris- tocracy of the superior clergy, at a later the autocracy of the pope, at least as the representative of the Western Church, be- came the supreme authority of the former. The hierarchical power, from exemplary, persuasive, amiable, had become authori- tative, commanding, awful. When Chris- tianity 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 when outcast from the Church. If he ceased to believe, he no longer dared cease to obey. No course remained but prostrate submission, or the endurance of any penitential.duty-which might be en- forced upon him; and on the penitential system and the power of excommunica- tion, to which we shall revert, rested the unshaken hierarchical authority over the human soul. With their power increased both those increase other sources of influence, pomp in poinp. and wealth. Distinctions in sta- tion and in authority naturally lead to dis- tinctions in manners, and those adventi- tious circumstances of dress, carriage, and habits which designate different ranks. Confederating upon equal terms, the su- perior authorities in the Church and state began to assume an equal rank. In the Christian city the bishop became a per- sonage of the highest importance; and the clergy, as a kind of subordinate reli- gious magistracy, claimed, if a different kind, yet an equal share of reverence with the civil authority ; where the civil magis- trate had his insignia of office, the natural respect of the people and the desire of maintaining his official dignity would in- vest the religious functionary likewise with some peculiar symbol of his charac- ter. With their increased rank and esti- councils are beyond the bounds of t: le present his- tory. 3 L mation, the clergy could not but assume a more imposing demeanour; and that majesty in which they were arrayed du- ring the public ceremonial could not be entirely thrown off when they returned to ordinary life The reverence of man ex- acts dignity from those who are its ob- jects. The primitive apostolic meanness of appearance and 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 con- sciousness of power will affect the best disciplined minds, and the unavoidable knowledge that salutary authority is main- tained 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 pi- ous clergy, a perpetual conflict between a conscientious sense of the importance of external dignity and a desire, as con- scientious, of retaining something of out- ward humility. The monkish and ascetic waged implacable war against that secu- lar 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 cham- ber 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 im- posing dignity. The bishops of Rome ear- ly affected state and magnificence; Chry- sostom, on the otfyer hand, in Constanti- nople, differing from his predecessors, con- sidered poverty of dress, humility of de- meanour, and the most severe austerity of life as more becoming a Christian prel- ate 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 pow- er. 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 magnificent; and, as officiating functionaries, put on for the time the majesty of manner, the state of attendance, the splendour of attire, which I seemed to be authorized by the gorgeous-450 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ness of dress and ceremonial pomp m the Old Testament.* * With the greater reverence, indeed, pe- culiar sanctity was exacted, and no doubt, in general, observed by the clergy. They were imperatively required to surpass the . general body of Christians in 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 com- pletely incorporated with Christianity, they were expected to maintain the public de- votion by their example, and to encourage self-denial by their more rigid austerity. Wealth as well as pomp followed in the Wealth of train of power. The desire to the clergy, command wealth (we must not yet use the ignoble term covetousness) not merely stole imperceptibly into inti- mate connexion with religion, but appear- ed 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 ex- cusable, but a sacred duty. In the hands of the Christian clergy, wealth, which ap- peared 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 edifi- ces for the worship of God, to provide an imposing ceremonial, lamps for midnight service, silver or golden vessels for the * The clergy were long, without any distinction of dress, except on ceremonial occasions. At the * end of the fourth century, it was the custom for them in some churches to wear black.—Socr., H. E., vi, 22. Jerome, however, recommends that they should neither be distinguished by too bright or too sombre colours.—Ad Nepot. The proper habits were probably introduced at the end of the fifth century, as they are recognised by councils in the sixth.—Cone. Matisc., A.D. 581, can. 1, 5. Trull., c. 27. The tonsure began in the fourth century. Prima del iv. secolo i semplici preti non avevano alcun abito distinto dagli altri o pagani o Cristiani, se non in quanto la professata lore umil- ta faceva unacerta pompa de abjezione e de poverta. —Cicognara, Storia de Scultura, t. i., p. 27. Count Cicognara gives a curious account of the date and origin of the different parts of the clerical dress. The mitre is of the eighth century, the tiara of the tenth. The fourth Council of Carthage (A.D. 398) has some restrictions on dress. The clericus was not to wear long hair or beard (nec comam habeat nec barbam, can. xliv.); he was to approve his profes- sion by his dress and walk, and not to study the beauty of his dress or sandals. He might obtain his sustenance by working as an artisan or in agri- culture, provided he did not neglect his duty.— Can. li> lii. altar, veils, hangings, and priestly dresses, it provided for the wants of the poor, whom misgovernment, war, and taxation, independent of the was ap ordinary calamities of human life, phed' 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 espe- cial care. “ How many captives has the wealth of the pagan establishment releas- ed from bondage l” This is among the triumphant questions of the advocates of Christianity.* The maintenance of chil- dren 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 afterward the gratitude and superstitious fears of the people, heap- ed 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.f A certain portion of the public stores of corn and other prod- uce, which was received in kind by-the officers of the revenue, was assigned to the Church and clergy.J This was with- drawn by Julian, and, when regranted by the Christian emperors, was diminished one third. ’The law of Constantine which empow- ered the clergy of the Church to Law of Con_ receive, testamentary bequests, stantine em- and to hold land, was a gift Ecr^6the which would scarcely have been receive be- exceeded if he had granted them quests, two provinces of 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 enor- mous, that the most pious of the emperors were obliged to issue a restrictive law, * Ambros. contra Symmachum. f Euseb , H. E., x., 6. % Sozomen, H. E-, v., 5. § This is the observation of Planck. iHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 451 which the most ardent of the fathers were constrained to approve. Jerome ac- knowledges, with the bitterness of shame, the necessity of this check on ecclesiasti- Rcstrictive cal avarice.* * * * * § “ I complain not edict of Vai- of the law, but that we have de- enuman. served such a law.” The as- cetic father and the pagan historian de- scribe the pomp and avarice of the Roman clergy in the fourth century. , Ammianus, while he describes the sanguinary feud which took place for the prelacy between Pope Da- Damasus and Ursicinus,' intimates cnasus. that the magnificence of the prize may account for the obstinacy and feroci- ty with which it was contested. He dwells on the prodigal offerings of the Roman matrons to their bishop ; his pomp, when in elaborate and- elegant 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 Ro- man 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, hasredipety or legacy-hunting, and asserts that they used the holy and venerable name of the Church to extort for their own personal emolu- ment the wealth of timid or expiring dev- o ees. 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, chariot- eers, and harlots.” Large parts of the ecclesiastical reve- nues, however, arose from more honoura- ble sources. Some of the estates of the heathen temples, though in general con- fiscated to the imperial treasury, were alienated to the Christian churches. The Church of Alexandrea obtained the reve- nue of the temple of Serapis.f * Valentinian II., de Episc. Solis clericis et monachis hac lege prohibetur, et prohibetur non a persecutoribus seda principibus Christianis; nec de lege conqueror, sed doleo cur meruerimus hanc le- gem.—Hieronym. ad Nepot. He speaks also of the provida severaque legis cautio, et tamen non sic re- frsenatur avaritia. Ambrose (1. ii., adv. Syrnm.) ad- mits the necessity of the law. Augustine, while he loftily disclaims all participation in such abuses, ac- knowledges their frequency. Quicunque vult, ex- hssredato filio hseredem facere ecclesiam, quaerat alterum qui suscipiat, non Augustinum, immo, Deo propitio, inveniat neminem.—Serm., 49. f Sozomen, v., 7. The Church of Antioch pos- sessed lands, houses, rents, carriages, mules, and other kinds of property. It undertook the daily sus- tenance of 3000 widows and virgins, besides prison- ers, the sick in the hospitals, the maimed, and the diseased, who sat down, as it were, before the Chris- tian altar, and received food and raiment, besides These various estates and properties belonged to the Church in. its Application of corporate capacity, not to the the wealth of clergy. They were charged the Church< with the maintenance of the fabric of the Church, and the various charitable purpo- ses, including the sustenance of their own dependant 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.f The bishops gradually obtained almost the exclusive management of this proper- ty. In some churches a steward (oeco nomus) presided over this department, but he would, in general, be virtually under the control of the bishop. In most church- es the triple division began to be observ- ed ; 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.^ The clergy had become a separate com- munity ; they had their own laws of inter- nal government, their own special regular tions, or recognised proprieties of life and conduct. Their social delinquencies were not as yet withdrawn from the civil juris- diction ; but, besides this, they were ame- nable to the severe judgments of ecclesi- astical censure the lowest were liable to corporeal chastisement. Flagellation, many other accidental claims on their benevolence. —Chrysostom, Oper. Montfaucon, in his disserta tion, gives the references. * Cone. Carth., iii., 40. Antioch, 24. Constit. Apost.,40. Cod. Theodos., de Episc. et Clericis, t. 33. f Planck, vol. i., p. 293, 294. t By a law of Theodosius and Valens, A.D. 434, the property of any bishop, presbyter, deacon, dea- coness, subdeacon, &c., or of any monk who died intestate and without legal heirs, fell, not to the treasury, as in ordinary cases, but to the church or monastery to which he belonged. The same priv- ilege was granted to the corporation of decurions. —Codex Theodos., v. iii., 1. § Sozomen states that Constantine gave his cler- gy the privilege of rejecting the jurisdiction of the civil tribunal, and bringing their causes to the bish- op.—II. E., i., 9. But these were probably disputes between clergyman and clergyman. All others were cases of arbitration by mutual agreement; but the civil power was to ratify their decree. In a Novella of Valentinian, A.D. 452, it is expressly aid, Quotiiam constat episcopos et presbyteros fo- rum legibus non habere * * nec de aliiscausis pras- ter religionem posse cognoscere.—Compare Planck, i., p. 300. The clericus was bound to appear, if summoned by a layman, before the ordinary judge. Justinian made the change, and that only in a liixr ited manner.452 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. which was administered in the synagogue, and was so common in Roman society, was by no means so disgraceful as to ex- empt 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.* * * § As yet they were not entirely estranged Celibacy of from society; they had not be- the clergy, come a caste by the legal enforce- ment or general practice of celibacy. Clement of Alexandrea asserts and vindi- cates the marriage of some of the apos- tles.f 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 as- serted that the conjugal union was chas- tity.} But that which in the third century is asserted to be free to all mankind, cler- gy as well as laity, in Egypt,§ in the fourth, according to Jerome, was prohibited or limited by vows of continence. It has. been asserted,|| and without refutation, that there was no ecclesiastical'law or regula- tion which compelled the celibacy of the flergy for the first three centuries. Clem- ent of Alexandrea, as we see, argues against enforced celibacy from the exam- ple of the apostles. Married bishops and presbyters frequently occur in the history of Eusebius. The martyrdom of Numidi- cus was shared and not dishonoured by the companionship of his wife.^f It was a sight of joy and consolation to the husband * The decrees of the fourth council of Carthage show the strict morals and humble subordination demanded of the clergy at the close of the fourth century. f "H ml rovg ’AnoaroXovg drcodoKifid^ovai; Uerpog {jlev yap ml QiXnnrog enaidonoiriaavTo. 4>t?U7nrog be ml rag d-vyarspag avdpaciv e^edo- kev, ml bye TLavXog ova okvsl ev nvi emaToXy T7)V aVTOV TTpOCayOpEVeLV OV&yOV, 7}V OV 'KEptEKO- fu^ev bid to rrig vnrjpeaLag EVuraXeg.-—Strom., 1. 111., c. 6. On the question of the marriage of the apostles and their immediate followers, almost eve- rything is collected in a note of Cotelerius, Pat.res Apostolici, ii., 241. t Gelasii., Histor. Cone. Nic., c. xxxii. Socrat., 1., XL. Sozomen, i., 23. Baronius insists upon this being Greek fable. § Nai fi7]V ml tov rrjg piag yvvaimg dvdpa navi) anobexETai nav npeadvrepog nav bidmvog, Kg,v Xaimg, avsmXrjnTog yducp xpupwog. Sudijas- rai de did T7]g TEicvoyoviag.—Strom., iii., 12, 9. || By Bingham, book iv. Numidicus presbyter uxorem adhserentem la- teri suo, concrematam cum caeteris, vel conserva- tam potius dixerim, lsetusaspexit.—Cyprian, p. 525. See in Basnage, Dissertatio Septima, a list of mar- ried prelates. 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, introdu- ced regulations which, though intended to restrict, recognise the legality of these ties.f Highly as they exalt the angelic state of celibacy, neither Basil in the East nor Augustine in the West positively pro- hibits the marriage of the clergy.} 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 ordi- nation and for consecration to ecclesias- tical 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 vari- ous restrictions and regulations on the marriage of the clergy, which darkened at length into the solemn ecclesiastical inter- dict. First, the general sentiment repudi- ated 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.§ The next offence against the general feeling was marriage with a widow ; then follow- ed the restriction of marriage after enter- ing into holy orders; the married priest retained his wife, but to condescend to such carnal ties after ordination was re- volting to the general sentiment, and was * Cone. Gang., c. 4. Cone. Ancyr., c. 10. This law allows any deacon to marry. f In the West, the Council of Elvira commands the clergy to abstain from connubial intercourse and the procreation of children.—Can. xxxiii. This was frequently re-enacted. Among others, Cone. Carthag., v. 2. Labbe, ii., 1216. $ Basil speaks of a presbyter who had contuma ciously contracted an unlawful marriage.—Can. ii., c. 27. On Augustine, compare Theiner, p. 154. § Athenagoras laid down the general principle, 6 yap devTEpog (ya/jog) evirpEnrig eari [Loixua.—■ De Resurr. Cam. Compare Orig. confr. Cels., vii., and Horn, vi., in Num xviii., in Luc., xviii., in Matt. Tertull. ad Uxor., 1-5. This was almost a universal moral axiom. Epiphanius 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 abhor- rence of second marriages.—Morale des Peres, p. 1, 29, 34, 37, &c. The Council of Neo CaBsarea forbade clergymen to be present at a second mar- riage : TrpecrbvTspov sig ydfiovg diya/tovvTt v fii} euTidadai.—Can. vii.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 453 considered to imply- a total *w ant of feel- ing for the dignity .of their high calling. Then was generally introduced a demand of abstinence from sexual connexion from those w»;:o retained their wives : this was imperatively required from the higher or- ders 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 Gangraf condemned the followers of Eu- stathius, who refused to receive the sac- raments from any but unmarried priests. The heresy of Jovinian, on the other hand, probably called forth the severe regula- tions of Pope Siricius.J This sort of en- cyclical letter positively prohibited all clergy of the higher orders from any inter- course with their wives. A man who liv- ed 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 connexion with their wives. The enactment is perpetually repeated, and in one extended to subdea- cons.§ The Council of Toledo prohibited the promotion of ecclesiastics who had children. The Council of Arles prohibited the ordination of a married priest,|j unless he made a promise of divorce from the married state. Jerome distinctly asserts * Such is the distinct language of Jerome. Si laicus et quicunque fidelis orare non potest nisi ca- srent officio conjugali, sacerdoti, cui semper pro populo offerenda sunt sacrificia semper orandum est. Si semper orandum est, semper carendum matrimonio.—Adv. Jovin., p. 175. f 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 anathematize 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 t he kingdom of heaven. A sacred virgin is prohib- ited from vaunting over a married woman, canon x. Women are forbidden to abandon their hus- bands and children. t The letter of Siricius in Mansi, Concil. iii., 635, A.D. 385. § These councils of Carthage are dated A.D. 390, 418, and 419. |j Assumi aliquem ad sacerdotium non posse in vinculo conjugii constitutum, nisi primura ffierit promissa conversio, A.D. 452. that it was the universal regulation of the East, of Egypt, and of Rome,* § to ordain only those who were unmarried, or who ceased to be husbands. But even in the fourth and the beginning of the fifth cen- turies, the practice rebelled against this severe theory. Married clergy- Married men, even married bishops, and bishops and with children, , occur in the ec- clersy- clesiastical annals. Athanasius, in his letter to Dracontius, admits and allows the full right of the bishop to marriage.f Greg- ory of Nazianzen was born after his father was bishop, and had a younger brother named Caesarius.J Gregory of Nyssa and Hilary of Poictiers were married. Less distinguished names frequently oc- cur: those of Spyridon§ and Eustathius.|| Synesius, whose character enabled him to accept episcopacy on his own terms, positively repudiated these unnatural re- strictions 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, sol- emnly, 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 vir- tuous children. The Council of Trulla only demanded this high test of spirituality, absolute celi- bacy, from bishops, and left the inferior clergy to their freedom. But the earlier Western Council of Toledo only admitted the deacon, and that under restrictions, to connubial intercourse ; the presbyter who had children after his ordination could not be a bishop.** This overstrained demand on the virtue, not of individuals in a high state Moral conse- of enthusiasm, but of a whole quences. class of men; this strife with nature, in that which, in its irregular and lawless in- dulgence, is the source of so many evils and of so much misery, in its more moder- ate and legal form is the parent of the * Quid facient Orientis Ecclesbe ? quid iEgypti, et sedis Apostolicse, qu« aut- virgines clericos ac- cipiunt aut continentes; aut si uxores habuerint, mariti esse desistunt.—Adv. Vigilantium, p. 281. Jerome appeals to Jovinian himself: “ Certe con- fiteris non posse esse episcopum qui in episcopatu filios faciat, alioqui si deprehensus fuerit, non quasi vir tenebitur, sed quasi adulter damnabitur.—Adv. Jovin., 175. Compare Epiphanius, Ha3res., liv. 4. f Athanasii Epistola ad Dracontium. t Gregory makes his father thus address him i Ovtco -roaovrov eKfLe/xerpyicat fitov "O<70f SirjMe 'd-vaicjv kfiol xpovog. De Vita Su4, v. 512. § Sozom., i., 11. Socrat.,i., 12. J| Sacrat.,if,43. IT Synesii, Epist. 105. J ** Cone. Tolet., A.D. 400, can. i.454 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 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 humanize, 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 pro- ducing its inevitable evils. Simultaneous- ly uiie res sub- lv with the sterner condemna- introductffi. Hon of marriage, 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 mar- riage. 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” fe- males constantly proscribed.* The inti- mate 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 un- suspected name of sister, seems, from the strong and reiterated language of Jerome,f * They are mentioned in the letter of the bishops of Antioch against Paul of Sarnosata. The Coun- cil of Illiberis (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 concubinarum genus ? Plus inferam. Unde meretrices univirse ? Eadem domo, uno cubi- culo, saepe uno tenentur et lectulo. Et suspiciosos nos vocant, si aliquid existimamus. Frater sororem virginem deserit: cselibem spernit virgo germanum: fratrerh quserit- extraneum, et cum in eodem pro- posito esse se simulent quaerunt alienorum spiritale solatium, ut domi habeant carnale commercium. —Hieronym., Epist. xxii., ad Eustochium. If the vehemence of Jerome’s language betrays, his own ardent character 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. Greg- ory of Nazianzen says, "Apasva navr' a?JsLvs, nesms. j.ages 0f excommunication, are il- lustrated in the act of the celebrated Syne- sius. 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 de- gree, the opinions of a philosopher. His writings, more especially his Odes, blend, with a very scanty Christianity, the mys-, tic theology of the later Platonism ; but it is rather philosophy adopting Christian language, than Christianity moulding phi- losophy to its own uses. Yet so high was the character of Synesius, that even the worldly prelate of Alexandrea,Theophilus, approved of his elevation to the episcopate in the obscure town of Ptolemais, near Cy- rene. 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 philos- ophy and of religion. The lowborn An- dronicus was the prefect, or, rather, the scourge and tyrant of Libya; his exactions were unprecedented, and enforced by tor- tures of unusual cruelty, even in that age and country. The province groaned and bled, without hope of relief, under the hate- ful 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 condemn- ed, 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 Chris- tian temple, every sanctuary, was closed against the man of blood; the priest was not even to permit him the rights of Chris- tian burial; every private man and every magistrate was to exclude him from their houses and from their tables. If the rest of Christendom refused to ratify and exe- cute the sentence of the obscure Church of Ptolemais, 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 vio- lated ecclesiastical discipline. The ex- communication included the accomplices of his guilt, and, by a less justifiable ex- tension of power, their families. Andron- icus quailed before the interdict, which he feared might find countenance in the court of Constantinople ; bowed before the protector of the people, and acknowledged the justice of his sentence.* The salutary thunder of sacerdotal ex- communication might here and there strike some eminent delinquent ;f but ecclesias- tical 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 in- crease of votaries, which it could no long- er submit to this severe and constant su- perintendence. The clergy could not com- mand, nor the laity require, the sacred du- ty of secession and outward penance from the multitude of sinners, when they were the larger part of the community. But heresy of opinion was more easily detect- ed than heresy of conduct. Gradually, from a moral as well as a religious power, * Synesii Epistoloe, lvii., Iviii. t There is a canon of the Council of Toledo (A.D. 408), that if any man in power shall have robbedone in holy orders, or a poor man (quemlibet pauperiorem), or a monk, and the bishop shall send to demand a hearing for the cause, should the man in power treat his message with contempt, letters shall be sent to all the bishops of the province, de daring him excommunicated till he has heard thfc cause or made restitution.—Can. xi. Labbe, ii, 1225.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ? the discipline became almost SSurSlSf. exclusively religious, or, rath- ty confined er, confined itself to the specu- ueresy. ]ative, while it almost aban- doned in despair the practical, effects of religion. Heresy became the one great ^rime 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. Nor was this all: in pursuit of the here- Executed by tic, the Church was not content the st ite. to rest within her own sphere, to wield her own arms of moral tempera- ment, and to exclude from her own terri- tory. 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 re- ligious or superstitious emperor, could not forego the immediate advantage of his au- thority to further her own cause, and hail- ed his welcome intrusion on her own in- ternal 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 inex- tricable, and, to the present time, in deplo- rable confusion, the limits of the religious and the civil power. The imperial re- scripts, which made heresy a civil offence, by affixing penalties which were not pure- ly religious, trespassed as much upon the real principles of the original religious re- public as against the immutable laws of conscience and Christian charity. The tremendous laws of Theodosius,* consti- tuting heresy a capital offence, Sent for S" punishable by the civil power, ciesiasticai are said to have been enacted offences, on}y as a terror to evil believ- ers ; 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 dis- tinguished 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 dis- * See ch, ix., p. 388. tinct, and demanded an entirely different and independent system of legislation and administration of the law. The Christian hierarchy bought the privilege of persecu- tion at the price of Christian independence. It is difficult to decide whether the lan- guage of the book in the Theodosian Code, entitled “ On Heretics,” contrasts more strongly with the comprehensive, equita- ble, and parental tone of the Roman juris- prudence, or with the gentle and benevo- lent spirit of the Gospel, or even with the primary principles of the ecclesiastical community.* The emperor, of his sole and supreme authority, without any rec- ognition of ecclesiastical advice or sanc- tion; the emperor, who might himself be an Arian, or Eunomian, or Manichean, who had so recently been an Arian, de- fines heresy the very slightest deviation from Catholic verity, and in a succession of statutes inflicts civil penalties, and ex- cludes from the common rights of men the maintainors of certain opinions. No- thing treasonable, immoral, dangerous to the peace of society is alleged; the crime, the civil crime, as it now becomes, con- sists solely in opinions. The law of Con- stantine, which granted special immuni- ties to certain of his subjects, might per- haps, with some show of equity, confine those immunities to a particular class.f But the gradually darkening statutes pro- ceed from the withholding of privileges to the prohibition of their meetings,{ then through confiscation,§ the refusal of the common right of bequeathing property, fine,|| exile,*5f to capital punishment.** The latter, indeed, was enacted only against some of the more obscure sects and some of the Donatists, whose turbulent and se- ditious conduct might demand the inter- ference of the civil power ; but still they are condemned, not as rebels and insur- gents, but as heretics.ff . * Haereticorum vocabulo continentur, et latis ad- versus eos sanctionibus debent succumbere, qui vel levi argumento a judicio Catholicse religionis et tramife detecti fuerint deviare. The practice was more lenient than the law. f The first law of Constantine restricts the im- munities which he grants to Catholics.—Cod. The- odos., xvi. | The law of Gratian (IV.) confiscates the hous- es or even fields in which heretical conventicles are held. See also law of Theodosius, viii. $ Leges xi., xiii. || Ibid., xxi. IT Ibid., xviii., liii., lviii. ** The law of Theodosius enacts this, not against the general body, but some small sections of Man- icheans, “ Summo supplicio et inexpiabili poena ju- bemus aifligi,” ix. This law sanctions the ill-omen- ed name of inquisitors. Compare law xxxv. The “ interminata, poena” of law lx. is against Eunomi- ans, Arians, and Macedonians tf Ad Heraclianum, Ivi. The impehal lawsHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 461 in building up this vast and majestic objects of fabric of the hierarchy, though fendersof6" individuals might be actuated by the hierarch- personal ambition or interest, icai power. and the narrow corporate spirit might rival loftier motives in the consoli- dation of ecclesiastical power, yet the great object, which was steadily, if dimly seen, was the advancement of mankind in reli- gion, and through religion to temporal and eternal happiness. Dazzled by the glori- ous spectacle of provinces, of nations, gradually brought within the pale of Chris- tianity, the great men of the fourth century of Christianity were not and could not be endowed with prophetic sagacity to dis- cern the abuses of sacerdotal domination, and the tyranny which, long centuries af- ter, 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; we may observe the tendency of unsocial monas- ticism to quench the charities of life, to harden into cruelty, grovel into licentious- ness;, and brood over its own ignorance; we may trace the predestinarian doctrines of Augustine darkening into narrow bigot- ry or maddening to uncharitable fanati- cism ; they only contemplated, they only could contemplate,-a great moral and reli- gious power opposing civil tyranny, or at least affording a refuge from it; purifying domestic morals, elevating and softening the human heart;* * a wholesome and be- against second baptisms are still more singular in- vasions of the civil upon the ecclesiastical authori- ty, xvi., tit. vi. * The laws bear some pleasing testimonies to the activity of Christian benevolence in many of the ob- scure scenes of human wretchedness. See the hu- mane law regarding prisoners, that they might have proper food, and the use of the bath. Nee deerit antistitum Christiana? religionis cura laudabilis, qua? ad observationem -constituti judicis hanc ingerat monitionem. The Christian bishop was to take care that the judge did his duty.—Cod. Theodos., ix., 3, 7, As early as the reign of Valentinian and Valens, prisoners were released at Easter (ob diem paschae, quem intimo corde celebramus), excepting those committed for the crimes of treason', magic, adulte- ry, rape, or homicide, ix., 36, 3, 4. These statutes were constantly renewed, with the addition of some more excepted crimes, sacrilege, robbery of tombs, and coining. There is a very singular law of Arcadius prohib- iting the clergy and the monks from interfering with the execution of the laws, and forcibly taking away condemned criminals from the hands of justice. They were allowed, at the same time, the amplest privilege of merciful intercession. This was con- nected with the privilege of asylum.—Codex Theo- dos., ix., 40, 16. There is another singular law.by which corporeal punishments were not to be administered in Lent, nevolent force compelling men by legiti- mate means to seek wisdom, virtue, and salvation; the better part of mankind with- drawing, in holy prudence and wise timid- ity, from the corruptions of a foul and cruel age, and devoting itself to its own self-ad- vancement, to the highest spiritual per- fection; 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 enter- tain of the beneficent influences of Chris- tianity 1 We cannot wonder at the growth ol the ecclesiastical power, if the Dignity and Chqrch were merely considered advantage of as a new sphere in which human gtatJCQ®rical genius, virtue, and benevolence statlon* might develop their unimpeded energies, and rise above the general debasement. This was almost the only way in which any man could devote great abilities or generous activity to a useful purpose with reasonable hopes of success. The civil offices were occupied by favour and in- trigue, 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 honour- able distinction, as an honest advocate or an independent jurist; literature was worn out; rhetoric had degenerated into techni- cal 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, in- dependence, fame, even wealth, and the opportunity of serving mankind. The pul- pit 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 useful- ness of an active life, this was the only sphere for the man of conscious mental strength; and if he felt the inward satis- faction that he was either securing his own or advancing the salvation of others, the lofty mind 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, except against the Isaurian robbers, who were tob€ dealt with without delay, ix., 35, 5, 6, 7462 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. General in- in its complete and vigorous or- fluenceof ganization, it is clear that the re- tire clergy. |jgjon cou|c[ not have subsisted throughout these ages of disaster and con- fusion) is to imagine, if possible, the state of things without that influence. A tyran- ny the most oppressive and debasing, with- out any principles of free or hopeful re- sistance, or resistance only attainable by the complete dismemberment of the Ro- man empire, and its severance into a num- ber of hostile states ; the general morals at the lowest state of depravation, with nothing but a religion totally without in- fluence, and a philosophy without author- ity, to correct its growing cruelty and li- centiousness ; a very large portion of man- kind 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 com- plete wreck of civilization, with no com- manding* influence to assimilate the ad- verse races.; without the protection or con- servative tendency of any religious feeling to soften, at length to reorganize 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 bar- barous tribes without a guardian or sacred depositary, it is difficult adequately to darken the picture of ignorance, violence, confusion, and wretchedness ; but without this adequate conception of the probable state of the world without it, it is impos- sible to judge with fairness or candour the obligations of Europe and of civilization to the Christian hierarchy.* CHAPTER II. PUBLIC SPECTACLES. The Greek and Roman inhabitants of Public the empire were attached with spectacles, equal intensity to their favourite spectacles, whether of more solemn reli- gious origin, or of lighter and more festive kind. These amusements are perhaps more congenial to the southern character, from the greater excitability of tempera- ment, the less variable climate, which rarely interferes with enjoyment in the open air, and throughout the Roman world had long been fostered by those repub- lican institutions which gave to every citizen a place and an interest in all pub- lic ceremonials, and which, in this respect, still survived the institutions themselves. The population of the great capitals had preserved only the dangerous and per- nicious part of freedom, the power of sub- sisting either without regular industry or with but moderate exertion. The per- petual distribution of com, and the various largesses at other times, emancipated them in a great degree from the whole- some 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 diver- sions ; and the invention, the wealth, and the personal exertions of the higher orders were taxed to gratify this insatiable appe- tite. Policy demanded that which am- bition 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 mu- nificence. The more retired and domestic habits of Christianity might in some de- gree seclude a sect from the public diver- sions, 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 excite- ment for that which it peremptorily pro- hibited, and reluctantly to acquiesce in that which it was unable to suppress. Christianity had cut off that part of the public spectacles which belonged exclu- sively to paganism. Even if all the tem- ples at Rome were not, as Jerome asserts, covered with dust and cobwebs,! yet, not- withstanding the desperate efforts of the old aristocracy, the .tide of popular inter- est, no doubt, set away from the deserted and mouldering fanes of the heathen dei- ties, and towards the churches of the * [Compare Guizot’s History of Civilization in Europe, Lecture v., vi, p. 113-166, ed. New-York, 1838.J f Fuligine et aranearum telis omnia Romaa tem- pla ocoperta sunt: inundans populus ante delubra semiruta, currit ad martyrum tumulos.—Epist lvii p. 590.46.3 HTSTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 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 regularity. On the other hand, the modest and unim- posing ritual of Christianity naturally, and almost necessarily, expanded into pomp and dignity. To the deep devotion of the early Christians the place and circum- stances of worship were indifferent: piety finds everywhere its own temple. In the low and unfurnished chamber, in the for- est, in the desert, in the catacomb, the Christian adored his Redeemer, prayed, chanted his hymn, and partook of the sa- cred elements. Devotion wanted no ac- cessories ; faith needed no subsidiary ex- citement ; 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 spread throughout a small community. But among the more numerous and hereditary Christians of this period, the temple and the solemn service were in- dispensable to enforce and maintain the devotion. Religion was not strong enough to disdain, and far too earnest to decline, any legitimate means of advancing her Religious cause. The whole ceremonial 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 peo- ple 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 multiply- ing votaries. Christianity disdained 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 appella- tions 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.! The minister- ing functionaries multiplied with the vari- ety of the ceremonial; each was conse- crated to his office by a lower kind of or- dination ; but a host of subordinate attend- * Ambrose and Lactantius, and even Irenoeus, use this term.—See Bingham, b. viii., 1, 4. t The (pp'iKTT], or the avainaicros Sva'ia. ants by degrees swelled the officiating train. The incense, the garlands, the lamps, all were 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 it- self the great mystery, unfolded gradual- ly, and, in general, after a long and search- ing probation. It still reserved the pow- er of. opening at once its gates to the more distinguished proselytes, and of jealously and tardily unclosing them to more doubt- ful neophytes. It permitted its sanctuary, as it were, to be stormed at once by em- inent virtue and unquestioned zeal; but the 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 dis- pensed 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 fever- ish 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 ex- citement. It retained, indeed, much of the dramatic power, though under another form. The divisions between the different or- ders of worshippers, enforced by Divisions of the sacerdotal authority, and ob- the Church- served w7ith humble submission by the people, could not but impress the mind with astonishment and awe. The stran- ger, on entering the spacious open court which was laid out before the more splen- did churches, with porticoes 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. Lin- gering in these porticoes, or approaching timidly the threshold which they dared not pass, or, at the farthest, entering only into the first porch or vestibule,! and * Tt is one of the bitterest charges of Tertullian against the heretics, that they did not keep up this distinction between the catechumens and the faith- ful. “ Imprimis quis catechumenus, quis fidelis, ircertumest: pariter adeunt, pariterorant.” Even the heathen were admitted; thus “pearls were erst before swine.”—De Prsescript. Hseret., c. 41. t There is much difficulty and confusion re- specting these divisions of the . Church The factHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 4t>4 pressing around the disciples to solicit their prayers, he would observe The Porch. men pa]e? Ejected, clad in sack- cloth, oppressed with the profound con- sciousness of their guilt, acquiescing in the justice of the ecclesiastical censure, which altogether excluded them from the Christian community. These were the The pea- first class of penitents, men of itents. notorious guilt, whom only a long period of this humiliating probation could admit even within the hearing of the sa- cred 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.* * He found himself in the first division of the main body of the church, of The narthex. the walls were lined by various marbles, the roof often ceiled with mosaic, and supported by lofty columns probably is, that, according to the period or the local circumstances, the structure and the arrange- ment were more or less complicated. Tertullian says distinctly, “ non modo limine verum omni ec- clesise tecto submovemus.” Where the churches were of a simpler form, and had no roofed narthex or vestibule, these penitents stood in the open court before the church ; even later, the flentes and the hiemantes formed a particular class. A canon of St. Gregory Thaumaturgus gives the clearest view of these arrangements : 'H rcpoa- kXclvolq tfw rfjg nvlyg rov evuryptov ecn-lv, evda eartira rov dpaprdvovra xpV eiacovrov SeZa- 6 at ttl&tuv VTrep avrov evx^adar y a/cpoacug gvdodc rfjg nv’kyg ev rC) vdpdyKt, evda eardvac XPV rov ypapryicora, £og rCbv Karyxovpevo)v, Kal ev- revdev e^epxsadar dnovov yap (j>yal ribv ypatytiv Kal rfjg didacnaXiag, eK&aTieodto, Kal py d^iovadu) irpoaevxvC' V Je vTTOTrroaig, Iva ecrodev rfjg izvTtyg rov vaov lardpevog, perd tojv Karyxovpevov e£- epxrirai' y avaraaig, Iva ovvtatarai rolg ruaroZg Kal py e%epxyraL perd rtiv Karyxovpevcov’ re/L- evraZov y pede^tg rtiv dytaapdrcdv.—Ap. Labbe, Cone, i., p. 842. * This part of the church was usually called the narthex. But this term, I believe, of the sixth century, was not used with great precision, or ra- ther, perhaps, was applied to different parts of the church, according to their greater .or less complex- ity of structure. It is sometimes used for the porch or vestibule; in this sense there were sev- eral nartheces (St. Sophia had four). Mamachi (vol. i., p. 216) insists that it was divided from the nave by a wall. But this cannot mean the narthex into which the aKpowyevoi were admitted, as the ob- ject of their admission was that they might hear the service. Episcopus nullum prohibeat intrare ecclesiam, et audire verbum Dei, sive hsereticum, sive Judae- um usque ad missam catechumenorum.--Concil. Oarthag., iv., c. 84. with gilded capitals; the doors were Mis- laid with ivory or silver; the distant altar glittered with precious stones.* In the midst of the nave stood the pulpit or read- ing-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 it- self 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 por tions or extracts from the sacred volumes in which God himself spoke to the awe- struck auditory. He . was succeeded b} an orator of a higher dignity, a presbyte? or a bishop, who sometimes addressed the people from the steps which led up to the chancel, sometimes chose the more con- venient and elevated position of The the ambo.f He was a man usually of the highest attainments and eloquence, and instead of the frivolous and subtle questions which the pagan was accustomed to hear in the schools of rhet- oric or philosophy, he fearlessly agitated and peremptorily decided on such eternal- ly 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 dead- en 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 un- controllable acclamations, which frequent- ly interrupted the more moving preach- ers. Around the pulpit was the last or- der of penitents, who prostrated them- selves in humble homage during the pray- ers and the benediction of the bishop. Here the steps of the profane stranger must pause ; an insuperable barrier, which he could not pass without violence, se * Alii aedificent ecclesias, vestiant parietes mar- morum crustis, columnarum moles advehant, ea- rumque deaurent capita, pretiosum ornatum non sentientia, ebore argentoque valvas, et gemmis dis- tinguant altaria. Non reprehendo, non abnuo.— Hieronym., Epi.st. viii., ad Demetriad. f Chrysostom generally preached from the ambo. —Socr., vi., 5. Sozomen, viii., 5. Both usages prevailed in the West. Seu te conspicuis gradibus venerabilis arse Concionaturum plebs sedula circumsistat. Sid. Apollon., can. xvi. Fronte sub ad versa gradibus sublime tribunal Tollitur, antistes praedicat unde Deum. Prudent., Hymn, ad HippolytHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 465 ciuded 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 the baptized worshippers in their order, the females in general in galleries above (the virgins separate from the ma- trons). Beyond, in still farther secluded sanctity, on an elevated semicircle around the bishop, sat the clergy, attended by the subdeacons, acoly ths, 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 sus- pended a richly-wrought canopy (the ci- borium): 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 per- secutions, 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 embroider- ed 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 cere- monial, as it addressed the mass of mau- kind. 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 Christianity from caution. The religious assemblies were, Secrecy of the strictly speaking, unlawful, and sacraments, they were shrouded in secrecy, lest they should be disturbed by the in- 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 be- came 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 pro- * Tot hostesejus, quot extranei * * quotidte obsidemo.r, quotidife prodimur, in ipsis plurimiim ccetibus et congregationibus opprimimur.—Tertull., Apologet., 7. 3 N fane curiosity no longer dared to take hostile character, it was repelled from the sacred ceremony. Of the mingled multi- tude, Jews and heathens, the incipient be- lievers, 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 Christianity, that rites in themselves so simple, and 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 them- selves, unappalling ceremonies. The mys- teriousness was no doubt fed and height- ened 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 baptis- tery 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 bap- tized ; but it was because the minds of the unbaptized were sealed by trembling rev- erence, and shuddered to anticipate the forbidden knowledge. The hearers had a vague knowledge of these mysteries float- ing around them, the initiate heard it with- in»f To add to the impressiveness, night * This was the avowed object of the clergy. Catechumenis sacramenta fideliurn non produntur, non ideo fit, quod ea ferre non possunt, sed ut ab eis tanto ardentius concupiscantur, quanto honora- bilius occultantur.—August, in Johan.. 96. Mor- talium generi natura datum est, ut abstrusa fortius quserat, ut negata magis ambiat, ut tardius adepta plus diligat, et eo flagrantius ametur. veritas, quo vel diutius desideratur, vel laboriosius quaaritur, vel tardius invenitur.—Claudius Mamert., quoted by Casaubon in Baron , p. 497. f The inimitable pregnancy of the Greek lan- guage expresses this by two verbs differently com pounded. Cyril of Jerusalem, in his Procatechesis, states the Catechumens irepirjxtiodai, the Faithful ivijxetoQai, by the meaning of the mysteries.466 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. was sometimes spread over the Christian as over the pagan mysteries.* * * § ** * At Easter and at Pentecost,! and in Baptism some places at the Epiphany, the right 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 cere- mony without delay, or where the timid Christian put it off till the close of life ;J 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 lus- tration of the soul. The neophyte emer- ged from the waters of baptism in a state of perfect innocence. The Dove (the Ho- ly 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 sub- sequent 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 spotless purity,|| the candidate approached the bap- tistery, in the larger churches a separate building. There he uttered the solemn vows which pledged him to his religion. The symbolizing genius of the East added some significant ceremonies. The cate- chumen turned to the West, the realm of Satan, and thrice renounced his power; he turned to the East to adore the Sun of Righteousness,** and to proclaim his com- * Noctu ritus multi in mysteriis pergebantur; noctu etiam initiatio Christianorum inchoabatur.— ..Casaubon, p. 490, with the quotations subjoined. t At Constantinople, it appears from Chrysos- tom, baptism did not take place at Pentecost.— Montfaucon, Diatribe, p. 179. t The memorable example of Constantine may for a time not only have illustrated, hut likewise con- firmed, the practice — See Gibbon’s note (vol. i., p. 423, 424), and the author’s observations. § Gregory of Nazianzen almost exhausts the co- piousness of the Greek language in speaking of bap- tism: dtopov icaTiovfiev,xapia^a, [3a7rTi(jfia, ^ptcrgo:, 0(5TLG[j.a, atydapaiac ttvdvpLa, ?>ovrpov -Kakiyy^vz- mcic;, acppaylda, ttuv art rifuov.—Orat. xl., de Bap- tism. Almost all the fathers of this age, Basil, the two Gregories, Ambrose (de Sacram.), Augustine, have treatises on baptism, and vie, as it were, with each other in their praises of its importance and efficacy. H Unde parens sacro ducit de fonte sacerdos Infantes niveos corpore, corde, habitu. Paulin, ad Sever. 5T Chrysostom in two places gives the Eastern profession of faith, which was extremely simple : “ I renounce Satan, his pomp and worship, and am united to Christ. I believe in the resurrection of the dead.”—See references in Montfaucon, ubi supra. ** Cyril, Cat. My stag. Hieron. in Amos,vi., 14. pact 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 emble- matic of “ putting off the old manbut. baptism by sprinkling was allowed, ac- cording 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 trans- mutation of its colour.* The sacrament of the Lord’s Supper im- perceptibly acquired the solemni- Euchar:sf ty, the appellation of a sacrifice. ' The poetry of devotional language kindled into the most vivid and realizing expres- sions 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 disci- ples. 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 con- centrated, 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 be- gan to be asserted ; that which the earlier fathers, in their boldest figure, called a bloodless sacrifice, became an actual obla- tion of the body and blood of Christ. But all these fine and subtile distinctions be- long to a later theology. In the dim vague- ness, in the ineffable and inexplicable mys- tery, 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.f In Alexandrea, where the imitation or rivalry of the am cient mysteries, in that seat of the Platon- ic learning, was most likely to prevail, the catechetical school of Origen attempted to form the simpler truths of the Gospel into * Unde rubet baptismus Christi, nisi Christi sanguine consecratur.—August., Tract, in Johan. Compare Bingham, xi., 10, 4. f Quid est quod occultum est et non publicum in ecclesili, sacramentum baptismi, sacramentum Eu- charistise. Opera nostra bona vident et pagani, sacramenta vero occuitantnr illis — Augustine ir Psalm 103. Ordination appears to have been a se- cret rite.—Casaubon, p. 495. Compare this treatise of Casaubon, the xivth of his Exercitationes Anti- Baronianse, which in general is profound and judi- ciousHISTORY QF CHRISTIANITY. 467 a regular and progressive system of devel- opment.* The works of Clement of Al- exandra 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 pro- fane, which the popular tumults, the con- flicts between the Arians and Athanasians of the lowest orders in the streets of Con- stantinople and Alexandrea, show to have been by no means successful. The apoc- alyptic hymn, the Trisagion, makes apart, indeed, of all the older liturgies, which be- long to the end of the third or beginning of the fourth century. Even the simple prayer of our Lord, which might seem ap- propriate to universal man, and so intend- ed by the Saviour himself, was consider- ed too holy to be uttered by unbaptized lips. It was said that none but the bap- tized could properly address the Almighty as his Father.f That care which Christianity had as- Christian sumed over the whole life of man, iunerais. it did not abandon after 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 feel- ings, was still more profoundly sanctified by the doctrines and usages of Christian- ity. The practice of inhumation which prevailed in Egypt and Syria, and in other parts of the East, w^as gradually extended over the whole Western world by Christi- anity. J The funeral pyre went out of use, * Upon this ground rests the famous Disciplina Arcani, that esoteric doctrine within which lurked everything which later ages thought proper to dig- nify by the name of the traditions of the Church. This theory was first fully developed by Schelstrate, “ De Disciplina Arcani,” and is very clearly stated in Pagi, sub Ann., 118. It rests chiefly on a pas- sage of Origen (contra Cels.,i., 7), who, after as- serting the publicity of the main doctrines of Chris- tianity, the incarnation, passion, and resurrection of Christ, and the general resurrection to judgment, admits that Christianity, like philosophy,* had some secret and esoteric doctrines. Pagi argues that, as the Trinity was not among the public, it must have been among the esoteric tenets. t Bingham, i., 4, 7, and x., 5, 9. f Nec, ut creditis, ullum damnum sepulture time- mus, sed veterem et meliorem consuetudinern hu- mandi frequentamus. The speaker goes on, in very elegant language, to adduce the analogy of the death and the cemeteries, which from the earli- est period belonged to the Christians, were gradually enlarged for the general recep- tion, not of the ashes only in their urns, but for the entire remains of the dead. The Eastern practice of embalming was so general,* that Tertullian boasts that the Christians consumed more of the mer- chandise of Sabaea in their interments than the heathens in the fumigations be- fore the altars of their gods.f The gen- eral 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 enclosure, 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.J Gradually the cemetery was, in some places, closely connected with the church. Where the rigid inter- dict against burying within the walls of cities was either inapplicable or not en- forced, the open court before the church becafne the place of burial.^ Christian funerals began early in their period of security and opulence to be cel- ebrated with great magnificence. Jerome compares the funeral procession of Fabi- ola to the triumphs of Camillus, Scipio, or and revival of nature : Expectandum etiam nobis corporis ver est.—Minuc. Fel., edit. Ouzel, p. 327. During the time of the plague in Alexandrea and Carthage, the Christians not only buried their own dead, but likewise those of the pagans—Dion. Alex, apud Euseb., Hist., vii., 22. Pontius, in Vita Cyp- riani. Compare a curious essay in the Vermischte Schriften of Bdttiger, iii., 14: Verbrennen oder Beerdigen. Titulumque et frigida saxa Liquido spargemus odore. Prudent., Hym. de Exeq. Martyris hi tumulum studeant. perfundere nardo Et medicata pio referant unguenta sepulcro. Paul. Nol. in Nat. C. Fel f Apologet, c. 42. Boldetti affirms that these odours were plainly perceptible on opening some of the Christian cemeteries at Rome.—See Mama- chi, Costumi dei Christiani, iii., p. 83. The judge in the acts of Tarachus (Ruinart, p. 385) says, “ you expect that your women will bury your body with ointments and spices.” Hinc maxima cura sepulcris Impenditur, hinc resolutos Honor ultimus accipit artus Et funeris ambitus ornat. Quid nam tibi saxa cavata, Quid pulchra volunt monumental Res quod nisi creditur illis Non mortua, sed data somno. Prudent, in Exeq Defunct. § There is a law of Gratian, Valentinian, and Theodosius, forbidding burial, or the deposition of urns (which shows that cremation was still com- mon), within the walls of Constantinople, even within the cemeteries of th© apostles or martyrs,'— Cod. Theod., ix., 17, 6.463 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Pompey. The character of this female, who founded the first hospital in Rome, and lavished a splendid fortune in alms- giving, may have mainly contributed to the strong interest excited by her inter- ment. All Rome was poured forth. The streets, the windows, the tops of houses, were crowded with spectators. Proces- sions of youths and of old men preceded the bier, chanting the praises of the de- ceased. As it passed, the churches were crowded, and psalms were sung, and their golden roofs rang with the sublime Al- leluia. The doctrine of the resurrection of the Worship Of body deepened the common and the martyrs, natural feeling of respect for the remains of the dead :* the worship of the * In one of the very .curious essays of M. Raoul Rochette, Memoires de l’Academie, he has illus- trated the extraordinary care with which the hea- then 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 grossi&re sans doute de Pim- mortalite de Tame, mais il s’y trouvait aussi la preuve sensible et palpable de cet instinct de l’hom- me, qui repugne a l’idee de la destruction de son 3tre, et qui y resiste de toutes les forces de son in- telligence et de toutes les erreurs m&me de la rai- son,” p. 689. But it is a more remarkable fact that the Christians long adhered to the same usages, notwithstanding the purer and loftier notions of another life bestowed by their religion. “ La pre- miere observation qui s’offre a Boldetti luim4me et qui devra frapper tous les esprits, c’est qu’en deco- rant les tombeaux de leurs freres de tant d’objets de pur ornament, ou d’usage reel, les Chretiens n’avaient pu £tre diriges que par ce motif d’espe- rance qui leur faisait considerer le tombeau comme un lieu de passage, d’ou ils devaient sortir avec toutes les conditions de Pimmortalite, et la mort, comme un sommeil pa.isible, au sein duquel il ne pouvait leuretre indifferent de se trouver environ- nes des objets qui leur avaient ete chers durant la vie ou de Pimage de ces objets,” tom. xiii., p. 692. The heathen practice of burying money, some- times large sums, with the dead, was the cause of the very severe laws against the violations of the tombs. In fact, these treasures were so great as to be a source of revenue, which the government was unwilling to share with unlicensed plunderers Et si aurum, ut dicitur, vel argentum fuerit tua in- dagatione detectum, compendio publico fideliter vindicabis, ita tamen ut abstineatis acineribus mor- tuorum. iEdificia tegant cineres, columnse vel marmora ornent sepulcra : talenta non teneant, qui commercia virorum reliquerunt. Aurum enim just^ sepulcro detrahitur, ubi dotninus non habetur; imo culpse genus est inutiliter abdita relinquere mortu- orum, unde se vita potest sustentare viventium. Such are the instructions of the minister of The- odoric.—Cassiod., Var., iv., 34. But it is still more strange, that the Christians continued this practice, particularly of the piece of money in the mouth, which the heathen intended for the payment of Charon. It continued to the time of Thomas Aquinas, who, according to M; R. Rochette, wrote against it. relics of saints and martyrs still farthe* contributed to the same effect. If the splendid but occasional ceremony of the apotheosis of the deceased emperor wac exploded, a ceremony which, lavished as it frequently had been on the worst and ba- sest 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 Chris- tians 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 re- ligion of Christ had grown np out of the best feelings of man’s improved nature. Reverence gradually grew into venera- tion, worship, adoration. Although the more rigid theology maintained a marked distinction between the honours shown to the martyrs and that addressed to the Re- deemer and the Supreme Being, the line was too fine and invisible not to. be trans- gressed by excited popular feeling. The heathen writers constantly taunt the Chris- tians with the substitution of the new idol- atry for the old. The charge of worship- ping dead men’s bones and the remains ol 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 avowedly instituted, or at Festivals least conducted on a sumptuous scale, in rivalry of the banquets which form- ed so important and attractive a part of the pagan ceremonial.f Besides the earliest agapse, which gave place to the more sol- * Quis enim ferat Jovi fulmina vibranti prseferri Mygdonem ; Junoni, Minervae, Veneri, Vestaeque Sanaem, et cunctis (pro nefas) Diis immortalibua archimartyrem nymphanionem, inter quos Lucitas haud minore cultu suscipitur atque alii intermina* to nomero; Diisqne hominibusque odiosa nomina. —See Augustin., Epist. xvi., p. 20. f Cum facta pace, turbae Gentilium in Christia- num nomen venire cupientes, hoc impedirentur, quod dies festos cum idolis suis solerent in aburi- dantia epularum et ebrietate consumere, nec facile ab his perniciosissinfis et tarn vetustissimis voluptat.- ibus se possent abstinere, visum fuisse majoribus nostris, ut huic infirmitatis parti interim parc.ere- t.ur, diesque festos, post eos, quos relinquebant, ali- os in honorem sanctorum martyrum vel non simib sacrilegio, quamvis siinili luxu celebrarentur —Au gustin., Epist. xxix., p. 52.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 469 emn Eucharist, there were other kinds of banquets, at marriages and funerals, called likewise agapae;* * * * § but those of the mar- tyrs 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 mar- tyrs extended to the whole Christian com- munity, and united all in one bond of pi- ety. They belonged, by a new tie of spir- itual 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 fes- tivals of the Church.f At their sepul- chres,! or5 more frequently, as the public worship became more costly, in stately churches erected either over their sepul- chres or in some more convenient situa- tion, but dedicated to their honour, these holy days commenced with the most im- pressive 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 read$ (the legends which grew up intc> so fertile a subject for Chris- tian mythic* fable); panegyrical orations were delivered 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 costty festivals ; the banquet was almost an integral part of the heathen religious ceremony. The cus- tom passed into the Church; and with the pagan feeling, the festival assumed a pagan * Gregory Nazianzen mentions the three kinds. Oi)S’ lepqv km Sacra yevkdhcov, i]k -d-avovrog, TCvavvfKpcdc'qv crvv rcheoveaac -dsov.—Carm. x. f TeveSTua, natalitia. This custom was as ear- ly as the time of Polycarp The day of his martyr- dom was celebrated by the Church of Antioch.— Euseb., lib. iv., 15. Campare Suicer, in voce yevkOTuov. Tertullian instances the offerings for She dead, and the annual celebration of the birthdays of the martvrs, as of apostolic tradition. Oblatio- nes pro defunctis, in natalibus annua die facimus. —De Coron. Mil., c. 2. Campare Exhortat.. ad Cast., c. 11. In the treatise de Monogamia. he con- siders it among the sacred duties of a faithful wid- ow, offer!; annuls diebus dormitionis ejus. X At Antioch, the remains of St. Juventinus and St. Maximinus were placed in a sumptuous tomb, and honoured with an annuakfestival.—Theodoret, E. H., iii , 15. The author of the Acts of Ignatius wrote them, in part that the day of his martyrdom might be duly honoured.—Act. Martyr. Ign. apud Cotelerium, vol. ti., p 161. Compare Acta St. Polycarpi. || There is a law of Theodosius the Great against selling the bodies of martyrs.--Cod.Theod , ix., 17,7. character of gayety and joyous excitement, and even of luxury.* In some places, the confluence of worshippers was so great that, as in the earlier and indeed the more modern religions of Asia, the neighbour- hood of the more celebrated churches of the martyrs became marts for commerce, and fairs were established on those holy- days.f As the evening drew in, the solemn and religious thoughts gave way to other emo- tions ; 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 ex- hibited,! 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 neigh- bourhood. The bishops had for some time sanc- tioned these pious hilarities with their presence ; they had freely partaken of the banquets, and their attendants were accu- sed of plundering the remains of the feast, which ought to have been preserved for the use of the poor.§ * Lipsius considered these agapas derived from the siiicernium of the ancients.—Ad Tac., Ann., vi., 5. Quod ilia parentalia superstitioni Gentiliurn es- sent similia. Such is the observation of Ambrose apud Augustin.—Conf., vi., 2. Boldetti, a good. Roman Catholic and most learned antiquarian, ob- serves on this and other usages adopted from pagan- ism, Fu ancb6 sentimento de’prelati di chiesa di condescendere con cio alia debelozza de’ convertiti dal Gentilesimo, per istaccarii piii soavemente dell*. antichi superstizioni, non levando loro affetto ma bensi convertendo in buoni i lorodivertimenti.—Os- servazioni, p. 46. Compare Marangoni’s work “dei Cose Gentilesche.” t Already had the Montanist asceticism of Ter- tullian taken alarm at the abuse of the earlier festi- val, which had likewise degenerated from its pious use, and with his accustomed vehemence denounces the abuse of the agapas among the Catholics. Apud *» te agape in sasculis fervet, tides in culinis calet, spes in ferculis jacet. Sed major his est agape, quia per hanc adolescentes tui cum sororibus dor- miunt, appendices scilicet guise, lascivia atque lux- uria est.—De Jejun., c. xvii. There are many paintings in the catacombs rep- resenting agapae.—Raoul Rachette, Mem. des In- scrip., p. 141. The author attributes to the agapse .held in the cemeteries many of the cups, glasses, &c., found in the catacombs. t Bottiger, in his prolusion on the four ages of the drama (Opera Lat., p. 326), supposed, from a passage of §t. Augustine, that there were scenic representations of the deaths of martyrs. Muller justly observes that the passage does not bear out this inference ; and Augustine would scarcely have used such expressions unless of dances or mimes of less decent kind. Sanctum locum invaserat pesti- lentia et pelulantia saltationis ; per totarn noctem cantabantur nefaria, et cant antibus saltabatur.—Au- gust. in Natal. Cyprian., p. 311. § See the poem of Greg. Naz , de Div. Yit Gen-470 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. : But the scandals which inevitably arose out of these paganized solemnities awoke the slumbering vigilance of the more seri- ous prelates. The meetings were gradu- ally suppressed: they are denounced, with the strongest condemnation of the luxury and license with which they were celebra- ted in the Church of Antioch, by Gregory of Nazianzum* and by Chrysostom. They were authoritatively condemned by a can- on of the Council of Laodicea.f In the West, they were generally held in Rome and in other Italian cities till a later period. The authority of Ambrose had discounte- nanced, if not entirely abolished, them in his diocese of Milan.J 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, wher- ever they had been known, they had been suppressed by common consent. But Af- rica did not surrender them without a strug- gle. The Manichean Faustus, in the as- cetic spirit of his sect, taunts the orthodox with their idolatrous festivals. “ You have but substituted your agape for the sacri- fices 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 meat-offerings.” The answer of Augus- tine indignantly repels the charge of idol- atry, and fakes refuge in the subtile dis- tinction in the nature of the worship offer- ed 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 finally triumph- ed in their conflict. We adore God alone; we offer sacrifice to no mart}^?, or to the soul of any saint or to any angel. * * Those who intoxicate themselves by the sepiilchres 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 er. Jerome admits the gross evils which took place during these feasts, but ascribes them to the irreg- ularities of a youthful people, which ought not to raise a prejudice against the religion, or even against the usage. The bishops were sometimes called vsKpodopoL, feasters on the dead. * Oarm. ccxviii., ccxix., and Oratio vi. Chrysos- tom, Horn. in. S. M. Julian, t Cone. Harduin, t. i, p. 786. . i Ambros., de Jejun., c. xvii. Augustin., Confes- siones, vi., 2. See likewise Augustin., Epist. xxii., p. 28. thus indulge in drunkenness and the infirm*- ity of weak is another.”* So completely, however, had they grow*, 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 con- demnation against these inveterate usages, to which the people adhered with such strong attachment. That of Car- thage prohibited the attendance of A' ‘ the clergy, and exhorted them to persuade the people, as far as possible, to abstain from these festivals; that of Orleans condemns the singing, dancing, or A' ‘533‘ dissolute behaviour in churches; that of Agde (Sens) condemns secular music, the singing of women, and ' ’ 5‘ ' banquets, in that place of which ‘k it is written that it is a house of prayer final- ly, 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 sen- tence of excommunication. But, notwithstanding all its efforts to divert and preoccupy the mind profane by these graver, or, at least, pri- spectacles, marily religious spectacles, the passion for theatrical amusements was too strong to be repressed by Christianity. It suc- ceeded in some humane improvements, but in some parts it was obliged to yield to the ungovernable torrent. The popu lace of an empire threatened on all sides by dangerous enemies, oppressed by a remorseless tyranny, notwithstanding the remonstrances of a new and dominant re- ligion, imperiously demanded, and reck- lessly enjoyed, their accustomed diver- sions.! In some places, that which had * Cont. Faust., lib. xx, c. xxi. One of the po- ems of St. Paulinus of Nola describes the general concourse to these festivals, and the riots which arose out of them. Et nunc ecce frequentes Per totam et vigiles extendunt gaudia noctem, Laetitia somnos, tenebras funalibus arcent. Verum utinam sanis agerent haec gaudia votis, Nec sua liminibus miscerent gaudia sanctis. * * ignoscenda tamen puto talia parcis Gaudia qua? ducant epulis, quia mentibus error Irrepit rudibus, nec tantse conscia culpce Simplicitas pietate cadit, male credula sanctos Perfusis halante mero gaudere sepulcris. Carmenix. in St. Felicem Martyrem. f In the fifth century, Treves, four times deso- lated by the barbarians, no sooner recovered its free- dom than it petitioned for the games of the circus. Ubique facies captseurbis, ubique terror captivitatis, ubique imago mortis, jacent reliquiae infelic'ssima plebis super tumulos mortuorum suorum, et tw cir*HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 471 oeen a delight became a madness; and it i was a Christian city which first displayed j 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 tragedy, nor even the fine comedy of man- ners, 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 like- ly to be injurious to Christian morals. These, indeed, were not, as we shall show hereafter, entirely obsolete, but compara- tively rare and unattractive. The heathen calendar still regulated the Heathen amusements of the people.* Near- caiendar. ly ioo days in the year were set apart as festivals; the commencement of every month was dedicated to the public diversions. Besides these, there were ex- traordinary 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, pro- cessions always took place, which ended in the exhibition of games.f The dedica- tion of statues to the emperors by differ- ent cities, great victories, and other im- portant events, were always celebrated with games. The Christians obtained a law from Theodosius, that 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 holy- days. 'They urged that many members of the corporate bodies were obliged offi- cially to attend on these occasions, and prevented from fulfilling their religious censes rogas. Compare the whole passage, Sal- vian, de Gub. Dei, vi. * The ordinary calendar of holydays, on which the courts of law did not sit, at the close of the fourth century, are given by Godefroy (note on the Ood. Theodos., lib ii., viii., 11); Ferias aestivae (harvest) . . XXX. Ferise autumnales (vintage) . . XXX. Kalends Januarii . . iii. Natalitia urbis Romae . i. “ urbis Constantin. i. Paschae XV. Dies Solis/ circiter . xli. Natalitia Imperatorum . . iv. exxv. Christmas-day, Epiphany, and Pentecost were not, as yet, general holydays. f The Constantinian Calendar (Graevii, Thesaur., viii.) reckons ninety-six days for the games, of which but few were peculiar to Rome.—Muller, ii., p. 49. * The other Sundays were comprised in the summer, autumnal, and Easter holydays. duties. The law of Theodosius the Eldei 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 then ires should be closed, not only to the Chris- tians, but to the impious Jews and super- stitious pagans.f But, notwithstanding this law, which must have been imper- fectly carried into execution, the indignant preachers still denounce the rivalry of the games, which withdrew so many of their audience.} The Theoretica, or TheTiieo- fund for the expenses of public relica shows and amusements, which existed not only in the two capitals, but in all the larger cities of the empire, was first con- fiscated to the imperial treasury by Jus- tinian ; up to that time the imperial policy had sanctioned and enforced this expendi- ture ; 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 imposed as a direct tax on individuals by a Christian emperor. By a law of Constantine, the senate of Rome and of Constantinople were em- powered 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 nomi- nated to this office.|| 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 neg- lect 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 Syriarchs/j[ the Bithyniarchs. The most distinguished men of the province had * Cod. Theod., xv., v. 2. f lb., xv., t. 5, 1. 5, A.D. 425. Muller, p. 50. f See, for the earlier period, Apostolic Constit., ii., 60, 61, 62; Theophyi. ad Autolyc., iii., p. 396; for the later, Chrysostom, paene passim, Horn, con- tra Am.; Horn, in princip., Act i., 58; Horn, in Johann. § Zosim., lib. ii., c. 38. || See various laws of Constantius, regulating the office, the expenses, the fines imposed on the prae- tors, Cod. Theodos., vi., 3 ; Laws, i., 1-33. This shows the importance attached to the office. These munerarii, as well as the actors, were to do penance all their lives.—Act. Cone. Illib., can. 3. Compare Bingham, xvi., 4, 8. This same council condemned all who took the office of decemvir to a year's ex elusion from the communion.—Bingham,ubi supra. «fl Malala, .Chronograph., lib. x/i., in art. Codei Theodos., vi., 3, 1.472 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 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 degenerated into a kind of purveyor for the public pleasures. A law of Theo- dosius enacted that this office should not be imposed on any one who refused to undertake it.f Another law, from which, however, the Asiarchs were excluded, at- tempted to regulate the expenditure be- tween the mean parsimony of some and the prodigality of others.J Those who voluntarily undertook the office of exhibit- ing 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 wonder- ing multitude,§ and of being drawn in their chariots through the applauding city on the morning of the festival. Throughout the empire, this 'passi°n prevailed in every city|| and in all classes. From early morning to late in the evening the theatres were crowded in every part.®|f The artisan deserted his work, the mer- chant his shop; the slaves followed their masters, and were admitted into the vast circuit. Sometimes, when the precincts of * The tribunus voluptatum appears as a title on a Christian tomb.—Bosio, Roma Sotteranea, p. 106. Compare the observations of Bosio. •f Cod. Theodos., xii., 1, 103. Compare the quotations from Libanius, in Godefroy’s Comment- ary. There is a sumptuary law of Theodosius II. limiting the expenses: “ Nee inconsulta plausorum insania curialium vires, fortunas civium, principali- um domus, possessorum opes, reipublicae robur ev- ellant.” The Alytarchs, Syriarchs, Asiarchs, and some others, are exempted from this law.—C. T., xv., 9, 2. In Italy, at a later period, the reign of Theodoric, the public games were provided by the liberality of the Gothic sovereign: Beatitudo s.it temporum lastitia populorum.—Cassiodorus, Epist. i., 20. The epistles of Theodoric’s minister are full of provisions and regulations for the celebration of the various kinds of games.—Lib. i., epist. 20, 27, 30, 31, 32, 33; iii., 51; iv., 37. Theodoric es- poused the green faction ; he supported the panto- mime. There were still tribuni voluptatum at Rome, vi., 6. Stipends were allowed to scenici, ix., 21. f Symmachus, lib. x., epist. 28, 42. Compare Heyne, Opuscula, vi., p. 14. 4 Basil, in Psal. 61. Prudent., Hamartigenia. H Muller names the following cities, besides the four great capitals, Rome, Constantinople, Antioch, and Alexandrea, in which the games are alluded to by ancient authors : Gortyna, Nicomedia, Laodicea, Tyre, Berytus, Caesarea, Heliopolis, Gazy, Ascalon, Jerusalem, Berea, Corinth, Cirta, Carthage, Syra- cuse, Catania, Milan, Aquileia, Ravenna, Mentz, Cologne, Treves, Arles.—P. 53. , Augustine, indeed, asserts, “ per omnes fere civitates cadunt theatra caveae turpitndinnm, et pub- licae professiones flagitioryim.— De Cons. Evange- list., c. 51. the circus or amphitheatre were insuffi- cient to contain the thronging multitudes the adjacent hills were crowded with spec- tators, 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 differ- ed as to the admission of women to these spectacles. In the East they were ex- cluded by the general sentiment from the theatre.* Nature itself, observes St. Chry- sostom, enforces this prohibition.! 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.J Chrysostom laments that wom- en, though they did not attend the games, were agitated by the factions of the cir- cus.§ In the West, the greater freedom of the Roman women had long asserted and still maintained this privilege.|| It is well known that the vestal virgins had their seats of honour in the Roman spec- tacles, even those which might have been supposed most repulsive to feminine gen- tleness and delicacy ; and the Christian preachers of the West remonstrate as strongly against the females as against the men, on account of their inextinguish- able attachment to the public spectacles. The more austere and ascetic Christian teachers condemned alike all these popu- lar spectacles. From the avowed con- nexion with paganism as to the time of their celebration,®|f their connexion with the worship of pagan deities, according to the accredited notion that all these deities * There are one or two passages of the fathers opposed to this opinion. Tatian says, rovg onog del fioixeveiv km rr/g aicrjVTjg uo^iGrevovrag at '6-vydrepeg ti/iov Kal oi Traldeg -d-eopovGC, c. 22. Clemens Alex., Strom., lib. iii. f Chrys., Horn. 12, in Coloss., vol. ii., p. 417. j Procop., de Bell. Pers., 1., c. 42. § It was remarked as an extraordinary occur- rence, that, on the intelligence of the martyrdom of Gordius, matrons and virgins, forgetting their bash- fulness, rushed to the theatre.—Basil, vol. ii., p. 144, 147. II Quae pudica forsitan ad spectaculum matrona processerat, de spectaculo revertitur impudica.—Ad Donat. Compare Augustine, de Civ. Dei, ii., 4. Quid juvenes aut virgines faciant, cum haec et fieri sine pudore, et spectari libenter ab omnibus cer- nunt, admonentur, quid facere possent, inflamman- tur libidines, ac se quisque pro sexu in illis imagin- ibus praefigurat, corruptions ad cubicula revertun- tur.—Lact., Div. Instit, xv., 6, 31. Dubium enim non est, quod laedunt Deum, ut- pote idolis consecratae. Colitur namque et honora- tur Minerva in gymnasiis, Venus in theatris, Nep- tunus in circis, Mars in arenis, Mercurius in palaes- tris.—Salvian, lib. vi. A fair collection of the denunciations of the fa- thers against theatrical amusements may be found in Mamachi, de’ Costumi de’ Primitivi Cristiani, ii* p. 150, et seqq.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 473 were daemons permitted to delude man- kind, the theatre was considered a kind of temple of the Evil Spirit.* 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 dra- matic writers, as cases in‘point. These public spectacles were of four Four kinds of kinds, independent of the com- spectacies. m0ll and m0re vulgar exhibi- tions, juggling, rope-dancing, and tum- bling.! I. The old gymnastic games. The Olym- Gymnastic pic games survived in Greece till games. the invasion of Alaric.J Antioch likewise celebrated this quinquennial fes- tivity ; youths of station and rank exhibit- ed themselves as boxers and wrestlers. These games were also retained at Rome and in parts of Africa it is uncertain whether they were introduced into Con- stantinople. 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 ei- ther were, or were supposed to be, of re- spectable station and unblemished charac- ter. 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.”|j II. Theatrical exhibitions, properly so Tragedy and called. The higher tragedy and comedy. comedy were still represented on the inauguration of the consuls at Rome. Claudian names actors of the sock and buskin, the performers of genuine comedy and tragedy, as exhibited on the occasion of the consulship of Mallius.®[f During the triumph of the Christian emperors * See the book de Spect. attributed to St. Cyp- rian. f Compare the references to Chrysostom’s works on the rope-dancers, jugglers, &c., in Montfaucon, Diatribe, p. 194. X Liban., de Vocat. ad Festa Olympiae. Cuncta Palaemoniis manus explorata coronis Adsit, et Eleo pubes laudata tonanti. Claudian, de FI. Mai. Cons., 288. Thisj however, may be poetic reminiscence. These exhibitions are described as conducted with greater decency and order (probably because they awoke less passionate interest) than those of the circus or theatre. § They were restored in Africa by a law of Gra- tian, A.D. 376.—Cod. Theod., xv., 7, 3. 11 Compare Montfaucon’s Diatribe., p. 194. Qui pulpita socco Personat, aut alt& graditur majore cothurno. In Cons. Mall., 313. Pompeiana proscenia delectis actoribus personarent. Symmach., lib. x., ep. 29 3 0 Theodosius and Arcadius, the theatre of Pompey was filled by chosen actors from all parts of the world. Two actors in tragedy and comedy* are named as stand- ing in the same relation to each other as the famous TEsopus 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.f The youthful mind of Augustine took delight in being agitated by the fictitious sorrows of the stage.J Nor was this higher branch of the art extinct in the East: tragic and comic actors are named, with other his- trionic performers, in the orations of Chry- sostom,§ and there are allusions in Liba- nius to mythological tragic fables and to the comedies of iMenander.|| But as these representations, after they had ceased to be integral parts of the pagan worship, were less eagerly denounced by the Chris- tian teachers,®[f the comparatively slight and scanty notices in their writings, al- most our only records of the manners of the time, by no means prove the infrequen- cy of these representations ; though it is probable, for. other reasons, that the bar- barous and degraded taste was more grat- ified 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 magnifi- cence of the consul or praetor, who prided himself on the variety of his entertain- ments, and were applauded, perhaps,ff 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 sub- jects in the time of Julian were represent- * Publius Pollio and Ambivius.— Symmach., epist. x., 2. f Donatus in Andriam, act iv., sc. 3. X Confess, iii., .2. $ Chrysostom, Horn. 10, in Coloss , v. ii., p. 403 ; Horn. 6, in Terrae mot., i., 780 ; i., p. 38 ; i., 731. || Liban., vol. ii., p. 375. ^ Lactantius inveighs with all the energy of the first ages against tragedy and comedy: Tragicse historic subjiciunt ocuhspatricidiaetincesta regum malorum, et cothurnata scelera demonstrant. Com- icaede stupris virginum et amcitiis meretricum, et quo magis sunt eloquentes, eo magis persuadent, facilius inhserent memoriae versus nurnerosi et or- nati.—Instit., vi., 20. ** Augustine, however, draws a distinction be tween these two classes of theatric representations and the lower kind : Scenicorurn tolera'oiliora ludo rum, comoediae scilicet et tragcediae, hoc est fabulae poetarum, agendse in spectaculo multa rerum tur- pitudine, sed nulld saltern, sicut aliae multse, verbo- rum obscenitate compositae, quas etiam inter studia, quae liberalia vocantur, pueri legere et discern co* guntur a senibus.—De Civ. Dei, lib. ii., c. 8. if Muller, p. 139,474 HISTORY. OF CHRISTIANITY. eel on the stage; but there is no ground for this notion; these were intended hs schoolbooks, to supply the place of Soph- ocles and Menander. In its degeneracy, the higher drama had long been supplanted by, 1st, the Mimes. mjmes> Even this kind of drama, perhaps of Roman, or even of earlier Ital- ian origin, had degenerated into the coar- sest scurrility, and, it should seem, the most repulsive indecency. Formerly it had been the representation of some inci- dent in common life, extemporaneously dramatized by the mime, ludicrous in its general character, mingled at times with sharp or even grave and sententious sat- ire. Such were the mimes of Laberius, 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 lascivi- ous. 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 per- formed as a dancing-girl in these disgust- ing mimes.f The pantomime was a kind of ballet in ranto- action.^ It was the mimic repre- mimes. sentation of all the old tragic and mythological fables, without words,§ or in- * Many passages of Chrysostom might be quoted, in which he speaks of the naked courtesans, mean- ing probably with the most transparent clothing (though women were exhibited at Antioch swim- ming in an actual state of nudity), who perform- ed in these mimes. The more severe Christian preacher is confirmed by the language of the hea- then Zosimus, whose bitter hatred to Christianity induces him to attribute their most monstrous ex- cesses to the reign of the Christian emperor. MX[iol re yap yelotov, ical ol Kaictig airoXov/ievoi bpxycTal, Kal ttuv o’ tl 7rpog aiaxporrjra nai rr/v utottov ravrrjv Kal f/c^e/by ovvreXel p,ovGUC7}v, rjoKrjdri re em rovrov.—Lib. iv., c. 33. f Muller, 92, 103. t Libanius is indignant that men should attempt to confound the orchestse or pantomimes with these degraded and infamous mimes, vol. iii., p. 350. The pantomimes wore masks; the mimes had their fa- ces uncovered, and usually had shaven crowns. § The pantomimi or dancers represented their parts,. Clausis faucibus et loquente gestu Nutu, crure, genu, manu, rotatu.—Sid. A'poll. termingled with chants or songs.* * § These exhibitions were got up at times with great splendour of scenery, which was usually painted on hanging curtains, and with mu- sical accompaniments of the greatest va- riety. The whole cycle of mythology,! both of the gods and heroes, was repre- sented by the dress and mimic gestures, of the performer. The deities, both male and female—Jupiter, Pluto, and Mars; Ju- no, Proserpine, Venus; Theseus and Her- cules ; Achilles, with all the heroes of the Trojan war; Phaedra, Briseis, Atalanla, the race of CEdipus ; 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 Apollinaris§ fills twenty-five lines with those represented in the West by the cel- ebrated dancers Oaramalus and Phaba- ton.|| These included the old fables of Medea and Jason, of the house of Thyes- tes, of Tereus and Philomela, Jupiter an 1 Europa, and Danae, and Leda, and Gany mede, Mars and Venus, Perseus and An- dromeda. In the West, the female parts here exhibited were likewise represented by women,Tf of whom there were no less than 3000 in Rome :** and so important were these females considered to the pub- lic amusement, that, on the expulsion of all‘strangers from the city during a fam- ine, an exception was made by the prae- tor, in deference to the popular wishes, in favour of this class alone. The profes- sion, 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 occupa- tion, whether the enamoured lover with- drew one of them from the stage as a mistress, or, as not unfrequently happen- ed, with the more honourable title of wife.ff The East, though it sometimes * There was sometimes a regular chorus, with instrumental music—Sid. Apoll., xxiii., 268, and probably poetry composed for the occasion.—Mul- ler, p. 122. t Greg. Nyssen in Galland., Bibliothec. Patrum, vi.,p. 610. Ambrose in Hexaem., iii., 1, 5. Synes., de Prov., ii., p. 128, ed. Petav. Symmach., i., ep. 89. t Liban. pro Salt., v. iii., 391. § Sidon. Apoll., carm. xxiii., v. 267, 299. || Claudian mentions a youth who, before the pit, which thundered with applause, Aut rigidam Niobem aut flentem Troada frngit. % Even in Constantinople women acted in the pantomimes. Chrysostom, Horn. 6, in Thessalon., denounces the performance of Phsedra and Hippoly. tus by women : 'Qcnrep ccdfiarog rvTrti Qaivojierag. ** Ammian. Marcell., xiv., 6. ft Cod. Thedos., xv., 7, 5.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 475 endured the appearance of women in those parts, often left them to be performed by boys, yet with anything but advantage to general morality. The aversion of Chris- tianity to the subjects exhibited by the pantomimes, almost invariably moulded up, as they were, with paganism, as well as its high moial sense (united, perhaps, with something of the disdain of ancient Rome for the histrionic art, which it pat- ronised nevertheless with inexhaustible ardour), branded the performers with the deepest mark of public contempt. They were, as it were, public slaves, and could not abandon their profession.* They were considered unfit to mingle with respecta- ble society ; might not appear in the fo- rum 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 ex- tend its mercies and its hopes to this de- voted race with some degree of rigour and jealousy. The actor baptized in the ap- parent agony of death, if he should re- cover, 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 ob- tain 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, rati- fied by a certain term of probationary vir- tue. If the actress relapsed from Christi- anity, she was invariably condemned to her impure servitude.f Such was the general state of the the- atrical exhibitions in the Roman empire at that period The higher drama, like every other intellectual and inventive art, had to undergo the influence of Christian- ity before it could revive in its splendid and prolific energy. In all European coun- tries, the.Christian mystery, as it was called, has been the parent of tragedy, perhaps of comedy. It reappeared as a purely religious representation, having re- tained no remembrance whatever of pa- ganism ; and was 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 * Cod. Theodos., xv., 13. f Cod. Theod^ , de Scenicis, xv., 7, 2, 4. 8, 9. constantly revived. The passages of the fathers have perpetually been repeated by the more severe preachers, whether fairly applicable or not to the dramatic enter- tainments of different periods ; and in gen- eral it has had the effect of keeping the actor in a lower caste of society ; a prej- udice 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 lit- tle whether they deserve it. III. The amphitheatre, with its shows of gladiators and wild beasts. The Amphitheatre, suppression of those bloody Gladiatorial spectacles, in which human be- shows* ings slaughtered each other by hundreds for the diversion of their fellow-men, is one of the most unquestionable and proud- est triumphs of Christianity. The gladi- atorial shows, strictly speaking, that is, the mortal combats of men, were never introduced into the less warlike Easf, though the combats of men with w.ld 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 was not satisfied with the execution of her desola- ting mandates unless the whole city wit- nessed the bloodshed of her foreign cap- tives ; 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 Sym- maehus, even at this late period,* reproves the impiety of some Saxon captives, who, by strangling themselves in prison, esca- ped the ignominy of this public exhibi- tion.! It is a humiliating consideration to find how little Roman civilization 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 na- ked 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 en- * Quando prohibuisset privata custodia desperatse gentis impias manus, cum viginti novern fractas sine laqueo fauces primus ludi gladiatorn dies vident.— Symmach., lib. ii., epist. 46. t It is curious that at one time the exposure to wild beasts was considered a more ignominious punishment than fighting as a gladiator The slave was condemned to the former for kidnapping; the freeman to the latter.—Codex Theod., iv., 18, L176 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY trails.* The state of uncontrolled phrensy wort ed up even the most sober spectators. The manner in which this contagious pas- sion 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 sat with his eyes closed, and his mind U tally abstracted from the scene. He w as suddenly startled from his trance by a tremendous shout from the whole audi- ence. He opened his eyes, he could not but gaze on the spectacle. Directly as 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 look- ed on, he shouted, he was inflamed; he carried away from the amphitheatre an irresistible propensity to return to its cruel enjoyments.f 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 disap- probation of these sanguinary exhibitions in time of peace, and prohibiting the vol- unteering of men as gladiators.f This was a considerable step, if we call to mind the careless apathy with which Constan- tine. before his conversion, had exhibited all his barbarian captives in the amphithe- atre at Treves.§ This edict, however, addressed to the prefect of 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. Constan- tius prohibited soldiers, and those in the imperial service (Palatini), from hiring themselves out to the Lanistae, the keep- ers of gladiators.|| Valentinian decreed that no Christian or Palatine should be condemned for any crime whatsoever to the arena.TT An early edict of Honorius prohibited any slave who had been a glad- iator** from being admitted into the ser- vice of a man of senatorial dignity. But * Virgo—consurgit ad ictus, Ft quotiens victor ferrum jugulo inserit, ilia Delicias ait esse suas, pectusque jacentis Virgo modesta jtibet, converso pollice, rumpi; Ni lateat pars ulla ammae vitalibus urns, Altiiis impresso dum palpitat ense secutor. Prudent, adv. Symm., ii., 1095. f August., Conf., vi., 8. j Codex Theodos., xv., 12, 1. § See p. 288. || Codex Theodos., xv., 12, 2. f Ibid., ix, 40, 8. ** Ibid. Christianity now began to speak in a more courageous and commanding tone.* The Christian poet urges on the Christian em- peror the direct prohibition of'these inhu- man and disgraceful exhibitions :f .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 travel- led all the way to Rome in order to pro- test 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 assembly, he was tom to pieces, the martyr of Christian hu- manity. J The impression of this awful scene, of a Christian, a monk, thus mur- dered in the arena, was so profound, that Honorius issued a prohibitory edict, put- ting an end to these bloody shows. This edict, however, only suppressed the mor- tal combats of men the less inhuman, though still brutalizing, conflicts of men with wild beasts seems scarcely to have been abolished|| till the diminution of wealth, and the gradual contraction of the limits of the empire, cut off both the sup- ply and the means of purchasing these costly luxuries. The revolted or conquer- ed provinces of the South, the East, and the North no longer rendered up their ac- customed tribute of lions from Libya, leop- ards from the East, dogs of remarkable ferocity from Scotland, of crocodiles and bears, and every kind of wrild and rare ani- mal. The Emperor Anthemius prohibited the lamentable spectacles of wild beajts * Codex Theodos., xv., 12, 3. f Arripe dilatarn tua, dux, m terapora famam, Quodque patri superest, successor laudis habeto. Ille uibem vetuit taurorum sanguine tmgi, Tu mortes miserorum hominum prohibete Atari: Nullus in urbe cadat, cujus sit pcena voluptas, Nec sua virginitas oblectet csedibus ora. Jam soils contenta fens infamis arena, Nulla cruentatis hoinicidia ludat in arrnis. Prudent, adv. Symm., n , 1121. X Theodoret, v , 26. ^ The law of Honorius is not extant in the The* odosian Code, which only retains those of Constan- tine and Constantius. For this reason doubts have been thrown on the authority of Theodoret; but there is no recorded instance of gladiatorial combats between man and man since this period. The pas- sage of Salvian, sometimes alleged, refers to com- bats with wild beasts. TJbi summum deliciarum genus est mori homines, aut quod est mori gravius acerbiusque, laceran, expleriferarum alvos humanis carnibus, comedi homines cum circumstantium lee tit id, conspicientium voluptate.—De Gu \ Dei, lib vi., p. 51. H Quicquid monstriferis nutrit Gsetulia campia, Alpina quicquid tegitur nive, Gallica quicquid - Silva timet, jaceat. Largo ditescat arena > Sanguine, consumant totos spectacula morfles. Claud, in Cons. Mall. 306.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 477 on the Sunday ; and Salvian. still inveighs against those bloody exhibitions. And this amusement gradually degenerated, if the word may be used, not so much from the improving humanity as from the pu- sillanimity of the people. Arts were in- troduced to irritate the fury of the beast without endangering' the person of the combatant, which would have been con- temptuously exploded in the more war- like 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 em- pire ;* 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. IV. The chariot-race of the circus. If The circus. these former exhibitions were chariot- ' prejudicial to the modesty and races. humanity of the Roman people, the chariot-races were no less fatal to their peace. This phrensy did not, in- deed, reach its height till the middle of the fifth century, when the animosities of political and religious difference were out- done by factions enlisted in favour of the rival charioteers in the circus. As com- plete a separation took place in society; adverse parties were banded against each other in as fierce oppositionan insurrec- tion 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 seem- ed to concentre on the circus all that ab- sorbing interest which at Rome was di- vided by many spectacles. The Christian city seemed 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 al- lowed, or, rather, against which Christian- ity remonstrated in vain. Her milder tone of persuasiveness, and her more au- thoritative interdiction, were equally dis- regarded where the sovereign and the whole people yielded to the common phrensy. But this consolation remained to Christianity, that, when it was accused of distracting the imperial city with reli- gious dissension, it might allege that this, at least, was a nobler subject of differ- ence ; 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 or- der to gratify their inextinguishable love of strife and animosity. CHAPTER III. CHRISTIAN LITERATURE. Christianity was extensively propa- gated in an age in which Greek and Latin literature had fallen into hopeless degen- eracy; nor could even its spirit awaken the dead. Both these languages had al- ready attained and passed their full devel- opment; they had fulfilled their part in the imaginative and intellectual advance- ment of mankind; and it seems, in gen- oral, 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, or, rather, till lan- guages had been formed in which the re- ligious notions of Christianity were an el- ementary and constituent part, that Chris- * Agincourt, Histoire de l’Art, is of opinion that Yheodoric substituted military games for theatrical shows, and that these military games were the ori- gin of the tournaments. The wild beast shows were still celebrated at Rome.—Cassiod., Epist. v 42. tian literature assumed its free and natu- ral dignity. The genius of the new religion never coalesced in perfect and amicable harmo- ny with either the Greek or the Latin tongue. In each case it was a foreign dialect introduced into a fully-formed and completely-organized language. The Greek, notwithstanding its exquisite pli- ancy, with difficulty accommodated itself to the new sentiments and opinions. It had either to endure the naturalization 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 especial- ly since the Oriental writers were in gen- eral alien to the Grecian mind. The Greek language had, indeed, long before yielded to the contaminating influences of barbarism. From Homer to Demosthe- nes it had varied in its style and char-478 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. acter, but had maintained its ad- cy- mirable perfection as the finest, Greek litera- the clearest, and most versatile ‘ur®JJnd lan' instrument of poetry, oratory, or philosophy. But the conquests of Greece were as fatal to her language as to her liberties. The Macedonian, the language of the conquerors, was not the purest Greek,* and in general, by the ex- tension over a wider surface, the stream contracted a taint from every soil over which it flowed. Alexandrea was prob- ably the best school of foreign Grecian style, at least in literature ; in Syria it had always been infected in some de- gree by the admixture of Oriental terms. 'The Hellenistic style, as it has been call- ed, of the New Testament, may be con- sidered 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 ful- Of Roman ^s mission,-and to have passed its culminating point, in the verse of Virgil and the prose of Cice- ro. Its stern and masculine majesty, its plain and practical vigour, seemed as if it could not outlive the republican institu- tions, 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 farther; and it had undergone rapid and progressive deterio- ration before it was called upon to dis- charge its second office of disseminating and preserving the Christianity of the West; and the Latin, like the Greek, had suffered by its own triumphs. Among the more distinguished heathen writers sub- sequent 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 wri- ters, it is remarkable that not one was a Roman; not one, except Ambrose, an Ital- ian. Tertullian, Cyprian, Arnobius (per- haps Lactantius), and Augustine, were Africans; the Roman education and su- perior understanding of the latter could not altogether refine away that rude pro- vincialism which darkened the whole lan- guage 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 ima- gery, with some limitation, the Roman style of Claudian, and the structure of his verse, carries us back to the time of Vir- * Compare the dissertation of Sturz on the Ma- cedonian dialect, reprinted in the prolegomena to Valpy’s edition of Stephens’s Thesaurus. gil; in Prudentius, it is not' merely the n feriority of the poet, but something foreign and uncongenial refuses to harmonize with the adopted poetic language.* Yet it was impossible that such an en- thusiasm could be disseminated Christian through the empire without in literature, some degree awakening the torpid lan- guages. The mind could not be so deep- ly stirred without expressing itself with life and vigour, even if with diminished elegance and dignity. No one can com- pare the energetic sentences of Chrysos- tom with the prolix and elaborate, if more correct, periods of Libanius, without ac- knowledging that a new principle of vital- ity 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 Rome. The Greek already possessed the foundation of this literature in the Septuagint ver- sion of the Old, and in the original of the New,Testament. TheVulgateof Jerome, which almost immediately superseded the older imperfect or inaccurate versions from the Greek, supplied the same ground- work to Latin Christendom. There is something singularly rich, and, if we mny 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 removed 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.f 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, either in its express words or in terms approaching closely to its own, it contrib- uted to form the dialect of ecclesiastical * Among the most remarkable productions as to Latinity are the Ecclesiastical History and Life of St. Martin of Tours, by Sulpicius Severus ; the legendary matter of which contrasts singularly with the perspicuous and almost classical elegance of the style. See postea on Minucius Felix. t There appears to me more of the Oriental char- acter in the Old Testament of the Vulgate than in the LXX. That translation having been made by Greeks, or by Jews domiciled in a Greek city, the Hebrew style seems subdued, as far as possible, to the Greek. Jerome seems to have endeavoured to Hebraize or Orientalize his Latin. The story of Jerome’s nocturnal flagellation for his attachment to profane literature rests (as we have seen) on his own authority; but his later works show that the offending spirit wai not ef- fectively scourged out of him.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 479 Latin, which became the religious lan- guage of Europe ; and, as soon as religion condescended to employ the modern lan- guages 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 con- firmation of Christian opinion. For many ages, and, indeed, as long as it spoke the ancient languages, it Poetry. wag barren 0f poetry in all its lof- tier departments, at least of that which was poetry in form as well as in spirit. The religion itself w~as the poetry of Christianity. The sacred books were to ihe Christians what the national epic and the sacred lyric had been to the o.ther races of antiquity. They occupied the place, and proscribed in their superior sanctity, or defied by their unattainable excellence, all rivalry. The Church suc- ceeded to the splendid inheritance of the Hebrew temple and synagogue. The Psalms and the Prophets, if they depart- ed 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 maj- esty of their manner, as well as in the sublimity of the notions of Divine power and wisdom, with which they were in- stinct, stood alone in the religious poetry of mankind. The religious books of Christianity, sacred though of a gentler cast, and only writings, in a few short passages (and in the grand poetic drama of the Revelations) poetical in their form, had much, especially m their narratives, of the essence of poe- try ; 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 realize, to impersonate those scenes which were described in the sacred volume, and which it was thus enabled to embrace with greater fervour and sincer- ity. 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 Di- mittis, and the Alleluia, into the services of the Church. But the sacred volume commanded exclusive adoration, not mere- ly by its sanctity, but by its unrivalled imagery and sweetness. Each sect nad its hymns ; and those of the Gnostics, with the rival strains of the orthodox churches of Syria, attained great popular- ity. 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 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 sub- jects 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, senten- tious, and eloquent, if not poetic cast) occur in his other poems, on these, which would appear at first far more promising sub- jects, is sometimes pretty and fanciful, but scarcely more.f * The Greek poetry after Nazianzen was almost silent; some, perhaps, of the hymns are ancient (one paTticularly in Routh’s Reliquiae). See like- wise Smith’s account of the'Greek Church. The hymns of Synesius are very interesting, as illustra- tive 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 pas- sages, is that which has been selected as a hyirn for the Innocents’ day: Salvette flores martyrum Quos lucis ipso in limine, Christi insecutor sustulit Ceu turbo nascentes rosas. Vox, 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 Pru- dentius are to be found in the books against Syrn- machus; but their highest praise is that, in their force and energy, they approach to Claudian. With regard to Claudian, I cannot refrain from repeating what I have stated in another place, as it is so closely connected with the subject of Christian poe- try. M. Beugnot has pointed out one remarkable characteristic of Claudian poetry and of the times, his extraordinary religious indifference. Here i? a poet writing’at the actual crisis of the complete triumph of the new religion, and the visible extinc- tion of the old: if we may so speak, a strictly his- torical poet, whose works, excepting his mytholo- gical poem on the rape of Proserpine, are confined to temporary subjects, and to the politics of his own eventful times ; yet, excepting in one or two small and indifferent pieces, manifestly written by a Chris- tian, and interpolated among his poems, there is no480 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. There is more of the essence of poetry in the simpler and unadorned Acts of the Martyrs, more pathos, occasionally more allusion whatever to the great religious strife. No one would know the existence of Christianity at that period of the world by reading the works of Claudian. 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 glo- ries 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 re- joicing at his appearance, and promising long years of glory. The whole prophetic choir of paganism, all the oracles throughout the world, are summoned to predict the felicity of his reign. His birth is com- pared 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 de- scribed 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: Quas tunc documenta futuri ? Quas voces avium ? quanti per inane volatus ? Quis vaturn discursus erat? Tibi corniger Ammon, Et dudum taciti rup£re silentia Delphi. Te Persse cecinere Magi, te sensit Etruscus Augur, et inspectis Babylonius horruit astris: Chaldsei stupu^re senes, Cumanaque rursus Intonu.it rapes, rabidse delubra Sibyllae. Note on Gibbon, ii., 238. 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 irreconcilable with the style of the verse. Christian images and sentiments, the frequent biblical phrases and ex- pressions, are not yet naturalized ; and it is almost in-possible to select any passage of considerable length from the whole cycle which can be offered as poetry. I except a few of the hymns, and even as to the hymns (setting aside the Te Deum), para- doxical 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.” lam 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 Chris- tian poetry; 2. Their opposition to the prevailing tenet of celibacy, for which cause they are quoted by Theiner; 3. The interest which early poetry on this subject (Adam in Paradise) must possess to the 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 : grandeur, more touching incident and ex- pression, and even, we may venture to say, happier invention, than in the prolix and inanimate strains of the Christian poet. For*the awakened imagination was not content with feasting in silence on its lawful nutriment, the poetry of the Bible, it demanded and received perpetual stim- ulants, which increased, instead of satis- fying, the appetite. That peculiar state of the human mind had now commenced, Ac procul expectat virides jumenta per agros ; Et de se taeitus, quae sint ha?c cuncta, requirit, Et quare secum non sint hsec ipsa, volutat: Nam consorte carens, cum quo conferret, egebat. Viderat Omnipotens, hsec ilium corde movcntem, Et miseratus ait: Demos adjutoria facto; Participern generis: tanquam si diceret auctor, Non solum, dccet esse virum, consortia bland a Noverit, uxor erit, quum sit tamen llle rnaritus, Conjugium se quisque voc-et, dulcedo recurrat Cordibus innocuis, et sitsibi pignus uterque Yelle pares, et nolle pares, st.ans una voluntas, Par anirrii 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 darel juveni sua costa dolorem, Redderet et tristem subito, quern lsedere nollet, Fur opifex vult esse suus ; nam posset et lllarn Pulvere de simili princeps formare puellam. Sed quo plenus amor toto de corde veniret, Noscere in uxore voluit sua membra maritum, Dividitur contexts cutis, subducitur una Sensirri costa viro, sed mox reditura marito. Nam juvenis de parte brevi formatur adulta Virgo, decora, rudis, matura tumentibus annis, Conjugii, sobolisque capax, quibus apta probatur. Et sine Jacte pio crescit infantia pubes. Excutitur somno juvenis, videt ipse puellam Ante oculos astare suos, pater, inde rnaritus. Non tamen ex costa genitor, sed conjugis auctor. Somnus erat partus, conceptus scmine nullo, Materiem sopita quies produxit amoris, Affectusque novos blandi genuere sopores. Constitit ante oculos nullo velamine tecta, Corpora nuda simul niveo, quasi nympha profundi, Csesaries intonsa comis, gena pulclira rubore, Omnia pulchra gerens, oculos, os, coila, rnanusque, Vel qnalem possent- digiti formare Tonantis. Nescia mens illis, fieri quse causa fuisset; Tunc Deus et princeps ambos, conjunxit it unum Et remeat sua costa viro ; sua membra recepit; Accipit et fosnus, quum non sit debitor ullus. His datur omnis humus, et quicquid jussa creavit, Aeris et pelagi foetus, elementa duorum, Arbitrio comrnissa manent. His, crescite, dixit Omnipotens, replete solum de semine vestro, 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 luna tenebras Dissipal, et puro lucent mea sidera coelo ; Sumere, quicquid habent pomaria nostra licebit; Nam totum quod terra creat, quod pontus et aer Protulit, addicturn vestro sub jure manebit, Deliciseque fluent vobis, et honesta voluptas ; Arboris unius tantum nescite saporem. Dracontii Presbyt. Hispani Christ., secul. v., sufr Theodos. M., Carmina, a F. Arevalo , Romee, 179i, Carmen de Deo, lib. i., v. 348, 415-HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 481 m which the imagination so far predom- inates over the other faculties, that truth cannot help arraying itself in the garb of fiction; credulity courts fiction, and fic- tion believes its own fables. That some ^ of the Christian legends were de- liegenub. forgeries can scarcely be questioned; the principle of pious fraud 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 prob- ably 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 perpet- ual interference of the Deity, the agency of the countless invisible beings which hovered over mankind, was so strongly impressed upon the belief, that every ex- traordinary, 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 gospels, accounts of the lives of the Sa- viour and his apostles, which were chiefly, we conceive, composed among, or rather against, the sects which were less scrupu- lous in their veneration for the sacred books. Unless Antidocetic, 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 interpolation or fabrication of the Sibyl- line verses. The fourth book of Esdras, the Shepherd of Hermas, and other pro- phetic works, grew out of the Prophets and the book of Revelations, as the Gos- pels of Nicodemus, and tlpat of the Infan- cy, and the various spurious acts of the different apostles,f out of the Gospels and * Compare what has been said on the Gospel of the Infancy, page 68; though I would now ob- serve that the antiquity of this gospel is very du- bious. f Compare the Codex Apocryphus Novi Testa- menti, by J. A. Fabricius, and Jones on the Canon. A more elaborate collection of these curious docu- ments has been commenced (I trust not abandoned) by Dr. Thilo, Lipsiae, 1832. Of these, by far the most remarkable in its composition and its influ- ence was the Gospel of Nicodemus. The author of this work was a poet, and of no mean invention. 3 P Acts. The Recognitions and other tracts which are called the Clementina, partake more of the nature of religious romance. Many of the formei were obviously in- tended to pass for genuine records, and must be proscribed as unwarrantable fic- tions ; the latter may rather have been designed to trace, and so to awaken, reli- gious feelings, than as altogether real his- tory. The Lives of St. Anthony Lives of by Athanasius, and of Hilarion by saints. Jerome, are the prototypes of the count- less biographies of saints; and, with a strong outline of truth, became imperson- ations of the feelings, the opinions, the belief of the time. We have no reason to doubt that the authors implicitly believ- ed whatever of fiction embellishes their own unpremeditated fables; the colouring, though fanciful and inconceivable to our eyes, was fresh and living to theirs. History itself could only reflect the pro- ceedings of the Christian world as they appeared to that world. lstory‘ We may lament that the annals of Chris- tianity found in the earliest times no histo- rian more judicious and trustworthy than Eusebius ; the heretical sects no less prej- udiced and more philosophical chronicle- than Epiphanius; but in them, if not scru- pulously veracious reporters of the events and characters of the times, we possess almost all that we could reasonably hope ; faithful reporters of the opinions enter- tained 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 The latter part, which describes the descent of the Saviour to hell, to deliver “ the spirits in prison,” according to the hint in the epistle of St. Peter (1 Peter, iii., 19), is extremely striking and dramatic. This “ harrowing of hell,” as it is called in the old mysteries, became a favourite topic of Christian le- gend, founded on, and tending greatly to establish the popular belief in, a purgatory, and to open, as it were, to the fears of man the terrors of the penal state. With regard to these spurious gospels in general, it is a curious question in what manner, so little noticed as they are in the higher Christian literature, they should have reached down, and so completely incorporated themselves in the dark ages with the .superstitions of the vulgar. They would never have furnished so many subjects tc painting if they had nor. been objects of populai belief. * In addition to these things (the appointment of rude and unfit persons to episcopal offices and other delinquencies), the ambition of many; the pre- cipitate and illegitimate ordinations; the dissen- sions among the confessors; whatever the young- er and more seditious so pertinaciously attempted482 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. were credulous, but of that which it would have been considered impiety to disbe- lieve, 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 devel- opment 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 litera- ture in prose (excluding the history and hagiography) may be distributed under five heads : I. Apologies, or defences of the Faith against Jewish, or, more fre- quently, heathen adversaries. II. Herme- neutics, or commentaries on the sacred writings. III. Expositions of the princi- ples and doctrines of the Faith. IV. Po- lemical works against the different sects and heresies. V. Orations. I. We have already traced the manner in which the apology for Christianity, from against the remains of the Church, introducing in- novation after innovation, and unsparingly, in the midst of the calamities of the persecution, adding new afflictions, and heaping evil upon evil; all these things I think it right to pass over, as unbe- fitting my history, which, as I stated in the begin- ning, declines and avoids the relation of such things. But whatsoever things, according to the sacred Scripture, are ‘ honest and of good reportif there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, these things I have thought it most befitting the history of these wonderful martyrs to speak, and to write, and to address to the ears of the faithful.” Oil this passage, de Martyr. Palasst., c. xii., and that to which it alludes, E. H., viii., 2, the honesty and im- partiality of Eusebius, which was not above suspi- cion in his own day (Tiilemont, M. E., tom. i., part i., p. 67), has been severely questioned. [The con- text in both passages shows that Eusebius pre- scribed to himself this rule, solely in the account of the Palestine martyrs, which was intended to edify and rebuke lukewarm Christians, and not, as Mr. M. insinuates, throughout his whole ecclesiastical history.] Gibbon’s observations on the subject gave rise to many dissertations. Muller, de Fide Euseb. Cses., Havnise, 1813. Danzius, de Euseb. Caes.,H. E., Scripture, ejusque Fide Historica recte aastimanda, Jenae, 1815. Kestner, Comment, de Eu- seb., H. E., Conditoris Auctoritate et Fide. See also Reuterdahl, de Fontibus, H. E., Eusebianee, 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 partial- ity. His Ecclesiastical History, though probably highly coloured in many parts, is by no means a 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 ilepaiture from truth. humbly defensive, became vigor- ously aggressiv’e. The calm ap- pocgiei peal to justice and humanity, the ear- nest deprecation of the odious calumnies with which they were charged, the plea for toleration, gradually rise to the vehe- ment 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 dead- ly strife. The earliest extant apology, that of Justin Martyr, is by no means severe in argument or vigorous in style, and, though not altogether abstaining from recrimina- tion, is still rather humble and deprecatory in its tone. The short apologetic ora- tions—as the Christians had to encounter not merely the general hostility of the gov- ernment or people, but direct and argu- mentative treatises, written against them by the philosophic party—gradually swell- ed into books. The first of these is per- haps the best, that of Origen against Cel- sus. The intellect of Origen, notwith- standing its occasional fantastic aberra- tions, appears to us more suitable 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 arranged under this head, the “ City of God” of St. 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, le minds us of the golden days of Latin prose so much as the Octavius of Minucius Fe lix. II. The Hermeneutics, or the interpre- tation of the sacred writers, might Hermeneu- be expected to have more real tics- 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 the high- est name, are fanciful in their inferences, discover mysteries in the plainest sen- tences, wander away from the clear his- torical, moral, or religious meaning into a long train of corollaries, at which we ar- rive 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 bibiiHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ■485 cal 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 interpreta- tion (setting aside the wild- cabalistic no- tions of the significance of letters, the fre- quency of . their recurrence, their colloca- tion, and all those wild theories which were engendered by a servile veneration of the very form and language of the sa- cred writings) allowed itself at least an equal latitude of authoritative inference. The Platonists spun out the thoughts or axioms of their master into as fine and subtle a web of mystic speculation. The general principle of an esoteric or recon- dite meaning in all works which command- ed veneration was universally received; it was this principle upon which the Gnos- tic sects formed all their vague and mystic theories ; and if in this respect the Chris- tian teachers did not bind themselves by much severer rules of reasoning than pre- vailed around them on all sides, they may have been actuated partly by some jeal- ousy lest their own plainer and simpler sacred writings should appear dry and bar- ren in comparison with the rich and im- aginative freedom of their adversaries. III. The expositions of faith and prac- Expositions tice may comprehend all the of Fait.h. 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. IV. Christianity might appear, if we Polemical judge by the proportion which the writings. Controversial writings bear to the rest of Christian literature, to have intro- duced an element of violent and impla- cable 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 lit- erature 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 enlar- ging its boundaries ; it was the immediate contact of mind with mind, the direct in- fluence of the Christian clergy, and even the more pious of the laity, which were tranquilly and noiselessly pursuing their course of conversion.* * I might, perhaps, have made another and a very interesting branch of the prose Christian literature, the epistolary. The letters of the great writers These treatises, however, were princi pally 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 dissem- inated ; 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 elo- quence. V. Oratory—that oratory, at least, which communicates its own impulses Christian and passions to the heart; which oratory, not merely persuades the reason, but sways the whole soul of man—had suffer- ed a long and total silence. It had every- where expired with the republican insti- tutions. The discussions in the senate had been controlled by the imperial pres- ence ; and even if the Roman senators had asserted the fullest freedom of speech, and allowed themselves the most exciting fervour of language, this was but one as- sembly in a single city, formed out of a confined aristocracy. The municipal as- semblies were alike rebuked by the awe of a presiding master, the provincial gov- ernor, and, of course, afforded a less open field for stirring and general eloquence. The perfection of jurisprudence had prob- ably been equally fatal to judicial oratory, we hear of great lawyers, but not of dis- tinguished 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 form one of the most valuable parts of their works. The Latin fathers, however, maintain that superi- ority over the Greek, which in classical times is as- serted by Cicero and Pliny. The lette s of Cyprian and Ambrose are of the highest interest as historical documents; those of Jerome for mariners; those of Augustine, perhaps for style. They far surpass those of Chrysostom, which we must, however, rec- ollect were written from his dreary and monoto- nous place of exile. Yet Chrysostom’s are superior to that dullest of all collections, the huge folio of the letters of Libanius. * The declamations of Quintilian are no doubt favourable specimens both of the subjects and tfoj style of these orators.484 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. total change than from the school of the rhetorician to a crowded Christian church. The orator suddenly emerged from a list- less 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 exci- ted. He found himself among a breath- less and anxious multitude, whose eternal destiny might seem to hang on his lips, catching up and treasuring his words as those of Divine inspiration, and interrupt- ing 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 na- ture of his subject usually lay above the sphere of immediate action ; but that, the purer and loftier its tone, if it found instan- taneous sympathy, yet it also met the con- stant inert resistance of prejudice, and ig- norance, and vice do its authority, the power with which this privilege of orato- ry would have invested the clergy would have been far greater than that of any of the former political or sacerdotal domina- tions. Wherever the oratory of the pul- pit coincided with human passion, it was irresistible; and sometimes, when it reso- lutely encountered it, it might extort an unwilling triumph : when it appealed to faction, to ferocity, to sectarian animosi- ty, it swept away its audience like a tor- rent to any violence or madness at which it aimed; when to virtue, to piety, to peace, it at times subdued the most re- fractory, and received the homage of de- vout obedience. The bishop in general, at least when the hierarchical power became more dom- inant, reserved for himself an office so productive of influence and so liable to abuse.f But men like Athanasius or Au- * These acclamations sometimes rewarded the more eloquent and successful teachers of rhetoric. Themistius speaks of the £K6o7jG£ic re nal upb- Tovg, olcdv ,&afid diTO?,avov<7L nap’ vpiCdv ol dat- ftovioi aotpLoral. — Basanistes, p. 236, edit. Dein- dorf. Compare the note. Chrysostom’s works are full of allusions to these acclamations. f The laity were long permitted to address the people in the absence of the clergy. It was object- ed to the Bishop Demetrius, that he had permitted an unprecedented innovation in the case of Origen: he had allowed a layman to teach when the bishop was present.—Euseb., E. H., vi., 19. rO diddvKov, ei Kal hainog rj, £fin£ipog 6b rov 16yov} ical rov rponov u£(Jivbg, SidaoKbrcd.—Constit. A post., viii., 32. Laicus, praesentibus clericis, nisi illis juben- gustine were not compelled to wait loi that qualification of rank. They received the ready permission of the bishop to ex- ercise at once this important function. 3n general, a promising orator would rarely want opportunity of distinction; and he who had obtained celebrity would fre- quently be raised by general acclamation, or by a just appreciation of his useful- ness by the higher clergy, to an episcopal throne. But it is difficult to conceive the gen- eral effect produced by this devotion of oratory to its new office. From this time, instead or seizing casual opportunities of working on the mind and heart of man, it was constantly, regularly, in every part of the empire, with more or less energy, with greater or less commanding author- ity, 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, ils sudden parox3^sms of power, by which it convulsed some part of society. The constancy and regularity with which, in the ordinary course of things, it dischar- ged its function, may in some degree have deadened its influence ; and, in the period of ignorance and barbarism, the instruc- tion was chiefly through the ceremonial, the symbolic worship, the painting, and even the dramatic representation. Still, this new moral power, though in- termitted 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 tibus, docere non audeat.— Cone. Garth., can. 98. Jerome might be supposed, in his indignant remon- strance against the right which almost all assumed of interpreting the Scriptures, to be writing of later days. Quod medicorum est, promittunt medici, tractant fabrilia fabri. Sola Scripturorum ars est, quam sibi omnes passim vindicant. Scribimus, in- docti doctique poemata passim. Hancgamila anus, banc delirus senex, hanc sophista verbosus, hanc universi praesumunt, lacerant, docent antequam dis cant. Alii addicto supercilio, grandia verba truti nantes, inter mulierculas de sacris literis philoso- phantur. Alii discunt, proh pudor ! a feminis, quod viros doceant: et ne parum hoc sit quadam facili- tate verborum, imo audacia, edisserunt aliis quod ipsi non intelligunt.—Epist. 1., ad Paulinum, vol. iv., p. 571.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 485 ought to have been rebuked before its voice, and exciting those feelings of hos- tility between conflicting sects which it should have allayed; yet even then in some heartsfts gentler and more Christian tones made a profound and salutary im- pression, while its more violent language fell off without mingling with the uncon- genial feelings. The great principles of the religion—the providence of God, the re- demption by Christ, the immortality of the soul, future retribution—gleamed through all the fantastic and legendary lore with which :t was encumbered and obscured in the darker ages. Christianity first im- posed it as a duty on one class of men to be constantly enforcing moral and reli- gious 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 authorized, and, in general, respected remonstrance against lhe vices and misery of mankind. Man was perpetually reminded that lie was an immortal being, under the protection of a wise ai$ all-ruling Providence, and des- tined 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 fits expressions faded from the hearts of those to whom ii was addressed. The orations of the Basils and Chrysostoms, the Ambroses and Au- gustines, became one of the most important parts of Christian literature. That elo- quence which in Rome and Greece had been confined to civil and judicial affairs, was now inseparably connected with re- ligion. 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 powerfully moved the minds of multitudes. No part of Christian literature so vividly reflects the times, the tone of religious doctrine or sentiment, in many cases the manners, habits, and char- acter of the'period, as the sermons of the leading teachers. CHAPTER IV. CHRISTIANITY AND THE FINE ARTS. As in literature, so in the fine arts, Chris- Fine arts ^an^y to awa^ that period in: me ar s* which it should become complete- ly 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 in- fused into the human imagination. The dawn of a new civilization must be the first epoch for the development of Chris- tian art. The total disorganization of so- ciety which was about to take place, im- plied the total suspension of the arts which embellish social life. The objects of ad- miration were swept away by the destruc- tive ravages of barbarian warfare; or, where they were left in contemptuous in- difference, 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 held by the clergy, the security which they could command by the sanctity of their character, and their disposable wealth. At every period, from Theodorie, 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 pre- served in some part of Europe, though ob- scured 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 some- thing like illusion, was constantly exer- cised in the works which religion required to awaken the torpid emotions of an ig* norant and superstitious people.# In all the arts, Christianity was at first, of course, purely imitative, and imitative of the prevalent degenerate style. It had * The Iconoclasts had probably more influence in barbarizing the East tnan the Barbarians them- selves in the West.486 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY not yet felt its strength, and dared not de- velop, or dreamed not of, those latent prin- ciples which lay beneath its religion, and which hereafter were to produce works, in its own style and its own department, ri- valling 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 their opposite indeed, but not less ma- jestic style, vindicating the genius of Chris- tianity ; when Italy was to transcend an- cient Greece in painting as much as the whole modern world is inferior in the rival art of sculpture. I. Architecture was the first of these arts ■ u. t which was summoned to the Arctmecmre. Qf 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 con- tent without enshrining its triumphant wor- ship in a loftier edifice. Religion at once offered this proof of its sincerity by the sac- rifice of wealth to this hallowed purpose ; and the increasing splendour of the reli- gious edifices reacted upon the general de- votion, by the feelings of awe and venera- tion which they inspired. Splendour, how- ever, 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, accom- modated themselves to the Christian cere- monial. 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 ba- silica 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 Gre- cian temple, as it has been shown,f harmo- nized perfectly only with its own form of worship ; it was more of a public place, sometimes indeed hypoethral, 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 unau- thorized persons, might listen in undis- turbed devotion to the prayer, the reading of the Scriptures, or the preacher. One consequence of this was the neces- sity of regular apertures for the admission * See p. 269,270. f See p. 306, 308. of light ;* and these imperatively , demanded a departure from the mdom> plan of temple architecture. Windows had been equally necessary in the basilic® for the public legal proceed- ings ; the reading legal documents requi red a bright and full light; and in the basil ic® the windows were numerous and large. The nave, probably from the earliest p< riod, was lighted by cleristory windows, v hich were above the roof of the lower aisles.f Throughout the West, the practice of converting the basilica into the church con- tinued to a late period; the very name seemed appropriate : the royal hall was changed into a dwelling for the GREAT K1JNG.J The more minute subdivision of the in- ternal arrangement contributed subdivisions to form the peculiar character of the buiid- of Christian architecture. The ms* different orders of Christians were distrib- uted 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. § * In the fanciful comparison (in H. E., x., 4) which Eusebius draws between the different parts of the church and the different gradations of cate- chumens, he speaks of the most perfect as ‘‘shone on by the light through the windowsrovg 6s TTpog to (j>fig avotyfiacL Karavya&i. He seems to describe the temple as full of light, emblematical of the heavenly light diffused by Christ; Xaftirpov Kat forog e/n7r%eG> ra rs svdoOev Kal ra surog: but it is not easy to discover where his metaphor ends and his fact begins.—See Ciampini, vol. i., p. 74. f The size of the windows has been disputed by Christian antiquaries : some asserted that the early Christians, accustomed to the obscurity of their crypts and catacombs, preferred narrow apertures for light; others, that the services, especially read- ing the Scriptures, required it to be both bright and equally diffused. Ciampini, as an Italian, prefers the latter, and sarcastically alludes to the narrow windows of Gothic architecture, introduced by the “ Vandals,” whose first object being to exclude the cold of their northern climate, they contracted the windows to the narrowest dimensions possible. In the monastic churches the light was excluded, quia monachis meditantibus fortasse officiebat, quomi- nus possent intento animo soli Deo vacare.—Ciam- pini, Vetera Monumenta. The author considers that the parochial or cathedral churches may in general be distinguished from the monastic by this test t Basilic® prius vocabantur regum habitacula, nunc autem ideo basilic® divina templa nominan- tur, quia ibi Regi omnium Deo cultus et sacrificia offeruntur.---Isidor.,.Orig., lib. 5. Basilic® olim ne- gotiis p®ne, nunc votis pro tua salute susceptis.— Auson., Grat. Act. pro Consul. § Populi confluunt ad ecclesias castacelebrifcats,HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 48T This greater internal complexity neces- sarily 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 repo- sing upon 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 at 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 com- prehended and felt at once by the mind; of which the lines were all horizontal and regular, and the general impression a ma- jestic or graceful uniformity, either awful from its massiveness or solidity, or pleas- ing from its lightness and delicate propor- tion. The harmony of the Christian building (if in fact it attained, before its perfection in the mediaeval Gothic, to that first prin- ciple of architecture) consisted in the com- bination of many separate parts duly bal- anced into one whole; the subordination of the accessories to the principal object; the multiplication of distinct objects coa- lescing 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 build- ings which, from an early period, arose around the central church, especially in all the monastic institutions. The baptis- tery was often a separate building; and fre- quently, in the ordinary structures for wor- ship, dwellings for the officiating priest- hood were attached to, or adjacent to, the church. The Grecian temple appears oft- en to have stood alone, on the brow of a hill, in a grove, or in some other command- ing or secluded situation ; in Rome, many of the pontifical offices were held by pa- tricians, who occupied their own palaces ; out the Eastern temples were in general honesta utriusque sexus discretione.—August., do Div. Dei, ii., 28. Compare Bingham, viii., 5, 5. surrounded by spacious courts, and with buildings for the residence of the sacerdo- tal colleges. If these were not the mod- els of the Christian establishments, the same ecclesiastical arrangements, the in- stitution of a numerous and wealthy priest- ly order attached to the churches, de- manded the same accommodation. Thus a multitude of subordinate buildings would crowd around the central or more eminent house of God ; at first, where mere con- venience was considered, and where the mind had not awakened to the solemn im- pressions excited by vast and various ar- chitectural works, combined by a conge- nial style of building, and harmonized by skilful arrangement and subordination, they would be piled together irregularly and capriciously, obscuring that which was really grand, and displaying irrever- ent 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 development of a prin- ciple which, if at first dimly perceived, was by no means rigidly or consistently followed out. We must wait many cen- turies before we reach the culminating pe- riod of genuine Christian architecture. II. Sculpture alone, of the fine arts, has been faithful to its parent pagan- ^u]l)ture ism. It has never cordially im- bibed the spirit of Christianity. Th-e sec- ond creative epoch (how poor, compara- tively, in fertility and originality!) was contemporary and closely connected with the revival of classical literature in Eu- rope. It has lent itself to Christian sen- timent chiefly in two forms ; as necessary and subordinate to architecture, and as monumental sculpture. Christianity was by no means so intol- erant, at least after its first period, of the remains of ancient sculpture, or so perse- veringly hostile to the art, as might have been expected from its severe aversion to idolatry. The earlier fathers, indeed, con- demn the arts of sculpture and of painting as inseparably connected with paganism. Every art which frames an image is irre- claimably idolatrous ;* and the stern Ter- tullian reproaches Hermogenes with the two deadly sins of painting and marrying.f * Ubi artifices statu arum et imaginum et omnis generis simulachrorum diabolus sseculo intulit; caput facta est idolatrise ars omnis quse idolum quo- que modo edit.—Tertull, de Idolat., c. iii. He has no language to express his horror that makers of images should be admitted into the clerical order. t Pingit illicite, nubit assidue, legem Dei in li- bidinem defendit, in artem contemnit; bis falsarius et cauterio et stylo.—In Hermog., cap.i. Cautem488 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. The Council of Elvira proscribed paintings on the walls of churches,* * which never- theless 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 col- umn, with its singular and unchristian con- fusion of attributes, has been already no- ticed. Philostorgius 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.f The sedition in Antioch arose out of insults to the statues of the emperors,J and the erection of the statue of the empress before the great church in Constantinople gave rise to the last dis- turbance, which ended in the exile of Chry- sostom.§ The statue of the emperor was long the representative of the imperial presence ; it was reverenced in the capi- tal and in the provincial cities with hon- ours approaching to adoration. || The modest law of Theodosius, by which he attempted to regulate these ceremonies, of which the adulations bordered at times on impiety, expressly reserved the exces- sive honours, sometimes lavished on these statues at the public games, for the su- preme Deity.^f The statues even of the gods were con- demned with some reluctance and re- morse. No doubt iconoclasm, under the first edicts of the emperors, raged in the provinces with relentless violence. Yet Constantine, we have seen, did not scru- refers to encaustic painting. The Apostolic Con- stitutions reckon a# maker of idols with persons of infamous character and profession, viii., 32. * Placuitpicturasin ecclesia esse non debere, ne quod colitur et adoratur, in parietibus depingatur.— Can. xxxvi. f P. 305. Philostorg., ii., 17. t P.396. ^ $ P.404. II E2 yap fiaGiXeog dirovrog eifccbv avarcTir/poi j3(i(nMo)g, Kal rrpoGKvvovGiv apxovreg teal lepofiTjviai £7UT8AOvvrac, Kal apxovreg VTravrfiGi, teal dfjpoc rrpoGKvvovGiv ov 7Tpog rrjv aavitia (3Mrr- nvreg aXXd rrpbg rov xapaKrripa rov fiaGiXecjg, ovk kv tt\ (j)VG€i /&eopovpevov litW kv ypaorj reapa- deiKWfi^vov.—Joann. Damasccn., de Imagin., orat. 9. Jerome, however (on Daniel), compares it to the worship demanded by Nebuchadnezzar. Ergo judices et principes ssecuh, qui imperatorum statu- as adorant et imagines, hoc se facere intelligent quod tres pueri facere nolentes placudre Deo. They were to prove their loyalty by the respect which they felt for the statue in their secret hearts : excedens cultura hominum dignitatum superno nu- mini reservetur.—Cod. Theod., xv, 4, 1. I pie to adorn his capital with images, bou> i of gods and men, plundered indiscrimi- 1 nately from the temples of Greece. The 1 Christians, indeed, asserted that they wp’ e set up for scorn and contempt. Even Theodosius exempts such sta ues as were admirable as works of art from the common sentence of destruction.* This doubtful toleration of profane art gradu- ally gave place to the admission of art into the service of Christianity. Sculpture, and, still more, Painting, were received as the ministers of Christian pie- ty, 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 pre- ferred allegory to representation, the true and legitimate object of art.f It expand- ed 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.J It was the copy of the com- mon instrument of ignominious execution in all its nakedness ; and nothing, indeed, so powerfully attests the triumph of Chris- tianity as the elevation of this, which to the Jew and to the heathen was the ba- sest, the most degrading, punishment of the lowest criminal,! the proverbial ter- * A particular temple was to remain open, in qua simulacra feruntur posita, artis pretio quam divin- itate metienda.—Cod. Theod., xvi., 10, 8. t Rumohr., Italienische Forschungen, i., p. 158. We want the German'words andeutung (allusion or suggestion, but neither conveys the same forcible sense), and darstellung, 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. t The author has expressed in .a former work his impression on this most remarkable fact in the his- tory of Christianity. “In one respect it is impossible now to conceive the extent to which the apostles of the crucified Je- sus shocked all the feelings of mankind. The pub- lic 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 dissi- pate the illusion of dignity which has gathered round it; it has been so long dissevered from all its coarse and humiliating associations, that it can- not be cast back and desecrated into its state of op- probrium and contempt. . To the most daring unbe- liever among ourselves it is the symbol—the absurd and irrational, he may conceive, but still the an- cient and venerable symbol—of a powerful and in- fluential religion. What was it to the Jew and the heathen ? the basest, the most degrading punish- ment of the lowest criminal, the proverbial: eirorHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 489 ror of the wretched slave, into an object for the adoration of ages, the reverence of nations. The glowing language of Chry- sostom expresses the universal sanctity of the cross in the fourth century. “ No- thing 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 emulously 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 onHhe most hon- ourable part of the body, or on the fore- head, 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 everywhere 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 ban- quets, on gold and silver vessels, on gems, in the paintings of our walls, on the bodies of diseased beasts, on human bodies pos- sessed 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 gen- erally received. “ Why do all men vie with each other to approach that true cross on which the sacred body was cru- cified 1 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 of condemnation! Even em- perors have laid aside the diadem to take up the cross.”* * A more various symbolism gradually grew up, and extended to what Symbolism. approache(i nearer to works of art. Its rude designs were executed in 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 imbodied every, attribute of strength, power, and dignity,” &c.—' Milman’s Bampton Lectures, p. 279. * Chrysost., Oper., vol. i., p. 57, 569. See in Miinter’s work (p. 68, et seq), the various forms which the cross assumed, and the fanciful notions concerning it. Ipsa species crucis quid est nisi forma quadrata mundi? Oriens de vertice fulgens; Arcton dextra tenet; Auster in laeva consistit; Occidens sub plan- tis formatur. Unde Apostolus di-cit: ut sciamus, quse sit altitudo, et latitudo, et longitudo, et profun- dum. Aves quando volant ad mthera, formam cru- cis assumunt; homo natans per aquas, vel orans, forma crucis vehitur. Navis per maria antenna cruci similata sufflatur. Thau iitera signum salu- tis et crucis describitur.—Hieronym, in Marc,, xv. 3 Q engravings on seals, or on lamps, or glass vessels, and, before long, in relief on mar- ble, 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 indispensa- ble in ancient housekeeping. The Chris- tian was permitted, according to Clem- ent of Alexandra, to bestow on his wife one ring of gold, in order that., being intrusted 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* the ship, the anchor, or the apostolic fisherman fishing for men, which would remind them of children drawn out of the waters of- bap- tism. f Tertullian mentions a communion cup with the image of the Good Shepherd embossed upon it.* But Christian symbol- ism soon disdained these narrow limits, extended itself into the whole domain of the Old Testament as well as of the Gos- pel, and even ventured at times over the unhallowed borders of paganism. The persons and incidents of the Old Testa- ment had all a typical or allegorical refer- ence 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 bom 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 breth- ren as a bondslave, Moses by the burning bush, breaking the tables of the law, stri- king 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 Goliath, 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 signifi- cance. They reminded the devout wor- shipper of the sacrifice, resurrection, and redemption of Christ. The direct illustra- tions of the New Testament showed the Lord of the Church on a high mountain, witk four rivers, the Gospels, flowing from * The ’IX0YS, according to the rule of the an- cient. anagram, meant 'Iriaovg XpcaTog Oeov Tiog Swr^p. f Clem. Alex., Psedagog., iii., 2. t See Mamachi, De Costumi di’ primitm Chris tiani, lib. i., c. iv.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANIT' 490 it; the Good Shepherd bearing the lamb,* and sometimes the apostles and saints of a later time, appeared in the'symbols. Paganism lent some of her spoils to the conqueror.f The Saviour was represent- ed under the person and with the lyre of Orpheus, either as the civilizer of men, or in allusion to the Orphic poetry, which had already been interpolated with Christian images. Hence also the lyre was the em- blem of truth. Other images, particularly those of animals, were not uncommon. J The Church was represented by a ship, the anchor denoted the pure ground of. faith; the stag implied the hart which thirsted after the water-brooks ; the horse the rapidity with which men ought to. run and embrace the doctrine of salvation ; the hare the timid Christian hunted by persecutors ; 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 me- morials, to which devotion gave all their value and significance ; in themselves they * There is a heathen prototype (see R. Rochette) even for this good shepherd, and one of the earliest images is encircled with the “ Four Reasons,” rep- resented by genii with pagan attributes.—Compare Miinter, p. 61. Tombstones, and even inscriptions, were freely borrowed. One Christian tomb has been published by P. Lupi, inscribed “ Diis Man- ibus.” . . t In three very curious dissertations m the last volume of the Memoirs of the Academy of Inscrip- tions 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 unheathenized Christianity, the Christians borrowed from the monumental decora- tions, the symbolic figures, and even the inscrip- tions of heathenism. M. Rochette says, “ La phys- ionomie presque payenne qu’offre la decoration des catacombes de Rome,” p. 96. The Protestant trav- ellers, Burnet and Misson, from the singular mix- ture of the sacred and 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 con- trary. M. Raoul Rochette, as well as M. Rostelli (in an Essay in the Roms Beschreibung), considers this point conclusively made out in favour ef the Roman writers M. R. Rochette has adduced mon- uments in which the symbolic images and the lan- guage of heathenism and Christianity are strangely mingled together. Miinter had observed the Jordan represented as a river god. % The catacombs at Rome are the chief authori- ties for this symbolic school of Christian art. They are represented in the works of Bosio, Roma Sot- teranea, Aringhi, Bottari, and Boldetti But per- haps the best view of them, being in fact a very ju- dicious and well-arranged selection of the most cu- rious works of early Christian art, may be found in the Sinnbilder und Kunstvorstellungen der alten Christen, by Bishop Miinter. 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 ac- complish its object. The elements of this feeling, even the first sense of external grandeur and beauty, had yet to be infu- sed into the Christian mind. The pure, and holy, and majestic inward thoughts and sentifnents had to work into form, and associate themselves with appropriate vis- ible images. 'Phis want and this desire were long unfelt. The person of the Saviour was a subject of grave dispute among the old- person 0f er fathers. Some took the ex- the Saviour, pressions 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 comeli- ness.f 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.f Clem- ent of Alexandrea maintains the same opinion.§ But the most curious illustra- tion of this notion occurs in the work of Origen against Celsus. In the true spirit of Grecian art and philosophy, Celsus de- nies that the Deity could dwell in a mean form or low stature. Origen is embar- * All these works in their different forms are ir general of coarse and inferior, execu tion. The fune real vases found in the Christian cemeteries, are of the lowest style of workmanship. The senatoi Buonarotti, in his work “ De’ Vetri Cemeteriali,’ thus accounts for this : “ Stettero sempre lontane di quelle arti, colie quali avessero potuto correr pe ricolo di contaminarsi colla idolatria, e da cio avven ne, che pochi, o niuno di essi si diede alia pittura C alia scultura, le quali aveano per oggettoprincipale di rappresentare le deita, e le favole de’ gentili. Sicche volendo i fedeli adornar con simboli devoti i loro vasi, erano forzati per lo piu a valersi di arte- fici inesperti. e che 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. f Tov aeidfj Kal arLfiov (pdvevra.—Dial, cum Triph., 85 and 88, 100. X Quodcurnque illud corpusculum sit, quoniam habitum, et quoniam conspectum sit, si mglorius, si ignobilis si inhonorabilis ; meus erit Christus * * * — Sed species ejus inhonorata, deficiens ultra omnes homines.—Contr. Marc., hi., 17. Ne aspec- tu quidam honestus.—Adv. Judams, c. 14. Et.iam despicientium formam ejus hsec erat vox. Adeo nec human® honestatis corpus fuit, nedum coelestia claritatis—De Carn. Christi, c. 9. § Paedagog,, hi., 1.HISTORY Ot CHRISTIANITY. 491 rassed with the argument; he fears to re- cede from the literal interpretation of Isai- ah, 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 tri- umphantly adduces the verse of the forty- fourth Psalm, “ Ride on in thy loveliness and in thy beauty.”* But as the poetry of Christianity ob- tained more full possession of the human mind, these debasing and inglorious con- ceptions 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 out- working, as it were, of the inward purity, beauty, and harmony, upon the symmetry of the external form, and the lovely ex- pression of the countenance. Jerome, Chrysostom, Ambrose, Augustine, with one voice assert the majesty and enga- ging appearance of the Saviour. The lan- guage of Jerome first, shows the sublime conception which was brooding, as it were, in the Christian mind, and was at'length slowly to develop 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.”} “ The heavenly Father forced upon him in full streams that corporeal grace, which is dis- tilled drop by drop upon mortal man.” Such are the glowing expressions of Chry- sostom. } 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, beau- tiful upon the cross, beautiful in the sep- ulchre.” There were some, however, who, even * ’AfiTJxci’Vbv yap oru i9slov n irleov rtbv al- 2,(ov irpoofjv, p,7]6ev aXkov ScatyspeLV' tovto 6s ov- 6sv aXXov Siefspev, 6)g (jtaat, uiKpov, Kal dvaecdsg, teal aysvsv rjv.—Celsus apud Origen, vi„ 75. Origin quotes the text of the LXX., in which it is the forty-fourth, and thus translated: T?) (bpUlOTTj TL gov, Kal rep kuaTisi gov Kab SVTSIVOV, Kal KarevoSov, teal fiauDisve. t Certe fulgor ipsa et majestas divinitatis occul- tss, qua3 etiam in humana facie relucebat, ex priino ad se venientes trahere pot mat aspectu. — Hie- ronyra. in Matth., c. ix., 9. Nisi enim habuisset et in vultu quiddam et in oculis sidereum, nunquam eum statirn secuti fuis- gent apostoli.—Epist. ad Princip. Virginem. t In Psalm xliv. at this and to a much later period, chiefly among those addicted to monkish auster- ity, 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 cen- tury, who were monks of the rnle of St. Basil, are said to have been too faithful to the judgment of their master, or per- haps their rude art was better qualified to represent a mean figure, with harsh out- line 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 Alexandrea repeats the as- sertion o*f the Saviour’s mean appearance, even beyond the ordinary race of men, in the strongest language.* This contro- versy proves decisively that there was no traditionary type which was admitted to represent the 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 conclu- sive 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 Caesarea Philippi, represent- ing him in the act of healing the woman with the issue of blood.} 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 East,§ though we are dis- * AAAa to eldog avrov anfiov, skTisltzov ivapa izavrag rovg vlovg rtiv avOpurrcov.—De Nud. Noe., lib. ii., t. i., p. 43. f Qua fuerit ille facie nos penitus ignoramus: nam et ipsius Dominicoe facies carnis innumerabil- ism cogitationem diversitate variatur et fingitur, quse tamen una erat, quascunque erat.—Be Trim, lib. vii., c. 4, 5. The Christian apologists uniformly acknowledge the charge that they have no altars or images.— Minuc. Fel. Octavius, x., p. 61. Arnob., vi., post init. Origen contra Celsum, viii., p. 389. Com- pare Jablonski (Dissertatio de Origine Imaginum Christi, opuscul., vol. iii., p. 377), who well argues that, consistently with Jewish manners, there could not have been any likeness of the Lord. Compare Pearson on the Creed, vol. ii, p. 101. X Euseb., H. E., vii., 18, with the Excursus of Heinichen. These were probably two bronze fig- ures, one of a kneeling woman in the act of sup- plication, the other the upright figure of a man, probably of a Caesar, which the Christian inhabi- tants of Caesarea Philippi transformed into the Sa- viour and the woman in the Gospels: Tovrov de rov avdptavra stKova rov It/gov (bspstv sXsyov. Eusebius seems desirous of believing the story. Compare M{inter. $ "Ore Kal rtiv ’Aitogt6%g)v tC)v av^ov rag eU Kovag IlavAoi; Kal Tlsrpov Kal avrov 6) rov Xpia-£92 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. inclined 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, Earliest from the Gnostic sects, who not images merely blended the Christian and Guosuc. pagan< or Oriental notions on their gems and seals, engraved with the mys- terious 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, Pla- to, Aristotle, and probably some of the Eastern philosophers.* * * § The Qarpocra- tians had painted portraits of Christ; and Marcellina,f a celebrated female* heresi- arch, exposed to the view of the Gnostic Church in Rome the portraits of Jesus and St. Paul, of Homer, and of Pythago- ras. Of this nature, no doubt, were the images of Abraham, Orpheus, Pythagoras, Apollonius, and Christ, set up in his pri- vate chapel by the Emperor Alexander Severus. These small images,% which varied very much, it should seem, in form and feature, could contribute but little, if rod dca xpo/xaruv ev ypatyalg (ju&fievag laro- of/aaftev.—Ibid., loc. cit. * Irenaeus, de Haer., i., c. 84 (ed. Grabe). Epi- phan., Hseres., xxvii., 6. Augustin., de Haeresib., c. vii. These images of Christ were said to have been derived from the collection of Pontius Pilate. Compare Jablonskks Dissertation. t Marcellina lived about the middle of the sec- ond century, or a little later. t Of these Gnostic images of Christ there are only two extant which seem to have some claim to authenticity and antiquity. Those from the col- lection of Chifflet are now considered to represent Serapis. One is mentioned by M. Raoul Rochette (Types Imitatifs de PArt du Christianisme, p. 21); it is a stone, a kind of tessera with a head of Christ, young and beardless, in profile, with the word XPI2T02 in Greek characters, with the symbolic fish below. This is in the collection of M. Fortia d’Urban, and is engraved as a vignette to M. R. Rochette’s essay. The other is adduced in an “ Essay on Ancient Coins, Medals, and Gems, as illustrating the Progress of Christianity in the Ear- ly Ages, by the Rev. R. Walsh.” This is a kind of medal or tessera of metal, representing Christ as he is described in the apocryphal letter of Lentulus to the Roman senate.—Fabric., Cod. Apoc. Nov. Test., p. 301, 302. It has a head of Christ, the hair parted over the forehead, covering the ears, and falling over the shoulders ; the shape is long, the beard short and thin. It has the name of Jesus in Hebrew, and has not the nimbus 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 Christianisme, par M, Raoul Rochette. in the least, to form that type of super- human beauty, which might mingle the sentiment of human sympathy with rev- erence for the divinity of Christ. Chris- tian art long brooded over such feelings as those expressed by Jerome and Augus- tine before it could even attempt to im- body them in marble or colour.* The earliest pictures of the Saviour seem formed on one type or model. Theearliest They all represent the oval coun- portraits or tenance, slightly lengthened; the hie saviour, grave, soft, and melancholy expression; the short, thin beard; the hair parted on the forehead into two long masses, which fall upon the shoulders.f Such are the features which characterize the earliest extant painting, that on the vault of the cemetery of 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 ;§ and a third was discover- ed in the catacomb of St. Callistus by Bol- detti, 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, re- liefs on the sarcophagi, five of which may be referred, according to M. Rochette, to the time of Julian. Of one, that of Oly- brius, the date appears certain—the close of the fourth century. These, the paint- ings at least, are no doubt the work of Greek artists ; and this head may be con- sidered the archetype, the hieratic model, of the Christian conception of the Saviour, * 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 era of Christian painting? “ He was a man of tall and well-proportioned form ; the counte nance severe and impressive, so as to move the be- holders at once to love and awe. His hair was of the colour of wine (vinei coloris), reaching to hi# ears, with no radiation (sine radiatione, without the nimbus),. and standing up from his ears, clus- tering and bright, and flowing down over his shoul- ders, parted on the top according to the fashion of the Nazarines. 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 wonder- ful 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. X Bottari, Pitture e Sculture Sacre, vol. ii., tav. lxx., p. 42. § This, however, was probably repainted in tlie time of Hadrian I.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. imagined in the East, and generally adopt- ed in the West.* Reverential awe, diffidence in their own The Father skill>the still dominant sense of rarely repre- the purely spiritual natuie of the sented. Parental Deity,! or perhaps the exclusive habit of dwelling upon the Son as the direct object of religious worship, restrained early Christian art from those attempts to which we are scarcely recon- ciled 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.J The Virgin Mother could not but offer herself to the imagination, an,d The Virgin. be accepted at once as the sub- ject 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 her- self a deity in popular worship, this wor- ship 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.$ But the fervent language of Jerome shows that art had already attempted to shadow out the conception of mingling virgin pu- * Rumohr considers a statue of the Good Shep- herd in the Vatican collection, from its style, to be a very early work ; the oldest monument of Chris- tian sculpture, prior to the urn of Junius Bassus, which is of the middle of the fourth century.—Ital- ienische Forschungen, vol. i., p. 168. In that usu- ally thought the earliest, that of Junius Bassus, Jesus Christ is represented between the apostles, beardless, seated in a curule chair, with a roll half unfolded in his hand, and under his feet a singular representation of the upper part of a man holding an inflated veil with his two hands, a common sym- bol or personification of heaven.—See R. Rochette, p. 43, who considers these sarcophagi anterior to the formation of the ordinary type. •f Compare Miinter, ii., p. 49. Nefas habent docti ejus (ecclesise Catholicae) credere Deum figura hu- mani corporis terminatum.—August., Conf, vi., 11. % M. Emeric David (in his Discours sur les An- ciens Monumens, to which I am indebted for much information) says that the French artists had first the heureuse hardiesse 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 Montfaucon, 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, p. 43, 46. $ Neque enim novimus faciem Virginis Mariae.— Augustin., de Trin., c. viii. Ut ipsa corporis facies simulacrum fuerit mentis, figura probitatis.- -Am- bros., de Virgin., lib. ii., c. 2 493 rity and maternal tenderness, which as ye\ 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 Chris- tian 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 ex- posure of the form, the countenance was the whole picture. This reverence, in- deed, in the very earliest specimens of the art, goes still farther, and confines itself to the expression of composed and digni- fied attitude. The artists did not even venture to expose the face. With one ex- ception, the Virgin appears veiled on the reliefs on the sarcophagi and in the earli- est paintings. The oldest known picture of the Virgin is in the catacomb of St. Cal- listus, 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. She is still veiled,! but with tha rounded form and grace of youth, and a kind of sedate chastity of expression in her form, which seems designed to convey the feeling of gentleness and holiness. Two of these sarcophagi, one in the Vati- can collection and one at Milan, appear to disprove the common notion that the rep- resentation of the Virgin was unknown before the Council of Ephesus.J That council, in its zeal against the doctrines of Nestorius, established, as it has been call- ed, 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 al- most sinister expression, and the coun- tenance gradually darkens, till it assumes * Bottari, Pitture e Sculture Sacre, t. iii., p. Ill, tav. 218. See Mdmoire de M. Raoul Rochette, Academ. Inscript. t In Bottari there is one picture of the Virgin with the head naked, t. ii., tav. cxxvi. The only one known to M. Raoul Rochette. X A.D. 431. This opinion is maintained by Bas nage and most Protestant writers.194 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. a black colour, and seems to adapt itself m this respect to an ancient tradition. At length even the sentiment of maternal af- fection is effaced, both the mother and child become stiff and lifeless, the child is swathed in tight bands, and has an expres- sion of pain rather than of gentleness- or placid infancy.* The apostles, particularly St. Peter and The Apostles. Paul, were among the ear- her objects of Christian art. Though in one place St. Augustine as- serts that the persons of the apostles were equally unknown with that of the Saviour, in another he acknowledges that their pic- tures were exhibited on the walls of many churches for the edification of the faithful.f 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.} A pic- ture 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 like- ness of; the apostle.§ Paul and Peter ap- pear on many of the oldest monuments, on the glass vessels, fragments of which have been discovered, and on which Je- rome informs us that they were frequent- ly painted. They are found, as we have seen, on the sarcophagus of Junius Bas- sus, 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 ta- ken these personal peculiarities of the apostle from the popular Christian repre- sentations. St. Peter has usually a single tuft of hair on his bald forehead.If Each has a book, the only symbol of his apos- tleship. St. Peter has neither the sword * Compare Raoul Rochette, p. 35. M. R. Ro- chette observes much similarity between the pic- tures of the Virgin ascribed to St. Luke, the tradition of whose painting ascends to the sixth century, and the Egyptian works which represent Isis nursing Horus. I have not thought it necessary to notice farther these palpable forgeries, though the object, in so many places, of popular worship. f St. Augustine in Genesin, cap. xxii. Quodplu- ribus locis simul eos (apostolos) cum illo (Christo) pictos viderint * * 34 in pictis parietibus.—Augus- tin., de Cons. Evang,, i., 16. X Hadrian I., Epist. ad Imp. Constantin, et Iren., Concil. Nic., ii., art. 2. % § These two assertions rest on the authority of Joannes Damascenus, de Imagin. II Y.a7u7ialog ava^aTiavriag em^pivog.—Philop., c. xii. if Miinter says the arrest of St. Peter (Acts, xii., ], 3) is the only subject from the Acts of the Apos- tles among the monuments in the catacombs, ii., p. 104. 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 pre- vails throughout Christian art. The maj- esty of age, and a kind of dignity of pre- cedence, are attributed to Peter and Paul, while all the grace of youth, and the most exquisite gentleness, are centred 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 did not become the Martyrdom subjects of Christian art till far not repre- down in the dark ages. That of sented* 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. R. Ro- chette, than the seventh century.* The absence of all gloomy or distress- ing subjects is the remarkable and charac- teristic feature in the catacombs of Rome and in all the earliest Christian art. A modern writer, who has studied the sub- ject with profound attention, has express- ed himself in the following language :f “ 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 do- minion of melancholy thoughts and pain- ful duties, nevertheless everywhere rep- resent in all the historic parts of these paintings only what is noble and exalted,} 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 rec- ompense 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 * Raoul Rochette, in M6m. de l’Academie, tom. xiii., p. 165. t M. D’Agincourt says, “ II n’a rencontre lui m&me dans ces souterrains aucune trace de nul au tre tableau (one of barbarian and late design had be fore been noticed) representant une martyre.—Hist de l’Art. t Des traits heroiqir 6.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 495 happiness ; and far from associating with this image that of the tortures or priva- tions which opened Heaven before them, they took pleasure in enlivening it with smiling colours, or presented it under agreeable symbols, adorning it with flow- ers and vine leaves ; for it is thus that the asylum of death appears to us in the Christian catacombs. There is no sign of mourning, no token of resentment, no expression of vengeance ; all breathes soft- ness, benevolence, charity.”* It may seem even more singular, that rhecru- the passion of our Lord himself remained a subject interdicted, as it were, by awful reverence. The cross, it has been said, was the symbol of Chris- tianity many centuries before the cruci- fix.f It was rather a cheerful and con- solatory than a depressing and melan- choly sign; it was adorned with flowers, with crowns, and precious stones, a pledge of the resurrection rather than a memo- rial 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.% Cardinal Bona gives the following as the progress of the gradu- al change. I. The simple cross. II. The cross with the lamb at the foot of it.§ III. Christ clothed on the cross, with hands up- lifted in prayer, but not nailed to it. IV. Christ fastened to the cross with four nails, still 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 afterward the whole person; the head was at first erect, with some expression of divinity; by de- grees 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 corpo- * Gregory of Nyssa, however, describes the he- roic acts of St. Theodorus as painted on the walls of a church dedicated to that saint. “ The painter had represented his sufferings, the forms of the ty- rants like wild beasts. The fiery furnace, the death of the athlete of Christ; alTthis had the painter ex- pressed by colours, as in a book, and adorned the temple like a pleasant and blooming meadow. The dumb walls speak and edify.” f See, among other authorities, Miinter, page 77. Rs ist unmoglich das alter der crucifixe genau zu bestimmen. Vordem Ende des siebenten Jahrhun- derts kannte die Kirche sie nicht. t The decree of the Quinisextan Council in 695, is the clearest proof that up to that period the Pas- sion had been usually represented under a symbolic Dr allegoric form. $ Sub cruce sanguinea niveo stat Christus in agno, Agnus ut innocua injusto datur hostia letho. Paul. Nolan, Epist. 32. I! De cruce Vatican^. real suffering without sublimity, all that was painful in truth, with nothing thai 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 re- quired 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 sim- pler subjects; it endeavoured to represent designs of far bolder and more intricate character. Among the earliest descrip- tions of Christian painting is that paintings in the Church of St. Felix, by Pau- at No:a“ linus of Nola.* In the colonnades of that church were painted scenes from the Old Testament: among them were the Pas- sage 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 ;f 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 ex- alted motives to the altar of St. Felix; to preoccupy their minds with sacred sub- jects, so that they might be less eager for the festival banquets, held witli such mu- nificence and with such a concourse of strangers, at the tomb of the martyr.j * The lines are not without merit: Quo duce Jordanes suspenso gurgite Axis Fluctibus, a facie divinae restitit areas. Vis nova divisit flumen; pars amne recluso Constitit, et- fluvii pars in mare lapsa cucurrit, . Destituit.que vadum; etvalidus qui forte ruebat Impetus, adstrictas alte cumulaverat undas, Et tremula compage minax pendebat aquse mons Despectans transire pedes arente profundo ; Et medio pedibus siccis in flumine ferri Pulverulenta hominum duro vestigia limo. If this description is drawn from the picture, not from the book, the painter must have possessed some talent for composition and for landscape, ae well as for the drawing of figures, i Quum geminse scindunt sese in diversa sorores; Ruth sequitur sanctam, quam .deserit Orpa, paren* tem; Perfidiam nurus una, fidem nurus altera monstrat Praefert una Deum patriae, patriam altera vitse t Forte requiratur, qusnam ratione gerendi Sederit hsec nobis sententia, pingere sanctas Raro more domos animantibus adsimulatis. * '* * turba frequentior hie est Rusticitas non casta fide, neque docta legendi. Heec adsueta diu sacris servire profanis, Ventre Deo, tandem convertitur advena Chris*©,496 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. These gross and irreligious desires led them to the church; yet, gazing on these pictures, they would not merely be awa- kened by these holy examples to purer thoughts and holier emotions; they would feast their eyes instead of their baser ap- petites ; an involuntary sobriety and for- getfulness 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. Christianity has been the parent of mu- . sic, probably as far surpassing in USIC' skill and magnificence the composi- tions of earlier times, as the cathedral or- gan the simpler instruments of the Jewish or pagan religious worship. But this per- fection of the art belongs to a much later period in Christian history. 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 re- ligious lyrics as unrivalled in the history of poetry as of. religion.* * * § The Psalms were introduced early into the public ser- vice ; but at first, apparently, though some psalms may have been sung on appropri- ate occasions—the 73d, called the morn- ing, and the 141st, the evening psalm—the whole Psalter was introduced only as a part of the Old Testament, and read in the course of the service.f With the po- etry did they borrow the music of the Synagogue! Was this music the same Dum sanctorum opera in Christo miratur aperta. Propterea visum nobis opus utile, totis , • Felicis domibus pictura illudere sancta: Si forte attonitas haec per speetacula mentes Agrestum caperet fucata coloribus umbra, Quse super exprimitur literis; ut littera monstret Quod manus explicuit: dumque omnes picta vicis- sim Ostendunt releguntque sibi, vel tardius escae Sunt memores, dum grata oculis jejunia pascunt: Atque ita se melior stupefactis inserat usus, Dum fal'lit pictura famem ; sanctasque legenti Historias castorum operum subrepit honestas Exemplis inducta piis; potatur hianti Sobrietas, nimii subeunt oblivia vini: Dumque diem ducunt spatio majore tuentes, Pocula rarescunt, quia per mirantia tracto Tempore, jam paucse superant epulantibus horse. In Natal. Felic., Poema xxiv. * The Temple Service, in Lightfoot’s works, gives the psalms which were appropriate to each day. The author has given a slight outline of this hymnology of the Temple in the Quarterly Review, vol xxxviii., page 20. .f Bingham’s Antiquities, vol xiv., p. 1,5. which had filled the spacious courts of the Temple, perhaps answered to those sad strains which had been heard beside the-waters of the Euphrates, or even de- scended 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 are aware, in- dicates 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 ol 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.j Nothing could be more simple than the earliest recorded hymns; they were fragments from tlie 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 Rev., iv., 12, “Holy, holy, holy;” the hymn of victory, Rev., xv., 3, “ Great and mar- vellous are thy works.” It was not im- probably the cherubic hymn to which Pliny alludes as forming part of the Chris- tian worship. The, “ Magnificat” and the “ Nunc Dimittis’hwere likewise sung from the earliest ages; ;the ,.H alleluia was the constant prelude or,burden of the hymn.f Of the character of the,,.music few and im- perfect traces are found. In. Egypt the simplest, form long prevailed. In the mo- nastic establishments one person arose and repeated the psalm, the others sat around in silence on their lowly seats, and responded, as it were, to the psalm within their hearts.§ In Alexandrea, by * Gregory of Nyssa defines a hymn, vftvog horiv 7] £7~l Toig VTcdpxovcuv rjfuv dyadolg dvaTiOefievr} 0e

r- 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 su- premacy. The Church condemned Galileo' on the authority of the fathers as much as of the sacred writings, at least on their ir- * Galen, as a writer on physic, may be quoted 2jr an exception.f> 02 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. refragable interpretation of the Scriptures; and the denial of the antipodes by St. Au- gustine was alleged against the magnifi- cent, but, as it appeared to many, no less impious than frantic, theory of Columbus.* The wild cosmogonical theories of the Gnostics and Manicheans, with the no less unsatisfactory hypotheses of the Greeks, tended, no doubt, to throw discredit on all kinds of physical study,f and to establish the strictly literal exposition of the Mosaic history of the creation. The orthodox fathers, when they enlarge on the works of the six days, though they allow them- selves largely in allegorical inference, have in general in view these strange theories, and refuse to depart from the strict letter of the history ;f and the popular language, which was necessarily employed with re- gard 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 phys- ical creation, the whole history of man, from its commencement to its close, seem- ed to be established in still more distinct and explicit terms. Nothing was allowed for figurative or Oriental phraseology, no- thing for that condescension to the domi- nant 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 * It has been said that the best mathematical science which the age ..could command was em- ployed in the settlement of the question about East- er, decided at the Council of Nice. t Brucker’s observations on the physical knowl- edge, or, rather, on the professed contempt of phys- ical knowledge, of the fathers, are characterized with his usual plain good sense. Their general language was that of Lactantius : “ Quanto faceret sapientius ac verius si exceptione facta diceret caus- sas rationesque duntaxat rerum ccelestium seu nat- uralium, quia sunt abdite, nesciri. posse, quia nullus doceat, nec quoeri oportere, quia inveniri quarenda non possunt. Qua exceptione interposita et physicos admonuisset ne qusererent ea, quas modum exceder- ent cogitationis humane, et se ipsum calumnie in- vidia liberasset, et nobis certe dedisset, aliquid, quod sequeremur.”—Div. Instit., iii., 2. See other quo- tations to the same effect: Brucker, Hist. Phil., iii., p. 357. The work of Cosmas Indicopleustes, edited by Montfaucon, is a curious example of the prevail- ing notions of physical science. % Compare the Hexaemeron of Ambrose, and Brucker’s sensible remarks on the pardonable errors of that great prelate. The evil was, not that the fathers fell into extraordinary errors on subjects of which they were ignorant, but that their errors were canonized by the blind veneration of later ages, which might have been better informed revealed, the close, of his history was stL.\ supposed, however each generation passed away undisturbed, to be still imminent and immediate. The day of judgment was be- fore the eyes of the Christian, either in- stant 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. be- held 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 in- dividual and the final judgment. But the popular belief was not merely a theology in its higher sense. Christianity began to approach to a poly- theistic form, or at least to per- Po]ylheis_ mit, what it is difficult to call by tic form of any other name than polytheis- Christianity, tic, habits and feelings of devotion. It attributed, however vaguely, to subordi- nate beings some of the inalienable pow- ers and attributes of divinity. Under the whole of this form lay the sum of Chris- tian doctrine; but that which was con- stantly presented to the minds of men was the host of subordinate, indeed, but still active and influential, mediators be- tween the Deity and the world of man. Throughout (as has already been, and will presently be indicated again) existed the vi- tal and essential difference between Chris- tianity and paganism. It is possible that the controversies about the Trinity and the divine nature of Christ tended indi- rectly to the promotion of this worship, of the virgin, of angels, of saints and mar- tyrs. 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 magni- fy, to purify this from all earthly leaven was the object of all eloquence : theologic disputes on this point withdrew or divert- ed the attention from the life of Christ as simply related in the Gospels. Christ be- * Depopulate urbes, eversa castra, concremate ecclesie, destructa sunt monasteria virorum et fce- minarunn, desolata ab hominibus predia, atque ab omni cultore destituta; in solitudine, vacat terra, occupaverunt bestie loca, que prius inultitudo horn inum tenebat. Nam in hac terra, in qua ros vivi- mus, finem suum rnundus jam non nuntiat sed oa- tendit.—Greg. Mag., Dial, iii., 38.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 50S came the object of a remoter, a more aw- ful adoration. The mind began, therefore, to seek out, or eagerly to seize, some other more material beings in closer alli- ance with human sympathies. The con- stant propensity of man to humanize his Deity, checked, as it were, by the rece- ding majesty of the Saviour, readily clung with its devotion to humbler objects.* The weak wing of the common and un- enlightened mind could not soar to the un- approachable light in which Christ dwelt with the Father; it dropped to the earth, and bowed itself down before some less mysterious and infinite object of venera- tion. In theory it was always a differ- ent 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'which admiration, rever- worship of ence> gratitude, and love swelled saints and up to awe, to veneration, to wor- angeis. ship, both as regards the feelings of the individual and the general senti- ment, was imperceptible. Men passed from rational respect for the remains of the dead,f the communion of holy thought and emotion, which might connect the de- parted 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 discov- ered the precise point at which they trans- gressed the unmarked and unwatched boundary. This new polytheizing Christianity, therefore, was still subordinate and sub- * The progress of the worship of saints and an- gels has been fairly and impartially traced by Schroeckh, Christliche Kirchengeschichte, viii., 161, et scq. In the account of the martyrdom of Polycarp it is said, “ we love the martyrs as dis- ciples and followers of the Lord.” The fathers of the next period leave the saints and martyrs in a kind of intermediate state, the bosom of Abra- ham or Paradise, as explained by Tertullian contr. Marc., iv., 34. Apolyct., 47. Compare Irenaeus adv. Hser., v., c. 31. Justin, Dial, cum Tryph. Ori- gen, Horn, vii., in Levit. •f The growth of the worship of relics is best shown by the prohibitory law of Theodosius (A.D. 386) against the removal and sale of saints’ bodies. “Nemo martyres distrahat, nerho mercetur.”-— Cod. Theodos., ix., 17. Augustine denies that worship was ever offered to apostles or saints. u Quis autem audivit aliquando fidelium stantem sacerdotem ad altare etiam super sanctum corpus rnartyris ad Dei honorem cultumque constructum, dicere in precibus, offero tibi sacrificium, Petre, vel Paule, vel Cypriane, cum apud eorum memo- pas offeratur Deo qui eos et homines et martyres fecit, et sanctis suis angelis coelesti honore socia- vit.”—De Civ. Dei, viii., 27. Compare xvii., 10, where he asserts miracles to be performed at their tombs. sidiary in the theologic creed to the true Christian worship, but it usurped its place in the heart, and rivalled it in the daily language and practices of devotion. _ The worshipper felt and acknowledged his de- pendency, and looked for protection or support to these new intermediate beings, the intercessors with the great Interces- sor. They were arrayed by the general be- lief in some of the attributes of the Deity —ubiquity ;* the perpetual cognizance of the affairs of earth; they could hear the prayer jf they could read the heart; thej could control nature; they had the 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, be- gan 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 Fa- ther was the sole object, and the universe the temple.j: Still, however, this new pol * Massuet, in his preface to Irenaeus, p. cxxxvi, has adduced some texts from the fathers of the fourth and fifth centuries on the ubiquity of the saints and the Virgin. f 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 $?u66{xevog, sirl rovg reaaapdnovTa Kara^evyEt, 6 evtypaivopsvog, etv avrovg a'Korpsxei'i o filv Iva. 7ivaivevpy rtiv 6va- Xep&v, o de Iva (j>v?iax6ri avru ra xprjaroTepa,' kvravda yvvT] evae6^g vrrep tekvqv evxoj^evv K-a- Takap&dvevai, d’KodrjfiovvTi avdpi rov enavodov alrovfiev7jj appuorovvTi ryv go.)T?]piav.—Oper., vol. ii., p. 155. These and similar passages in Greg. Nazianzen (Orat.. in Basil), and Gregory of Nyssa (in Theodor. Martyr.) may be rhetorical orna- ments, but their ignorant and enthusiastic hearers would not make much allowance for the fervour of eloquence. , , % An illustration of the new form assumed by Christian worship may be collected from the works of Paulinus, 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 St. Felix. . Rome herself, though she possessed the altars of St. Peter and St. Paul, pour- ed forth her myriads ; the Capenian Gate was cho- ked, the Appian Way was covered with the devout worshippers.* Multitudes came from beyond the * “ 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, &c. Ipsaque ccelestum sacris procerum monumentis Roma Petro Pauloque potens, rarescere gaudet Hujus honore diei, portaequeex ore Capenae Millia profundens ad amicse maenia Noloe Dimittet duodena decern per millia denso Agmine, confertis longe latet Appia turbis.”—Carm. iSI504 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ytheism differed in its influence, as well as in its nature, from that of paganism. It bore a constant reference to another state of existence. Though 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 senti- ments of the religious being. They were sea. St. Felix is implored by his servants to re- move the impediments to their pilgrimages from the hostility of men or adverse weather; to smooth the seas, and send propitious winds.* There is con- stant reference, indeed, to Christf as the source of this power, yet the power is fully and explicitly as- signed to the saint. He is the prevailing interces- sor between the worshipper and Christ. But the vital distinctions between this paganizing 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 con- stantly 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 day4 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, em- broidered with figures of animals, silver plates with inscriptions, candles of painted wax, pendent lamps, precious ointments, and-dishes of venison and other meats for the banquet. The following character- istic circumstance must not be omitted. The mag- nificent plans of Paulinus for building the Church of St. Felix were interfered with by two wooden cot- tages, which stood in a field before the front of the building. At midnight a fire broke out in these tenements. The affrighted bishop woke up in trem- bling apprehension lest the splendid “palace” of the saint should be enveloped in the flames. He en- tered 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: “ Sed et hoc Felicis gratia nobis Munere consuluit, quod praeveniendo laborem . Utilibus Jiammis, operum compendia nobis ; Praestitit.”—Carm. x. The peasant, who had dared to prefer his hovel, though the beloved dwelling of his youth, to the house of God or of his saint, seeing one of the buildings thus miraculously in flames, set fire to the other. “ Et celeri peragit sua damna furore Dilectasque domo's, et inanes planget amores.” Some of the other miracles at the shrine of St. Felix border close on the comic. * 1 “ Da currere mollibus undis Et famulis famulos a puppi suggere ventos.”—Carm. i. f “ Sis bonus o felixque tufs, Dominumque potentem Exores— Liceat placati munere Christi Post pelagi fluctus,” &c. t “ Positasque tuorum Ante tuos vultus, animas vectare paterno Ne renuas grernio Domini fulgentis ad ora. * * Posce ovium grege nos statui, ut sententia summi Judicis, hoc quoqie nos iterum tibi munere donet.” Carm. iii. not merely the agents of the Divine prov- idential government on earth, but indisso- lubly connected with the hopes and fears of the future state of existence. The most natural, most beautiful, and most universal, though perhaps worship oi the latest developed, of these the virgin, new forms of Christianity, that which tended to the poetry of the religion, and acted as the conservator of art, particu- larly of painting, till at length it became the parent of that refined sense of the beautiful, that which was the inspiration of modern Italy, was the worship of the Virgin. As soon as Christian devotion expanded itself .beyond its legitimate ob- jects ; as soon as prayers or hymns were addressed to any of those beings who had acquired sanctity from their connexion or co-operation with the introduction of Christianity into the world ; as soon as the apostles and martyrs had become hal- lowed 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 pecu- liar claims to the veneration of the Chris- tian 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.* The higher importance assigned to the female 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 dei- *. Irenasus, in whose works are found the earliest of those ardent expressions with regard to the, Vir- gin, which afterward kindled into adoration, may, in this respoct, 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 rev- erence of later ages. Tertullian compares her un- favourably with Martha and Mary, and insinuates that she partook of the incredulity of . the rest of her own family. “ Mater aeque non demonstratur adhaesisse illi, cum Marthas et Marias alise in com- mercio ejus frequentantur. Hoc denique in loco (St. Luc., viii., 20) apparet incredulitas eorum cum is doceret viam vitae,” &c\—De Carne Christi., c. 7. There is a collection of quotations on this sub- ject in Field on the Church, p 264, et seq. The Collyridians, who offered cakes to the Vii gin, were rejected as heretics.—Epiphan, Haeres., lxxviii., lxxix. The perpetual virginity of Mary was an object of controversy : as might be expected, it was main- tained with unshaken confidence by Epiphanius, Ambrose, and Jerome.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 505 tied (we cannot use another adequate expression) this perfect representative of their own sex, while the sex was eleva- ted 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 per- fect purity, the two attributes of the fe- male character which man, by his nature, seems to hold in the highest admiration and love; and this image constantly pre- sented 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 re- spect, on the inventive powers of Christi- anity. The gentleness of the Redeemer’s character, the impersonation of the Di- vine mercy in his whole beneficent life, had been in some degree darkened by the fierceness of polemic animosity. The re- ligion had assumed a sternness and se- verity arising from the mutual and re- criminatory condemnations. The oppo- site parties denounced eternal punish- ments against each other with such indis- criminate energy that hell had become almost the leading and predominant im- age in the Christian dispensation. This advancing gloom was perpetually soften- ed ; this severity allayed by the impulse of gentleness and purity, suggested by this hew form of worship. It kept in 3 S 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 con- stantly 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 sanc- tity 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 de- gree. The wider and more general dissemina- tion of the worship of the Virgin belongs to a later period in Christian history. Thus under her new form was Christi- anity prepared to enter into the darkening period of European history; to fulfil her high office as the great conservative prin- ciple of religion, knowledge, humanity, and of the highest degree of civilization of which the age was capable, during cen- turies of violence, of ignorance, and ol barbarism. * At a later period, indeed, even the Virgin be- came the goddess of war : ’Ael yap olde tijv