68 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 Under the new regime political life was bound to become 
 atrophied, but the religious life opened wider and wider 
 possibilities. We cannot here go into all the details of 
 this reorganization. Idealist though he was, he built 
 here as always upon a material foundation. The fall of 
 the state religion had been caused to a large extent by 
 the neglect of the priesthoods. Those priesthoods, such 
 as the augurs and pontiffs, which had been filled with 
 politicians, must be taught the seriousness of their reli- 
 gious functions ; those which did not permit of politics, 
 and had, therefore, been neglected, must be filled and kept 
 filled, and the dignity and honor of the office must be its 
 own reward. But if men were ever again to respect the 
 gods, the places where the gods were worshiped must be 
 restored and made worthy of respect. Hence the title 
 which men gave him, " Templorum omnium conditor ac 
 restitutor" and the long list of restorations in the Monu- 
 mentum Ancyranum : "The temple of Apollo on the Pala- 
 tine with its porticos, the temple of Divus Julius, the 
 Lupercal, . . . the temples of Jupiter Feretrius and of 
 Jupiter Tonans on the Capitoline, the temple of Quiri- 
 nus, the temple of Minerva, the temple of Juno Regina, 
 the temple of Jupiter Libertas on the Aventine, the 
 temple of the Lares in 'summa sacra via,' the temple 
 of the Penates in the Velia, the temple of Juventas, the 
 temple of the Magna Mater on the Palatine I built . . . 
 eighty-two temples of the gods in the city I in my sixth 
 consulship rebuilt according to senatorial decree, no 
 
RELIGION OF THE EARLY EMPIRE 69 
 
 temple being omitted which at that time .had need of 
 repair." 
 
 But to arouse the enthusiasm of the masses more was 
 needed than priests and temples. There must be the 
 splendor of the cult as well. Hence such a performance 
 as the Ludi Sseculares of B.C. 17, whose stone protocol 
 we have preserved to us with its "carmen composuit Q. 
 Horatius Flaccus" and the poem, too, which Horace 
 wrote has been saved for us. 
 
 Thus was laid a firm foundation of material things 
 and old-fashioned ideas; and now Augustus was free to 
 build upon it and to construct such new things as might 
 serve his purpose. The building of the great white 
 marble temple on the Palatine was doubtless the most 
 conspicuous, but possibly the least fruitful of his inno- 
 vations. After all, Apollo was the god whom Augustus 
 himself chose to worship, and whatever influence the 
 Palatine cult subsequently had was owing more to its 
 material gorgeousness than to its spiritual appeal. 
 
 There was, however, another innovation which af- 
 fected the people of Rome far more deeply. This was 
 the reorganization of the worship of the Lares at the 
 street corners. These shrines to the Lares Compitales, 
 built at the crossing of the streets, had long been the 
 centres of informal political clubs, clubs which Julius 
 Caesar, for example, had found so difficult to control that 
 he had foolishly tried to suppress them. 
 
 With a magic touch, tact in its literal sense, 
 
O 
 
 rt^ <-^i&tJi& 
 
THE RELIGIOUS LIFE OF 
 ANCIENT ROME 
 
THE RELIGIOUS LIFE 
 OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 A STUDY IN THE DEVELOPMENT OF 
 
 RELIGIOUS CONSCIOUSNESS 
 
 FROM THE FOUNDATION OF THE CITY 
 
 UNTIL THE DEATH OF GREGORY 
 
 THE GREAT 
 
 BY 
 JESSE BENEDICT CARTER 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE RELIGION OF NUMA 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 191 1 
 
COPYRIGHT, ipll, BY JESSE BENEDICT CARTER 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Published November zqii 
 
 MORSE 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF 
 HERBERT FLETCHER DECOU 
 
PREFACE 
 
 THE eight chapters of this book were originally eight 
 lectures delivered before the Lowell Institute in Boston 
 during January, 1911. Though they have been slightly 
 recast, their character as lectures has been preserved, 
 even at the risk of retaining statements which are more 
 dogmatic than one would make in a book of essays writ- 
 ten to be read. But the theory of religious evolution here 
 developed is put forth in the hope that it may arouse 
 thought and discussion ; and to this end a positive state- 
 ment seems desirable. 
 
 In the first three chapters I have made some use of 
 my earlier book The Religion of Numa; and I wish to 
 thank the Messrs. Macmillan for their kind permission 
 to treat the same subject again in this connection. In 
 the story of Christianity I have received much help 
 from Monseigneur Duchesne's Origines, a book where 
 profound and critical scholarship is marvelously blended 
 with reverence and devotion. In the later period one is 
 always unconsciously influenced by Gibbon, while 
 Gregorovius and Hodgkin afford many valuable sugges- 
 tions. I regret that Warde Fowler's Religious Experi- 
 ences of the Roman People did not appear in time for me 
 to make use of it. 
 
 I wish to thank President Lowell and Professor Sedg- 
 
viii PREFACE 
 
 wick, Curator of the Institute, for their unfailing kind- 
 ness during the delivery of the lectures, and Mr. James 
 Ford Rhodes and Mr. Thomas Spencer Jerome for en- 
 couragement and suggestion in connection with the 
 book. 
 
 In the midst of the final draft came the news of the 
 death at Cyrene of that profound scholar and lovable 
 gentleman, Herbert Fletcher Decou. The book is dedi- 
 cated to him as a token of my gratitude for the privilege 
 of having been his friend. 
 
 JESSE BENEDICT CARTER, 
 
 HOSPENTHAL, 
 
 September, 1911. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 ROME AND THE ETRUSCANS: THE RELIGION OF AGRICULTURE 
 AND THE RELIGION OF PATRIOTISM i 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ROME AND GREECE: THE RELIGION OF SUPERSTITION AND THE 
 DECLINE OF FAITH 33 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE RELIGION OF THE EARLY EMPIRE: SALVATION BY REASON 
 AND SALVATION BY FAITH 63 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 CONSTANTINE AND CHRISTIANITY 95 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 JULIAN CALLED THE APOSTATE: THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS . 125 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD: THE STRUGGLE OF PAGAN 
 AND CHRISTIAN THOUGHT 159 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 BENEDICT AND THE OSTROGOTHS: THE PROBLEM OF THE SAL- 
 VATION OF ANCIENT CULTURE 197 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 GREGORY AND THE LOMBARDS: THE PREPARATION FOR THE 
 HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE 231 
 
THE RELIGIOUS LIFE OF 
 ANCIENT ROME 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 ROME AND THE ETRUSCANS: THE RELIGION OF AGRI- 
 CULTURE AND THE RELIGION OF PATRIOTISM 
 
 IT was in no spirit of idle boasting that Rome was called 
 the "Eternal City." This quality of eternity is mani- 
 fest, not so much perhaps by Rome's great age as by her 
 ever-present youthfulness. But before all, it is in the 
 essential quality of continuity that her eternity receives 
 its largest measure of evident probability. For at least 
 three thousand years barring one interruption of 
 forty days human life in all its manifold phases has 
 been unfolding itself on these hills beside the Tiber, and 
 during nearly two thousand of these three thousand 
 years all the rest of our Western world has looked with 
 awe and reverence towards that place, and by reason of 
 its very longing to be present there, has felt in its heart 
 that vague anxiety that 
 
 " I perchance shall never come 
 To look on that so holy spot 
 The very Rome." 
 
 Thus it is that thoughtful men have sought to find in 
 the history of Rome a kind of guidebook of human 
 
2 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 experience. They found there the history of their own 
 past, for in an Occidental world we are all of us the 
 spiritual children of Rome, entirely aside from our 
 specific religious views or our specific physiological 
 ancestry, and they found it not in broken segments, 
 but in the complete whole. > It was but natural, there- 
 fore, that, so long as our concept of history consisted 
 in the annals of wars and battles, Rome should be the 
 great text-book of military history. -And when we 
 passed from this naive conception to the study of men's 
 political relations, it was equally natural that Rome 
 should again be sought in the hope of finding there the 
 story of man's political development. Yes, there were 
 even especial reasons in this case because of the well- 
 known talents of the Romans in the field of law and 
 political organization.^ 
 
 But the study of the past has in recent years pro- 
 gressed beyond these formal relations, and we have 
 come into the sociological age, when we wish to read 
 our history, not in legal enactments, but in the pulse 
 and tone of the masses, and even of the individuals who 
 stood behind and beneath those laws and edicts. Finally, 
 in this new century the more progressive minds have 
 grown weary of playing with purely material things, 
 rich and profitable as the harvest of those things has 
 been, or even with matters which belong on the sur- 
 face of psychology. As a result we find ourselves to-day 
 in the presence of a widespread interest in those things 
 
ROME AND THE ETRUSCANS 3 
 
 which pertain to religion, to religion in its broadest 
 sense, as a feeling of dependence upon the action of 
 powers which are none the less real because they 
 are in the main unknown, and incapable of tangible 
 proof. 
 
 This present - day revival of religion has assumed 
 a great variety of forms, giving rise in turn to those 
 inevitable animosities, which have their source in the 
 essentially individual and personal character of reli- 
 gious feeling. It is possible, however, at least for those 
 who possess an intellectual balance, to rise temporarily 
 above this strictly personal attitude, and to recognize 
 the great truth that religion is a normal and essential 
 part of our human existence, and that this has been true 
 in all time, and that in all except the excessively material 
 periods of human history, this religious instinct has 
 been the greatest propulsive factor in our human 
 psychology. Now, if this be true, we must to a certain 
 extent rewrite our whole human history, not in the light 
 of any specific religion, but in the recognition of the 
 strength and validity of the religious instinct. In the 
 past we have been given to the study of a particular 
 religion or to that jejune discipline known as Compara- 
 tive Religion. What we are to do now is to study not 
 so much a religion in itself, but rather the effect of the 
 impact of a specific religion upon the psychological 
 consciousness of a people. Our interest is, therefore, 
 not primarily in the content of the religion, but in the 
 
4 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 reaction which this content has called forth in any 
 given set of human beings. 
 
 The history of Rome offers, perhaps, the best field in 
 which to test the validity of these considerations. This 
 book is the result of the experiment, but perhaps I 
 should rather say that it is not so much the result of 
 this experiment as the experiment itself which we are 
 about to carry out. 
 
 But first it will be well to say a few words about the 
 particular reasons why Rome offers such a peculiarly 
 favorable field for our experiments. At first sight this 
 would not seem to be the case. We are not accustomed 
 to think of the Romans as a strongly religious people. 
 Nor have the students of Roman religion, with a few 
 exceptions, done anything to remove this prejudice. 
 The religion of ancient Rome is very little known out- 
 side the narrow circle of specialists in Latin. Few 
 attempts have been made to interpret it to the larger 
 public. Even the students of the general history of 
 religion know little of Rome, and do not ordinarily 
 include her in their generalizations. Her religion has 
 been hedged about in a very extraordinary way, as 
 though the jealous secrecy, which was always a part of 
 it in the days of its life, was still guarded after its death 
 by the wraiths of the gods who have gone the way of 
 all the earth. And yet Rome affords an extraordinary, 
 even unique, opportunity for the prosecution of our 
 task. 
 
ROME AND THE ETRUSCANS 5 
 
 All religion is by nature conservative. In all its 
 earlier stages, at least, it makes for solidarity, and this 
 solidarity extends not only horizontally over the plane 
 of the present, but it extends back into the third di- 
 mension of the past; and conservatism is a primary 
 necessity for keeping in touch with the past. But in 
 the case of Rome this conservatism, this faithfulness 
 to the past, was felt to be of such great importance 
 that it developed from the status of an accidental at- 
 tribute into that of an essential quality and became 
 by degrees almost the sum total of religion* "f he mos 
 majorum, the custom of the fathers, was synonymous 
 with religion, and piety had its psychological as well as 
 its etymological truth in the relation of the younger 
 generation to the older. But this conservatism is very 
 precious to us in our study, for by it the successive 
 strata of Rome's religious life were preserved, so that it 
 may be said of her that in a sense she never lost any 
 religious form, but kept them all intact until her latest 
 days. This is quite a different matter from the inherit- 
 ance of instinct which governs human life. 
 
 But it is not her conservatism alone which makes 
 Rome so valuable for our purpose. There is the added 
 fact of the richness and the variety of her religious 
 experience. In these eight chapters we are to'study that 
 experience over a broad span of years, from the earli- 
 est times to the death of Gregory the Great, and we 
 shall observe it unfolding itself before us. But it will 
 
6 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 not detract from the dramatic power of that which we 
 are to study to come up for a moment into a high place 
 and look down upon the winding path which we are to 
 tread in the course of our investigation. 
 -~ We see at first a primitive people, whose religion was 
 the reflex of their physical interests; we shall see them 
 dominated by a power farther advanced in civilization, 
 the Etruscans. We shall witness the birth of a new idea 
 of religion, the glorification of the State, the patriotic 
 instinct. We shall see the coming of another set of 
 influences, the presence of Greece, which was to soften 
 and civilize, but at the same time to engender a spirit 
 of skepticism. This spirit of skepticism was to be fur- 
 ther strengthened by a marvelous growth of material 
 prosperity. Thus we reach the close of the Republic and 
 the religious conditions which are best reflected for us 
 in the person of Cicero. 
 
 Then the great change occurs, not primarily the 
 change from paganism into Christianity, but the change 
 from religion as first of all a social instinct into religion 
 as first of all an individual matter. We shall see at the 
 same time the rise of the idea of salvation, and we shall 
 witness the two contrary solutions of the problem, the 
 old Greek solution of salvation by knowledge and the 
 Oriental solution of salvation by faith. We shall then 
 behold the triumph of faith over knowledge in the 
 establishment of Christianity, and the reactionary tri- 
 umph of mysticism over reason in the person of Julian. 
 
ROME AND THE ETRUSCANS 7 
 
 Finally, the old patriotic instinct, which the Etruscans 
 first aroused, will reassert itself at the capture of Rome 
 by the Visigoths and we shall hear the answer of Au- 
 gustine. But in spite of that answer, the social and 
 patriotic instincts of religion will triumph, and we shall 
 see at the end the wondrous way in which they received 
 their satisfaction in the presence of the unwitting Bene- 
 dict and the prophetic Gregory. 
 
 The world 's history offers no other such variety of 
 religious experience. Without this experience the con- 
 servatism of Rome would be of little use to us, for it 
 would preserve at best only a few forms of religious life. 
 While without the conservatism, the richness of the 
 experience would be lost for us, and only the latest forms 
 preserved. Our field, therefore, seems to have been 
 justly chosen, and we may go forward into the process 
 of our experiment. 
 
 The Roman people belong to what is known as the 
 Italic stock, a term by which we designate that par- 
 ticular offshoot of the great Aryan race, which came 
 down from the north into the peninsula of Italy. They 
 were not the first inhabitants, and they did not find the 
 peninsula empty. For lack of a better name, we call 
 the people who were there before them the "Western 
 Mediterranean" race. This original Mediterranean 
 people have left as a memorial of their one-time exist- 
 ence the dolmens and the nauraghi the so-called 
 tombs of the giants on Sardinia, Corsica, Malta, and 
 
8 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME , 
 
 also on the mainland. It is possible that these people 
 left the Mediterranean by following the coast line, and 
 finally reached Gaul and Britain, where they are per- 
 haps to be identified with the Druids, and if so, have 
 left Carnac and Stonehenge as marks of their residence. 
 But we know nothing of the religion of these people, nor 
 is it likely that they would settle so far inland as the 
 city of Rome. It is proper for us, therefore, to begin our 
 story with the Italic stock. 
 
 These Italic people were doubtless scattered all 
 through the highlands and lowlands of central and 
 southern Italy, and like the beasts of the forest, seeking 
 a salt lick, there would be a primitive traffic to the salt 
 marshes, particularly at the mouth of the Tiber. Thus 
 would come into existence the "Salt Road," the Via 
 Salaria, probably the oldest of all the Roman roads. 
 It is a curious fact that this Salt Road has always 
 played an important part in Roman history, and the 
 point where it enters Rome on the east has always been 
 the vulnerable spot in her body. It was there that the 
 Gauls came in B.C. 390, the Visigoths in A.D. 410, and 
 the Italian troops in 1870. 
 
 We must not think of these people as a civilized folk, 
 dwelling in cities, but rather as a barbarous or semi- 
 barbarous aggregation inhabiting the hilltops, and sur- 
 rounding their little groups of round huts by some sort 
 of primitive palisade. None of the existing stone walls 
 go back to this epoch, and this is not because these older 
 
ROME AND THE ETRUSCANS 9 
 
 walls have been destroyed, but because these people 
 never built such walls. We have, however, memorials 
 of their residence, that strange graveyard which was 
 discovered some ten years ago in the Forum, near the 
 foundations of the temple of Antoninus and Faustina. 
 The earliest graves there go back into the ninth and 
 possibly earlier centuries, and the latest burials seem 
 to have taken place before the middle of the sixth cen- 
 tury, when, as we shall see below, the region, in which 
 this graveyard is found, became inclosed in the city wall. 
 We know little of these people except their religion, but 
 concerning that we are fairly well informed, thanks to 
 their own conservatism and to our modern studies of 
 primitive people. 
 
 The essential feature of their religion was its social 
 character. Religion was not a personal matter, nay, 
 it could not be, because the very concept of personality 
 was in its infancy. There was no individual initiative 
 or volition in the whole matter. Man did not choose 
 his gods any more than he chose his parents. He was 
 born into a circle of gods ready-made for him just as he 
 was born into a set of human relationships. The ful- 
 fillment of his duty to those gods was a normal and 
 natural function of his life. These gods were all about 
 him. They were, to be sure, not gods in any developed 
 sense; they were powers unknown except in so far as 
 they manifested themselves in actions and things. The 
 thing and the power that dwelt in it were inseparably 
 
io RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 connected. Yet the power was not the thing, nor was 
 the thing the power. Janus was the door and yet not the 
 door; Vesta the hearth and yet not the hearth. Janus 
 was the power that manifested itself in the door. Thus 
 with Janus were associated all the things that had to do 
 with the door both in its physical and in its metaphysical 
 aspects. Janus was the god of all entrances and of all 
 beginnings, and thus also of the dawn as the beginning 
 of the day, and of the New Year as the beginning of the 
 year. Similarly, Vesta, who manifested herself in the 
 hearth, became the goddess of all the family life which 
 centred about the hearth. 
 
 Man felt himself surrounded by an infinite multitude 
 of these powers. He strove to propitiate them and to 
 establish an acceptable form of relationship between 
 himself and them. Such a state of religion is usually 
 called animism. It develops slowly into polytheism, 
 when the spirit (animd) becomes named and then gradu- 
 ally better known; that is, when it becomes a god, in 
 the more developed sense of the word. This process 
 was actually fulfilled in the case of these settlers on the 
 hilltops of Rome. Gradually this infinitude of unknown 
 powers was transformed into a set of gods whose names 
 were known. But these gods showed the limitations 
 of their birth. Those who worshiped them knew them 
 only in their activities. There was no play of specula- 
 tion as to their character or their appearance. They 
 were not thought of in the form of man, and no mytho- 
 
ROME AND THE ETRUSCANS ii 
 
 logy or genealogy grew up about them. They were 
 little more than names for powers, powers which must 
 be put in motion for the benefit of the state. 
 
 In the intensity of the struggle for physical existence, 
 these powers must be propitiated, that man and beast 
 and Mother Earth might bring forth plentifully after 
 their kind. This physical note, this instinct of propaga- 
 tion, is dominant in all the early religion of Rome. Let 
 us examine it for a moment in its various phases. Before 
 ever there was an organized state, before ever there was 
 a settled monogamous family life, men were grouped 
 together in brotherhoods, "curiae." This organization 
 continued to exist in later times, but it gradually lost its 
 significance. In the curial worship we have the cult of 
 Janus and Juno. This is the prototype of that cult of 
 the Genius and the Juno which was carried on by each 
 individual, the Genius of each individual man, the Juno 
 of each individual woman. Reduced to its simplest 
 terms, this is the worship of the Genius as the power of 
 procreation, and of the Juno as the power of conception. 
 But Janus is the great creator, the divine "Genius," 
 and in his union with Juno in the curiae we see the 
 expression of the powers of physical reproduction. 
 
 Similarly in the other relations which sprang up sub- 
 sequently, that of the gens, the family, and the state, 
 we see the same physical interests. Even the memory of 
 the dead is guided by the same principle. As there is no 
 individual life on earth, neither is there any individual 
 
12 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 immortality after death. Each man at death passes 
 over into the majority, that mass of good gods (Di 
 Manes) who live the bloodless flitting life of the shades. 
 But even here the universal principle of procreation is 
 emphasized again, for these shades clamor for their 
 rightful due, the sacrifice at the grave, and this sacrifice 
 they accept only at the hands of their descendants. 
 Thus across the life of every man who lives, lies the 
 shadow of these shades, commanding him to reproduce 
 after his kind, and thus to escape their wrath. It is 
 little wonder, therefore, that all the other gods of this 
 religion are marked with the same predominant pur- 
 pose. They are gods of the flocks and of the crops. 
 \ There is Faunus, who makes the cattle to breed ; and 
 v Pales, who gives increase to the flock. There is Saturn, 
 / who looks after the sowing of the seed, Robigo, who 
 I keeps away the mildew; Consus, who guards the har- 
 vesting, and a host of others. 
 
 Yet for all this vital interest, this clinging as it were 
 to the feet of the gods, we must not mistake its charac- 
 ter. These people could know nothing of their gods, 
 beyond the activity which the gods manifested in their 
 behalf; nor did they desire to know anything. The 
 essence of religion was the establishment of a definite 
 legal status between these powers and man, and the 
 scrupulous observance of those things involved in the 
 contractual relation, into which man entered with the 
 gods. As in any legal matter, it was essential that 
 
ROME AND THE ETRUSCANS 13 
 
 this contract should be drawn up with a careful guard- 
 ing of definition, and an especial regard to the proper 
 address. Hence the great importance of the name of 
 the god, and failing that, the address to the "Unknown 
 God." A prayer was therefore a vow (votum), in which 
 man, the party of the first part, agreed to perform cer- 
 tain acts to the god, the party of the second part, in 
 return for certain specified services to be rendered. Were 
 these services rendered, man, the party of the first part, 
 was compos voti, bound to perform what he had pro- 
 mised. Were these services not rendered, the contract 
 was void. In the great majority of cases the gods did 
 not receive their payment until their work had been 
 accomplished, for their worshipers were guided in this 
 by the natural shrewdness of primitive man, and ex- 
 perience showed that in many cases the gods did not 
 fulfill their portion of the contract which was thrust 
 upon them by the worshipers. There were, however, 
 other occasions, when a slightly different set of considera- 
 tions entered in. In a moment of battle it might not 
 seem sufficient to propose the ordinary contract, and an 
 attempt was sometimes made to compel the god's action 
 by performing the promised return in advance, and thus 
 placing the deity in the delicate position of having re- 
 ceived something for which he ought properly to make 
 return. This "binding" of the god was most frequently 
 accomplished by what was known as a "devotio." The 
 leader on one side offered up his life for the cause, and 
 
14 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 "devoted" himself as a human sacrifice to the gods of 
 the world below by riding to his death into the ranks 
 of the enemy. If his sacrifice was successful, that is, 
 if the enemy killed him, the offering was supposed to 
 exert an almost compulsory power over the action of 
 the deity, and to secure the victory for those whose 
 leader had thus given his life in their behalf. To carry 
 this curious reasoning one step farther, we may remark 
 that, if the enemy learned of this project, they had but 
 to open their ranks and let the would-be human sacrifice 
 pass through unharmed, in order to bring to naught 
 the carefully laid plans of their adversaries. 
 t In this scheme of things the function of the priest 
 was that of the expert, the legal adviser. He had no 
 especial advantages so far as the gods were concerned. 
 They were no more interested in him than in any of the 
 lay members of the community. He was, therefore, in 
 no sense an intercessor between god and man. But he 
 had given his attention to the study of the contracts 
 between man and god, and above all he knew the name 
 of the god who should be addressed in each particular 
 circumstance. Thus it was expedient to consult him and 
 gain the benefit of his knowledge. 
 
 These, therefore, were the conditions under which 
 the religious life of the Romans began. The object of 
 religion was to gain the assistance of the gods on behalf 
 of the propagation of the race. These gods were unknown 
 powers naked of almost every personal attribute. The 
 
ROME AND THE ETRUSCANS 15 
 
 relation of man to them was a scrupulous observance of 
 forms, forms which had been handed down from the 
 distant past, and whose custodians were the priests. 
 
 We must conceive of our early Romans as passing 
 hundreds of years in the slow development of these con- 
 cepts, living mean while in these little hilltop settlements, 
 for Rome as a city did not yet exist. What would have 
 become of these people, had they been left to themselves, 
 we cannot say, for they were not left alone, and a great 
 nation was already on the way to help them. 
 
 Great nations like great individuals are always mys- 
 terious, and no man has ever been able to explain satis- 
 factorily the greatness of Rome. We feel her greatness, 
 we see the results of it in action, but we cannot explain 
 it, for its causes are hidden from us. In Rome's case, 
 however, we can point out at least one obvious element 
 of greatness, her willingness to learn of others. No 
 nation was ever more ready to accept advice, to gain 
 knowledge, to adopt ideas. When we stop to consider 
 how much Rome learned from others, we are almost 
 appalled. We are familiar with what Greece did for her 
 in literature and art; we shall see later in these chapters 
 what a vast amount the Orient gave her in religious 
 matters. But we have never fully realized the contri- 
 bution of Etruria. If we find that her political instincts 
 and her governmental training came from the Etruscans, 
 we may well ask, "What is there left that is really 
 Roman? " The answer is not far to seek. Everything is 
 
16 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 left which was there at the beginning. The miracle of 
 Rome was and is her ability to preserve her individual- 
 ity, not as a thing apart laid up in a napkin, but to use 
 it and by it to subdue all things unto herself. She did 
 not necessarily always improve on that which was given 
 her, but she always adapted it to herself. She always 
 transfused it with her own individuality. This is not to 
 detract from the glory of Rome. Properly understood, 
 this point of view really increases her glory. Her essence 
 lies not in material accomplishment, but in the possession 
 of those forces which have enabled her to subdue all 
 things. This is an infinitely more lofty possession than 
 a merely specialized form of genius, which allowed the 
 so-called original progress along only one or two lines. 
 Bearing this in mind, we may go forward courageously 
 to a discussion of the Etruscans and their influence upon 
 Rome. 
 
 It is not many years since the Etruscan problem was 
 a complete riddle. To have spoken of it at all would 
 have seemed foolishness, to have used it to explain 
 other things would have been little short of madness. 
 Yet entirely apart from the difficulties of the language, 
 there has been a steady progress toward the solution 
 of the problem, and now that one or two scholars have 
 had the courage to generalize and draw conclusions out 
 of the mass of material, we find ourselves in the pos- 
 session of a large amount of co6rdinated knowledge. 
 There are several conclusions to which modern investi- 
 

 ROME AND THE ETRUSCANS 17 
 
 gation has led us, and these conclusions seem practi- 
 cally certain. 
 
 It is clear that the Etruscans were a composite race, 
 formed by the blending of those Italic people, who were 
 settled in that part of Italy which we now call Etruria 
 or Tuscany, with a race of invaders, who came doubtless 
 out of the Orient and were probably of Oriental origin. 
 They were, therefore, a mixed race, with all the advan- 
 tages and disadvantages which often characterize that 
 status, the quick sympathy, the wide outlook, the rapid 
 accomplishment, offset by the sentimental diffusion of 
 power, the lack of intensity, and the absence of perma- 
 nence and continuity. 
 
 It has been further established that the invading 
 portion of the mixed race did not enter Italy nearly as 
 early as had been previously supposed. It used to be 
 thought that they had come into Italy not long after 
 the Italic invasion itself, perhaps eleven or twelve cen- 
 turies before the birth of Christ. But there is now good 
 reason to suppose that their entrance did not precede the 
 year B.C. 800. The evidence is complicated, but it seems 
 conclusive. Those who find it difficult to understand 
 how, coming at this late day, they could have worked 
 out their architectural development, should remember 
 that they may have brought a very large portion of it 
 with them. The long sepulchral chambers, with their 
 false arching, which are found. so frequently in the south- 
 ern part of Etruria, bear very strong resemblance to 
 
i8 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 the graves of Lydia; whereas the so-called "bee-hive" 
 tombs are somewhat similar to the nauraghi of Sardinia. 
 There seem to have been strong commercial relations 
 between Sardinia and Etruria as early as the seventh 
 century. One proof of the interchange of products is 
 the frequent presence in Etruria of the boat-shaped vases 
 which are peculiar to Sardinia. In all probability, there- 
 fore, the Etruscans entered Italy about the year B.C. 800, 
 not so very long before the beginnings of Greek coloniza- 
 tion in the south of Italy. 
 
 In the third place, it is clear that this invading race 
 came from the Orient, and also that they came by sea, 
 a splendid verification of Herodotus. Not only would 
 the sea route be the natural course for a great seafaring 
 people, but they have left traces of their passage behind 
 them, both on the islands of the northern ^Egean, espe- 
 cially Lemnos, Samothrace, Lesbos, and Imbros ; and in 
 Egypt; for though the famous inscription on Lemnos is 
 of a much later date, i.e., the sixth century, the exist- 
 ence of Etruscans there at all would seem probable only 
 in connection with their eastward journey. It must not 
 be supposed, of course, that this journey from Asia Minor 
 to Italy was undertaken en masse as a great maritime 
 migration; it was rather the gradual westward move- 
 ment of small parties, scattered over the coast line of 
 Asia Minor. Their arrival on the coast of Italy would be, 
 therefore, equally gradual, and the amalgamation with 
 the native inhabitants all the more easy and natural. 
 
ROME AND THE ETRUSCANS 19 
 
 Further, it has been shown that in coming out of the 
 Orient they tarried for a while under Greek influence in 
 Asia Minor. Their acquaintance with Greek myths is 
 too intimate to have been acquired second-hand and 
 merely through the medium of objects of art. They 
 must of necessity have spent some generations ~m~a 
 Greek environment. Their very perversion of Greek 
 myths is a sign of their familiarity with them. The 
 myths had become, as it were by adoption, their own 
 personal property, and they unconsciously adapted 
 them to their own needs. 
 
 And lastly, we have the most interesting conclusion of 
 all, for it seems almost beyond a perad venture, that 
 their original home, or at least a very long abiding-place, 
 was Babylon. Every year, as our knowledge of Baby- 
 lonian religion grows greater, we see stronger and 
 stronger resemblances. The characteristic feature of 
 Etruscan religion is the haruspicina, the art of divina- 
 tion by means of the examination of the entrails of the 
 victims, especially of the liver. Yet this is a purely 
 Babylonian method. It is true that the Greeks too 
 adopted it, but with them it does not precede the sixth 
 century ; a time when the Etruscans had long passed out 
 of Greek territory. Then, too, the whole idea of the 
 templum or sacred rectangle in the sky, and its division 
 into regions, and the application of the whole to the 
 parts of the liver, are at once Etruscan and Babylonian. 
 
 These are the new and almost certain facts upon 
 
20 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 which we may base our understanding of the origin of the 
 Etruscans. Regarding their r61e in the peninsula of 
 fialy we are also relatively well informed. Their power 
 and significance seem to have extended over a period 
 of about five hundred years, from B.C. 800 to B.C. 300, 
 but long after this latter date, and in fact even down into 
 the Empire, they exerted an influence upon Rome. They 
 seemed to have landed first on the southern part of the 
 Etruscan coast, near Veii, Tarquinii, etc., but they also 
 landed further north, at Cosa near Orbetello, and still 
 further north at Volaterrse. They were a seafaring peo- 
 ple, and therefore in their new habitat they became a 
 city-loving people, like their much later successors, the 
 Lombards, the "Lords of Cities." But their cities were 
 at first simple affairs surrounded by a rampart of earth. 
 The stone walls, which were formerly thought to go 
 back into a very early period, are in no case older than 
 the end of the seventh century. They are a develop- 
 ment of the Etruscans themselves, and are probably 
 contemporary with the more elaborate architecture of 
 their tombs. Even the walls of Volaterrae, which give 
 every appearance of a great age, must be younger than 
 the graves which they inclose, and hence do not ante- 
 date the end of the seventh century, which is about the 
 same time that stone walls appear in the ^olian and 
 Ionian cities of Asia Minor. Similarly in Italy itself the 
 walls of Norba, which seem so extremely old, date from 
 the end of the sixth or the beginning of the fifth century, 
 
ROME AND THE ETRUSCANS 21 
 
 and the venerable fortifications of Alatri are not much 
 older. 
 
 Gradually the Etruscan power extended northeast- 
 ward and southward. In the one direction, they settled 
 at Tiesole, Perugia, then across the Apennines at Fel- 
 sina (Bologna), and so up into the valley of the Po. 
 This settlement in the valley of the Po commences in 
 the last half of the sixth century. Of the famous league 
 of twelve Etruscan cities, which were founded there, 
 only three are known to us surely by name, Felsina (Bo- 
 logna), Melpum, and Mantua. In the other, the south- 
 ern, direction the Etruscans founded Volsinii (Orvieto) 
 about the end of the seventh century. No graves have 
 been found there which precede the year 600. It seems 
 likely, therefore, that this was an entirely new Etrus- 
 can foundation, and that there was no preceding Um- 
 brian town on the same site. It must have been at about 
 the same time that they conquered Falerii. Falerii they 
 found already established by the Umbrians. But they 
 captured it and gradually increased the city by absorb- 
 ing into it the settlements on the neighboring hilltops, 
 eventually surrounding the whole by a wall of stone. 
 This case is particularly interesting to us because, as we 
 shall see in a moment, virtually the same thing happened 
 in Rome. Thus the Etruscans descended into the plain 
 of Latium and thus they come into our story. 
 
 It is not likely that the capture of Rome was at the 
 time a notable event in their career. The group of settle- 
 
22 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 ments, out of which they were to make a great city, 
 was at that time of no especial importance. Here where 
 Rome was to be, they found these more or less defense- 
 less hilltop towns. They captured them and united them 
 all into a city to which they gave the name Roma. One 
 of the most interesting of recent discoveries regarding 
 the Etruscans is the fact that this word Roma is itself 
 of Etruscan origin, and is connected with the name of 
 an Etruscan gens. Thus, though Romulus never existed, 
 the gens Romulia did, and it was their name which was 
 given to Rome. Thus Rome was born, Rome the city, 
 as distinguished from the cluster of hilltop towns. But 
 it was not alone in the name of the city that the Etruscan 
 element has made itself at home in the vocabulary. 
 The Tiber, so often called the Tuscus amnis, itself bears 
 an Etruscan name, as do at least two of the old gates of 
 the city: Porta Ratumenna, and Porta Capena; as well 
 as the three old tribes, the Tities, the Ramnes, and the 
 Luceres. Legend has preserved but scanty memorials of 
 this founding of Rome. The four older kings of Rome 
 are merely mythical personages, invented centuries after 
 their time, but there may be a certain value in the tradi- 
 tion of the later kingdom, in so far as it recognizes the 
 presence of the Etruscans in Rome, and gives us at 
 least the one historical figure of Servius Tullius. 
 
 It was about the middle of the sixth century before 
 Christ when the Etruscans founded Rome. The grave- 
 yard in the Forum corroborates this date, for, with the 
 
ROME AND THE ETRUSCANS 23 
 
 creation of a city, burial inside the wall and near the 
 market-place would be impossible. In point of fact the 
 latest graves actually date from about the middle of 
 this sixth century. 
 
 Of the character of their conquest, whether peaceable 
 or forcible, we have no knowledge, though the indica- 
 tions seem to point to a peaceable relationship between 
 them and the original settlers. Eventually this power 
 came to an end, but whether by revolution or by con- 
 stitutional change we cannot say. The traditional date, 
 B.C. 509, has only artificial value and is probably too 
 early, while the story of the last Tarquin is pure legend, 
 and the change from kings to consuls may have been an 
 altogether peaceful one. It does not, however, suffice us 
 to know the facts, we must allow them to take hold on our 
 preconceived opinions : for most of us hold entirely false 
 views concerning the power and influence of the Etrus- 
 cans. The records which they have left behind them are 
 chiefly works of art; and this art is characterized by 
 such an extraordinary sensuality that we think of the 
 Etruscans as a decadent people. But this is entirely 
 wrong, and the reasons why we fall into this error are 
 twofold. We fail to appreciate the Oriental element in 
 the Etruscans. We make the common error of forget- 
 ting that what would be sensual in an Occidental is merely 
 sensuous in an Oriental ; and is in his case a sign neither 
 of weakness nor of effeteness. Then, too, we fail to dis- 
 tinguish between the Etruscans of the sixth century 
 
24 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 and those of the fourth. Yet there is a vast difference in 
 the type of Greek art which they preferred. When Tar- 
 quin or Servius Tullius, or whoever he was, founded the 
 city of Rome, the Etruscans were a strong and virile 
 people, and their influence upon Rome would be abso- 
 lutely of the same character; and even though this 
 Etruscan culture was superficial, it was the product of 
 a certain amount of experience, and along with it went 
 a very high degree of efficiency and an extraordinary 
 power of organization. 
 
 Thus begins a marvelously interesting period in Rome's 
 development. It is a very curious fact that the Romans 
 themselves always frankly admitted their debt to 
 Etruria. Tradition made no attempt to conceal it; but 
 in spite of this the modern historians of Rome have 
 very largely underestimated the extent and character 
 of the Etruscan influence. Just as in the last half of the 
 nineteenth century, progress in Roman history was 
 made by emphasizing the distinction between Greece 
 and Rome, and, by eliminating the Greek elements, ob- 
 taining an idea of Rome before Greece influenced her; 
 thus in the twentieth century scholars are to take this 
 supposedly pure Roman product from which Greece has 
 been removed, and, analyzing it further into Italic and 
 Etruscan, to eliminate the Etruscan and thus arrive one 
 step farther back in the process. 
 
 The bald fact of the matter is this. We have in the 
 primitive Roman people, who are interested only in pas- 
 
ROME AND THE ETRUSCANS 25 
 
 toral and agricultural life, a semicivilized people, whose 
 religion is at best only an advanced form of animism, and 
 whose religious instincts are concentrated in the concep- 
 tion of physical reproduction. There are visible only the 
 most rudimentary ideas of patriotic or political import. 
 And yet within a relatively short time these people come 
 forth into history filled with a stanch and invincible 
 sense of nationality. The religion of physical increase 
 has given place to the religion of patriotism. Now, when 
 we examine more closely, we see that all these political 
 ideas are centred in the cult of Jupiter Optimus Maximus 
 on the Capitoline and yet this cult is demonstrably 
 Etruscan in origin. The inference is therefore inevitable. 
 The people who introduced this Jupiter cult have suc- 
 ceeded in arousing this patriotic instinct among the 
 Romans, and this instinct, true to its origin, as is the 
 nature of instincts, remained inseparably connected with 
 the cult in which it had its rise. 
 
 Let us look at this matter more in detail. When the 
 Etruscan wanderers girt the little hilltop towns with the 
 wall, and created a veritable city, they chose as their 
 citadel the Gapitoline Hill, probably because it was 
 capable of being more strongly fortified than the other 
 hills of Rome. On this citadel they built their temple, 
 a temple to that holy trinity of Jupiter, Juno, and 
 Minerva a trinity of which we have almost no trace 
 in Greece, but which is constantly seen in Etruscan art. 
 We are told that it was an Etruscan temple, and that 
 
26 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 the Tuscan workmen who built it lived at the foot of 
 the Capitoline in that street which was forever named 
 after them, the Vicus Tuscus. Not only was the trinity 
 a new idea to the Romans, but at least one of the three 
 gods was an entire stranger, and had never before been 
 worshiped publicly in Rome. This was the Goddess 
 Minerva. Her original home seems to have been Falerii, 
 that romantically situated town on the right side of the 
 Tiber, whose modern name is Civita Castellana. Wor- 
 shiped there as the protectress of handicraft and the 
 workingman, her cult seems to have wandered into 
 Etruria. There, or even perhaps under Etruscan in- 
 fluence in Falerii itself, the trinity of Jupiter, Juno, 
 and Minerva was formed, a trinity which was destined 
 to become so typical of Rome that it was imitated in 
 the capitolia of Italy, and in those of even the farthest 
 provinces. 
 
 It is difficult to refrain from drawing a picture of 
 those busy days in the new Rome, but the darkness is 
 too intense and the danger of unbridled imagination too 
 great. Yet we are not without gleams of light. One such 
 friendly ray is the relation of the Etruscans to the Latin 
 league. This venerable league, to which the hilltop 
 towns of Rome well may have belonged, but of which 
 they were certainly a very minor part, became at once 
 an object of interest to the Etruscans. We do not know 
 how long it took them to gain an important position in 
 the councils of the league; but it cannot have been very 
 
ROME AND THE ETRUSCANS 27 
 
 long, for the temple on the Alban Mount, whose founda- 
 tions are still to be seen, was built at about the same time 
 and by the same people who constructed the temple on 
 the Capitoline. Thus we see Rome, led by the hand 
 of the Etruscans, beginning the conquest of Italy. The 
 power of the Etruscans in the affairs of the Latin league 
 seems to have grown apace, for it was not long before the 
 temple of Diana, which was to be a common meeting- 
 place for the league, was built on the Aventine. Diana 
 herself was in no wise related to either Etruscans or Ro- 
 mans. She was merely a wood goddess of fertility, who 
 was worshiped in the grove of Nemi. But this grove 
 was near Ariccia, and thus she was the great goddess of 
 Ariccia. When, therefore, in the course of time Ariccia 
 became an important factor in the Latin League, her 
 goddess became the goddess of the league. It was at this 
 time that the Etruscans proposed the temple on the 
 Aventine, and thus Diana came to Rome, where she was 
 to live an interesting and eventful life and later to be- 
 come identified with Artemis. 
 
 In the building of the walls of Rome, the Etruscans 
 performed an act which was destined to be of great im- 
 portance in the subsequent history of Rome. They built 
 not only a material wall of stone, but they drew first of 
 all a magic circle around the space where the city wall was 
 to be placed. This magic circle is called the pomerium. 
 It was in a sense the god wall, in so far as it served as a 
 defense against the foreign gods. None but the gods of 
 
28 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 the state that is, the Etruscan- Roman state might 
 be worshiped publicly inside this pomerium. Varro tells 
 us that this drawing of the pomerium line was an essen- 
 tial feature of the Etruscan ritual of founding cities. 
 He describes the ritual to us as it was probably pre- 
 served in his day and still practiced in the establish- 
 ment of colonies in the provinces (Lingua Latina, v, 
 143) : "They founded towns in Latium according to the 
 Etruscan ritual ; that is, with a bull and a cow yoked to- 
 gether, they drew a furrow in a circle, turning the sod 
 toward the centre of the circle. This they did for re- 
 ligious reasons, on a favorable day, that they might be 
 fortified by a trench and a wall. And the place from 
 which they ploughed the dirt, they called the trench, 
 and the clods themselves the wall." 
 
 This pomerium was to play a great r61e in subsequent 
 Roman history. For centuries the theory was to be kept 
 inviolate, and only the excitement of the Second Punic 
 War was to lessen the sacredness so that certain Greek 
 deities were admitted. But even then it existed as a 
 barrier to certain Oriental cults until the time of Cara- 
 calla, when he, who gave Roman citizenship to the in- 
 habitants of the provinces, gave also divine citizenship 
 and a residence inside the city of Rome to the provin- 
 cial gods. 
 
 No part of the 1 physical wall of stone, which the 
 Etruscans built, has been preserved to us, though some 
 of the blocks which were in it may be found to-day 
 
ROME AND THE ETRUSCANS 29 
 
 in the so-called Servian wall. This so-called Servian 
 Wall seems to have been built after the Gallic catastro- 
 phe (i.e., after B.C. 390). The real Servian Wall must 
 have inclosed a much smaller space. For example, the 
 false Servian Wall included the Aventine; which must 
 have been outside the city wall in the days of the Etrus- 
 can domination. Those who are familiar with the tra- 
 ditional and current views of the foundation of Rome 
 will realize that the view here adopted is entirely at 
 variance with this tradition. The old idea posits the 
 Palatine as the original source of Rome, and then traces 
 the growth of the city by the gradual incorporation of 
 the various other settlements, one after another. En- 
 tirely aside from the fact that the supposed antiquity of 
 the Palatine dates from a relatively late period, when it 
 began to be a popular and fashionable residence quarter 
 of Rome, this whole theory of gradual incorporation is 
 also of late origin, and palpably produced under the 
 inspiration of Greek models, especially Athenian. The 
 Palatine was doubtless one of the old hilltop settlements ; 
 but we have no means of dating these settlements one 
 over against the other, nor have we any reason to sup- 
 pose that any one of them at any time became, as it 
 were, the mother-cell out of which the city grew. 
 
 The education which the Etruscans gave to the Ro- 
 mans did not stop with this new idea of the pomerium. 
 They introduced to them their own developed system 
 of surveying, especially in its application to augury. It 
 
30 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 is doubtless true that the Romans had long observed 
 the flight of birds as a means of ascertaining the will of 
 the gods, but the Etruscans taught them the additional 
 refinement of, as it were, surveying the heavens and 
 drawing certain imaginary lines, with relation to which 
 the flight of birds would then be observed. Such a celes- 
 tial quadrangle, or its terrestrial counterpart, drawn on 
 the surface of the earth, is called a templum; and a build- 
 ing thus ritually inclosed is, strictly speaking, a temple. 
 But this same idea of the quadrangle, divided in turn 
 into various regions, is also applied to the liver of the 
 animals slain in sacrifice, and thus arises the celebrated 
 science of the haruspicina. 
 
 It is extremely interesting to note that, docile as the 
 Romans seem to have been in relation to those things 
 which the Etruscans were ready to teach them, they 
 took very slowly to the idea of consulting the liver. 
 Even to the latest times it was felt to be a foreign thing, 
 and though in these later days its fascination was for 
 that very reason great, the feeling of strangeness was 
 never quite lost. Just as in our next chapter we shall see 
 the Romans making use of a set of Greek oracles, es- 
 pecially in times of national peril, so on the occasion 
 of terrifying prodigies, we find in Livy more and more 
 frequent recurrence of the expression that the state 
 " summoned haruspices from Etruria." On their own 
 part the haruspices were clever enough to study Roman 
 religion, in order that their science might be more skill- 
 
ROME AND THE ETRUSCANS 31 
 
 fully adapted to the needs of the Romans, and in all 
 their dealings they showed such a broad-minded reli- 
 gious tolerance that Varro (Lingua Latino,, vn, 88) tells 
 us, "the Haruspex ordains that each man should make 
 the sacrifice according to his own custom." Then, too, 
 the haruspicina was in many cases more convenient 
 and in all cases more accurate than the observation of 
 the flight of birds. Possibly the fact that the haruspex 
 was, at least in later times, more of a specialist than the 
 augur, may also have contributed to his exaltation. 
 
 Thus having received their primary education, the 
 Romans were ready to rise in their might and cast away 
 those who had taught them. For at a certain period of 
 development such a reaction seems to be instinctive, 
 and ought not to be attributed to a culpable lack of 
 moral sense. We do not look for gratitude in the young. 
 In Rome's case we do not know in exactly what form this 
 reaction took place. To a certain extent it must have 
 been the gradual growth of Rome's own self-conscious- 
 ness. But the Etruscans, as a mixed race, may have 
 paid the price of their ability by being early enfeebled. 
 In any case the fact remains that, by the beginning of 
 the second century before Christ, they had become 
 merely an interesting survival; and the great mass of 
 them had traveled out of Italy to the north into the 
 Rhaetian Alps, where the other Rome, the little town of 
 Rom near Innsbruck, bears witness to their presence. 
 
 They had accomplished for Rome their appointed 
 
32 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 work. They had raised her out of a semibarbarous con- 
 dition, with a religious consciousness which saw no 
 
 ._ c 
 
 farther than the physical needs of existence, into at 
 least the awakening realization of a patriotic purpose. 
 Life no longer consisted merely in the multitude of the 
 things which a man hath. This physical strength must 
 be put to work and employed in the service of some useful 
 purpose. This purpose was as yet undefined, but it was 
 instinctively there. It was the creation of the Roman 
 state. How transfixed these men would have been, had 
 they been able to look ahead for a stretch of six hundred 
 years and to see these beginnings develop into the 
 great Roman Empire of Trajan's day, and then again 
 for another stretch, this time for a thousand years, into 
 the still more mysterious Holy Roman Empire. 
 
 But at the moment they, like all well-balanced per- 
 sons, were engaged with the problem in hand. They 
 were fighting their way to the possession of Latium, and 
 they were becoming increasingly interested in a certain 
 people in southern Italy.' These people were the Greeks, 
 and, thanks to the Etruscans, the Romans were now 
 capable of at least a certain limited comprehension of 
 them. 
 
 How they became acquainted with the Greeks, and 
 what an extraordinary effect this acquaintance had 
 upon their religious consciousness, will be the subject 
 of our next chapter. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 ROME AND GREECE: THE RELIGION OF SUPERSTI- 
 TION AND THE DECLINE OF FAITH 
 
 THERE are few subjects in the world in which divisions 
 and epochs seem so senseless as in this subject of ours 
 the history of the religious life of the Romans. By 
 virtue of the fact that it is the story of a conscious 
 life, it is itself undivided and indivisible. There is 
 no break in the continuity of consciousness. We feel 
 perfectly sure that, had we been born at any period in 
 all these centuries, we should have lived our lives, the 
 great majority of us at least, without any sense of break 
 or even of remarkable change of any kind. But that is 
 true also of the life we are leading to-day. Few of us are 
 conscious of the really great changes which are taking 
 place in the religious life of this modern world. Yet the 
 historians of religion will some day mark an epoch and 
 draw a great line through the middle of our lives, and 
 our children's children will date a new period from these 
 present years of ours. Thus in the past we must make 
 our divisions, although the very visualizing of the 
 period causes us to feel that these divisions are untrue. 
 In the last chapter we tried to establish two succes- 
 sive stages in Rome's religious development : a primitive w 
 .stage in which the as yet untouched Italic stock was 
 
34 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 concerned with the gods purely as the givers of physical 
 and material goods, as the guardians of the herds and 
 of the crops and of human increase. There was no pur- 
 pose in this worship other than the mere instinct of social 
 preservation. The individual had no spiritual life of his 
 own, and therefore no individual religious interests. 
 Then we chronicled a great change. This was not the 
 coming of individualism. It was not yet time for that. 
 It was rather the advent of a loftier purpose into the in- 
 tellectual and spiritual consciousness of these people. 
 In a word, we saw the coming of the Etruscans, their 
 conquest of this region ; and the great gift which their 
 presence brought to the Roman people. When they 
 came, they found a loosely united tribal community; 
 when they departed, they left a nation behind them. 
 There was something in the world bigger than the num- 
 ber of the sheep and the fullness of the granaries. There 
 was a nation and a love of it. There was, in a word, 
 patriotism, and a large background of religion to sup- 
 port it. Jupiter Optimus Maximus, Jupiter Victor, and 
 his daughter Victoria, these were objects of worship 
 which filled men with a new enthusiasm. Yet it was no 
 new and strange thing soon to be lost. It was to be a 
 permanent possession for at least a thousand years. It 
 was to outlast as a vital power every form of religion 
 then present. Thus filled with a patriotic zeal, possessed 
 of an ethnic religion, the Roman people went forward 
 into their history, whither we must now follow them. 
 
ROME AND GREECE 35 
 
 It will be well, I think, to follow them for a moment 
 in the purely surface facts with which we are all more 
 or less familiar. We shall return later to the interpre- 
 tation of these things. The development which we are 
 now to discuss is virtually equivalent to the five hun- 
 dred years of the Republic. The very fact that we are 
 compelled to cover so much of human history in order 
 to obtain the picture indicates how scanty our sources 
 are, and yet I believe they are sufficient to justify our 
 attempt. 
 
 The history of the Republic falls naturally into two 
 divisions: the three centuries through the year B.C. 200 
 in other words, through the close of the Second Punic 
 War; and the last two centuries before Christ to the 
 battle of Actium, B.C. 31. During the first of these periods 
 Rome was fighting her way to world-wide supremacy. 
 During the second, she was vainly striving to set her 
 own house in order. We must treat of the two periods 
 separately. 
 
 We begin with the three centuries B.C. 500 to B.C. 200. 
 Of the first of these centuries we know but little; of the 
 second more, but not very much ; and of the third, a rela- 
 tively large amount. So far as territorial development is 
 concerned, the three centuries represent an enormous 
 change. At the beginning, this city of ours was merely 
 one member of a league of a few Latin towns; at the 
 close, she was in possession of the whole of central and 
 southern Italy, of Corsica, Sardinia, Sicily, and the two 
 
36 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 Spains. At the beginning, she was an insignificant un- 
 known community on the Tiber; at the close, she was 
 the dominating force in the Mediterranean, and within 
 another century all the western remains of Alexander's 
 empire were to fall into her hands. Surely the inspira- 
 tion of the Etruscans was having a marvelous effect 
 and Jupiter Optimus Maximus was coming into his 
 own. 
 
 Regarding these three centuries more closely, we see 
 that the chief events in the life of the city were as fol- 
 lows. Sometime in the first half of the fifth century the 
 constitution was changed from a kingdom into a repub- 
 lic. At about the same time, though not necessarily 
 connected with it, came the driving out of the Etrus- 
 cans, and the subsequent series of wars waged by the 
 Romans against them. It was not, however, until the 
 beginning of the fourth century, that the Etruscan 
 power in this neighborhood was thoroughly broken. 
 In B.C. 396, after a siege of ten years, the Etruscan town 
 of Veii surrendered, and from that time on the ultimate 
 victory of Rome was assured. But though her victory 
 against the Etruscans was certain, trouble began in 
 another quarter. The Gauls, who had entered Italy 
 from the north, and settled in the valley of the Po, till 
 now held in check by the Etruscans, descended upon 
 Rome. They came along the Via Salaria and entered 
 Rome at the point where successful invaders have al- 
 most always entered it. They sacked the city, and then 
 
ROME AND GREECE 37 
 
 Rome set to work to repair her walls. Thus was that 
 wall built, the remains of which we to-day wrongly call 
 the Servian Wall. It was certainly built after B.C. 390, 
 and probably before the middle of the century. This 
 dating agrees admirably with the evidence which the 
 wall itself gives. The fact that certain blocks in it seem 
 to be older can be explained by supposing that they 
 were taken either from an older wall on another site or 
 from some old building. The older wall may have been 
 that which the Etruscans built. During the rest of the 
 century we have the gradual extension of Rome's power 
 in Latium and southwards, and the closing decades of 
 the century witnessed in the city itself the rise to power 
 of Appius Claudius, who built the first aqueduct and the 
 first great Roman road, the Via Appia. This road was to 
 be of vital importance in Rome's subsequent history, 
 until under the empire it had to yield the first place to 
 the Via Flaminia, which Gaius Flaminius built some 
 ninety years after the Via Appia. 
 
 The story of the third century is familiar to many of 
 us. At its beginning, Rome fought with Pyrrhus for 
 the control of southern Italy, Magna Graecia. Then 
 came the desperate wars between Rome and her most 
 powerful adversary, Carthage, ending in the struggle for 
 existence against Hannibal. 
 
 This is a simple story in its outlines ; we are all familiar 
 with it, yet it really explains very little. If we rest con- 
 tent with it, we shall find ourselves entirely out of touch 
 
38 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 with the Romans as we meet them, let us say, in the 
 days of Plautus and Terence. We shall have no fruit- 
 ful knowledge of what was really happening. The people 
 will remain mere puppets for us, and we shall not be 
 able to enter into their lives. Such superficial historical 
 knowledge is of very little value. Let us attempt, there- 
 fore, to make a really vital acquaintance with the people 
 of these centuries. The underlying fact which explains 
 the development of Rome during this period is the in- 
 fluence of Greece. When we think of what Greece her- 
 self was doing between B.C. j)OO_ajrioljE^c j2OO, we are not 
 surprised that her influence should have reached Italy. 
 But we must not forget that, for the major portion of 
 these three hundred years, it was not the motherland 
 of Greece which was influencing Rome, but rather the 
 colonies in southern Italy, especially the very early 
 settlement at Cumse. It is important to keep this dis- 
 tinction in mind, because much that happened later in 
 Rome can best be explained by the fact that the source 
 of her inspiration was an inferior one. 
 
 In estimating the influence of one nation upon an- 
 other, modern parallels are of little value, because of the 
 totally changed character of the processes of communi- 
 cation. In antiquity the first influence seems to have 
 been purely commercial. But the importation of pro- 
 ducts required human agency, hence the commercial 
 traveler. And these travelers, bringing their own gods 
 with them, established the second kind of influence, 
 
ROME AND GREECE 39 
 
 that of religion and myth. Finally, much later, came the 
 purely intellectual influence by the medium of literature. 
 
 In the case of the influence of Greece on Rome, the 
 purely commercial stage was reached very early, even 
 before the Etruscans came, for we find Greek vases from 
 southern Italy in the graveyard in the Forum, which 
 ceased to be used when the Etruscans conquered Rome. 
 The influence of Greek religion and myth seems to 
 have become prominent during the Etruscan domina- 
 tion. Doubtless the Etruscans themselves, with their 
 love of Greek things, assisted materially in this. Finally, 
 the influence of literature did not make itself felt until 
 the middle of the third century, and does not concern 
 us here. The vital factor in the changes of these centuries 
 was the influence of Greek religion and myth. 
 
 The first Greek elements which came into Rome were, 
 curiously enough, not recognized by the Romans as be- 
 ing Greek. There was, for example, the cult of Hercules, 
 himself purely a Greek god, who came up with the mer- 
 chants out of southern Italy, and in some way, which 
 we do not understand, established himself at Tibur 
 (Tivoli). Thence his cult spread to Rome, where he was 
 received not as a Greek god, but as a god of Tibur, 
 i.e., a Latin-Sabine god, and given an altar inside the 
 pomerium, in the Forum Boarium. Then there were 
 Castor and Pollux, who were the patrons of the cavalry 
 in southern Italy, and came up into Latium, where they 
 established themselves, especially at Tusculum. Thence 
 
40 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 they, too, came into Rome as kindred and not foreign 
 gods, and received a temple in the Forum. So entirely 
 lacking was the feeling that these gods were foreigners, 
 that at a later day Hercules and Castor and Pollux were, 
 as it were, brought in again, this time under avowedly 
 Greek influence, given shrines outside the city, and 
 worshiped according to a new ritual, which differed 
 radically from the old-fashioned ceremonial of the Forum 
 and the Forum Boarium. But these were isolated cases. 
 The rank and file of Greek gods came into Rome in an 
 extraordinary way. As early as the sixth century, Rome 
 had established commercial relations with Cumae. As 
 a result of these relations the cult of Apollo, the divine 
 physician, was introduced into Rome and given a sanc- 
 tuary in the Campus Martius. In the train of Apollo 
 there came to Rome a collection of oracles written in 
 Greek. These oracles were the possession of the Roman 
 State. They were housed in the Capitoline Temple, and 
 placed under the guardianship of a newly formed priest- 
 hood. In time of peril the Senate caused the oracles to 
 be consulted, and the deities which they recommended 
 were thereupon introduced. In this fashion a host of 
 Greek gods entered Rome during the three centuries 
 with which we are dealing. 
 
 The earliest recorded use of the Sibylline Oracles is 
 in the case of the trinity, Demeter, Dionysos, and Kore, 
 who were introduced into Rome and given a temple, 
 in B.C. 493, outside the pomerium, near the spot where 
 
ROME AND GREECE 41 
 
 later stood the Circus Maximus. These three Greek 
 deities were, however, given the names of three already 
 existing Roman gods, Ceres, Liber, Libera. The inevit- 
 able result of this identification was that the old Roman 
 gods were entirely forgotten, and the name came to 
 mean almost exclusively the new Graeco-Roman deities. 
 But although 493 is the first recorded instance, we are 
 justified in supposing that the worship of Hermes, under 
 the name of Mercury, was also due to these oracles. Mer- 
 cury received a temple in B.C. 495, also in the neighbor- 
 hood of the Circus Maximus. It is only owing to the 
 fact that Livy omits to mention the circumstances under 
 which the temple was vowed that we have lost the de- 
 finite statement that the cult was introduced after a 
 consultation of the Sibylline Oracles. Hut. every thing 
 connected with the cult indicates these Oracles as the 
 source of its introduction. In fact, the coming of Mer- 
 cury and of the new Ceres are closely bound together, 
 and are the reflection in the world above of an interest- 
 ing economic development which was taking place on 
 earth, namely, the introduction of Sicilian grain into 
 Rome, for Ceres and her companions represent the grain 
 itself, and Mercury the protection of the merchants at 
 whose instigation the importation was undertaken. It 
 was probably about the same time that the old Roman 
 Neptune, who had been primarily a god of water and 
 of rivers, but with no especial connection with the sea, 
 began to be identified with the Greek Poseidon, the 
 
42 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 ruler of the ocean. By her worship of the deity of the 
 sea, Rome gained in a sense a control over the ocean, 
 and effected, as it were, a sort of marine insurance, which 
 was becoming essential to her on account of the grain 
 traffic with Sicily. 
 
 The .Sibylline Oracles were doubtless used on many 
 occasions of which our records show no traces ; and this 
 accounts in part for the fact that the next known date 
 of their use is B.C. 293, two hundred years later. It may 
 also be true that a reaction took place after the begin- 
 ning of the fifth century and that the Oracles were not 
 used as frequently as at first, until the war with Pyrrhus 
 brought Rome into immediate and intimate contact with 
 Greece. However this may be, in B.C. 292, on the occa- 
 sion of a severe pestilence in Rome, the Books were again 
 consulted, with the result that the worship of ^scula- 
 pius was introduced from Epidaurus. The snake, which 
 symbolized the god of healing and which the Roman 
 embassy brought back from Greece, elected to swim 
 ashore at the island of the Tiber; and accordingly it was 
 there that the sanctuary of ^sculapius was built. When 
 in the course of centuries paganism had given place to 
 Christianity, the work of healing, which had gone on 
 without change on this spot, was continued by the hos- 
 pital of San Bartolommeo down into the present day. 
 But this place of healing has not only the longest 
 unbroken record in our world to-day; it was also the 
 inspiration of that other St. Bartholemew's, which Lon- 
 
ROME AND GREECE 43 
 
 don and the world know so well. Half a century later, 
 in B.C. 249, during a critical period in the First Punic 
 War, when Rome was terrified by a series of prodigies, 
 the Oracles were again consulted, and Pluto and Perse- 
 phone were brought into Rome and, under the name of 
 Dis and Proserpina, given an altar in the Campus 
 Martius. This was the beginning for Rome of those 
 saecular games which, two centuries later, were to be 
 celebrated by Augustus and for which Horace wrote the 
 Carmen S&culare. It was at the old altar in the Campus 
 Martius that the original inscriptions were discovered, 
 which are now housed in the Terme Museum, and which 
 form such an eloquent contemporary testimony to the 
 event. 
 
 More important even than the introduction of these 
 deities was the gradual diffusion of the religious ideas and 
 myths of Greece. With amazing willingness and marvel- 
 ous facility the Romans adapted all their old deities to 
 these new ideas. Everywhere Greek parallels were sought 
 for in things Roman, and a host of Greek legends were 
 taken over bodily by the Romans with mere changes of 
 names. Thus, for example, arose among the Romans the 
 custom of attributing all innovations, including the foun- 
 dation of cities, to some individual whose name was 
 known. The application of this principle to the city of 
 Rome produced the legend of Romulus as the founder. 
 Thus the whole religious apparatus of early Rome was 
 measured against Greek standards, and cut and altered 
 
44 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 1 
 
 to suit. In this process some of the old Roman deities, 
 who had ceased to be vital, perished, so that only their 
 names and the ritual of the cult remained, and they 
 themselves became targets for etymological bowmen; 
 while those gods who were still vital took on a new form 
 and with it a new lease of life. 
 
 Such a relatively sudden reorganization of religious 
 ideas could not fail to be dangerous even under the best 
 of auspices. Conservatism suffered a temporary eclipse, 
 and the loss of conservatism implied a loss of balance. 
 But in addition to this, it so happened that the new 
 ideas themselves could be only partially appreciated by 
 the Romans, and that, like most ideas, they were very 
 dangerous when only half understood. It is not wonder- 
 ful that these busy practical Romans failed to under- 
 stand the beauty of the religious ideas of the Greeks. 
 No nation as such has ever understood them. At best a 
 few individuals have succeeded in partially comprehend- 
 ing them. In view of all that the last decade has taught 
 us about the origin of Greek art and its Oriental bear- 
 ings, one is tempted to wonder whether Greece may not 
 perhaps have represented the perfect equipoise of East 
 and West, containing both elements in her intellectual 
 as well as in her artistic life, an equipoise of which the 
 world in our day stands in great need, but which it may 
 take us some time to find. If such a theory of equipoise 
 be true, it would account not only for Greek art but also 
 for the Greek ideas of salvation by reason. 
 
ROME AND GREECE 45 
 
 Be this as it may, the Greek idea of men as the sons 
 of gods, with all the intercourse and companionship 
 which such a descent implies, was something at once 
 incomprehensible and terrible to the Roman mind. In 
 their older days they had known nothing of the gods, 
 those unseen gods who were known only in their ac- 
 tivities. Then had come the tutelage of the Etruscans, 
 who can scarcely have failed to impress upon the Romans 
 something of that terror of the gods which Etruscan 
 art so vividly portrays. And now the Oracles were 
 here, and with them the fullness of the anthropomorphic 
 conception. Thus there came into being that superstition 
 that excess of belief, which was to be so characteristic 
 of Roman religion from now until the end of the Repub- 
 lic, that Lucretius, in attacking it, thought that he 
 had attacked religion. 
 
 This super stitio battened upon the crises and the perils 
 of the Second Punic War, and it was in one of the dark- 
 est moments of that war that it received a visible incor- 
 poration in the introduction of the Great Mother of the 
 Gods. Hannibal had been defeated, but he had taken 
 refuge with his troops in the mountain fastnesses of 
 southern Italy. It seemed impossible to drive him out of 
 the peninsula. In her perplexity Rome had recourse to 
 the Sibylline Books. There an oracle seemed to indi- 
 cate that, if the Great Mother of the Gods were brought 
 to Italy and worshiped in Rome, she would drive Hanni- 
 bal out. The Romans, who at this time had scarcely 
 
46 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 heard of the Magna Mater, obediently sent for her, and 
 in due course the meteoric stone, which incorporated 
 her, was fetched from Pessinus in Phrygia, and brought 
 by ship to the mouth of the Tiber. Livy tells us the story 
 in full, and his account isjworth quoting (Book xxix). 1 
 
 The oracle discovered by the Decemviri affected the Senate 
 the more on this account, because the ambassadors, who had 
 brought the gifts (vowed at the battle of Metaurus) to Del- 
 phi, reported that, when they were sacrificing to the Pythian 
 Apollo, the omens were all favorable, and that the oracle had 
 given response that a greater victory was at hand for the 
 Roman people than that one from whose spoils they were then 
 bringing gifts. And as a finishing touch to this same hope, 
 they dwelt upon the prophetic opinion of Publius Scipio, 
 regarding the end of the war, because he had asked for Africa 
 as his province. And so in order that they might the more 
 quickly obtain that victory, which promised itself to them by 
 the omens and oracles of fate, they began to consider what 
 means there were of bringing the goddess to Rome. As yet 
 the Roman people had no states in alliance with them in Asia 
 Minor; however, they remembered that formerly ^Esculapius 
 had been brought from Greece for the sake of the health of 
 the people, though they had no alliance with Greece, They 
 realized, too, that a friendship had been begun with King 
 Attalus (of Pergamon) and that Attalus would do what he 
 could in behalf of the Roman people ; and so they decided to 
 send ambassadors to him and they allotted them five ships- 
 of -war, in order that they might approach in a fitting manner 
 the countries which they desired to interest in their favor. 
 Now, when the ambassadors were on their way to Asia, they 
 disembarked at Delphi, and approaching the Oracle, asked 
 what prospect it offered them and the Roman people of ac- 
 
 1 I quote ray own translation in The Religion of Nwna, p, 96. 
 
ROME AND GREECE 
 
 47 
 
 complishing the things, which they had been sent to do. It 
 is said that the reply was that through King Attains they 
 would obtain what they sought, but that, when they brought 
 the goddess to Rome, they should see to it that the best man 
 in Rome should be on hand to receive her. Then they came to 
 Pergamon, to the King (Attalus), and he received them gra- 
 ciously and led them to Pessinus in Phrygia, and he gave over 
 to them the sacred stone, which the natives said was the 
 Mother of the Gods, and bade them carry it to Rome. And 
 Marcus Valerius Falto was sent ahead by the ambassadors, 
 and he announced that the goddess was coming, and that 
 the best man in the state must be sought out to receive her 
 with due ceremony. 
 
 Again a little further on, Livy continues his account : 
 
 Then, too, the matter of the Idsean Mother must be at- 
 tended to, for aside from the fact that Marcus Valerius, one 
 of the ambassadors who had been sent ahead, had announced 
 that she would soon be in Italy, there was also a fresh message 
 that she was already at Tarracina. The Senate had to decide 
 a very important matter, namely, who was the best man in 
 the state, for every man in the state preferred a victory in such 
 a contest as this to any commands or offices which the vote of 
 the Senate or the people might give him. They decided that 
 of all the good men in the state the best was Publius Scipio. . . . 
 He then with all the matrons was ordered to go to Ostia to 
 meet the goddess and to receive her from the ship, to carry her 
 to land, and to give her over to the women to carry. After 
 the ship came to the mouth of the Tiber, Scipio, going out in 
 a small boat, as he had been commanded, received the god- 
 dess from the priests and carried her to land. And the noblest 
 women in the land . . . received her . . . and they carried 
 the goddess in their arms, taking turn about, while all Rome 
 poured out to meet her, and incense burners were placed 
 before the doors where she was carried by, and incense was 
 
48 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 burned in her honor. And thus praying, that she might enter 
 willingly and propitiously into the city, they carried her into 
 the temple of Victory, which is on the Palatine, on the day 
 before the Nones of April (April 4). And this was a festal day, 
 and the people in great numbers gave gifts to the goddess, 
 and a banquet for the gods was held, and games were per- 
 formed which were called Megalesia. 
 
 Thus brought in, she accomplished her work, and 
 Hannibal returned to Carthage. But when Hannibal 
 had gone, there remained in Italy a far worse enemy of 
 Rome. It was the great Mother herself, with her cym- 
 bal-clashing eunuch priests; the first of the orgiastic 
 Oriental cults, fraught with such danger to Rome, until 
 they, too, became in time subdued to a more spiritual 
 purpose. But for the moment Hannibal was gone, the 
 Second Punic War was ended, and we turn to the last 
 half of the Republic. 
 
 The last two centuries of the Republic present so 
 many striking resemblances to the world of our own day ; 
 we feel so much more akin to the people of those days, 
 so much nearer to them than to the dwellers in centuries 
 numerically much nearer to ours, that a word of caution 
 is necessary. The latest mode in the writing of history, 
 in its desire to make the past live again, has sacrificed 
 everything, that modern parallels might be exalted. 
 This is, however, merely a reaction against the traditional 
 method. Like most reactions, it is justified in its exist- 
 ence but it goes too far. If the study of the past is to be 
 profitable, we must seek for differences rather than re- 
 
ROME AND GREECE 49 
 
 semblances. This is not to deny the existence of many 
 practically unchanging characteristics in human nature, 
 nor is it to deny the usefulness of books which empha- 
 size the resemblance of antiquity to the present, so as 
 to make the study of the classics more pleasing to the 
 modern boy. But those who have put away childish 
 things might derive greater profit from a treatise on the 
 same period in which differences were incisively char- 
 acterized. We must of necessity follow this method, be- 
 cause these differences do exist and history does not 
 repeat itself. We assert this not so much by knowledge 
 as by faith. For the answer to the question, "Does 
 history repeat itself?" is the measure of a man's life. 
 If it does, then we are involved in the everlasting round 
 of Buddhistic thought; if it does not, then there is the 
 possibility of progress and the corresponding hope, and 
 our whole ethical life receives a new impulse. Realizing 
 these differences in spite of the resemblances, let us 
 now consider the last two centuries of the Republic. 
 
 Our task is more exactly from B.C. 201 to B.C. 31, 
 from the close of the Second Punic War to the battle 
 of Actium. We must study first the surface facts. At 
 the close of the Second Punic War, Rome found herself 
 suddenly in the possession of world power. The pos- 
 session of that power operated very largely as it does 
 to-day in producing a sudden commercial expansion. 
 The acquisition of power caused the formation of great 
 private fortunes. The upper, the senatorial class, amassed 
 
50 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 wealth by the corrupt government of the provinces; 
 while the middle class, the knights, grew rich by the 
 process of farming the taxes. There were present cer- 
 tain primitive forms of combination in restraint of 
 competition, but that which is most characteristic of 
 the age is the primary importance which attaches to 
 economic and financial conditions. There is perhaps 
 nothing, in the whole history of the Republic, which 
 strikes such a thoroughly modern note as the single 
 fact that when Pompey was appointed against the Cili- 
 cian pirates, instantly the Roman market experienced a 
 fall in the price of grain. This market anticipation is 
 thoroughly modern, and it may be questioned whether 
 it would have been possible at any time between the 
 late Republic or the early Empire and our own day. 
 
 The increase of private wealth brought with it, as it 
 always does, the problem of investment. By the con- 
 ditions of ancient life the field of investment was much 
 more limited than it is to-day. There were no govern- 
 ment securities to be purchased; for the government 
 of Rome was a clearing-house rather than a bank. Her 
 financial operations were in the main carried on for her 
 by private organizations, which returned to her a cer- 
 tain stipulated sum, retaining for themselves the bene- 
 fits of all further profits and the responsibility for 
 all deficits. Further, there were possible no especial 
 investments in the field of transportation. There was no 
 such development of manufacturing that " industrials'* 
 
ROME AND GREECE 51 
 
 entered into the calculation. Aside from unproductive 
 articles of luxury, for which money might be spent, 
 there remained only the purchase of land and of slaves, 
 and the combination of the two in agriculture. 
 
 But these favorite investments were in their turn the 
 cause of a wide-reaching social change. The small land- 
 owner, whose farm had suffered from the ravages of the 
 Second Punic War, thus yielded to the temptation of 
 selling his land or was forced into it by the foreclosing 
 of mortgages. Deprived of his farm, there was no work 
 left for him to do. He could not become the hired man, 
 the refuge which many of the farmers of America 
 found under similar conditions, for the presence of 
 slave labor made this impossible, and even the steward 
 or bailiff was himself a slave. Thus he gravitated toward 
 the city. Arrived there, he increased the city popula- 
 tion and created the problem of the unemployed. His 
 one asset was his vote and his political support, his 
 liability was the struggle for existence. These are the 
 vital events of the seventy years between the Punic 
 wars and the Gracchi. They are much more important 
 than the conquest of new provinces or the building of 
 basilicas in the Forum, details into which we have 
 no time to go. 
 
 And so we pass to our second period, the last cen- 
 tury of the Republic. The outward facts in this period 
 are relatively simple. A man tries to solve the problem 
 of the unemployed, and to put the small farmer back 
 
52 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 on the land. To accomplish his ends he performs illegal 
 acts and is killed. His brother ten years later takes 
 up the same problem and becomes his avenger. To gain 
 political control, he corrupts the masses by the first 
 distribution of free corn. He subsequently proposes citi- 
 zenship for the Italians, which loses him his popularity 
 and eventually his life. Thus the Gracchi and the begin- 
 nings of socialism. Next arises a great military hero, 
 Caius Marius, who makes good his lack of statesman- 
 ship by the strong right arm of the soldiery, a force which 
 the Gracchi had lacked. Thus begins militarism. Then 
 comes half a century of party struggle, devoid of prin- 
 ciples and ideals, Marius against Sulla, Pompey against 
 Caesar. And finally Caesar himself falls at the hands of 
 the assassins. <%t^.D> 3) 
 
 These are not times in which we have a right to expect 
 any growth of culture. There are two essentials for the 
 increase of higher things : simplicity of life and the pre- 
 sence of lofty ideals. Both of these essentials were ne- 
 cessarily lacking in these years. Material goods were so 
 distributed that those in the upper places were over- 
 whelmed by the multitude of them, whereas the lower 
 classes were deprived of those things which are essen- 
 tial to life itself even in its simplicity. Then, too, amid 
 the rivalry of party strife there was no incentive to the 
 cultivation of ideals. It was a generation of money and 
 politics. It is not surprising, therefore, that the estab- 
 lished religion fell into decay. In the first place, politics 
 
ROME AND GREECE 53 
 
 had no hesitation about entering into the priesthoods. 
 There were, to be sure, certain priesthoods into which 
 politics could not enter. For example, the " shadow 
 king," the rex sacrorum, that priest who, at the change 
 from the Kingdom into the Republic, was appointed 
 to carry on the priestly duties which in the old days the 
 king himself had performed was by the very nature 
 of his position strictly prohibited from entering into 
 politics. According to the Roman manner of thinking it 
 was necessary that he should be appointed, because the 
 Roman state had no right to alter the title of the person 
 who from time immemorial had performed certain re- 
 ligious ceremonies. The change might not be agreeable 
 to the powers above, and there was no legitimate means 
 of ascertaining their opinion. Thus the "rex" was re- 
 tained in name, but the danger of conspiracy against the 
 republic was reduced to a minimum by compelling the 
 holder of this position to stand apart from political life. 
 For other reasons, the especial priests of Jupiter (Flamen 
 Dialis), of Mars (Flamen Martialis), and of Quirinus 
 (Flamen Quirinalis) were restricted in their public ac- 
 tivity. But where politics could not go, there all interest 
 ceased, and these priesthoods became of almost no im- 
 portance, and in certain cases remained vacant for years 
 on end. They afforded a sharp contrast to the three great 
 political priesthoods : the Pontiffs, the Augurs, the Quin- 
 decemviri. These grew constantly in significance, es- 
 pecially since by the passage of the Domitian law (B.C. 
 
'54 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 104) they were thrown open to popular election. Per- 
 sons thus chosen as priests would in the nature of things 
 care for the political and not for the religious functions 
 of their office. Thus the calendar, which was in the care 
 of the priests, fell into confusion. Similarly the augurs, 
 who were busy applying their science as an obstruction 
 to unpopular political measures, cared not at all about 
 the theory upon which their science rested. Thus the 
 theory of augury was so forgotten that in Cicero's day 
 two entirely opposite views were current. Then, too, 
 the cult was neglected, and with the neglect of the cult, 
 the ritual, which had been passed down by remembrance, 
 was lost to memory. No longer were the temples re- 
 paired, but they fell a prey to the elements and the ex- 
 uberant growth of vines and ivy. But perhaps most 
 characteristic of all, because it touches most deeply 
 personal life, was the abandonment of many private 
 sacrifices. It was better to risk the wrath of ancestors 
 in another world than the inconveniences of offspring 
 in this. Thus childless marriages became the rule, and 
 the sacrifices lapsed for lack of those who could carry 
 them on. 
 
 But in looking at this picture we must not for a mo- 
 ment suppose that the community at large had no re- 
 ligious needs. Starve and crush it as they might, the re- 
 ligious sense was ever present with them. They could 
 not kill it, but they could and did debase and pollute it. 
 For the satisfaction of these depraved religious needs, 
 
ROME AND GREECE 55 
 
 it was the sensational which was largely sought after. 
 The Great Mother had now received her own temple 
 on the Palatine, and her priests, with their clashing and 
 discordant music, were familiar figures in the streets of 
 Rome. The law still forbade Roman citizens to become 
 priests of Cybele, but evasions of the law were not un- 
 known. When the Cimbri and the Teutones were threat- 
 ening Italy, the great High Priest of Cybele from Pes- 
 sinus had come to Rome, and had addressed the people, 
 promising them the victory over the invaders. A Roman 
 official thought it his duty to interfere, and dragged the 
 speaker from the platform. A few days later this official 
 died of a fever, and Rome was not at loss for a reason. 
 The popularity of Battaces, the High Priest, increased 
 apace, and at his departure from the city a few days 
 later he was accompanied to the gates by a great mul- 
 titude of men and women. The procession was not unlike 
 that of a hundred years before, when the ancestors of 
 these men and women had gone out of the gates to wel- 
 come the sacred image of the Great Mother, whose 
 High Priest had now deigned to visit them. Other gods 
 of the Orient were following in Cybele's train. There was 
 the bloodstained figure of the Cappadocian Mi, whom 
 Rome had taken and identified with her own old-fash- 
 ioned Bellona. Then in the days of Sulla there came 
 Isis and her priests. 
 
 The more exuberant forms of Greek philosophy be- 
 came popular in Rome. Such crude ideas as those of 
 
56 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 the Neopythagoreans, with their doctrine of the trans- 
 migration of souls, appealed strongly to their jaded 
 senses. Even a pious fraud was perpetrated, and the so- 
 called " Books of Numa" were said to have been found 
 in a stone sarcophagus in Trastevere. But here the state 
 stepped in, and destroyed the books before they had an 
 appreciable effect. All through this period the action 
 of the state is extremely interesting. Entirely apart from 
 their own personal belief, the rulers of Rome felt it their 
 patriotic duty to be the defenders of the state religion. 
 They were entirely frank in their disbelief, and one of the 
 greatest jurists of the day describes three kinds of re- 
 ligion : the religion of the philosophers, who explain the 
 world according to their own doctrines; the religion of 
 the poets, who use the paraphernalia of the gods on which 
 to hang their myths and stories; and the religion of the 
 statesmen, who defend the religious forms of the fathers 
 because they are an integral part of the state. " It is ex- 
 pedient that there should be gods, and if it is expedient, 
 let us believe that there are." 
 
 But these statesmen did not confine themselves to a 
 mechanical accentuation of the past. On _s_eyeral occa- 
 sions they carried on active operations against elements 
 which they considered hostile to the public good. Again 
 and again they expelled from Rome the teachers of 
 philosophy. But their most dramatic act was the famous 
 investigation of the Bacchanalian conspiracy in B.C. 186. 
 We have the account in Livy in a series of graphic chap- 
 
ROME AND GREECE 57 
 
 ters, and we have the dignified decision of the Senate 
 preserved to us in the original decree, in an inscription 
 found in Bruttii, and at present in the museum at 
 Vienna (C.I.L. X. 104). But the most significant fea- 
 ture of this decree is its broad-minded religious tolerance. 
 Bad as these societies of the worship of Bacchus seemed 
 to be, they were after all, in part at least, the expression 
 of religious feeling, and it might well happen that, even 
 after their condemnation by the Senate, a man might 
 feel that his duty demanded this particular form of wor- 
 ship. The opportunity must be left to him, though the 
 state might well hedge it about with all reasonable pre- 
 cautions. Thus the decree of the Senate ordained that if 
 any man felt it incumbent upon him to celebrate these 
 Bacchanalian rites, he should go to the city praetor at 
 Rome, and that the matter should then be referred to 
 the Senate at a meeting at which not less than one hun- 
 dred Senators were present. 
 
 Toward the close of this period, in the age which 
 we call the age of Cicero, we have two very interesting 
 attempts to deal with the problems of religion. The two 
 attempts which we are to chronicle approached the sub- 
 ject from exactly opposite sides. In the one case, that 
 of Varro, the attempt is made to restore old Roman re- 
 ligion by learning; in the other case, that of Lucretius, re- 
 ligion is attacked and an attempt is made to destroy it. 
 It is very strange that the man who attempted to sup- 
 port religion accomplished nothing, while the man who 
 
58 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 4 
 
 attacked it performed a distinctly religious task. Mar- 
 cus Terentius Varro was at once a man of wide and exact 
 learning, and an ardent adherent of the Stoic philosophy. 
 It seemed to him a possible thing to exhibit ancient 
 Roman religion as a revelation of the truths of Stoic 
 philosophy in the form of parables. But he had also in 
 view another purpose. The religion of the fathers had 
 been neglected, and so largely forgotten. If it were to 
 be restored, a knowledge of it must be regained. This 
 was a primary necessity. And so he set to work in a series 
 of books to write a systematic treatise on Roman theo- 
 logy, ritual, and church organization. The very pedantic 
 character of what he wrote, the utter unpracticality of 
 his theories, and the vagaries of his etymological specu- 
 lation, are all of them proofs of his absolute sincerity. 
 For these were all characteristics of Varro, and their 
 presence in this book is evidence that he threw himself 
 entirely into the writing of it. Then, too, there is the 
 pathetic faith of the scholar toward the man of power, 
 in his dedicating of the book to Julius Caesar, in the lat- 
 ter's capacity as Pontifex Maximus. Of course nothing 
 came of it; nothing could. The old religion was dead, and 
 no one realized that more clearly than Julius Caesar and 
 his successor Augustus. But it was a labor of love, and 
 as such it was not wholly lost. Even Augustine, who 
 four hundred years later chose this book of Varro's as 
 an exhibition of the vanities and follies of the old Roman 
 religion, seems impressed with the spirit which breathed 
 
ROME AND GREECE 59 
 
 through it. For us the book is lost; we have only Augus- 
 tine's quotations from it ; but even from these quotations 
 comes the perfume of the earnest ethical purpose of a 
 Roman whose patriotism supplied the deficiencies of 
 his faith. 
 
 Hardly a greater contrast could be found than that 
 between Varro and Lucretius; and almost the only 
 thing which unites them is their common interest in 
 philosophy and religion. It is very easy to contrast them 
 by saying that Varro used his philosophy to support re- 
 ligion, while Lucretius used his to attack it. This is also 
 reasonable on the surface, for the doctrines of Varro's 
 Stoicism were well calculated to support religion, while 
 the doctrines of Lucretius's Epicureanism were equally 
 well calculated to undermine it. The Stoic theory of 
 the grand duality of creative powers the father and 
 the mother idea, the heaven and the earth was pecu- 
 liarly applicable to the older forms of Roman religious 
 thought; whereas the materialistic and mechanical ex- 
 planation of the atomic theory belonged to another 
 world of thought. 
 
 And yet to stop here would be to convey an altogether 
 wrong impression of Lucretius and his work. His attack 
 upon religion was simply the result of his own intensely 
 religious nature. His advocacy of the atomic theory is 
 distinctly a religious expression. The world and the pro- 
 cesses of existence are so wonderful if properly under- 
 stood that he who contemplates them becomes filled 
 
60 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 with awe and reverence. There is no better example of 
 this than the passage from the opening of the first book, 
 in which he sounds the praise of Epicurus. I quote 
 Munro's classic translation : 
 
 When human life to view lay foully prostrate upon earth, 
 crushed down under the weight of religion, who showed her 
 head from the quarters of heaven with hideous aspect lowering 
 upon mortals, a man of Greece ventured first to lift his mortal 
 eyes to her face and first to withstand her to the face. Him 
 neither story of gods nor thunderbolts nor heaven with threat- 
 ing roar could quell; they only chafed the more the eager 
 course of his soul, filling him with desire to be the first to 
 burst the fast bars of Nature's portals. Therefore, the living 
 force of his soul gained the day: on he passed, far beyond the 
 flaming walls of the world, and traversed throughout in mind 
 and spirit the immeasurable universe ; whence he returns a 
 conqueror to tell us what can, what cannot come into being ; 
 in short, on what principle each thing has its powers defined, 
 its deep-set boundary mark. Therefore religion is put under 
 foot and trampled upon in turn; us his victory brings level 
 with heaven. 
 
 Thus in his attacks upon current beliefs, in his criti- 
 cisms of prayer and the ritual of worship, he is constantly 
 unconsciously calling men to worship. Lucretius belongs 
 in the category of the world 's great religious mystics. At 
 first sight he appears sadly out of place in his day and 
 generation, and the object of his worship seems such a 
 strange thing. And yet these contradictions are the best 
 evidence of the genuineness of his mystical nature. He 
 was born a religious mystic, one of the few religious 
 mystics which the southland, with its absence of half 
 
ROME AND GREECE 61 
 
 shadows and twilight, has ever produced. Neither the 
 banal trivialities of his contemporary Cicero, nor the 
 mathematical and physical austerity of the system by 
 which he chose to explain the world, could in any way 
 impede the outflow of his mysticism. He speaks with 
 all the ethical fervor of a great moral teacher. Take, for 
 example, the passage at the opening of the second 
 book: 
 
 Nothing is more welcome than to hold the lofty and serene 
 positions, well fortified by the learning of the wise, from 
 which you may look down upon others and see them wander- 
 ing all abroad and going astray in their search for the path 
 of life, see the contest among them of intellect, the rivalry of 
 birth, the striving night and day with surpassing effort to 
 struggle up to the summit of power and be masters of the world. 
 O miserable minds of men ! O blinded breasts ! in what darkness 
 of life and in how great dangers is passed this term of life, 
 whatever its duration ! . . . For even as children are flurried 
 and dread all things in the thick darkness, thus we in the 
 daylight fear at times things not a whit more to be dreaded 
 than those which children shudder at in the dark and fancy 
 to be so. This terror, therefore, and darkness of mind must 
 be dispelled, not by the rays of the sun and glittering shafts 
 of day, but by the aspect and law of Nature. 
 
 Thus he points the way of salvation, but when we 
 start to follow him, we beat ourselves in vain against 
 the stone walls through which his spirit has passed. 
 Except in part in the person of Augustine, Rome offers 
 no parallel, and in modern philosophy we are reminded 
 only of the glass polisher of Amsterdam. For Spinoza 
 
62 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 and Lucretius have very much in common, including their 
 antipathy to the popular and established religion of the 
 day. 
 
 - We have tarried with Lucretius not only because he 
 is a fascinating figure in himself, but because in a sense 
 he is the best example of the one really great element of 
 progress which had been accomplished during those 
 long centuries of the Republic. This progress consisted 
 in the slow and gradual rise of the individual. We began 
 our chapter at the time when Rome was filled with the 
 cheerful consciousness of her own nationality. We have 
 seen the social instinct of religion gradually weakening 
 in the presence of great material prosperity. Greece had 
 given Rome new gods, but she had also destroyed the 
 gods which Rome already possessed; and in their turn 
 the Greek ideas had proved insufficient. Thoughtful 
 men were turning away from the things which the world 
 held dear; they were striking off into new paths of 
 thought, all their own. Individualism was arising. 
 With the development of that individualism, and with 
 the problems which it in its turn created, we are to deal 
 in the next chapter. 
 

 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE RELIGION OF THE EARLY EMPIRE: SALVATION 
 BY REASON VERSUS SALVATION BY FAITH 
 
 OUR first two chapters have been in the nature of things 
 more or less introductory. We have chronicled three 
 periods through which Rome's religious consciousness 
 passed, and at the close of the last chapter we found our- 
 selves on the threshold of a fourth period. We have thus 
 far traced religious consciousness from its birth as a 
 purely social instinct, where a man's whole worship 
 was directed towards influencing the gods in behalf of 
 the propagation of the race, into a period where the 
 purely social instinct turned into a national instinct, 
 and where men prayed, not for physical increase in 
 general, but for the progress and power of the nation. 
 That was our first chapter. Then we saw the rise of the 
 instinct of superstition. Whereas in the first two periods 
 man had been conscious of his own strength, and had 
 prayed to the gods rather that they might leave him 
 alone and not prove hostile to him, because he felt him- 
 self confident to work out the problem alone if only he 
 were not interfered with, in this new period, with the 
 coming of Greek influence, and his own exhaustion after 
 more or less severe contests, he feels the distinct need 
 of the gods, not in a negative, but rather in a positive 
 
64 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 sense. He becomes conscious of his dependence upon 
 them, and with this sense of dependence arises a feeling 
 that he is subject to their caprice. The next step is quickly 
 taken. If he is subject to their caprice, he must do what 
 he can to win their favor. Hence arises the instinct of 
 superstition. But in the presence of continued pros- 
 perity even this instinct of superstition grows dormant, 
 and religious consciousness reaches its lowest ebb. It 
 is then that the reaction sets in and the instinct of indi- 
 vidualism begins. 
 
 These four instincts the social, the national, the 
 superstitious, and the individualistic must not be 
 thought of as succeeding one another in the way in 
 which we have been compelled to portray them here. 
 The characteristic of instincts is that they do not die, 
 but are merely submerged. They still exist, and have a 
 way of coming to the surface when we least expect them. 
 We must realize, therefore, that in describing them one 
 after the other, we are merely indicating the order in 
 which they arose. 
 
 The political period, with which we are to deal to- 
 day, is the first three centuries of the Empire, from the 
 accession of Augustus to the death of Diocletian. We 
 are to study the rise and development of individualism 
 in religious thought. We are to see it starting from one 
 point and working in two directions. The individual is 
 to seek his salvation, either by reason and knowledge, 
 or by faith and worship. Either the truth, which he knows, 
 
RELIGION OF THE EARLY EMPIRE 65 
 
 shall make him free ; or his belief in the truth, which he 
 does not know. These two tendencies are working side 
 by side from the beginning of our period, and neither 
 one precedes the other; but it so happens that the ideas 
 of salvation by knowledge are more widespread and in- 
 fluential in the first two centuries of our period, that is, 
 from Augustus through Marcus Aurelius; whereas the 
 ideas of salvation by faith are more prominent in the 
 last century. It will be well, therefore, to discuss, first, 
 salvation by knowledge, and second, salvation by faith. 
 But this matter of individualism is a very delicate one, 
 and we can see its outline only by projecting it against 
 the background. This background was the established 
 religion of the Roman state. With it accordingly we 
 must begin our study. 
 
 It was a boy of nineteen who was destined to take up 
 the burden which Julius Caesar had laid down. Listen 
 to Augustus's own words regarding this crisis in his life. 
 They are preserved to us in the brief ' ' Official Statement ' ' 
 of his life activity, which he prepared a few months be- 
 fore his death. 
 
 When I was nineteen, I raised an army on my own respon- 
 sibility and at my own expense. By means of this army I 
 restored to liberty the Republic, which had been oppressed by 
 the domination of a faction. In return for these things the 
 Senate passed honorary decrees and added me to their num- 
 ber in the consulship of Pansa and Hirtius. And at the same 
 time they gave me the privilege of a man of consular dignity, 
 namely, that of expressing my opinion, and they also gave me 
 
66 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 the imperium. And they ordered me to see to it in my capa- 
 city of propraetor, together with the consuls, that the Re- 
 public should suffer no damage. Moreover, in that same 
 year, in which both the consuls had been killed in battle, the 
 people made me consul and also one of the three men appointed 
 to restore the Republic. Those who had killed my father, 
 them I drove into exile by legal enactment, punishing their 
 deed. And afterwards, when they waged war against the 
 Republic, I conquered them twice in a drawn battle. 
 
 From the beginning of his career until almost the close 
 of it, the greatest strength of Augustus lay in his mar- 
 velous knowledge of human psychology. He was armed, 
 not with the broadsword of military force, but rather 
 with the rapier of diplomatic tact. As the world was then 
 constituted, force could call forth only force; and he who 
 took the sword would surely perish by the sword, and 
 revolution would have been continuous, whereas the 
 play of the rapier was after all in the nature of an exhibi- 
 tion. But one who really knows human nature recog- 
 nizes the dominating part which religion always plays ; 
 and no really great statesman has ever been able to dis- 
 regard it. In the case of Augustus it is no exaggeration 
 to say that if we take religion in the old Roman sense, 
 he was a great religious reformer. His purpose was 
 doubtless to establish himself and his descendants upon 
 the throne, but his outward activity was almost entirely 
 directed to the awakening of a sentimental revival of 
 the ideal of Roma Sterna. In his own consciousness 
 there was no crass distinction between the end and the 
 
RELIGION OF THE EARLY EMPIRE 67 
 
 means. The establishment of his dynasty had come 
 to mean to him the only salvation for his people. It 
 was of course a theoretical error, as old as the world, 
 and yet renewed every day, whereby a man feels him- 
 self appointed as the savior of his people. It was none 
 the less a theoretical error, because, in the case of Au- 
 gustus, he did actually accomplish a great good for the 
 people. 
 
 With a quiet unobtrusiveness, which was characteris- 
 tic of all that he did, Augustus set about the task of 
 awakening in men's minds the long-forgotten chords of 
 patriotism; and the instruments which he used to make 
 this music were of such varied kinds that each man 
 after his own fashion was compelled to hear. To those who 
 were very deaf, indeed, architecture spoke in the reor- 
 ganization of the city of Rome, in the splendid buildings 
 of the Forum; the Palatine, and the Campus Martius; 
 in the Basilica Julia, the temple of Mars Ultor, the Ara 
 Pacis, and, most conspicuous of all, the glistening mar- 
 ble temple of Apollo on the Palatine. Others heard the 
 voice of Rome in the recapture of the standards which 
 Crassus had lost to the Parthians, an event of such su- 
 preme importance that it is portrayed on the centre of 
 the breastplate in the famous statue of Augustus from 
 Prima Porta. Still others heard the poets* song, a Vir- 
 gil, a Horace, a Tibullus, a Propertius; and when this 
 dormant instinct of patriotism awaked, behold a reor- 
 ganized state religion in which every man might join. 
 
68 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 Under the new regime political life was bound to become 
 atrophied, but the religious life opened wider and wider 
 possibilities. We cannot here go into all the details of 
 this reorganization. Idealist though he was, he built 
 here as always upon a material foundation. The fall of 
 the state religion had been caused to a large extent by 
 the neglect of the priesthoods. Those priesthoods, such 
 as the augurs and pontiffs, which had been filled with 
 politicians, must be taught the seriousness of their reli- 
 gious functions ; those which did not permit of politics, 
 and had, therefore, been neglected, must be filled and kept 
 filled, and the dignity and honor of the office must be its 
 own reward. But if men were ever again to respect the 
 gods, the places where the gods were worshiped must be 
 restored and made worthy of respect. Hence the title 
 which men gave him, " Templorum omnium conditor ac 
 restitutor," and the long list of restorations in the Monu- 
 mentum Ancyranum : " The temple of Apollo on the Pala- 
 tine with its porticos, the temple of Divus Julius, the 
 Lupercal, . . . the temples of Jupiter Feretrius and of 
 Jupiter Tonans on the Capitoline, the temple of Quiri- 
 nus, the temple of Minerva, the temple of Juno Regina, 
 the temple of Jupiter Libertas on the Aventine, the 
 temple of the Lares in 'summa sacra via/ the temple 
 of the Penates in the Velia, the temple of Juventas, the 
 temple of the Magna Mater on the Palatine I built . . . 
 eighty-two temples of the gods in the city I in my sixth 
 consulship rebuilt according to senatorial decree, no 
 
RELIGION OF THE EARLY EMPIRE 69 
 
 temple being omitted which at that time liad need of 
 repair." 
 
 But to arouse the enthusiasm of the masses more was 
 needed than priests and temples. There must be the 
 splendor of the cult as well. Hence such a performance 
 as the Ludi Saeculares of B.C. 17, whose stone protocol 
 we have preserved to us with its "carmen composuit Q. 
 Homtius Flaccus" and the poem, too, which Horace 
 wrote has been saved for us. 
 
 Thus was laid a firm foundation of material things 
 and old-fashioned ideas; and now Augustus was free to 
 build upon it and to construct such new things as might 
 serve his purpose. The building of the great white 
 marble temple on the Palatine was doubtless the most 
 conspicuous, but possibly the least fruitful of his inno- 
 vations. After all, Apollo was the god whom Augustus 
 himself chose to worship, and whatever influence the 
 Palatine cult subsequently had was owing more to its 
 material gorgeousness than to its spiritual appeal. 
 
 There was, however, another innovation which af- 
 fected the people of Rome far more deeply. This was 
 the reorganization of the worship of the Lares at the 
 street corners. These shrines to the Lares Compitales, 
 built at the crossing of the streets, had long been the 
 centres of informal political clubs, clubs which Julius 
 Caesar, for example, had found so difficult to control that 
 he had foolishly tried to suppress them. 
 
 With a magic touch, tact in its literal sense, 
 
70 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 Augustus restored these clubs and gave them official 
 recognition, with one slight change, which was to mean 
 so much. Between the figures of the Lares was to stand 
 from henceforth the "Genius "of Augustus, that old 
 animistic concept of the divine parallel. Hereafter when 
 these clubs met, they worshiped their Lares, and in 
 addition the ideal of the emperor. Thus his divine paral- 
 lel was present at all their deliberations. But lasting as 
 was the hold thus obtained, it was circumscribed in its 
 area and confined to the city of Rome. 
 
 Thus we turn to the most important religious insti- 
 tution in the Augustan scheme, the establishment of 
 emperor worship. It cannot in any sense be affirmed that 
 Augustus invented emperor-worship, nor is it true that 
 he introduced it into Rome. It was in the world long 
 before his day, and to a certain degree it had already 
 entered Rome before he came to power. It is neverthe- 
 less strictly true that he controlled it and by very deli- 
 cate manipulation, by processes of encouragement and 
 discouragement, now by toleration and again by ener- 
 getic prohibition, he shaped it and welded it into the 
 instrument which it was to be in the subsequent history 
 of the Empire. It is difficult for us to realize the power 
 that emperor-worship possessed during the centuries to 
 come. It was in a sense the only universal form of re- 
 ligion in the Roman Empire. We have, to be sure, in- 
 scriptions to Jupiter from all parts of Rome's territory, 
 and his cult might seem as universal as that of the em- 
 
RELIGION OF THE EARLY EMPIRE 71 
 
 perors. But this is an error. The name Jupiter in these 
 inscriptions conceals a score of totally different deities, 
 for in the nature of things the chief god of each region 
 would readily be identified with Jupiter. But in the case 
 of the emperor it was one and the same deity from Ha- 
 drian's Wall in Britain to the upper cataracts of the 
 Nile, and from the Pillars of Hercules to the banks of 
 the Euphrates. And when, in B.C. 29, Augustus dedi- 
 cated the temple of Divus Julius in the Forum, on the 
 spot where Caesar's body had been burned, he was be- 
 ginning the organization of the one great conservative 
 force which was to hold the Empire together. 
 
 It is very interesting in this connection to observe 
 that the form which emperor- worship took in the Roman 
 Empire was one consonant with Western ideals, in a 
 word, that the Oriental idea of the worship of the living 
 emperor was changed into the worship of the dead em- 
 peror. The compromise was effected by permitting the 
 worship of the Genius of the living emperor; and even 
 in the latter days, when under Diocletian Oriental ideas 
 had almost entirely conquered the West, and though 
 the living emperor was to all practical intents and pur- 
 poses worshiped, a regard for good form still held a 
 thin veil of adjectives and abstract nouns between the 
 physical person of the living emperor and the gaze of 
 the worshiper. 
 
 And so Augustus died, and left his scheme of things 
 to his successors to be tried out in the succeeding cen- 
 
72 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 turies. It is very wonderful how successful that scheme 
 was and how capable of rational alteration; and it is 
 surprising to what an extent it controlled the masses 
 of the people in the two hundred years which followed. 
 We have no need to pass through the outward political 
 events of these years, for we have sufficient material at 
 our disposal in the records of the inner life. We have 
 gained our background, and we are now to trace the 
 rise of individualism. 
 
 If one had spoken to a Roman in the fourth century, 
 or even in the third century, before Christ, concerning 
 his soul, its sinfulness, and its need of salvation, there 
 would have been no discussion possible, for the person 
 addressed would not have understood what it was all 
 about. It is very difficult for us to put ourselves in such 
 a position of innocence ; but we can at least realize that 
 there are certain Oriental nations of the present day who 
 do not understand these concepts, who have indeed a 
 sense of right and wrong, but who have not the conscious- 
 ness of an individual soul, and hence can neither feel its 
 guilt nor desire its salvation. The origin of this idea of 
 the personal soul is obscured in great mystery. It was 
 not present at the time of the Punic Wars. We see only 
 scanty traces of it in the literature of the Ciceronian age, 
 and yet in the time of Seneca it was absolutely prevalent. 
 Various explanations may be suggested. The theory most 
 commonly advanced is that these ideas were neurotic, 
 that they are' the characteristics of neurasthenia, and 
 
.RELIGION OF THE EARLY EMPIRE 73 
 
 that so long as Rome was healthy and robust she knew 
 nothing of these things. There is no question but that at 
 the beginning of the Empire neurasthenia was prevalent 
 among the upper classes. The slight value attached 
 to human life and the ease of suicide are indications 
 of this state of affairs. But we can scarcely conceive 
 of the whole mass of the people as being neurotic, and 
 yet this concept of the soul and its salvation is quite 
 as common among the lower and the middle classes as 
 among the upper ones. On the other hand, there can be 
 little doubt that prosperity and luxury had tended to 
 break down the strong racial instincts of more primitive 
 times. Paradoxical as it may seem, there is much truth 
 in the statement that self-indulgence may assist in giving 
 birth to the concept of self. Certainly, too, the splitting- 
 off and the differentiation from the mass are very much 
 increased. But the essential thought is still lacking. We 
 may obtain a soul, but how do we explain its sense of 
 guilt ? The only explanation which seems in any wise 
 satisfactory is that these ideas were imported from the 
 Orient partly through the doctrines of the later Greek 
 philosophy, which was itself tinged with the Orient, 
 partly through direct contact with the religions of the 
 Orient. In other words, we have once again the spec- 
 tacle of Rome owing a large debt to foreign influence. 
 Such an individualism seems also the result of an exces- 
 sive cosmopolitanism . Once given the idea of the brother- 
 hood of man, with all the national boundaries removed, 
 
74 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 the ordinary man who is capable of an enthusiasm for 
 his own country cannot rise to a love of the whole world, 
 and thus reverts by reaction to the selfish individualistic 
 standpoint. The teachings of a philosophy such as Stoi- 
 cism and the universal ideas of Oriental religion tend 
 alike to individualism. 
 
 But however these ideas may have arisen, they are 
 everywhere present cluring these centuries of the Empire. 
 Man is an individual, and as such has certain obligations 
 and responsibilities toward the gods. These obligations 
 are no longer primarily social; they are distinctly per- 
 sonal, and man is conscious that he has not fulfilled 
 them. To add to the seriousness of the situation, not 
 only is human life itself very short and uncertain, but 
 the world itself is coming to an end. Must this indi- 
 vidual self perish or is there a life beyond? Is this human 
 soul capable of a life after death? And how can it purify 
 itself so as to enter into that life ? 
 
 These are the questions which men have put to them- 
 selves ever since, but which the Romans are now asking 
 for the first time; and the answer is of extreme interest, 
 because it is so particularly pagan and Greek. It comes 
 to'us out of that far-away Greek world, and though most 
 of us do not believe it, there is always the chance that 
 for the Greeks themselves it may have been true. Cer- 
 tainly it was not true for the Romans. The answer is : 
 Sin is ignorance; to know the truth is to do it. Know- 
 ledge, therefore perfect knowledge, guarantees freedom 
 from sin. The wise man is the holy man. 
 
RELIGION OF THE EARLY EMPIRE 75 
 
 But if this be true, and if the world be sooivto come to 
 an end, then all knowledge is not equally profitable, but 
 rather that knowledge which makes for righteousness; 
 and if life be so short and uncertain, then the wise man 
 will renounce the other things of life and give himself 
 over to the better part. It is the new scale of valuation 
 which the idea of the approaching end of the world 
 brings with it. It is the gospel of renunciation. It is 
 philosophy and the cure of souls, and its first and great- 
 est spokesman is Seneca. 
 
 We may think what we will of Seneca's personal 
 character; we may despise him as insincere and time- 
 serving; we may even look on his death as mixed with 
 melodrama; but we cannot honestly deny that he was 
 a great power for good in the particular class of society 
 to which he ministered. And " minister " is the correct 
 word, for very few men ever gave themselves more 
 unstintedly to] the work of advising and helping their 
 fellows. It is often peculiar advice that Seneca gives, 
 but we must remember that his audience was very 
 peculiar. His words often seem full of affectation, but 
 we must remember that his age was even more full of 
 poseurs than is our own. Thus he moved in his circle 
 of aristocrats burdened with ennui, bon viveurs wearied 
 by satiety, and roues who mistook exhaustion for re- 
 pentance, and he preached to them all according to 
 their need. He urged upon them self-examination and 
 confession ; and the reward which he set before them was 
 
76 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 that which they sought above all else, freedom from the 
 terror of death. His methods were followed afterwards 
 by many others. Those most familiar to us are Epictetus 
 and Marcus Aurelius. It is an interesting movement, 
 but one of relatively small dimensions ; and we turn with 
 a certain sense of relief from this philosophy of the salon 
 and the boudoir to the philosophy of the market-place. 
 In many ages of the world the chosen few have sought 
 salvation by knowledge, but it is only very rarely that 
 the movement has extended to the masses. But the age 
 of exclusiveness was giving way; salvation was not for 
 the few but for the many ; and if knowledge was salvation, 
 then knowledge must be brought to the masses. And so 
 the Cynic preachers and their kin began their mission- 
 ary journeyings, until the bearded, unkempt philosopher, 
 with his staff and his cloak, became one of the familiar 
 figures of the crowded market-place and the lonely high- 
 road. In this respect, at least, they were like the Fran- 
 ciscans of a later day in that they were trying to dis- 
 tribute among the multitudes the bread that had been 
 hitherto reserved for the masters. It was one of those 
 moments, which come at great intervals in this world 
 of ours, when those who have determine to share with 
 those who have not. Sometimes it is knowledge that is 
 given, sometimes spiritual help, sometimes food and 
 lodging; but whether it be an Apollonius of Tyana and 
 the bands of wandering Cynic philosophers, or whether 
 it be Saint Francis and his brethren, or whether it be 
 
RELIGION OF THE EARLY EMPIRE 77 
 
 General Booth and the Salvation Army, it all goes back 
 to the same universal principle. In spite of the fact that 
 for our knowledge of these Cynic preachers we are largely 
 indebted to their satirist Lucian, the vision of them is 
 by no means contemptible. They are not many of them 
 really great men ; they are given to rhetoric rather than 
 reasoning; and they are quite capable of working pseudo- 
 miracles in support of their claims; but there is a genuine 
 earnestness about most of them, an enthusiasm and an 
 absorption in their work, which in many, cases raises 
 them into the high circle of those who give their life for 
 the good of their fellows. Even Lucian seems to feel 
 something of this, and we suspect that below the sharp 
 tongue of the satirist beats a heart that would find it 
 easier to sympathize with them than with most of the 
 other creatures of his day. And so, with some regret, 
 we leave them standing on the temple steps or on the 
 street corners, drawing a gradually increasing crowd 
 around them, entertaining them and attracting them for 
 a while, and then, when they have them in their control, 
 teaching them of the Better Way. 
 
 It was not to be expected that the gospel of wisdom 
 and of stoical perfection would appeal to the masses. 
 It was help from without rather than from within that 
 they were seeking. It was a power outside of themselves 
 which was to save them, a power which would save them 
 in spite of their own weakness. And their hold over this 
 power, their control of it, depended not on knowledge 
 
>8 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 but on faith. This power came to them in the guise of 
 the deities of the Orient; there were a host of these deities 
 but the differences between them were largely in exter- 
 nals. They had been creeping unobtrusively into Rome 
 from the time of the Second Punic War, when the great 
 Mother of the Gods reached Italy, but they did not at- 
 tain to any great prominence until the third century. 
 A brief consideration of this period will show the reason 
 for their increase in power. 
 
 In our study of Roman history we are very apt to 
 neglect the third century. From a superficial standpoint, 
 it does not seem as important as the second century, 
 when Rome's territorial expansion reached its extreme 
 point; or as the fourth century, when Rome was visibly 
 declining in prestige. And yet in many ways it is more 
 important than either of those centuries, for it repre- 
 sents the interesting period of transition ; and in this third 
 century may be found implicit not only what happened 
 in the fourth century, but also what happened in many 
 of the succeeding centuries. For it is in a sense true that 
 in this third century modern Europe arose. In it we see 
 cosmopolitanism carried to its extreme. The brother- 
 hood of the world, which the Stoic philosopher had long 
 preached as an unattainable ideal, was realized at least 
 in theory. For several generations before the beginning 
 of the century the geographical centre of the Empire 
 had moved from Rome eastwards. Those emperors who 
 did their duty in fighting for Rome were of necessity 
 
RELIGION OF THE EARLY EMPIRE 79 
 
 absent from the city for long periods of time. The tend- 
 ency, which reached its logical expression in the found- 
 ation of Constantinople at the beginning of the fourth 
 century, was already in action. But this transfer to 
 Constantinople would have been impossible had the 
 way not been prepared for it by a certain act of Cara- 
 calla. 
 
 From the beginning Rome had safeguarded the privi- 
 lege of citizenship ; she had restricted it so that it attained 
 and kept a very high value. "With a great price ob- 
 tained I this freedom" tells one half of the story, and 
 the proud answer, " But I was born free" tells the other. 
 It is difficult for us to-day to realize the preciousness of 
 this possession. Our modern world offers few parallels. 
 In Rome the last wholesale admission of new citizens by 
 legislation had occurred ninety years before the birth of 
 Christ, and it was granted then only to put an end to 
 a very dangerous war. But now, in the year 212, Cara- 
 calla extends Roman citizenship to the people of the 
 provinces. There were several reasons for this action. 
 In the first place, for generations the emperors had come 
 from provincial families. Their interests in the pro- 
 vinces, therefore, were very strong. It was also an age 
 when the jurists had great power, and universal citizen- 
 ship was one of the jurists' ideals. But the controlling 
 reason was one of economics. There were great financial 
 advantages in this change. 
 
 But we are not so much interested in the change it- 
 
8o RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 self as in the results which followed from it. These were 
 indeed curious. So long as Rome had stood apart from 
 the provinces, the people of the provinces looked up to 
 Rome as the ideal, and tried to imitate her ways as 
 closely as possible. But now that they had all, as it 
 were, become a part of Rome, the mystery was tempo- 
 rarily destroyed. Instead of imitating Rome, why should 
 they not introduce their own ideas? Rome was no longer 
 on the Tiber. It was everywhere where citizens were 
 gathered together. Thus Rome ceased to be a geographi- 
 cal point and became a spiritual idea. In a subsequent 
 chapter we shall see a still further development of these 
 tendencies, when the city itself gradually regains its 
 spiritual ascendency. But for the present the virtue of 
 Rome had gone out of her. 
 
 It was the East which was attracting all the attention. 
 The family of the Severi, who occupied the throne for the 
 first third of this century, had come out of Syria; and 
 still later came Aurelian, whose glory was the conquest 
 of Palmyra and the capture of Zenobia; and in the clos- 
 ing years of the century reigned the Dalmatian peasant, 
 Diocletian, whose favorite residence was Nicomedia. 
 It was in every sense a triumph of the Orient, and it is 
 therefore a period of peculiar interest to us to-day be- 
 cause we too are facing a grave Oriental problem. It 
 was, however, at this time much more than a question 
 of immigration and of commercial relations. It was the 
 battle royal of Eastern versus Western thought, a battle 
 
RELIGION OF THE EARLY EMPIRE 81 
 
 which in a sense resulted in a compromise, the traces 
 of which we can still see to-day. 
 
 To realize the power of Eastern ideas in Rome, we 
 have but to recall the picture of the Emperor Elagabalus, 
 and the meteoric symbol of El Gabal; we have but to 
 remember the temple on the Palatine, whither Elaga- 
 balus sought to bring together all that was holiest in 
 Rome, a pathetic catalogue, as the Vita Elagabali gives 
 it: "And he consecrated El Gabal on the Palatine Hill, 
 near the imperial palace, and he built him a temple, 
 and he desired to bring into that temple the image of 
 the Magna Mater and the fire of Vesta and the Palladium 
 and the shields and all things that were sacred to the 
 Romans; and he strove to bring it to pass that no god 
 save El Gabal should be worshiped in Rome." 
 
 A half a century later, Aurelian built in the Campus 
 Martius the great temple to his Sun-God, the Deus 
 Sol Invictus, and at the close of the century, Diocletian, 
 in a court which was entirely governed by Oriental 
 etiquette, boasted that his power depended upon the 
 favor of Mithras. 
 
 The secret of the fascination which the Orient exer- 
 cised over Rome lay in its powerful appeal to the emo- 
 tions. The idea that the world was coming to an end 
 was to a large degree correct. The feeling, for example, 
 of such a man as Marcus Aurelius, that he was living in 
 an old and weary world, was much more than a mere 
 reflex of neurasthenia. It was true that the world was 
 
82 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 old and weary, and that it was to end and to give place 
 to a new order of things. Rome was experiencing an 
 emotional old age. It was not calm and contemplative 
 joy called forth by knowledge, but the delirious, emo- 
 tional stimulus of the sensuous Orient that she craved. 
 
 And so we turn to the consideration of our problem, 
 salvation by faith, and we find it in the religion of the 
 Orient. 
 
 Under the old Roman regime it never would have 
 occurred to any one to attempt to change a man's re- 
 ligion. A man was born into his religion, and so long as 
 he lived a sane life he continued in it. His religion 
 covered a very large surface. It concluded his duty 
 toward his whole environment. He did not even think 
 of himself as apart from this environment. His Ego was 
 not lost in a larger social consciousness, for it had never 
 as yet come into being. Religion was a social and there- 
 fore a national thing. Each nation had its own gods. If 
 another nation's gods proved desirable, Rome might 
 adopt those gods in case she succeeded in conquering 
 that nation. But it was unheard of that any man should 
 be interested in another man's religion to the extent of 
 attempting to alter it. 
 
 But in the Orient religion had long passed out of this 
 epoch and into the epoch of universality. Religion was 
 not bounded by nationality. It belonged to the whole 
 world, and was therefore the property of each individual. 
 Thus by the very process of generalization it had be- 
 
RELIGION OF THE EARLY EMPIRE 83 
 
 come specific. But more than this, these Oriental religions 
 posited the existence of the soul and acknowledged its 
 sinfulness. That was the greatest impact of their appeal. 
 They could purify from sin, and by this purification 
 they held out the promise of immortality. Religion was 
 not a matter of the nation, nor even of classes in society. 
 In its presence all social distinction broke down.^ Men 
 were all alike sinful individuals. 
 
 We can readily see the force of these ideas among the 
 lower classes and, by psychological reaction, among the 
 upper classes as well. But these were not the only ap- 
 peals of the Orient. The character of their priesthoods 
 had its effect. In Rome the priesthood had been an 
 incidental thing, merely one element in a man's social 
 and political life. But these priests of the Orient were 
 given over entirely to religion. They had vowed their 
 lives to it. It is the same appeal that the monastic or- 
 ders made centuries later. We must not, however, think 
 of these Oriental religions as appealing exclusively to the 
 emotions. They made an intellectual appeal as well, for 
 it was literally true that wise men had come out of the 
 East, and the deepest learning of the day belonged to 
 the Orient. 
 
 And last but not least, however varying the value 
 which attached to their individual ethical doctrines may 
 have been, the fact that these doctrines must be prac- 
 ticed, and that their religion required activity, introduced 
 at once a moral element of a very high order. They were 
 
84 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 to be saved by faith, but their /faith must be made mani- 
 fest by works. 
 
 The Oriental deities who were present in Rome during 
 this third century came in the main from four great 
 regions : Phrygia, Egypt, Syria, Persia. They were very 
 numerous, but not only did those from the same region 
 have certain characteristics in common, but all of them, 
 irrespective of their provenance, acquired gradually cer- 
 tain similar qualities. It is extremely interesting to ob- 
 serve that in every case there was a tendency whereby 
 those doctrines, which had been originally physical and 
 carnal, gradually took on a spiritual and religious char- 
 acter. For our purposes to-day it will suffice to choose 
 three of these gods, one each from three of the four re- 
 gions : the Magna Mater from Phrygia, Isis from Egypt, 
 Mithras from Persia. 
 
 We have already chronicled the introduction of the 
 Magna Mater in the time of the Second Punic War. It 
 is important to observe that she came in as an authorized 
 cult of the Roman state, a position of vantage which 
 Isis reached with great difficulty and Mithras never at 
 all. This was a decided advantage, and enabled her to 
 offer shelter to many minor deities, who were never for- 
 mally accepted by the State. In later times the charac- 
 teristic feature of the cult of the Magna Mater was the 
 taurobolium, the sacrifice of a bull in such a fashion that 
 the worshiper, placing himself beneath the grating upon 
 which the bull was slain, was bathed in the blood of the 
 
RELIGION OF THE EARLY EMPIRE 85 
 
 victim.^ We are here in the fortunate position of being 
 able to trace the development of this idea. In its primi- 
 tive significance the worshiper who drank of the blood 
 of the sacrifice partook of the strength of the god, that 
 is, of the bull. It is the ancient custom of "eating the 
 god,'* the fundamental doctrine of the communion be- 
 tween god and man. We must rid ourselves of all ideas 
 of symbolism. Man partook physically of the god, and 
 so the god entered carnally into him. But in the course 
 of time this crass idea suffered a change and became 
 spiritualized. The bull became a symbol of the mystic 
 bull, the author of creation and of resurrection. When a 
 man descended into the trench, he died, went down into 
 the grave, and was buried ; and the blood which was shed 
 was the blood of purification. Being purified, he was 
 born into newness of life and came forth resurrected "in 
 seternum renatus," "born again into eternity/' an object 
 of adoration to the assembled worshipers. 
 
 The Great Mother had the advantage of being early 
 accepted by the Roman State. Isis and Osiris, whose 
 cult seems to have been known in Rome as early as Sulla, 
 fought their way with very great difficulty into official 
 recognition. The Second Triumvirate decreed a temple 
 to Isis, but the imbroglio of Antony and Cleopatra made 
 the gods of Egypt so hateful to Rome that this temple 
 was never built, and it was only after severe persecu- 
 tion that her cult was formally recognized by Caligula. 
 * And yet these Egyptian gods had one great advan- 
 
86 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 tage. In the Serapeum at Alexandria they came under 
 Greek influence and were thoroughly hellenized. Thence 
 they came into Rome with the same preliminary advan- 
 tage that the Magna Mater had had ; and had it not been 
 for Cleopatra, they would have received official recog- 
 nition much earlier. The persecution in itself was of 
 course a great assistance to their popularity, but an even 
 greater cause of popularity was the ease with which they 
 could be adapted to the current philosophical system, 
 especially to the doctrines of what was known as Heno- 
 theism, the theory that after all there was but one god, 
 and the multitude of gods were but various phases of 
 this one god, various aspects of his being, called by 
 various names. 
 
 The favor with which their cult was received is attested 
 by the frequent references in literature, by a large body 
 of inscriptions, and by a mass of votive offerings on the 
 site of their temples near Santa Maria sopra Minerva. 
 Here again we have another instance of the spiritualiz- 
 ing of the cult. The old Egyptian idea of purity was 
 simply that of ceremonial purification, of the cleansing 
 of the body. But gradually this physical idea became . 
 spiritual. The purification of the body was only sym- 
 bolic of the purification of the soul. If the worshipers 
 would purify their bodies in the service of Isis, Isis would 
 herself purify their souls. Thus arose the idea of real 
 chastity and the "nights sacred to Isis," with which 
 the elegiac poet so often chides his mistress. Here, too, 
 
RELIGION OF THE EARLY EMPIRE 87 
 
 there was abundant hope of immortality, harking back 
 to the oldest days of the Egyptian religion. The rise of 
 the idea of immortality is undatable in Egypt; and it 
 sometimes seems as if, in the climate which did so much 
 to preserve the body, the idea of the immortal life of the 
 soul suggested itself naturally. 
 
 But there was still another reason why Isis exerted 
 such a hold over the Roman people. The solemnity and 
 the dignity of the worship and the magic power of the 
 ritual were all akin to their own older ideas of religion. 
 It is no great strain on the imagination to picture the 
 daily services : the band of the faithful assembled before 
 dawn in the temple precincts; the solemn opening of the 
 sanctuary by the white-robed priests, the unveiling of 
 the sacred image, and the salutation of the dawn, as the 
 sun rose over the summit of the Sabine Hills, and filled 
 with gold the limpid air of the early Roman morning; 
 and then the second service, the farewell to the day, 
 as the sun was setting behind the Montes Vaticani ; and 
 leaving painted in the sky the promise of the dawn of 
 yet another day. 
 
 But all these cults of the Orient fade into absolute in- 
 significance in comparison with that of Mithras. No 
 matter what a man's beliefs may be, the story of Mith- 
 ras touches the depths of his being, not because of its 
 romantic interest, but because of its profoundly reli- 
 gious content ; or perhaps we ought more truly to say, 
 because its religion is so thoroughly in accord with mod- 
 
88 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 ern ideas. We cannot here trace in detail the story of 
 the wandering of the god Mithras, out of the theology of 
 India into that of Persia, out of Persia into Asia Minor, 
 and out of Asia Minor into Rome; where his power 
 grew, at first, with Pompey's Cilician pirates, then es- 
 pecially under the Flavians, and most of all at the end 
 of the third century under Diocletian. It was not sim- 
 ply a religion; it was an atmosphere of Oriental ideas 
 in religion, politics, science, and etiquette. It appealed 
 so strongly to the court of Diocletian that the West 
 stood in a graver danger of being conquered by Asia 
 then than even at the hands of the Mohammedans, and 
 yet the religion of Mithras never became an acknow- 
 ledged religion of the Roman State. 
 
 As is but natural we know little of the mysteries them- 
 selves, with their hierarchy of worshipers. The initiated 
 were divided into seven grades, whose names we know : 
 CORAX; GRYPHUS (?); MILES; LEO; PERSES; HELIO- 
 DROMUS; PATER. The first three grades were not ad- 
 mitted to the mysteries proper. To be admitted there, 
 one must have passed beyond Miles into Leo. Those 
 who had attained the seventh grade, PATER, occupied 
 as Father a position of superiority over all the other six 
 grades, whose members were known as Fratres, or 
 Brethren. The transition from one grade to another was 
 effected by picturesque and terrifying ordeals of initia- 
 tion. Of the ceremonies of worship we know little, and 
 such little as we know is derived from chance references, 
 
RELIGION OF THE EARLY EMPIRE 89 
 
 especially among the Church Fathers, and from a study 
 of the places where the worship occurred. These places 
 of worship are characterized by two peculiarities ; they 
 are always subterranean, at first in natural caves and 
 then in artificial ones, and in the case of private chapels 
 at least, in the cellar of the house ; and they were limited 
 in size so that not more than one hundred worshipers 
 could be accommodated in one cave. When the num- 
 ber of the faithful outgrew the capacity of the cave, 
 another cave was prepared alongside of it. Thus at 
 Heddernheim, in Germany, we find three caves ; at Car- 
 nuntum, four; at Ostia, five. The interior arrangement 
 of the caves is generally the same. Along each of the 
 long sides runs a podium, doubtless intended to accommo- 
 date the worshipers in a kneeling position. At the upper 
 end of the cave stood the altars, and between them on 
 the rear wall the relief of Mithras slaying the bull. 
 
 Of the theological doctrines of Mithras we know but 
 little, and that in a somewhat confused way, when we 
 try to fit together the representations in the monuments 
 and the references of the Christian controversialists, 
 who were of course its enemies. 
 
 Mithras himself is represented as born from a rock at 
 the dawn of the day, while shepherds look on in adora- 
 tion. His struggles and trials are pictured, and especi- 
 ally his slaying of the bull. This he does against his 
 own will, to give immortality to mankind and to re- 
 deem them from death. 
 
90 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 In the cult itself we know that there was a form of 
 baptism, and a sacrificial meal, and that there was a 
 ceremony of the blood that was shed for all (mana 
 cunctis). They believed also in the immortality of the 
 soul, in the resurrection of the dead, in a place of future 
 punishments and rewards, and in the ascent of Mithras 
 on high. In the nature of things, the Christians asserted 
 that these doctrines had been stolen from them by the 
 demons and revealed to these worshipers of Mithras ; and 
 similar accusations seem to have been made by the fol- 
 lowers of Mithras. In both cases they were doubtless 
 wrong. It is merely an instance of similar ideas arising 
 under similar circumstances. Thus the whole Roman 
 Empire was girt about by the love of Mithras, and we 
 find the caves which served as churches in almost every 
 province. Spreading at almost the same time as Chris- 
 tianity, it had by the middle of the third century out- 
 run it in numbers and influence. 
 
 Never in the history of the world has there been a 
 more effective organization of missionary endeavor, 
 than in the ranks of the worshipers of Mithras. Their 
 strength lay in the fact that they were all volunteers, 
 who spoke out of the fullness of their own devotion, and 
 carried their love of Mithras into the ordinary walks of 
 life, where they were employed in the usual activities 
 of the working world. They were at first either slaves or 
 soldiers and thus in both cases their missionary 
 journeys were made, as it were, at the expense of others. 
 
RELIGION OF THE EARLY EMPIRE 91 
 
 In many cases the slaves had been soldiers, who had been 
 taken prisoners in war. Among the soldiers themselves 
 there were of course the legions recruited from the East, 
 many of whose members were followers of Mithras. But 
 even more important, so far as missionary work is con- 
 cerned, were the centurions, who, by virtue of the fact 
 that they were frequently transferred from one legion 
 to another, carried the news of Mithras around the 
 whole circle of the frontier. From the mouth of the 
 Danube to Hadrian's Wall in Britain, from Hadrian's 
 Wall to the Pillars of Hercules, and from the Pillars of 
 Hercules to the Desert of Sahara, monuments of Mith- 
 ras are found. These memorials are abundant in Moesia ; 
 in Dacia scarcely a town is without them ; and they are 
 found in great numbers in Pannonia and Noricum. Ger- 
 many precedes even the Danube provinces in the num- 
 ber and the quality of its monuments. Even on the sea- 
 coast at Boulogne, Oriental sailors from the British 
 fleet had brought the good tidings. Mithras was wor- 
 shiped throughout Britain, including London, York, and 
 Wales. But we must not fall into the easy error of sup- 
 posing that it was only a soldiers' religion and confined 
 to the frontier. It spread through the interior of the 
 Empire as well, carried there at first by the slaves. It 
 was so well known in Rome that we have about two hun- 
 dred inscriptions and monumental reliefs, besides several 
 Mithraic chapels. At Ostia there are no less than five 
 sanctuaries, and remains are found at Naples, Pisa, 
 
92 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 Palermo, Syracuse; and even the small hill-towns e.g., 
 Spoleto, Sentino contain Mithraic inscriptions; while 
 southern France, especially Lyons, seems to have been 
 a strong centre of the cult. 
 
 Nor was it simply a religion of under-officers, com- 
 mon soldiers, and slaves, even though they were its ear- 
 liest devotees. The freed slave and the veteran soldier 
 both became in many cases important persons, and the 
 social success which they themselves sometimes failed 
 to obtain, was very often reached by their children after 
 them. Thus the doctrines of Mithras, like those of 
 Christianity, grew up out of the masses and reached the 
 Palace of the Caesars. There Mithras, the especial guar- 
 dian of rulers, could not fail of an appeal, and from 
 Commodus through Diocletian his popularity was ever 
 on the increase. With imperial favor came further 
 popularity at the hands of literary men and philosophers. 
 One of the greatest secrets of its growth was its ability 
 to adapt itself to circumstances. Its docrines were suffi- 
 ciently elastic to permit of far-reaching processes of ac- 
 commodation. 
 
 Coming out of the Orient, and bringing with it the 
 Oriental contempt for woman, it was par excellence a 
 man's religion. But it soon discovered that in the West- 
 ern world this was an insurmountable difficulty, and that 
 Romans wished to share their religion with their wives 
 and daughters ; and that in many cases in the final analy- 
 sis women were more interested than men in the things 
 
RELIGION OF THE EARLY EMPIRE 93 
 
 of religion. But this obstacle was easily removed by an 
 alliance with the Magna Mater, which on its part was 
 quite as open to women as to men. This alliance was 
 also of service to Mithras in another respect, because the 
 Magna Mater was a state cult, and hence by uniting 
 with her, the worship of Mithras, which was never form- 
 ally accepted by the state, received a certain reflected 
 light of legal authorization. It was also owing to this 
 alliance that the custon of the taurobolium was associ- 
 ated with Mithras. As we saw above, this was originally 
 peculiar to the cult of the Magna Mater; but the as- 
 sociation of the two cults, and the fact that Mithras is 
 so often represented as slaying the bull, have given rise to 
 the popular misconception that the taurobolium was 
 an original part of Mithras worship. 
 
 We can scarcely forbear to speculate as to what the 
 world would have been to-day had Mithras prevailed. 
 What effect would his presence have had upon the pro- 
 gress of science? And what would have been the evolu- 
 tion of governmental institutions, had Mithras, the 
 guardian of kings, retained his power? 
 
 And finally, what was Mithras? Wherein did his un- 
 doubted power lie? He was not the chief god of the 
 theological system. That was Ahura-Mazda, who was 
 forever fighting Ahriman. In the physical world this 
 was the struggle of light and darkness, in the spiritual 
 world the struggle of good and evil. The task of Mith- 
 ras was to guard Ahura-Mazda. Mithras was the god of 
 
94 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 light, with a thousand ears, and ten thousand eyes. And 
 so he became the god of truth and of oaths, and the great 
 leader against the powers of darkness. His was above 
 all things a militant religion. Life itself was one long 
 battle, and the powers of light must fight forever against 
 the powers of darkness. Every day was a repetition of the 
 conflict. It was Mithras who made the dawn and drove 
 away the darkness before the coming of the sun. It was 
 Mithras who conquered at noonday. It was Mithras 
 again who fought against the gathering darkness, and 
 it was Mithras who caused the stars to shine in the 
 night. But this was only a part of his work. It was 
 Mithras who brought light and purity into men's minds, 
 who drove away evil thoughts and temptations, and 
 filled the spirit of man with a divine light. He it was 
 who taught men the love of truth, and the great truth 
 of the brotherhood of man. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 CONSTANTINE AND CHRISTIANITY 
 
 THE age in which we live is perhaps more deeply and 
 intelligently interested in religion than any age which 
 the world has ever seen. Among intellectual people to- 
 day an interest in religion is almost universal ; not neces- 
 sarily an interest in any specific form of religion, but an 
 interest in religion itself. The age of scientific material- 
 ism is past. Scientists are fully aware of the limitations of 
 their field ; while philosophers go one step farther and 
 acknowledge the reality of the psychological impulse to 
 religion. The religious instinct has been adjudged nor- 
 mal. Only two years ago we celebrated the centenary 
 of the birth of Darwin. In that century the philosophy 
 of history has made almost a complete revolution. Re- 
 ceiving a stupendous impulse from the idea of evolution, 
 it quickly reformed all its methods and results. Then 
 the inevitable happened ; and the outward imitation of 
 the natural sciences was followed by an inner imitation. 
 Men began to talk about the biology of history, and to 
 subject it to the laws of biological evolution. But now 
 in these latter days the falseness of this method has been 
 clearly shown; and history takes farewell of biology and 
 allows her to go alone along her more intimate paths. 
 All this has been accomplished in less than a century. 
 
96 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 Our psychological experiment has been at least in so 
 far successful, that we have found our religious instinct 
 responding under circumstances which might readily 
 have surprised us. It was not difficult for any of us, I 
 venture to say, to enter into a sympathetic appreciation 
 of the cult of Mithras. Many of us could enter also into 
 the religion of patriotism; some of us could follow it 
 even in its specific form of emperor- worship ; and doubt- 
 less there were a few who found a certain satisfaction in 
 primitive nature cults. This is not of our making. The 
 old instincts are all there; they are being awakened 
 anew. This reawakening has been to a certain extent 
 the purpose of our work. 
 
 There remains but one thing, to connect the past with 
 the present. This is our hardest task. We all of us found 
 it easy to take a languid and patronizing interest in 
 these pagan ideas ; but even when we are brought to the 
 consciousness of the fact, that these so-called pagan 
 ideas were the forerunners of Christianity, and that, 
 whatever our beliefs as to the origin of Christianity 
 may be, it is our duty to fit Christianity into the frame- 
 work of our history, we sometimes fear the consequences. 
 
 But taking advantage of the momentum which we 
 have gained, we shall not find this difficult. In all the 
 centuries of our work hitherto we have seen the con- 
 tinuity of a genuine ever-present religious need ; and we 
 have observed also the continuity of a genuine ever- 
 present religious supply. But now, when we turn to the 
 
CONSTANTINE AND CHRISTIANITY 97 
 
 consideration of that religion which has continued at 
 least in name up to the present, there is a danger lest 
 we cease to discuss religion and confine ourselves to 
 Christianity. 
 
 Probably very many different attitudes are represented 
 among those who read these pages. To a large extent 
 we agree in the facts, but we differ in the inferences. 
 That is, however, the least of our difficulties. Each of 
 us has the right to his own individual interpretation. 
 The most real obstacle which lies in our path is our 
 great difficulty in being objective. We are timid because 
 we feel that we are dealing with a tremendous reality. 
 Yet we have all this time been dealing with tremendous 
 realities. We are not stepping to-day from the region 
 of fairy stories into that of real life. The taurobolium of 
 the Magna Mater was at the time and to the individual 
 just as vital as extreme unction. 
 
 Then, too, this almost morbid sense of the ultra- 
 seriousness of our problem affects us in the reverse way. 
 Our objectivity toward Mithras enables us to see the 
 beauty and the impressiveness of his worship. We be- 
 come deeply interested in him. We long to know more 
 of his mysteries and his ethical teachings. And yet the 
 early history of Christianity is if anything more inter- 
 esting and more picturesque than that of Mithras. But 
 we shall surely fail to appreciate this picturesqueness 
 unless we look at it with a sufficient objectiveness to 
 become really interested in it. 
 
98 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 If we can once compel ourselves to look at Christian- 
 ity as a section of religious history, the final, the ulti- 
 mate, if you will, the whole atmosphere of our views of 
 both God and man will be clarified ; and in the long run 
 our respect for Christianity will be increased rather than 
 decreased. I would wish it, however, clearly understood 
 that in this discussion we are of course limited to the 
 observation of the historical phenomena. We have no 
 right to speak of anything concerning the other, the 
 metaphysical side of our picture, and yet by this silence 
 I would not have it understood, either that I am myself, 
 or that I would wish you, to be oblivious of those other 
 forces, whose existence may so easily be posited. Only 
 we must remember that if we posit them here, we must 
 posit them also in the whole history of religion. 
 
 Let us begin our work by a brief outline of the his- 
 torical origin of Christianity. That origin takes us to the 
 eastern part of the Empire, to the small tributary king- 
 dom of Judaea. We are interested in Judaea, not only be- 
 cause the Founder of Christianity was born there, but 
 because he came of the race of Judaea, and because he 
 taught that his revelation was the fulfillment of the doc- 
 trines which were contained in the religion of Judaea. 
 We shall do well to begin, therefore, with the history of 
 Judaea. 
 
 By a slow development, which covered centuries, a 
 collection of small tribes was amalgamated into a king- 
 dom. This kingdom had its religious centre at Jerusalem, 
 
CONSTANTINE AND CHRISTIANITY 99 
 
 the temple being its natural sanctuary. Theirs was a 
 purely national religion, and there was nothing excep- 
 tional in their deep-rooted conviction that they were a 
 peculiar and a chosen people. There was, however, some- 
 thing distinctly individual in their eventual worship of 
 One God only, who was not only their one god, but was 
 the only true god, all others being at best mere idols or 
 demons. This is quite a different attitude from the Ro- 
 man idea of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, who, while dis- 
 tinctly the best god in the world, was by no means the only 
 one. To this exalted form of the concept of god is owing 
 the supreme confidence of this nation in its destiny as 
 the people chosen of God, a confidence which, still ex- 
 isting in the faithful of their race, is perhaps the most 
 impressive religious phenomenon of the present day. 
 
 In the year B.C. 590 the hosts of the Assyrians and the 
 Chaldseans captured this Jewish kingdom, destroyed 
 the temple at Jerusalem, and carried the people 
 away captive. They were subsequently released when 
 the Persians conquered the Chaldaeans and captured 
 the city of Babylon. The Jews were well treated and 
 allowed to settle again at Jerusalem. Thus they lived 
 under the Ptolemies and the Seleucidae with a very 
 considerable degree of liberty, though with no rights as 
 a nation. They finally gained their freedom and became 
 again a nation after a successful insurrection against 
 Antiochus Epiphanes, who had vainly imagined that 
 they would submit to Hellenization. For a century they 
 
ioo RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 were ruled by their own kings, until, in B.C. 63, Pom- 
 pey captured Jerusalem, and twenty-three years later 
 (B.C. 40) Antony established Herod the Great on the 
 throne. Herod died in B.C. 4, and it is with him that the 
 story of Christianity begins. 
 
 The life of the Founder of Christianity does not con- 
 cern us here except to remark, in passing, that all at- 
 tempts to deny his historical existence and some such 
 attempt is made every few years are absolutely futile. 
 The proofs are far more abundant than we would have 
 a right to expect, considering how often undoubtedly 
 genuine historical characters are so meagrely authenti- 
 cated. His death at Jerusalem is recounted for us quite 
 objectively in the famous passage of Tacitus (Annals, 
 xv, 44), which is above suspicion. The historian is 
 speaking of Nero's attempts to escape the charge, 
 that he had himself set fire to the city of Rome, by ac- 
 cusing " those who, hated on account of their evil deeds, 
 are commonly called Christians. The author of this 
 name, Christ, was put to death in the reign of the Em- 
 peror Tiberius by the Procurator Pontius Pilate; this 
 baleful superstition, repressed for the moment, burst 
 out again, not only throughout Judaea, where this evil 
 had originated, but also throughout the city, where all 
 things evil or shameful flow together from all sides and 
 are the objects of worship." 
 
 We are here primarily interested in the propagation 
 of these doctrines. The success of this propagation was 
 
CONSTANTINE AND CHRISTIANITY 101 
 
 dependent upon several elements. These elements are 
 not peculiar to Christianity, and they were being con- 
 temporaneously used by other religions. The first was 
 the existence of the Roman Empire itself. The organi- 
 zation of this Empire guaranteed peace over at least 
 a large portion of its surface; and the fabric of Roman 
 roads, which was already several centuries old, made 
 communication relatively rapid and easy. But these are, 
 after all, merely material considerations. Be the peace 
 never so great, and be the roads never so smooth, the 
 appeal of a religion depends in the last case upon the 
 attitude of mind of those to whom it is presented. Here 
 Christianity had the same advantages as the other 
 Oriental cults. The way had been prepared for her as for 
 them. She profited by the same awakened sense of the 
 individual soul and its sinfulness, by the same philoso- 
 phical ideas of the unity of God, and that the many gods 
 of polytheism were in the last analysis merely many 
 phases of the one divine power. She, too, had found men 
 convinced that the world was soon to come to an end, 
 and that the most important work of man was the puri- 
 fication of the soul so that it might be worthy of immor- 
 tality. There were absolutely no exceptional conditions 
 created for the benefit of Christianity. It entered into 
 the struggle of human thought with no superiority 
 except what it contained within itself. In fact, one of the 
 most tangible proofs of the beauty of its original doc- 
 trines, of the sublimity of the moral teaching of Him who 
 
102 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 spake as never man spake, is to be found in the workings 
 of these pre-conditions, which not only helped but also 
 hindered her, while they seem to have been only of 
 help to her rivals. The organization of the Empire ren- 
 dered possible organized persecution ; philosophy created 
 heresies; and the other Oriental religions, which in the 
 main supported rather than opposed one another, 
 ranged themselves unitedly against her. 
 
 Let us consider now in some detail the history of her 
 progress. A band of Jews in the far-away province of 
 Judaea believed that they had found the Messiah. The 
 message spread quickly among a community, whose 
 spiritual eyes had long been gazing into the distance 
 looking for the Messiah. Among these Jews there could 
 be no indifference to this message. Either it was a won- 
 derful truth or a blasphemous falsehood. Thus the com- 
 munity was divided against itself, the one part telling 
 the glad tidings of great joy, the other part horrified and 
 scandalized at the enormity of the assertion. It is no 
 wonder, therefore, that after his bold speech Stephen 
 was stoned to death by those Jews who did not believe, 
 and became thus the first in the long ranks of those who 
 sealed their belief by their death. It is equally natural 
 that a young man of excellent education, and brilliant 
 intellectual ability, who was not only a Jew, but a Ro- 
 man citizen, should throw himself with all the activity 
 of his nature into an attempt to destroy this repulsive 
 doctrine. The conversion of Saul of Tarsus and the rise 
 
CONSTANTINE AND CHRISTIANITY 103 
 
 of Paul the Apostle are entirely in accord with the most 
 approved psychology, and may be considered as his- 
 torical facts, so far as the phenomena are concerned. 
 All these events occurred in the fourth decade of the 
 first century. Gradually a church was founded at 
 Antioch, where the followers of this new religion first 
 received their name of "Christians." Then came the 
 first great dispute. The Founder of Christianity had 
 said to the woman of Samaria, "Salvation is of the 
 Jews," and there was no doubt of that in the minds of 
 all his followers. In fact, during the first years these 
 followers were all of them Jews. But by degrees men 
 who were not of the circumcision, became interested in 
 the movement, and the question arose for decision: 
 salvation is indeed of the Jews, but granted that as its 
 origin, is it only for the Jews as well as of them, or is 
 it for the Gentiles as well? 
 
 It was Paul, the Apostle to the Gentiles, who answered 
 this question, and all the history of Western civilization 
 waited on his answer. It is the fashion of our day to 
 speak slightingly of Paul. Many of those who pride 
 themselves upon their superior intelligence refer to him 
 as though he had distorted the teachings of the Founder 
 of Christianity. They would eliminate him and his work 
 from our concept of Christianity. They would establish 
 a form of religion purified of a dogmatic and legal the- 
 ology. It is not proper that we should enter upon these 
 discussions here. Our work is that of the historian and 
 
104 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 not of the theologian. But it is necessary to refer to this 
 movement, because many of those who are interested 
 in it fail to do justice to history. It may be well enough 
 to stand in the twentieth century, and, disapproving 
 of Paul's interpretation, try to eliminate it from our 
 modern Christianity, but the moment this disapproval 
 takes the form of belittling the man Paul, whose work 
 in history they disapprove of, the historian must step 
 forward to protest against the iniquity of the injustice 
 thus accomplished. Christianity, itself of Oriental origin, 
 so far as the phenomena are concerned, was translated 
 into terms of the Occident by the very great genius of 
 Paul. We may or may not approve of his attitude, 
 but whether we approve or not, we ought not to forget, 
 not only that the existence of Christianity in the Western 
 world depended upon its being occidentalized, but also 
 that in a sense the preservation of Western civilization 
 depended upon this occidentalization. In things reli- 
 gious Rome had entirely submitted to the Orient ; it was 
 Paul who saved Western civilization by transmuting an 
 Oriental worship into terms of Roman law. This he could 
 and did do, because he was more essentially Roman than 
 Hebrew. In these modern days of sympathy with the 
 Orient, and desire to come into relations of mutual under- 
 standing with her, we may for a moment regret that 
 Paul, in a sense, inserted the edge of the wedge which 
 was to cleave East and West asunder and hold them so 
 for two millenniums, but we should not forget how the 
 
CONSTANTINE AND CHRISTIANITY 105 
 
 West has worked out its own salvation, and by progress 
 in self-government has brought individual freedom into 
 existence. This precious result could have been ob- 
 tained only by the West alone unhampered by the East. 
 Now that it has been obtained, we can calmly discuss 
 a sympathetic relation with the East. 
 
 But even after the broad platform of Occidentalism 
 had been laid down by Paul, for a long time all the con- 
 verts to Christianity were thoroughly acquainted with 
 the Jewish tradition and the Jewish law. Gradually, 
 however, the difference between Judaism and Chris- 
 tianity grew wider. This was the inevitable consequence 
 of their directly opposing points of view : those who were 
 still looking for the Messiah and keeping the old law, 
 and those who had found the Messiah and were therefore 
 no longer under the law. 
 
 Meantime the new doctrines had reached the city 
 of Rome, where of course the inevitable confusion be- 
 tween Jews and Christians was the order of the day. 
 The Jewish population of Rome had increased very 
 largely after Pompey's capture of Jerusalem. The city 
 was full of Jewish slaves and freedmen, who lived, 
 most of them, across the river in Trastevere. There 
 were so many Jews in Rome that, in A.D. 19, Tiberius 
 sent four thousand of them to fight in Sardinia. But 
 the first traces of Christians among the Jews are found 
 in connection with the expulsion carried out by the Em- 
 peror Claudius, about A.D. 51, of which Suetonius speaks 
 
106 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 (Claud. 25; cf. Acts, xvm, 2: "Because that Claudius 
 had commanded all Jews to depart from Rome"). It 
 was during these years, or possibly earlier, that Peter 
 came to Rome, for it seems reasonably probable that he 
 was there, nor would the whole matter be so violently 
 disputed, were it not for a mistaken idea that its disproval 
 would seriously discredit certain claims. In A.D. 61, 
 Paul came to Rome and lived there for two years in his 
 own hired house, very probably in the neighborhood 
 of the castra peregrinorum on the Caelian Hill. 
 
 Thus Christianity began in Rome, and it remains to 
 be seen what treatment it received at the hands of the 
 Roman Empire. In judging of this treatment we ought 
 not to forget that the distinction between Jews and 
 Christians was of very gradual growth inside the church 
 itself. How much more difficult would it, then, be for 
 those outside to distinguish? The most characteristic 
 mark of Judaism, its uncompromising monotheism, was 
 common to both Jews and Christians. This was the 
 bone of contention between the Empire and the Jews, 
 and hence Roman officials instinctively classed them 
 all together. It was only gradually that they realized 
 the distinguishing mark between Jews and Christians, 
 that the latter had a personal relation to the Founder 
 of their religion. Neither Nero nor Domitian was, 
 strictly speaking, a persecutor of Christians. The dis- 
 tinction was not as yet clear. It is only under Trajan 
 that a real distinction begins to be made, and with the 
 
CONSTANTINE AND CHRISTIANITY 107 
 
 rise of this distinction the persecution of the Jews prac- 
 tically stopped, for it was found that the aggressive 
 element was really the Christians. The Romans had 
 grown accustomed to the Jews; and though, theoreti- 
 cally, their monotheism was incompatible with the 
 state religion, the Roman Government had grown used 
 to it, and had learned that there was really no profit in 
 persecuting the Jews. But with these Christians it was 
 a different matter; and then, in very many cases, as 
 the Romans soon discovered, they were not Jews at 
 all by race. It might be well enough to connive at a 
 Jew's monotheism, but in the case of people who were 
 not Jews the matter was different. This new religion 
 was indeed a religio illicita, and it must be opposed. 
 Thus begins the long roll of Roman Emperors, who, as 
 a general rule in direct ratio to their strength and moral 
 qualities, became the persecutors of the Christians. 
 The best instance of a good emperor who tried to do 
 his duty conscientiously is shown us in the case of the 
 Emperor Trajan, in his correspondence with Pliny. This 
 correspondence is so instructive that I quote a few pas- 
 sages from it. Pliny writes to the emperor as follows 
 (EA93K.):- 
 
 I am accustomed, Sire, to bring to thee all matters in which 
 I am in doubt. For who could better guide my uncertainty 
 or dispel my ignorance? I have never been involved in the 
 investigation of Christians. Therefore I do not know with 
 what measures or to what degree investigations should be car- 
 ried on or penalties applied. I have hesitated much whether 
 
io8 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 youth deserves consideration, or whether there should be no 
 distinction between the weak and the strong, and whether 
 repentance should bring pardon, or whether repentance 
 should be of no avail if one had once been a Christian, or 
 whether a man should be punished for being a Christian, even 
 if he has committed no crimes, or whether we are punishing 
 the crimes that are connected with the belief. This is the 
 rule which I have followed in the case of those who have been 
 brought to my judgment seat, charged with being Christians. 
 I have asked them whether they were Christians, and when 
 they have confessed it, I have repeated my question a second 
 and a third time, and have threatened them with punish- 
 ment. And when they have persisted, I have ordered them 
 to be punished. For whatever it might be that they were 
 guilty of, I did not doubt for a moment that their stub- 
 bornness and their inflexible obstinacy ought to be punished. 
 There are others affected by the same madness, whom I am 
 reserving to send to Rome because they are Roman citizens. 
 Soon after this, the accusations increased in number, as is 
 customary by force of publicity, and became of very many 
 different kinds. An anonymous list was published containing 
 a very large number of names. But these persons denied that 
 they are Christians or that they ever were, and in my presence 
 made sacrifice with incense and wine to the gods and also 
 to thy image, which I had caused to be brought in together 
 with the images of the gods. Moreover, they cursed Christ, 
 which they say that those who are truly Christians can never 
 be compelled to do. So I thought they ought to be acquitted. 
 And others who had been denounced to me confessed at first 
 that they were Christians and then denied it, saying that they 
 had been but had ceased to be, some of them several years 
 ago, and some even twenty years ago. All these worshiped 
 thy image and the images of the gods and cursed Christ. 
 Moreover, they asserted that this was the extent of their 
 fault or their mistake, that they were wont to meet together 
 on an appointed day before sunrise and sing hymns to the 
 
CONSTANTINE AND CHRISTIANITY 109 
 
 praise of Christ as though in honor of a god, and that they 
 bound themselves by an oath not for the purpose of crime, 
 but that they should not commit theft, robbery, or adultery, 
 that they should not break their promise or deny an obliga- 
 tion. And when they had done these things, they were wont 
 to depart and to meet again to partake in common of a harm- 
 less meal. And they added that after my edict, in which I, 
 according to thy orders, had forbidden these associations, 
 they had given up these customs. To discover the truth, I 
 deemed it necessary to put to the torture two female slaves, 
 who were said to have been initiated, but I discovered nothing 
 except an extraordinary and perverted superstition. And so 
 I have postponed the investigation and have come to you for 
 advice. For the matter seems to me to require consideration, 
 especially on account of the multitude of those involved in 
 danger. For large numbers of all ages and of all social condi- 
 tions and of both sexes are involved and will be involved. For 
 the contagion of the evil has spread not only through the cities, 
 but through the villages and the farms. I think, however, 
 that it can be stopped and cured. Certain it is, that the 
 temples, which were so long deserted, are being frequented 
 again, and that the sacrifices, which were so long neglected, 
 are beginning to be performed again ; and fodder for the sacri- 
 ficial animals is beginning to be sold again, for which so long 
 it was difficult to find a purchaser. From this it is easy to 
 see how many men can be cured of the errors of their ways, 
 if only they be given a chance to repent. 
 
 . Trajan's reply (Ep. 97) is equally characteristic: 
 
 You have done what you ought to have done, my dear 
 Pliny, in investigating the cases of those who were brought 
 to you as Christians. In general it is impossible to lay down 
 any fixed principles in matters of this sort. One should not 
 proceed against them of one's own accord ; if they are accused 
 and proved guilty, they must be punished. If, however, there 
 be any one who says he is not a Christian, and proves his as- 
 
I io RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 sertion by act, that is, by sacrificing to our Gods, even 
 if he has been suspected in the past, he should be forgiven 
 if he repents. Finally, in any sort of accusation an anonymous 
 charge must not be considered, for that would set a very bad 
 example and is contrary to the spirit of our time. 
 
 To be a Christian was in itself a crime against the 
 state, because Christianity was a prohibited religion. 
 It was a confusion of this statement which gave rise to 
 the prevalent conception that the state persecuted 
 Christians because they committed crimes. The one 
 crime for which they were persecuted was the simple 
 crime of being a Christian. There was another aspect 
 of the case, however, by which the monotheism of the 
 Christians, which prevented them from sacrificing to 
 the gods of the Roman state, especially to the deified 
 emperors, was in itself a crime against Roman religion. 
 
 But in general in the second century the law was al- 
 lowed to lapse. This was the attitude of Hadrian and 
 Marcus Aurelius. The psychological result of this lax- 
 ness was that the Christians became constantly more 
 bold in their opposition, and as martyrdom became 
 more of a rarity, its allurements grew greater. 
 
 In these peaceful years of the latter half of the second 
 century, especially in the reign of Marcus Aurelius, we 
 have the interesting spectacle of "Plaintiffs" and "De- 
 fenders" discussing the merits of Christianity. There 
 is Celsus, a Platonic philosopher, who wrote during the 
 closing years of the reign of Marcus Aurelius. He is to 
 
CONSTANTINE AND CHRISTIANITY in 
 
 be distinguished from Celsus, the Epicurean philosopher, 
 who was a friend of Lucian. Origen and many others, 
 following him, have confused the two. Celsus's book is 
 called The True Discourse. It is an attempt to show 
 Christians the folly and the evil of their attitude and 
 to urge upon them the desirability of sacrificing such 
 minor matters as personal belief to the patriotic instinct, 
 which would make them support the religion of the state. 
 It is not necessary that they should believe in the Roman 
 gods, but it is their duty as gentlemen to support them 
 for the good of the Roman state. It is not to be expected 
 that such a cultured old-world philosophy would appeal 
 to those who were living in the extraordinary state of 
 problemless joy which seems to have surrounded the 
 Christians of the first two centuries. And as a matter 
 of fact, the book seems to have had no particular effect. 
 Seventy years later, Origen ran across it and wrote a 
 discourse disproving it. For us Celsus's book is lost, 
 and we know its contents only through Origen ; but for- 
 tunately the refutation is so conscientious and thorough, 
 that it has been estimated that scarcely a tenth of 
 Celsus's book is lost, and that we have at least three- 
 quarters of it in direct quotation. 
 
 Much more interesting is the Defence or Apologia of 
 Justin the Martyr. Justin, a native of Samaria, was a 
 philosopher, one of that band of wanderers who called 
 the whole world their country, and traveled from place 
 to place, debating, lecturing, and writing. In his own 
 
H2 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 intellectual wanderings he passed through various 
 systems of philosophy, tarried for a while in Neoplaton- 
 ism, but found no rest until he had adopted Christianity. 
 But he saw no reason to change his outward mode of life, 
 and continued to wear his philosopher's cloak. Thus he 
 was able to speak to the masses with the freedom which 
 the profession of philosophy always gives. His interest 
 was naturally along the line of doctrine, and he was espe- 
 cially fond of attacking the heresies, which had already 
 grown up within the church itself. His Apologia, which 
 has been preserved to us, is a document more precious 
 for its humanity than for its intellectual value. It ex- 
 plains the persecutions and the difficulties of the Chris- 
 tians as the work of demons, the facile explanation which 
 remained in popularity for many centuries. 
 
 Thus, by the steady increase in numbers and by these 
 open discussions, the Christian communities gradually 
 rose into prominence, so that by the beginning of the 
 third century they were a perfectly well-known element 
 of the population. It is a great mistake to suppose that 
 at this time they were secret organizations, concealing 
 themselves, for example, under the guise of burial so- 
 cieties. To be sure, it is difficult to see what legal form 
 their associations could take, for Christianity continued 
 to be a prohibited religion. It is simply another case of 
 tolerance, and it is a fact that during the whole of the 
 third century their headquarters and the residences of 
 their officials were perfectly well known to the state. If 
 
CONSTANTINE AND CHRISTIANITY 113 
 
 they were not persecuted, it was because they were 
 officially tolerated, and if they were persecuted, the 
 state had no difficulty in arresting immediately all their 
 leaders. The actual church property itself, their places 
 of assembly, and especially their burial-places, the Cata- 
 combs, could of course be held in the names of indi- 
 viduals. 
 
 In our respect for the majesty of Roman law and for 
 the perfection of imperial organization, we must not 
 forget that there were limits even to these great powers. 
 Persecution had become a very serious matter; unless it 
 were undertaken with a willingness to exert a very great 
 pressure, it was apt to end in a farce. For example, 
 when a certain proconsul of Asia began to persecute the 
 Christians in a certain town, and the entire population, 
 eager for martyrdom, crowded to his tribunal, having 
 neither the strength nor the desire to obliterate the 
 whole town, he could only turn on them in wrath and 
 ask, in case they were so anxious to die, were there not 
 ropes enough to hang themselves with, and cliffs enough 
 from which they might leap to destruction an at- 
 tempt at humor which was so misplaced as only to 
 emphasize his own embarrassment. \ Under the rule of 
 the Severi (A.D. 193-235), it is only the first, Septimius 
 Severus, who shows any hostility towards the Christians, 
 and even then his son, Caracalla, was being brought up 
 by a Christian nurse. We hear of the promulgation of 
 an edict forbidding concessions to Judaism and Chris- 
 
114 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 tianity, but we do not hear much of its results. The last 
 of the Severi, Alexander, a man of very catholic religious 
 disposition, included the Christians in the embrace of 
 his tolerance, grouped Christ with Orpheus, Abraham, 
 and Cicero in his chapels of hero-worship, and even con- 
 templated raising a temple to the Founder of Christianity 
 and to include him officially among the gods of the state. 
 Fortunately this plan was never carried out. 
 
 A reaction was inevitable, and it came in the person 
 of the Emperor Decius (A.D. 250). It was patriotism, 
 and hatred of the Christians because they were unpa- 
 triotic, which moved Decius to his persecutions. He was 
 grieved at the constant increase of those who did not 
 worship the gods of the Roman state. So long as a man 
 sacrificed to the gods of the state, he might hold in private 
 any religion that he pleased. But a religion which for- 
 bade these national sacrifices must be suppressed. So 
 purely formal was his requirement that it might be a 
 perfunctory sacrifice only once offered, and those who 
 yielded thus gracefully would be rewarded with a certifi- 
 cate or diploma, which would free them from further 
 trouble and annoyance. Surely the Christian apologists 
 might well think that the demons themselves had in- 
 vented such a tempting proposition. It had its natural 
 effect. On all sides men sought for these certificates. 
 
 Whole communities thus made their peace, notably at 
 Alexandria ; and so weak had the passion for martyrdom 
 grown, that those who would not sacrifice went into 
 
CONSTANTINE AND CHRISTIANITY 115 
 
 hiding to escape death. A few years ago some of these 
 certificates of sacrifice were found in Egypt. They are 
 pathetic documents bearing witness to the weakness of 
 human nature, yet in some ways our respect for these 
 men is as great as for those who at other times in a 
 frenzy of devotion unnecessarily courted death. 
 
 And so we arrive at the last persecution, that by Diocle- 
 tian. It took the Emperor a considerable time to make 
 up his mind to engage in this persecution, and even when 
 it began, the area of it was restricted to that part of the 
 Empire which was more immediately under his personal 
 observation. But by degrees the contagion of activity 
 spread, and the greatest of the persecutions reached its 
 full extent and power. It was a campaign of destruc- 
 tion, and every effort was made to eradicate entirely the 
 existence of Christianity. Churches were destroyed, 
 the holy books were burned, and the property of the 
 church was confiscated by the state. Those holding 
 office in the church were put to death; Christian laymen 
 of high rank were removed from any official position 
 which they might hold, and forbidden to hold office in the 
 future; Christians of the lower classes were reduced to 
 slavery; and Christian slaves were made slaves for life. 
 The persecution began February 23, 303; it ceased with 
 Galerius's edict of toleration, April 30, 311. 
 
 This brings us into the time and presence of Constan- 
 tine. Constantine was born, in 280, in Dacia, the son 
 of Constantius Chlorus and Helena, a woman of low 
 
ii6 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 birth, the daughter of an innkeeper. In 306, when his 
 father, Constantius Chlorus, died at York, Constantine 
 was at his side and was immediately saluted by the troops 
 as his successor. For the following seventeen years his 
 life was one long series of vicissitudes and struggles, 
 until in 323 he became autocrat of the whole Empire, 
 reigning as sole emperor, with four subordinate prefects. 
 These struggles are extremely interesting, but we have 
 no time to follow them in detail. 
 
 Virgil has often been accused of the lack of character 
 in his hero ^neas, who has been likened to the pen- 
 point with which the gods wrote history. But the 
 description is still more true of Constantine. He accom- 
 plished an extraordinary number of fateful things, yet 
 we feel that these things did themselves through him 
 rather than that he did them. His official recognition 
 of Christianity and his removal of the capital to Con- 
 stantinople were both of them the necessary precondi- 
 tions of all subsequent Western history; and yet in 
 neither of these events do we feel that he who did them 
 was at all conscious of what he was doing. His relation 
 to Christianity is one of the riddles of history ; and even 
 the church itself is divided about him, because the East 
 made him a saint while the West failed to do so. The 
 story of his conversion is very uncertain ; and the vision 
 of the cross in the sky, which appeared as he was march- 
 ing into Italy, and which he placed as the labarum on 
 the banner of his troops as they marched to fight Maxen- 
 
CONSTANTINE AND CHRISTIANITY 117 
 
 tius at Saxa Rubra, may well have been a confusion in 
 his mind between Mithras and Christianity. Constan- 
 tine seems to have been originally a worshiper of the 
 Sun-God, and we have a curious passage in Julian's 
 writings (Or. 7, p. 228 D), in which he tells how Con- 
 stantine, abandoning the worship of the Sun, " brought 
 misfortune upon himself and upon his house." 
 
 The truth is that he does not seem to have been a 
 religious man. He was not so much irreligious as unre- 
 ligious. Politics meant much more to him than religion, 
 and the unique opportunity of binding all the Christians 
 in the Empire to his throne, by making Christianity the 
 state religion, appealed to him much more than the in- 
 herent merits of Christianity itself. But there may also 
 have been another consideration, which would have been 
 entirely characteristic of Constantine and of the age in 
 which he lived. He seems to have been an extremely 
 superstitious man, and he may well have recognized 
 the fact that all the emperors before him who had per- 
 secuted the Christians, had come to a sad end, and that 
 when he marched against Maxentius, the avowed pro- 
 tector of the gods of Rome, he had been most unex- 
 pectedly successful. It would thus have been in a spirit 
 of destiny that he marked his banners with the name of 
 Christ and marched forward to Saxa Rubra. 
 
 So far as his interest in Christianity is concerned, we 
 may trace two distinct epochs in his life, a period from 
 about 311 until 324, during the time when he was fight- 
 
ii8 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 ing against Maxentius and later against Licinius, and 
 when his attitude toward Christianity is merely the 
 justification of it as a legally permitted religion of the 
 Roman state, thus putting it on a par with the other 
 existing worships; and a second period, beginning in 
 324 and continuing until his death, in 337, when he takes 
 a more personal interest in Christianity and uses his 
 influence to exalt it above the other cults of Rome. 
 
 But when once Christianity had been established, it 
 is entirely characteristic of him that he should have 
 been determined to make a success of it and to carry 
 it through. It was then that, like Henry the Eighth, he 
 was angered at the lack of an exact definition of Chris- 
 tianity. He had undertaken to see this new religion es- 
 tablished, and now there seemed to be a doubt as to 
 exactly what this religion was. Hence the Council of 
 Aries in 316, and of Nicsea in 325, and his own constant 
 attendance and deep interest in the latter. It was a 
 strange spectacle, this vision of the successor of the dei- 
 fied emperors, himself still Pontifex Maximus of the 
 old state religion, presiding over the bishops who were 
 composing that historic statement, the Nicaean Creed. 
 
 Thus we pass to his successor, Constantius (337-361), 
 whose only interest in Christianity was in theological 
 dispute. Ammianus (xxi, 16) gives us a vivid picture 
 of the effects of such a patronage. I quote it in Gibbon's 
 words, because his translation gives unconsciously the 
 whole spirit of Ammianus: 
 
CONSTANTINE AND CHRISTIANITY 119 
 
 The Christian religion, which in itself is plain and simple, 
 he confounded by the dotage of superstition. Instead of rec- 
 onciling the parties by the weight of his authority, he cher- 
 ished and propagated, by verbal disputes, the differences 
 which his vain curiosity had excited. The highways were 
 covered with troops of bishops, galloping from every side to 
 the assemblies, which they call synods; and while they la- 
 bored to reduce the whole sect to their particular opinions, the 
 public establishment of the posts was almost ruined by their 
 hasty and repeated journeys. 
 
 Christianity had won the day. In numbers and in 
 power she had outrun the other religions of the Orient. 
 She had conquered in the battle against the Roman 
 State. We must ask ourselves why she had been able 
 to accomplish these things. It is obvious that from the 
 physical standpoint she had been handicapped in the 
 struggle. 
 
 In the first place, the religion of the Roman State, 
 with its strong appeal of patriotism, was not in oppo- 
 sition to any other Oriental cult, and yet we have seen 
 how by degrees its whole forces were turned against 
 Christianity. In the second place, the other Oriental 
 religions established and preserved an informal rela- 
 tionship, so that friction between them is very rare. 
 This fellowship on their part was largely increased by 
 their banding together to fight Christianity. Thus in 
 her rivalry she was pitted, not against one of them, but 
 against them all. As for the last element in the religious 
 community, the doctrines of philosophy, she was "op- 
 posed by them also, to the extent that they tended to 
 
120 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 create heresies and thus to break up the unity of her 
 body. 
 
 In the last analysis, however, we see in the third and 
 fourth centuries three great contending forces : Neopla- 
 tonism,Mithraism, and Christianity. It was around them 
 that the battle raged, the struggle of masses against 
 masses, but even more important, the struggle of the 
 individual soul. Each of these forces came in succession 
 to the front and gained at least a temporary control of 
 the Empire: Mithras in the person of Diocletian; Chris- 
 tianity in Constantine; and Neoplatonism in Julian. 
 
 The three doctrines had many points of resemblance. 
 They were all of them interested in the soul of man; 
 they all offered the possibility of purifying that soul 
 from its guilt; and they all promised eternal life. But 
 Mithras and Christianity had at least two great advan- 
 tages over Neoplatonism, advantages which gave them 
 a much wider appeal than was possible for her. These 
 advantages were their definiteness and their organiza- 
 tion. Both Mithraism and Christianity possessed a de- 
 finite body of doctrine. Their followers were not lost 
 in philosophical speculation. There were certain clearly 
 defined things to be believed, and more important yet, 
 there was an equally definite set of things to be done. 
 They possessed the appeal of a definite activity. To be 
 sure, it was faith by which the soul was saved, but it 
 was a great consolation to have an occupation. 
 
 The other advantage of Mithraism and Christianity 
 
CONSTANTINE AND CHRISTIANITY 121 
 
 over Neoplatonism was in the matter of organization. 
 Religion was reinforced by the social instinct. Men need 
 not abide alone, immersed in solitary thought. They 
 were gathered together in communities. The church 
 organization, which Mithraism and Christianity alone 
 possessed among all the cults of the Orient, was in the 
 long run a great source of strength to them, even though, 
 in the case of Mithraism, it was probably the only reason 
 why it was not admitted as an official state cult. It is 
 not difficult, therefore, to see why Neoplatonism was 
 left behind in the race. 
 
 But at first sight it seems difficult to distinguish be- 
 tween Mithraism and Christianity. In judging of Mith- 
 ras we ought never to forget that what we know of it we 
 learn almost exclusively from its adversaries. We are 
 justified, therefore, in positing for it a very lofty ethical 
 standard. Its requirements of its devotees were abso- 
 lutely genuine, and they were of a very high order. It is 
 easy to say that the sacred books of Christianity may 
 have helped her, the wonderful Old Testament which our 
 narrow-minded modern age has so disastrously neglected. 
 It is indeed a marvelous thing to read there the develop- 
 ment of a god-concept throughout centuries of human 
 history. But Mithras, too, had his sacred literature. 
 It, too, went back from Rome to Asia Minor, from Asia 
 Minor to Persia, from Persia to India. It, too, could show 
 a marvelous religious development. 
 
 We talk of the ethical teachings of Jesus, but to a large 
 
122 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 extent these ethical maxims, excellent as they are, were 
 current in the ancient world. They were not the exclu- 
 sive property of Christianity, but of this more in a 
 moment. 
 
 There are, however, two elements of distinction. 
 Christianity had beyond doubt a great psychological 
 advantage over Mithraism in the presence of a Founder, 
 whose life for these early Christians had a reality and a 
 vividness which we to-day can scarcely realize. The oral 
 tradition of this life still existed, and men could still 
 connect themselves with it by going back only a few 
 generations in their ancestry. Allowing for the differ- 
 ence of standpoint, Mithras might compare with Jehovah 
 in matter of venerability, but Mithras possessed no 
 parallel to Jesus of Nazareth, not as the savior of the 
 world, for that Mithras could claim to be, but as the 
 man Jesus, the carpenter's son. Of course such parallels 
 were attempted, not to be sure in the cult of Mithras, 
 but in the realm of philosophy. To please the Empress 
 Julia Domna, Philostratus wrote the life of Apollonius 
 of Tyana, a Pythagorean philosopher and miracle- worker 
 of the first century of our era. It has often been asserted 
 that the purpose of Philostratus was to present Apollo- 
 nius not merely as the type of the perfect man, but as 
 an avowed parallel to Jesus. But this latter assertion 
 does not seem correct. The life was written without 
 reference to Jesus, but rather in the attempt to pro- 
 duce a picture of an ideal philosopher. Nevertheless 
 
CONSTANTINE AND CHRISTIANITY 123 
 
 comparisons between the two lives inevitably suggested 
 themselves; and such a comparison is all that is neces- 
 sary to answer the question as to their relative ethical 
 beauty. This personal relation to the Founder has al- 
 ways been characteristic of certain forms of Christianity, 
 and it has doubtless had a very considerable effect, but 
 it is open to grave question as to whether this in itself 
 is sufficient to account either for the early conquest 
 of Christianity or for its subsequent spread. 
 
 Here, however, a totally different principle steps in. 
 Christianity has existed, at least in name, for nineteen 
 hundred years. All the world, including its followers, 
 are only too ready to admit that its practice has been 
 far inferior to its theory. The difference between prac- 
 tice and theory has often grown so great that many parts 
 of the theory have been forgotten. There is, however, 
 one ideal of Christianity which seems never to have been 
 forgotten, though its practice has more often been con- 
 fined to the humbler classes, with occasional brilliant 
 exceptions in the upper ones. We can scarcely conceive 
 of two characters more essentially different than that 
 of Augustine and that of Friedrich Nietzsche, and yet 
 these two men agree with each other and with the man 
 in the street regarding the essential characteristic of 
 Christianity. It was this characteristic which caused 
 Augustine to accept it after passing through Mith- 
 raism and Neoplatonism. It was this same character- 
 istic which caused Friedrich Nietzsche to reject it as 
 
124 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF 'ANCIENT ROME 
 
 the "Sclavenmoral," the ethic" of slavery. It is what 
 we, who have the privilege of living in these post- 
 Darwinian days, may call its opposition, the resistance 
 which it offers to the working of the doctrines of bio- 
 logical evolution, its war against the practice of the 
 survival of the fittest. To lift up those who have 
 fallen beneath the feet of the progress of the world, 
 to care for those who are of no apparent profit or good 
 to society at large, to give to those who cannot give 
 again, these are the deeds which even in our modern 
 parlance we call "real Christianity/* This is the 
 " Sclavenmoral" ; it does indeed hinder human progress, 
 if by human progress is meant the Superman who gains 
 added height by treading on those who are weaker than 
 he. We may take Nietzsche's part against Christianity, 
 we may have steeled ourselves by dint of scientific and 
 pseudo-humanitarian thought so that we advocate 
 euthanasia and lethal chambers, but somewhere inside 
 of us is the chord which responds to the Christian note. 
 It is this note which has awakened a response in millions 
 of human beings during these nineteen centuries. It is 
 the essentially new thing which has come into the world 
 during this new regime. Neoplatonism and Mithraism 
 knew nothing of it; and to its presence, so far as our 
 phenomenal explanations go, was owing the conquest of 
 Christianity over the combined forces of the ancient 
 world. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 JULIAN CALLED THE APOSTATE: THE TWILIGHT OF 
 THE GODS 
 
 IT is unquestionably true that to a very large extent 
 the fourth century is a century of destruction, and no 
 normally constituted man takes pleasure in destruction. 
 A work of destruction may indeed be carried on on such 
 a large scale that it inspires the beholder by the majesty 
 of its action. But in this case it is the exhibition of power, 
 rather than the destruction itself, which calls forth our 
 reverence. But there is little of this in the fourth century. 
 It is a period of steady almost monotonous annihilation of 
 the outward features of paganism. It is much more than 
 that. It is the dissolution of the old world in all its 
 phases. 
 
 The question has often been asked, Was Christianity 
 responsible? At first sight it seems as though this were 
 the case. It is notorious that the Christians took very 
 little interest in the affairs of the state. The reason for 
 this indifference is not to be sought in any particular 
 hostility on their part against Rome. But there was an 
 Oriental element in early Christianity, an accentuation 
 of the value of the life to come, and a corresponding 
 indifference to the life that is. This detachment was 
 particularly strong in the early history of the church. 
 
126 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 But it was too purely an Oriental idea to be able to 
 retain its strength in the Western world. It Has sur- 
 vived, but more in theory than in practice, and by a 
 process of accommodation so that a real, even if second- 
 ary, value is assigned to the present life. But the will- 
 ingness with which the early Christians accepted these 
 Oriental ideas was itself dependent upon conditions for 
 which Christianity was not responsible. The acceptance 
 was a result rather than a cause, and the cause itself 
 must be sought much farther back. It lay in the ex- 
 cessive cosmopolitanism of the Empire. It was this, 
 rather than the doctrines of any particular religion, 
 which had sapped the vitality of patriotism. 
 
 This is said in justice, and not in any spirit of excessive 
 partiality toward the Christians of the fourth century. 
 There are very few centuries in which Christianity 
 makes a weaker appeal. The so-called early Christians 
 are extremely interesting. If we study them sympatheti- 
 cally, we experience the contagion of their inspiration. 
 We may not feel that their mental attitude is altogether 
 healthy, but I venture to say that it was much more 
 healthy in reality, and at the time, than it seems to us 
 at this distance. But for the Christians of the fourth 
 century there is very little to be said. Christianity had 
 conquered. Her followers had obtained imperial pa- 
 tronage and political power. They were now experiencing 
 the relaxing effects of success. They were becoming 
 of the world, worldly. Men had received a beautiful 
 
JULIAN CALLED THE APOSTATE 127 
 
 religion, and had shown their love of it by their willing- 
 ness to die for it; but when they were asked to live for 
 it, they failed. They had defeated old Roman religion, 
 and it seemed to them that the battle was over. But their 
 greatest struggle was still before them. They were now 
 entering into the period of conflict between the old cul- 
 ture and the new religion. The world could afford to 
 lose the old religion, but it could not afford to lose the 
 old culture. Here victory lay not in destruction, but in 
 transformation and adoption. Success here was possible 
 only by^humility, and they were soon to learn a lesson 
 of humility. 
 
 Thus, if we take the deeper view, we shall see that 
 this century is not one of mere destruction. The pro- 
 cesses of accommodation are at work, and very much 
 that was good in pagan culture was ultimately to be 
 preserved. Then, too, if the Christians are in the main 
 not pleasing to behold, the last of the pagans are by 
 contrast extremely attractive. They have, to be sure, the 
 charm of the lost cause, and they are beautiful in their 
 death. But the beauty is genuine, and our admiration 
 is justified. 
 
 Let us consider for a moment the condition of that 
 old religion of the Roman State, that venerable system 
 of gods, priesthoods, and cult practices, whose origin 
 is lost in the darkness of early Roman history. For as 
 yet paganism was not officially abolished. Cons tan tine 
 had elevated Christianity into a legitimate religion : he 
 
128 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 had made it a state religion and had shown it his own 
 personal favor; but paganism still abounded; it was 
 still powerful enough to consider a renewal of the battle. 
 In the struggle with Christianity it was confronted by 
 a religion Vhich possessed two things which it did not pos- 
 sess : an established dogma and a definite system of organi- 
 zation. Paganism, and above all Roman paganism, had 
 never been dogmatic. It had concerned itself very little 
 with the theory and the nature of the gods ; it had con- 
 fined itself almost exclusively to the methods by which 
 the gods could be put to practical use. It found itself, 
 therefore, in the fourth century, in the possession of 
 no dogma; and in an age whose chief recreation was 
 theological and philosophical dispute this was a very 
 serious lack. Then, too, the old religion had always been 
 synonymous with the state. Apart from the state it had 
 had no organization. There had been no need of any 
 such organization. Its place was assured to it. It had 
 neither need nor desire to make converts. But now all 
 this was changed. It still received the support of the 
 state, but it had become involved in a competition, for 
 which it was in no wise prepared. Its priesthoods were 
 filled with men of affairs, who had neither time nor in- 
 clination to devote themselves to religious things, and 
 it had no appeal except the appeal of patriotism; and 
 now that the emperors acknowledged Christianity, its 
 followers could no longer be openly accused of being un- 
 patriotic. Thus its patriotic appeal was reduced to a'mere 
 
JULIAN CALLED THE APOSTATE 129 
 
 sentimentalism. Christianity might now be the religion 
 of the fatherland, but it was certainly not the religion 
 of the fathers. But that was the extent of the argument. 
 The division of power between Christianity and pagan- 
 ism was not the same in all parts of the Empire. Chris- 
 tianity had begun in the Eastern provinces. It was but 
 natural that its strength should be greatest there. 
 Then, too, the capital was now in the East, and where 
 the court was, there the newer things, among them 
 Christianity, would naturally thrive. Ever since Cara- 
 calla had granted universal citizenship, and more es- 
 pecially since Constantine had founded Constantinople, 
 Rome had become steadily more and more provincial. 
 She had fallen behind in the advance of progress. She 
 had grown distinctly old-fashioned. But among these 
 old fashions wasjpaganism, so that the city of Rome 
 itself was the greatest stronghold of paganism in the 
 whole Empire. There was also another reason why pagan- 
 ism flourished at Rome. The Senate had never ceased 
 to exist. It had not been transferred to Constantinople, 
 but instead a new Senate had been created there, while 
 the old Senate continued in Rome. The Senators of 
 Rome were conservative, and being conservative they 
 were for the most part pagan. Thus Rome was in a 
 sense an exception to the general lack of pagan organi- 
 zation. She was provided with such an organization in 
 the shape of the Senate. At the end of the fourth cen- 
 tury there were still in existence in Rome over four 
 
130 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 hundred pagan temples. The Magna Mater was still 
 worshiped, and sacrifices were still made at the Ara 
 Maxima, the"old altar of Hercules in the Forum Boarium. 
 In 359, the Prefect of Rome, in accordance with ancient 
 custom, sacrificed to Castor and Pollux at Ostia. In- 
 scriptions to Mithras are still very numerous, and a 
 tauroboUum was performed near Saint Peter's as late 
 as 390. But these are exceptional conditions, and 
 throughout the Empire at large Christianity was mak- 
 ing steady progress. 
 
 And yet it might readily seem that the instincts of 
 paganism would perhaps respond to a strong and earnest 
 appeal. Thus we are introduced to Julian, called the 
 Apostate. We shall take occasion later to form an opinion 
 of Julian's character and his significance ; but it may be 
 as well to say, at the start, that the judgments passed on 
 his character may be divided into two classes: those 
 which belittle his significance and have usually emanated 
 from the supporters of Christianity, and those which 
 exaggerate his importance and have been held by the 
 opposers of Christianity, notably by the immortal 
 Gibbon. And yet it is Gibbon's wonderful account of 
 Julian which lies at the back of all our modern feeling 
 toward him. This is true of every one of us, whether we 
 have read Gibbon's account or not, for Gibbon's de- 
 scription has entered so permeatingly into the web and 
 woof of all that has been written about Julian, that Gib- 
 bon is, directly or indirectly, the source of almost all 
 
JULIAN CALLED THE APOSTATE 131 
 
 that we have ever heard of Julian. We may well con- 
 sider Gibbon's point of view as prejudiced. We may be 
 able to analyze that prejudice and strive thus to avoid it, 
 but we shall strive in vain to escape the influence of 
 Gibbon. Nor is it to be desired that we should altogether 
 escape it, for in so doing we should lose a certain amount 
 of legitimate charm. We shall find that Julian was not 
 a supremely great man, but we shall find him genuine 
 and sincere and very lovable, at least to those who 
 understand him. It is a great pleasure to have the privi- 
 lege of discussing him. 
 
 Julian was born in 331 ; he died in 363; he lived there- 
 fore only thirty-two years. For the understanding of 
 what he did, we must remember his youthfulness. His 
 early education is indicative of the dualism which then 
 existed between the old pagan culture and the new 
 Christian faith. He had two tutors, the excellent but 
 uninspiring Eusebius of Nicomedia, Bishop of Con- 
 stantinople, who taught him the Bible ; and the sympa- 
 thetic Mardonius, a eunuch who had been tutor to 
 Julian's mother, and who now opened to him the beauty 
 of Homer. In 337, Constantine died, and Constantius 
 organized a general massacre of all his relatives. Only 
 two were saved. They were the six-year-old Julian and 
 his older brother Gallus, who was then eleven. Seven 
 years of comparative peace followed, but when Gallus 
 was eighteen and Julian thirteen (344), the Emperor 
 Constantius deemed it wise to keep them both in close 
 
132 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 observation, and they were confined for six years in a 
 fortress near Caesarea in Cappadocia. Their prison was, 
 to be sure, an ancient palace, where once the kings of 
 Cappadocia had resided. Its grounds were extensive 
 and the two princes were surrounded by everything 
 which might make life happy except freedom itself, 
 without which all the rest was of no profit. 
 
 Finally, in 351, the elder brother, Gallus, was declared 
 Caesar and married to the Princess Constantina. Gallus 
 at Caesarea had been sufficiently a sad spectacle, but 
 Gallus as an emperor was infinitely worse. His violent 
 temper brought him into difficulty with all those about 
 him, and his wife, instead of being a help, was a con- 
 stant incentive to evil. Thus he aroused the hatred 
 of Constantius, and was finally put to death at Pola 
 in 354. In the same year Julian, who was then living in 
 Ionia, was taken prisoner and carried to Milan. There 
 for seven months he was kept a prisoner with the con- 
 stant menace of death. Owing to the good offices of the 
 Empress Eusebia, gradually a more favorable view of his 
 case was taken, and he was permitted to go into exile at 
 Athens. But though it might be nominally exile, it was 
 for a Julian a veritable coming into his own. These were 
 the years in which his tendencies to mysticism were be- 
 ginning to develop. While not unmindful of the fact 
 that the preservation of his life was owing to the Empress 
 Eusebia, he felt nevertheless that it was the gods of 
 Greece who had used her as their human instrument. 
 
JULIAN CALLED THE APOSTATE 133 
 
 And now he was permitted to go to the heart of that 
 Greek world which he loved so dearly. He was to study 
 in that place, which was not only historically the centre 
 of Greek thought, but was in his day so full of learn- 
 ing and teaching that it was not unlike a modern uni- 
 versity. 
 
 Julian's remembrances of these six months and his 
 permanent affection for Athens are very beautifully ex- 
 pressed in Gibbon's phrase: " Julian inviolably preserved 
 for Athens that tender regard which seldom fails to arise 
 in a liberal mind from the recollection of the place where 
 it has discovered and exercised its growing powers." 
 Gregory of Nazianzus gives an account of Julian's ap- 
 pearance during these student days. He describes his 
 nervousness and excitability, his stuttering and irregu- 
 lar speech, and strives to produce the impression with- 
 out actually saying it in words, that Julian belonged in 
 the category of the epileptic. But Gregory's antipathy 
 is well known, and nothing is so easy as to brand a per- 
 son with the mark of abnormality, especially when that 
 person has led of necessity a more or less solitary life. 
 That Julian at this time was of a pensive and emotional 
 temperament there is little doubt. He may well have 
 been given to brooding over the mysteries of life, and we 
 know that the sense of his messiahship was beginning to 
 dawn upon him, and that he felt himself the favorite of 
 the gods, protected by a guard of angels. But the preser- 
 vation of his mental balance is proved to us beyond a 
 
134 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 peradventure by his marvelous success in the activities 
 of life upon which he was now called to enter. 
 , Without the understanding of these first twenty-four 
 years of his life, the last eight are a complete riddle. It is 
 little wonder that he hated a religion which was pre- 
 sented to him theoretically in Hebrew, a language which 
 he did not like, and worked out before him practically 
 in the person of the murderous Constantius. It is not 
 surprising that the imaginative little boy, with his love 
 of Greek and the stories of Homer, should live more and 
 more in that past heroic age rather than in a present 
 which began for him . in an atmosphere of murder, and 
 continued in one of espionage and imprisonment. And 
 the enforced companionship of a brutal and unsympa- 
 thetic brother would serve only to accentuate his loneli- 
 ness. 
 
 The happy student days in Athens came all too quick- 
 ly to an end. The post of Caesar in the West was vacant. 
 The frontier was being threatened at several points, and 
 Constantius had need of an assistant. It was again the 
 Empress Eusebia who championed the cause of Julian, 
 and succeeded in removing the Emperor's prejudices 
 against him. Julian was recalled to Milan, married to 
 Helena, Constantius's sister, appointed Caesar Novem- 
 ber 6, 355, and sent to fight in Gaul and Germany 
 against the enemies of Rome. It is little wonder that 
 Julian was thoroughly terrified by this sudden change in 
 his fortunes. When the long beard and the gray cloak of 
 
JULIAN CALLED THE APOSTATE 135 
 
 the philosopher were removed from him, and he was 
 clad in the imperial purple, it was extremely natural 
 that as he returned to the palace, he should murmur to 
 himself the familiar line of the Iliad (v, 83), " Him purple 
 death laid hold on and stern fate." The example of his 
 brother Gallus was before him, for whom the purple had 
 become the shroud. But however cast down he was at 
 the'moment, he made a brave showing before the soldiers, 
 and immediately won their respect. 
 $ It is not difficult to see the ulterior purpose which Con- 
 stantius may have had in this appointment. There were 
 many chances that Julian would never return from Gaul 
 or Germany. But Constantius reckoned without his 
 host, and Julian's guard of angels stood him in good 
 stead. Thus Julian was dispatched to Gaul ; but the dis- 
 trust of the Emperor surrounded him by a multitude of 
 advisers and a large retinue of servants. Julian was res- 
 tive under this tutelage, but judging the matter objec- 
 tively, one can but admire the prudence of an emperor 
 who hesitated to give uncontrolled command to a 
 dreamy, absolutely inexperienced youth of twenty-four. 
 It is the more to Julian's credit, however, that he suc- 
 ceeded under these trying circumstances in making his 
 own individuality tell, and in giving such proof of his 
 real ability that he was gradually allowed to assume 
 control. Thus the philosopher became the soldier. The 
 story that in the midst of military exercises he cried out, 
 "O Plato! O Plato! What a task for a philosopher!" 
 
136 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME , 
 
 may well be true, but it does not necessarily prove that 
 the soldier's life was distasteful to him. On the contrary, 
 it may well have been the expression of the throwing of 
 himself wholesouledly into the task, buoyed up by the 
 incongruity of the situation, which to his mystical mind 
 would be only another proof of the activity of his guar- 
 dian angels, and the working-out of the inevitable des- 
 tiny by which he was to be given power in order that he 
 might be the savior of his people. 
 
 But whatever doubt there may be concerning his en- 
 joyment of the task, there is no doubt of his success in 
 it. This has been admired even by his most energetic 
 detractors, who, while still denying that he was a great 
 general, are compelled to admit that he at least accom- 
 plished the work of a great general. He won the love and 
 respect of his soldiers by the simple and time-honored 
 method, which has never yet failed, and never can fail so 
 long as human nature lasts, that of sharing their hard- 
 ships and privations. His first campaign (356) was con- 
 cerned with the defense of Autun against the Alemanni, 
 and of Cologne against the Franks. The winter of 356- 
 57 was a very difficult one, for the Germans seemed ever 
 present in Alsace, and were bold enough to besiege Julian 
 himself at Sens. But Julian's revenge came quickly. In 
 AugusV357/ with a slender army of thirteen thousand 
 men he engaged in conflict at Strassburg with almost 
 three times that number of barbarians. Largely owing 
 to Julian's own courage, the Romans won a great vie- 
 
JULIAN CALLED THE APOSTATE 137 
 
 tory. Of his subsequent campaigns in Gaul, of his three 
 expeditions beyond the Rhine, and of his diligent resto- 
 ration of the cities of Gaul, we have no time to speak. 
 He had succeeded, and the inevitable result of success 
 followed, the jealousy of the Emperor. Constantius 
 might console himself by sending letters to the provinces, 
 omitting all mention of Julian's name, and talking of his 
 own success against the barbarians, but all mankind, 
 and Julian's troops above all, knew that when the battle 
 occurred, the Emperor was at a safe distance of forty 
 days' journey. Thus Constantius adopted another 
 scheme, which bade fair to be more effective. Gaul was 
 in comparative peace, while the Eastern provinces were 
 in a state of turmoil. Circumstances, therefore, offered 
 to Constantius a plausible excuse for transferring to the 
 East four of the legions under Julian, in their entirety, 
 and picked men from the others. Julian had no choice 
 but to obey, and accordingly bade farewell to his faith- 
 ful troops, making them a final speech on a plain near 
 Paris. They heard Turn in silence, but that same day at 
 midnight they surrounded the palace, which was on the 
 Rive Gauche, in the modern Rue de la Harpe, and pro- 
 claimed Julian Emperor. All night long he defended him- 
 self against them, but at dawn they broke in and carried 
 him away, to be publicly saluted by the army. He refused 
 to be crowned by a woman's necklace or a horse collar, 
 but accepted a soldier's neck-chain as the symbol of the 
 crown. 
 
138 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 Then followed a year of anxious waiting, filled with 
 fruitless negotiations between the two Emperors, Julian 
 in Gaul, Constantius in Cappadocia, while each man 
 stayed at his post, unable to leave without damage to 
 the Empire, and each preferring his public duty to his 
 private interest. Finally, in 361, Julian marched east- 
 wards, to attack Constantius, and Constantius on his 
 part moved westward to attack him. But long before the 
 armies met, while Julian was still on the Danube, Con- 
 stantius died near Tarsus, November 3, 361, and his 
 troops surrendered to Julian, who was thus acclaimed by 
 the whole Empire. 
 
 It was December n, 361, when Julian entered Con- 
 stantinople; it was June 26, 363, that he was killed by 
 the Persian dart. There remained for him, therefore, 
 eighteen and one half months of life, in which to carry 
 out the real purpose for which the six long years of sol- 
 diering had been only the preparation ; yet even of these 
 precious months, three the last three were des- 
 tined to be consecrated to the Persian campaign in which 
 he lost his life. For his religious reforms there were left, 
 therefore, only a little over fifteen months. 
 
 The idea at the base of all of Julian's activity "was the 
 establishment of the "Holy Church of Paganism." His 
 belief in the pagan gods and his conservative instincts 
 convinced him that a return to the religion of the fathers 
 was essential for the salvation of Rome. Yet his train- 
 ing in the Christian religion had been so thorough, and 
 
JULIAN CALLED THE APOSTATE 139 
 
 his knowledge of the world about him was so broad, that 
 he realized that this renaissance of pagan belief would be 
 possible only by the imitation and adaptation of those 
 new elements which Christianity and certain of the 
 Oriental religions had brought into existence. Both 
 Christianity and Mithraism had two great advantages 
 over the later state religion of paganism. They were in 
 possession of a system of dogma and of a definite organ- 
 ization. It was these advantages which he hoped to gain 
 for the followers of the old religion. 
 
 But here the pathos of the situation came in. There 
 is no doubt that Julian thought of himself as a genuine 
 Roman, there is no doubt that he supposed he was es- 
 tablishing old Roman religion. But he was much more 
 Greek than Roman, and the religious ideas which he at- 
 tempted to establish belonged not in the realm of Roman 
 thought, but rather in that of Neoplatonism. It was the 
 Church of Hellenism in which he was interested. In the 
 matter of dogma his difficulties were greatest. Neopla- 
 tonism was not only a philosophical system, but a pecu- 
 liarly vague and mystical philosophy. It was the mysti- 
 cal element which caused it to appeal to Julian; but 
 what appealed to Julian could not, in the nature of 
 things, appeal to the masses. Neoplatonism was not for 
 the common people; and be Julian's preparation of it 
 never so careful, it could not but fail to be understood. 
 - In the matter of organization he was more successful. 
 It was a relatively easy matter for an emperor to reform 
 
I 4 o RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 the priesthoods. But he was not content with a mere 
 improvement of outward form. It was not simply a 
 question of keeping the priesthoods filled with respecta- 
 ble persons: the problem which Augustus had had to 
 solve. The requirements of the priesthood had increased 
 enormously since that day. Christianity and the other 
 religions of the Orient had introduced into Rome the 
 idea that the priestly office demanded constant and de- 
 voted service, and that its incumbents must possess a 
 high degree of morality rather than mere worldly posi- 
 tion. Thus Julian's reform of the pagan priesthood was 
 distinctly a moral crusade and his letters on this subject 
 resemble episcopal admonitions. The persons fitted to be 
 priests are not those who are distinguished by wealth or 
 birth, but rather those who are. known for their love of 
 the gods and men. They shall be held accountable for 
 their actions. If they do wrong, they shall be punished. 
 But so long as they hold their position, they deserve the 
 respect of all men. They shall take their turn at the 
 offering of sacrifice, and for the required number of days 
 they shall give their undivided energy to the sacred 
 tasks. They shall be of spotless purity both in mind and 
 body. They shall be not merely ceremonially pure; they 
 shall practice chastity and real holiness. Their lives 
 shall be better than the lives of those about them, not 
 only when they are officiating, but when they are living 
 with their fellow men. They shall not frequent theatres 
 or wineshops; they shall visit the Forum or the Palace 
 
JULIAN CALLED THE APOSTATE 141 
 
 only on errands of justice or mercy. They shall not 
 read novels or comedies or satires, but instead history 
 and philosophy. They shall be chary even of their phil- 
 osophers, avoiding the impiety of the Epicureans and the 
 Skeptics, and clinging to Pythagoras, Plato, and the 
 Stoics, such philosophy as teaches the existence of the 
 gods and the government of Providence. 
 
 Then, too, the services of the pagan church must be 
 made attractive. In imitation of the Christians, there 
 must be music and choir-boys. But Julian recognized 
 still another source of the strength of Christianity, its 
 practical benevolence, and to this he calls attention. It 
 is the indifference of the pagan priests toward the poor 
 which has suggested to these impious Galileans the idea 
 of practicing benevolence, and they have strengthened 
 their wretched propaganda by covering it with this vir- 
 tuous exterior. They practice humanity toward stran- 
 gers; they are at pains to give honorable burial to the 
 dead ; and they lead virtuous lives. The pagan priesthood 
 should imitate them, and concern itself with the poor 
 and the unfortunate. He remarks that the Jews have no 
 beggars, and that the impious Galileans support not only 
 their own people but pagans as well. It is disgraceful 
 that the pagan poor should be deprived of the aid that is 
 owing them. 
 
 1 As for Julian himself, the feelings of his own messiah- 
 sliip seem to have grown upon him. The guard of angels 
 becomes more specific. He is a vessel chosen of the gods, 
 
I 4 2 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 and his trust is in them. With his accession to the em- 
 perorship his allegiance to these gods had grown more 
 outspoken ;'and just as Constantine had marched against 
 Maxentius with the cross of Christ on his banners, so in 
 the name of Jupiter Julian marched against Constantius. 
 But it is unjust to think of Julian as a merely fanciful 
 and distorted mind bent upon the restoration of a crass 
 anthropomorphic polytheism. His is in great part a very 
 beautiful and spiritual mysticism. He felt his loneliness, 
 as all mystics do, and in his case the loneliness was in- 
 creased by the inevitable solitude which surrounded the 
 imperial throne. His trust in the gods is more than the 
 resignation of the fatalist: it is touched with a loving 
 confidence which is worthy of the highest Christianity ; 
 and this confidence is all the more remarkable because 
 it seems to result from the overcoming of the feeling that 
 God has become known to man for the first time in Chris- 
 tianity. He seems inclined to believe this, and yet he 
 conquers this inclination and asserts the historical doc- 
 trine of a continuous revelation. "It is wrong to praise 
 the men of old without following their ensample, and to 
 suppose that while God was eager to help them, he will 
 neglect those who to-day practice virtue, for the sake of 
 which God found pleasure in them," and again, in a mo- 
 ment of depression, "God will perhaps provide some- 
 thing good, for it is not probable that he who has in- 
 trusted himself to the gods will be neglected or left 
 alone." 
 
JULIAN CALLED THE APOSTATE 143 
 
 His own suspicions that he may fail in his task are 
 splendid proofs of sanity, for the genuine paranoiac has 
 few such doubts ; and surely we should hesitate to char- 
 acterize his reliance on the gods as insanity simply be- 
 cause he called his deity by a different name. Had he 
 succeeded instead of failing, we should look upon him as 
 one of the greatest figures in religious history. For his 
 work was inevitably doomed to failure. Roman religion 
 was dead, and even had it not been dead, it could not 
 have been quickened into newness of life by the rein- 
 forcement of Neoplatonism. 
 
 It was not by his positive and constructive work, but 
 by his negative and destructive work, that he produced 
 a lasting effect. It is little wonder that Julian's hostility 
 to Christianity aroused great uneasiness among the 
 Christians. Men were still alive who remembered the 
 severity of Diocletian's persecutions. Then, too, there 
 was an added horror in Julian's case, because of his inti- 
 mate acquaintance with Christianity and its sacred 
 books. It was sufficiently disagreeable to be fined, with- 
 out suffering the additional taunt of "how hardly shall a 
 rich man enter into the kingdom of Heaven." There was 
 also a peculiar aggravation in his attitude toward the 
 Jews. His fondness for the Jews has usually been attrib- 
 uted to his desire to irritate the Christians, but this is 
 unjust. His fondness for them was genuine. It was 
 founded partly on his own mysticism, which found re- 
 sponse in their worship of the mysterious Jehovah, and 
 
144 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 it was quickened by the Jewish elements in his beloved 
 Neoplatonism. 
 
 ? But all these are small things compared to the one 
 great work, which in the history of culture Julian was 
 called upon to do. This was the famous edict against the 
 Christian teachers of rhetoric, which was promulgated 
 just twelve months before his death. Here again he has 
 been accused of malice, and yet the facts of the case are 
 far otherwise. For us to-day the immortal gods of Homer 
 and Virgil are merely the paraphernalia of mythology, 
 a beautiful poetic symbolism. But for the pagans of 
 Julian's day they were living realities. We need no better 
 proof of this than the fact that these gods were so real to 
 the Christians, too, that they thought of them'as demons. 
 There was, therefore, legitimate ground for offense at 
 the thought of Christian teachers expounding Homer 
 and Virgil to their Christian pupils, and being careful 
 to destroy all reverence for Jupiter and Minerva and 
 Apollo. It was quite improper that Christians should 
 desire to learn such things, and if they did, they should 
 go to the pagan masters, who could teach them prop- 
 erly. Otherwise let them be content with their own re- 
 ligious literature, their " Matthew and Luke," which 
 they could interpret according to their own sweet will. 
 This edict was the most brilliant stroke of Julian's 
 policy, and it had the most far-reaching results. From 
 Julian's standpoint the carrying-out of this edict would 
 deal the deathblow to Christianity. Christians would 
 
JULIAN CALLED THE APOSTATE 145 
 
 not permit their children to attend these schools, kept by 
 pagan teachers; and yet these were the only schools in 
 which ancient literature was taught. Thus the rising 
 generation would inevitably have been divorced from 
 culture, and thus the Christian Church would have sunk 
 into a position of inferiority simply because of its igno- 
 rance. Its leaders would be affected in the same fashion, 
 and the Christian clergy, instead of being experts in the- 
 ology and philosophy, would be blind and leaders of the 
 blind. 
 
 r Thus the problem was fairly stated. Are ancient re- 
 ligion and ancient culture inseparable? Does the break- 
 down of ancient religion necessitate the destruction of 
 ancient culture? Christians were thus brought face to 
 face with their relation to the admirable heritage of 
 pagan thought. The problem took centuries to solve. 
 It was almost two hundred years before the first definite 
 steps in this direction were taken. 
 
 Meantime, though the edict itself was soon repealed, 
 the inconsistency in the matter was brought home to the 
 minds of the Christians. They did not feel that their 
 own holy books created a sufficient body of literature. 
 They admitted the holiness of these books, but it is very 
 questionable whether they were fond of them. The Old 
 Testament especially seems to have been thoroughly dis- 
 tasteful. Very probably the fact that they held it in 
 common with the Jews made it seem less desirable. They 
 must, however, have a literature, and if pagan literature 
 
146 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 were not proper for them, they must construct one of 
 their own. Hence the curious imitation of the classics in 
 the doggerel of the Christian poets, the attempts to 
 make a Homer out of the Old Testament, a Plato out of 
 the Gospels, to say nothing of Christian odes in the style 
 of Pindar. The effects of this new attitude toward pagan 
 literature soon became evident on all sides. It is not far 
 from this time that Jerome who loved Cicero's writ- 
 ings and his style far better than the Hebrew Scriptures, 
 which he was to make into the Vulgate finished a day 
 of fasting by reading Cicero. Thereupon, as he tells us 
 so graphically, "a high fever seized upon my wearied 
 body and my limbs were racked with such terrible heat 
 that it seemed as though they would fall apart. Already 
 the preparations for my burial were being begun; and 
 the warmth of life had left my body and I was cold, ex- 
 cept that my breast was still warm and my heart beat 
 fiercely. Suddenly I had the sensation as though I were 
 being brought to the judgment seat. There, there was so 
 much light, and such glory shone from those who stood 
 about, that I fell upon my face and did not dare to raise 
 my eyes. Then one asked me who I was and I answered, 
 ' A Christian' (Christianus sum) ; 'No!' said the Judge, 
 'thou art not a Christian, thou art a Ciceronian; for 
 where thy heart is, there is thy treasure also' (non 
 Christianus, Ciceronianus es). Then I was silent, and 
 felt the pain of the blows with which they chastised me." 
 Yet Jerome's story is only one of a long list of such bat- 
 
JULIAN CALLED THE APOSTATE 147 
 
 ties, fought out in individuals, between the instinct for 
 the old culture and the power of the new religion. 
 
 Thus Julian had his effect, and by this one deed alone 
 his life would be justified. But he was influential in other 
 and less tangible ways. When the Persian campaign put 
 an end to his life, there followed nineteen years of reli- 
 gious peace (363-82), a precious interlude in which many 
 treasures of art and architecture were saved. Yet these 
 nineteen years of peace were possible only because of 
 Julian's reign of nineteen months. Thus Julian passes 
 out of our story, and as he does so we may listen to his 
 dying words. They have been preserved for us by Am- 
 mianus, who heard them spoken, and though they may 
 well have been prepared in advance and made ready 
 against the event, there is an impressive dignity about 
 them, especially in Gibbon's admirable translation, 
 which I quote, and they afford us a clear insight into 
 that combined sense of duty toward men and trust in 
 God which was the keynote of Julian's life. 
 
 Friends and fellow soldiers, the seasonable period of my de- 
 parture is now arrived, and I discharge, with the cheerfulness 
 of a ready debtor, the demands of Nature. I have learned 
 from philosophy how much the soul is more excellent than the 
 body ; and that the separation of the nobler substance should 
 be the height of joy rather than of affliction. I have learned 
 from religion, that an early death has often been the reward of 
 piety; and I accept, as a favor of the gods, the mortal stroke 
 which secures me from the danger of disgracing a character, 
 which has hitherto been supported by virtue and fortitude, 
 I die without remorse, as I have lived without guilt. I am 
 
148 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 pleased to reflect on the innocence of my private life ; and I can 
 affirm with confidence, that the supreme authority, that eman- 
 ation of the divine power, has been preserved in my hands 
 pure and immaculate. Detesting the corrupt and destructive 
 maxims of despotism, I have considered the happiness of the 
 people as the end of government. Submitting my actions to 
 the laws of Providence, of justice, and of moderation, I have 
 trusted the event to the care of Providence. Peace was the 
 object of my councils, as long as peace was consistent with 
 the public welfare ; but, when the imperious voice of my coun- 
 try summoned me to arms, I exposed my person to the dan- 
 gers of war, with the clear foreknowledge (which I had acquired 
 by the art of divination) that I was destined to fall by the 
 sword. I now offer my tribute of gratitude to the Eternal 
 Being, who has not suffered me to perish by the cruelty of a 
 tyrant, by the secret dagger of conspiracy, or by the slow tor- 
 tures of lingering disease. He has given me, in the midst of 
 an honorable career, a splendid and glorious departure from 
 the world; and I hold it equally absurd and equally base 
 to solicit or to decline the stroke of fate. . . . Thus much 
 I have attempted to say, but my strength fails me, and I feel 
 the approach of death. I shall cautiously refrain from any 
 word that may tend to influence your suffrages in the election 
 of an emperor. My choice might be imprudent, or injudicious ; 
 and if it should not be ratified by the consent of the army, it 
 might be fatal to the person whom I should recommend. I 
 shall only as a good citizen express my hopes that the Romans 
 may be blessed with the government of a virtuous sovereign. 
 
 The nineteen years of peace which followed Julian's 
 death, and which coincide roughly with the reign of the 
 Emperor Gratian, were destined to be brought to an end 
 by this same Gratian, but under the influence of a great 
 personality to whom we now turn. This is Ambrose, 
 Bishop of Milan. He was born, probably at Trier, about 
 
JULIAN CALLED THE APOSTATE 149 
 
 340, when Julian was nine years old. His father, who 
 was Praetorian Prefect of the Gauls, died when Ambrose 
 was twelve years old, and the boy went with his mother 
 to Rome, where he received an excellent education. He 
 was brought up in the Christian faith, and gave his es- 
 pecial attention to the study of law. Here he was so suc- 
 cessful that at the age of thirty-two (372) he was ap- 
 pointed Governor of Liguria and Emilia, and took up 
 his official residence at Milan. In the third year of his 
 governorship (374), Dionysius, the Catholic Bishop of 
 Milan, and his rival, Auxentius, the Arian Bishop, both 
 died, and a stormy election of a successor took place. 
 In his capacity of Governor, Ambrose presided at the 
 election. Then the extraordinary thing happened, that 
 both parties united in electing him to the bishopric. The 
 anomaly of the situation did not fail to impress itself on 
 those who were present, and the story arose, and it may 
 well represent the truth, that when Ambrose was ad- 
 dressing the people in the church, urging upon them the 
 necessity of maintaining order, suddenly above the sound 
 of his own words arose the penetrating staccato note of a 
 child's voice, saying with unconscious calm, "Ambrose 
 is Bishop! Ambrose is Bishop." The child, who knew 
 Ambrose by sight, seeing him standing in the place where 
 the bishop was wont to stand, naturally concluded 
 that he must therefore be bishop. His innocent words 
 were a prophecy, and a few months later, after being 
 baptized, Ambrose was consecrated. From that day 
 
150 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 (December 7, 374) until Good Friday (April 4, 397), 
 when he died, he was the most conspicuous figure in the 
 Western world ; about him are grouped the other charac- 
 ters, and he stands in some relation to every important 
 event. 
 
 Whether or not we rejoice in him as a great prince of 
 the church, and the predecessor of Gregory the Great in 
 the work of establishing the temporal power, we must 
 give him his fair due as one of the great characters of 
 history, and we may be sure that had we known him we, 
 too, should have loved him, as Augustine and so many 
 others did. Every inch a man, fearless, straightforward, 
 frank, open, and incessantly active, the world owes him 
 a great debt ; and it is only just to say that those elements 
 in his character, of which we find it hard to approve, are 
 the stamp of his age, and without them his popularity 
 and therefore his power would not have been so great. 
 There is no better way to study the history of the last 
 third of this fourth century (363-95) , than to follow the 
 events in the life of Ambrose. 
 
 The first event, and one which was to have great con- 
 sequences, was his friendship with the Emperor Gratian, 
 who spent a large part of the three years 378-81 at Mi- 
 lan. Gratian was nineteen at the beginning of their inti- 
 macy, but he had been emperor for eleven years. He was 
 destined to live only a few years longer, but during these 
 years he was under the control of Ambrose, whom he called 
 par ens. It was Gratian who put an end to Julian's legacy 
 
JULIAN CALLED THE APOSTATE 151 
 
 of nineteen years of peace, by issuing in 382 a decree 
 which amounted practically to the disestablishment of 
 the pagan cults, the cutting of them off from the finan- 
 cial support of the state. Up to this time the nominally 
 Christian emperors of Rome had done nothing to alter 
 the financial relations between the Roman state and the 
 old Roman religion. They had, indeed, changed the 
 official relationship in almost no respect, and each had 
 continued to be Pontifex Maximus. At an earlier period 
 in his life, Gratian had rebelled against the inconsist- 
 ency of this position, and when he had been offered the 
 customary title of Pontifex Maximus and the white 
 robe with the purple border, which the chief priest had 
 been wont to wear, he had refused them both. 
 
 Now, doubtless at the instigation of Ambrose, he 
 went still farther. The money of the state should no 
 longer be spent for the support of pagan ceremonial and 
 pagan priesthoods. The lands which the pagan cults 
 possessed were confiscated; the money which had been 
 used for the games went into the public treasure; and 
 the money for the salaries of the Vestal Virgins was used 
 to improve the postal service. 
 
 Then followed the same course of events as is usual 
 in cases of disestablishment. At the moment of the 
 shock private benefaction stepped in to fill the breach, 
 and for the time being the resources of paganism were 
 actually larger than they had been under the regime of 
 the state. But this was only a momentary enthusiasm, 
 
152 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 and this newly acquired income soon ceased, either by 
 the death of the benefactors or by the lessening of their 
 zeal. So far as the public cults of paganism were con- 
 cerned, they were doomed entirely aside from any legal 
 prohibition. 
 
 It is Ambrose, again, who is the central figure in a 
 very interesting controversy which arose at this time. 
 It is the dispute over the removal of the altar of Victory 
 from the Senate House (Curia). The new Senate House, 
 which Julius Caesar had begun in the corner of the Fo- 
 rum, was completed by Augustus, who, among other 
 things, ornamented the altar of the Goddess Victoria, 
 with a statue of the goddess, which had come from Ta- 
 rentum, in southern Italy. The custom of offering a few 
 grains of incense to Victoria had become a tradition in 
 the Senate, and had gradually acquired the colorlessness 
 of a stereotyped form. In addition, the abstract charac- 
 ter of Victoria made her of no particular offense to the 
 Christians. But certain more zealous members of the 
 new religion finally prevailed upon Constantius to have 
 it removed. Under Julian's regime it was naturally re- 
 stored again, and now under Gratian it had been again 
 removed. In itself it was a matter of no great signifi- 
 cance, but it serves as an illustration not only of the pa- 
 gan majority in the Senate, but also of the admirable 
 character of some of these pagans, notably Quintus 
 Aurelius Symmachus. In the course of ten years (382- 
 91) four times an effort was made to have Victoria re- 
 
JULIAN CALLED THE APOSTATE 153 
 
 stored to her place. The first deputation journeyed 
 north in vain, and never succeeded in having audience 
 of the Emperor, for Pope Damasus sent a counter-peti- 
 tion, and this, with the influence of Ambrose, was suffi- 
 cient to prevent the embassy from gaining a hearing. 
 Two years later (384), nothing daunted, the pagan party 
 again presented a petition, this time to Valentinian II, 
 for Gratian was dead. The writer is Symmachus in his 
 capacity of Prefect of the city of Rome. The arguments 
 are stereotyped, but the eloquence is very great. Rome 
 attained fame and glory under the old gods. With the 
 coming of this new religion her power has been declining. 
 To this new religion must be attributed the disasters 
 which she has undergone, especially the famine of the 
 past year. It is Roma herself who is speaking, and she 
 pleads for tolerance and liberty in her old age. 
 s Ambrose himself answered this petition. It is not the 
 gods of the state who saved Rome. In fact, on occasions 
 they actually failed, as when the Gauls captured the 
 city, or when Hannibal approached the walls. It was not 
 their religion, but their own energetic character which 
 made the Romans what they were. We may not admire 
 the argument, but it was successful, and again the peti- 
 tion was refused. 
 
 But the struggles of Ambrose were not confined to his 
 contest with the Senate. There were more vital conflicts 
 nearer at hand, notably with the empress-mother, Jus- 
 tina (the widow of Valentinian I, the mother of Valentin- 
 
154 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 ian II, and the mother-in-law of Theodosius). She was 
 an Arian, and interested in the spread of this heresy, and 
 anxious to obtain for it various churches in Milan. She 
 requested that the Portian Basilica, which lay outside 
 the city, should be given to the Arians. When this was 
 refused, a request was made for the new basilica, in the 
 city itself, and when this, too, was denied, she proceeded 
 to take the Portian Basilica by force. But Ambrose and 
 his followers held the church, and the matter ended with- 
 out bloodshed, in the defeat of the Empress. A year 
 later (January 23, 386), matters came again to a climax, 
 when the young Valentinian, at the instance of the Em- 
 press, demanded that Ambrose should either yield to his 
 request or leave the city. Then the figure of Ambrose 
 stood forth in all its majesty. From the very beginning 
 it has not been a mere discussion regarding heresy, a far 
 greater principle has been at stake. It is the principle of 
 the domination of the church. And now the time is ripe 
 for the full expression. The church may indeed judge 
 laymen, but laymen should not judge the church, and 
 an emperor is after all only a layman. There is no ques- 
 tion of Ambrose leaving the bishopric. Valentinian has 
 nothing to say about it. It had been given to Ambrose 
 by the unamimous vote of the people. As for Arianism, 
 he will fight it to the death The rumor soon spread 
 through the city, that Ambrose would be removed by 
 force. He took up his residence in the basilica, where 
 he was surrounded by his friends, who were willing and 
 
JULIAN CALLED THE APOSTATE 155 
 
 eager to lose their lives in his defense. But the days of 
 waiting were wearisome, and even the ardor of those who 
 loved him best might well become cooled by inaction. 
 To give employment to the waiting people, he introduced 
 the antiphonal chant which has been forever named after 
 him. Thus he became the first great Latin hymn- writer 
 of the church, especially famous for the three wonderful 
 hymns: the hymn for Christmas, "Veni Redemptor 
 Gentium," the morning hymn, "Sterne Rerum Crea- 
 tor," and the evening hymn, "Deus Creator Omnium." 
 In the next chapter we shall meet with one of the audi- 
 tors of this new music, Augustine, into whose mind this 
 scene came back as he lay on his bed, crushed with grief 
 over the death of his mother. I quote the passage from 
 the Confessions in Bigg's translation : 
 
 Then I slept and awoke and found my sorrow diminished 
 not a little. And as I lay alone upon my bed, I recalled the 
 truthful verses of thy servant Ambrose. For indeed thou 
 art 
 
 Creator of the earth and sky, 
 Ruling the firmament on high, 
 Clothing the day with robes of light, 
 Blessing with gracious sleep the night 
 That rest may comfort weary men, 
 And brace to useful toil again, 
 And soothe awhile the harassed mind, 
 And sorrow's weary load unbind. 
 
 There was nothing to be gained by fighting Ambrose. 
 Justina yielded ; and the Arian heresy failed to receive 
 its church in Milan. Thus Ambrose had controlled 
 
156 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 Gratian and had won his battle with Justina. But there 
 remained for him the greatest conquest of all, that of 
 Theodosius, a conquest all the more interesting because 
 Theodosius was not an Arian, but Orthodox. In the 
 year 390, the population of Thessalonica had incurred 
 the wrath of Theodosius. In a moment of terrible anger 
 he had ordered that the whole population should be put 
 to death. On April 30, 390, the seventy-ninth anniversary 
 of the day when Christianity had been made the religion 
 of the Roman state, they were driven, or perhaps lured 
 into the circus. The doors were shut, and for three hours 
 the ghastly butchery continued. Between seven and 
 fifteen thousand people were murdered. 
 
 When Ambrose heard of this terrible deed, he wrote 
 to the Emperor, rebuking him for his action. But when 
 Theodosius, instead of showing signs of repentance, ac- 
 tually presumed to enter the church at Milan, that 
 church which is now worthily called S. Ambrogio, Am- 
 brose met him at the door, and, if we may follow Theo- 
 doret, rebuked him, calling upon him to repent, and to 
 realize the enormity of his act and the offense which he 
 had committed against God, and bidding him depart 
 to devote himself to penitence and prayer. 
 
 Theodosius obeyed, and after months of delay and 
 useless attempts at reconciliation, Ambrose agreed that 
 he should be pardoned, but only on two conditions: 
 first, that he should do public penance, and second, that 
 he should prepare a law requiring an interval of thirty 
 
JULIAN CALLED THE APOSTATE 157 
 
 days between the passing of a capital sentence and its 
 execution. 
 
 On Christmas Day, 390, Theodosius entered the 
 church and performed his penance. He bowed himself 
 to the ground, smote his forehead, and repeated the 
 twenty-fifth verse of the one hundred and nineteenth 
 psalm: "My soul cleave th unto the dust, quicken me 
 according to Thy word." But even then his humbling 
 was not complete; for when he went up the steps into 
 the chancel to present his offering, as was the custom in 
 the Eastern Church, Ambrose sent a deacon to tell him 
 that his place was outside the chancel rail, that "purple 
 makes emperors, not priests." 
 
 Scarcely could there be found a clearer proof than this 
 that the ancient regime had passed, when an emperor, 
 whose predecessors, less than a century before, had been 
 themselves thought of as divine, and as proper objects of 
 worship, humbles himself in the dust before the princi- 
 ples of a new religion, and at the command of one of its 
 priests. As for the figure of the man who gave the com- 
 mand, the eye of the mind has no difficulty in look- 
 ing forward from him to Gregory the Great, and from 
 him to that other Gregory with Henry the Fourth at 
 Canossa. 
 
 But there are many things yet to be done before we 
 reach Gregory the Great ; and though the Emperor might 
 lie prostrate on the pavement of S. Ambrogio, paganism 
 as an instinct was not yet dead, and Rome had not yet 
 
158 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 suffered all her afflictions. Worse things were in store 
 for her, and there was to be even yet a great revulsion 
 back to the old pagan faith. Spirituality was to win still 
 another victory. But all this takes us to the next chapter 
 in the person of Saint Augustine. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD: THE STRUGGLE OF 
 PAGAN AND CHRISTIAN THOUGHT 
 
 WHEN on January 17, 395, the Emperor Theodosius 
 died, he left behind him as rulers his two sons, Arcadius 
 and Honorius, both of them already established on the 
 throne, Arcadius in the East, Honorius in the West. 
 The separation of the Empire into East and West, which 
 had been in practical existence for the last century, had 
 received its historical confirmation. Thus at the close of 
 the fourth century, the great event of the fifth century 
 was clearly foreshadowed, the separation of East and 
 West. But this separation was only a part of a more gen- 
 eral break-up of the Empire, a break-up which was 
 caused by what we call the barbarian invasions. These 
 barbarian invasions, which were of course preparing the 
 way for modern Europe, and with which we shall be 
 dealing in all the three chapters which are left for us, are 
 of two distinct kinds, the general movement of the Teu- 
 tonic peoples, which divides itself into the specific inva- 
 sions of Visigoths, Vandals, Ostrogoths, Lombards, and 
 Franks, and which resulted in each case in a more or less 
 permanent settlement; and secondly, the marauding 
 invasions, notably that of the Huns. 
 
 But while these invasions tended to break up the Em- 
 

 160 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 pire, they also rendered permanent the separation of the 
 East from the West. The fact of this separation is very 
 important, and the results of it are far-reaching. From 
 the Western standpoint, in which we are of necessity in- 
 terested, it was equivalent to the elimination of the Ori- 
 ental elements which had come into the Empire. It was 
 a renewal of the old distinction between Greece which 
 faced east, and Rome which faced west. We see this 
 best illustrated in the history of the Christian Church. 
 The East is by nature given to philosophy and intro- 
 spection, and thus we see the Eastern Church devoting 
 its chief strength to the formation of creeds; but the 
 Western world was essentially practical, hence the West- 
 ern Church expended its energy in organization and 
 disciplinary regulations. 
 
 But the effect of the separation reached even farther. 
 Constantinople had taken precedence over Rome, she 
 had absorbed the military strength of the Empire. The 
 Western Empire was relatively unprotected. Thus for 
 nine centuries Constantinople was able to protect her- 
 self, and thus spiritual and temporal dominion were kept 
 distinct. But Rome was at the mercy of the barbarians, 
 and while she stood at times theoretically under the pro- 
 tection of the Eastern Empire, this protection was a 
 theory rather than a practice. Hence of necessity the 
 spiritual power became engaged in temporal affairs, and 
 the Holy Roman Empire came into existence. But in 
 tracing the results of this separation we have gone far 
 
AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD 161 
 
 beyond the bounds of our fifth century, whither we must 
 now return. 
 
 During the fifth century, in the Western Empire, to 
 which we must confine ourselves, there was another strug- 
 gle in progress, much more intense than that of Rome 
 and the barbarians. It was the intellectual struggle be- 
 tween pagan and Christian thought. The physical strug- 
 gle had ended. The series of edicts against pagan prac- 
 tices, which had emanated from the Christian emperors, 
 had grown more and more severe, until they reached 
 their culmination in the "nullus omnino" of Theodosius. 
 "Let no man in any place in any city make sacrifice or 
 worship the Lar with burnt offering or the Genius with 
 wine or the Penates with perfumes, let him light no 
 lamp, burn no incense, hang no garlands'* (Cod. Theod. 
 
 XVI, 10, 12). 
 
 Be it never so- well concealed, pagan sacrifice was be- 
 coming almost an impossibility. One was not safe even 
 in the forests, and all that was left of it was what the 
 Christian Church had itself adopted by compromise, 
 and what was able to conceal itself in the churches 
 themselves, and under the guise of Christian practice. 
 It all comes to an end with a pathetic rapidity. The law 
 books show us edict after edict, containing more and 
 more detailed prohibitions of sacrifice, giving orders for 
 the destruction of cult statues, commanding that the 
 temples should be put to public uses, and that those 
 in possession of them should be turned out. And that 
 
162 ^ RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 these edicts were no mere paper legislation, all our 
 other sources prove clearly. Before the end of the cen- 
 tury all the old priesthoods had disappeared, and all 
 the references to Mithras and Magna Mater, which 
 in 370 and 380 are so frequent, cease entirely. In 
 many cases efforts were made to save the cult statues, 
 and in certain cases they were crowned with success. 
 Thus the formal expression of paganism was de- 
 stroyed; and the fact that within a decade, Stilicho 
 dared to burn the Sibylline Oracles, and met with no 
 opposition, shows how thoroughly the work had been 
 done. 
 
 But the intellectual struggle had grown all the more 
 keen. The intense individualism of the early centuries, 
 which had deprived Christianity of all political interest, 
 was disappearing. In the presence of real physical dan- 
 ger from without, the dormant instincts of patriotism 
 were being aroused. But with that mechanical associa- 
 tion of ideas which characterizes the action of instincts, 
 there came with the renaissance of patriotism, also the 
 renaissance of pagan ideas in religion. We are fortunate 
 in that we have in this fourth century a character, who 
 not only exhibits in himself the struggle of pagan and 
 Christian thought, but who does more than that, and 
 after exhibiting the conquest of Christian thought, enters 
 the field again to make easy for others the victory which 
 he had obtained without human help. This is Augustine, 
 the Bishop of Hippo. But to understand him and the 
 
AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD 163 
 
 forces with which he had to cope, we must first of all 
 examine the political situation. 
 
 Our period covers sixty years (395-455), from the 
 death of Theodosius to the capture of Rome by the Van- 
 dals. It includes the reigns of two emperors : of Honorius, 
 the son of Theodosius, from 395 to 423; and of Valen- 
 tinian III, 425 to 455. When Theodosius died, his son 
 Honorius was, to be sure, only eleven years old, but he 
 lived to be thirty-nine, and during the whole 6f his life 
 failed to give the faintest indication of possessing a char- 
 acter or of being in any way conscious of the opportuni- 
 ties and responsibilities of life. He belonged to that class 
 of useless rulers, whose absolute nonentity is only exag- 
 gerated by the prominence of the post which fate has 
 given them. 
 
 But what Honorius lacked, his general Stilicho made 
 good. The son of a Vandal chief, he brought a combina- 
 tion of. unquestioned ability and doubtful devotion to 
 the service of the Empire, and until his death (in 408) he 
 was the real ruler. The events of Honorius's reign centre 
 all of them in the invasion of the Visigoths. We must, 
 therefore, say a word concerning the past history of 
 these Visigoths. 
 
 The great Gothic nation had during the third and 
 fourth centuries moved across Europe in a generally 
 southerly direction, so that about the middle of the fourth 
 century the Goths were settled in southern Russia. It 
 was at this time, about 370, that the vanguard of the 
 
164 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 Huns crossed into Europe. The coming of the Huns re- 
 sulted in the separation of the Gothic nation into two 
 parts; that part which lay to the east, forever after- 
 wards known to history as the Ostrogoths, and which 
 came into subjection to the Huns; and that part which 
 lay to the west, and whose .inhabitants were forever 
 afterwards known as the Visigoths. In our present chap- 
 ter we shall leave the Ostrogoths in subjection to the 
 Huns. The Huns are to rule over them for eighty years, 
 until, in 454, the Ostrogoths throw off the yoke; but that 
 belongs to the next chapter. 
 
 It is with the West Goths, the Visi-goths, that we have 
 now to do. At the approach of the Huns, these Visigoths 
 fled into the Roman Empire. A misunderstanding con- 
 nected with their flight caused the Battle of Adrianople 
 (378), where the Emperor Valens lost his life. For seven- 
 teen years they remained as vassals of the Empire, until, 
 in 395, after the death of Theodosius, they chose Alaric 
 as their king. With the accession of their king Alaric, 
 the Visigoths step into history as a nation. They are no 
 longer a mere wandering horde of barbarians. They are 
 a united people with a definite purpose. They were des- 
 tined eventually to lay the foundation of the greatness 
 of Spain, but for the present they contented themselves 
 with the invasion of Greece. Five years later, in 400, 
 Alaric led his nation into Italy. They came by way of 
 Belgrade, the valley of the Save, Laibach, and so over 
 the " Pear-Tree" Pass to Aquileia. They marched on Ra- 
 
AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD 165 
 
 venna, but did not succeed in capturing it, and so turned 
 northwest toward Milan. Meantime, terror had seized 
 on the people of Rome, and many of the wealthier fami- 
 lies were considering the ad visibility of going to Corsica, 
 or Sardinia, or southern France, a premature pilgrimage 
 to Avignon ! But in spite of Alaric's vision of ' ' Penetrabis 
 ad urbem " ("Thou shalt go even unto the City "), he did 
 not as yet march upon Rome, and the inhabitants began 
 to repair the walls, those walls which one hundred and 
 thirty years before Aurelian had caused to be built. 
 
 In 404, the Emperor Honorius visited Rome for the 
 purpose of celebrating there a triumph over the Visi- 
 goths. These later emperors did not love Rome, because 
 Rome did not love them. But in spite of the lack of hom- 
 age, the close approximation to disrespect which was 
 always manifested toward them in Rome, sentiment de- 
 manded that they should return thither to celebrate the 
 landmarks in their career. In connection with the cele- 
 bration of this triumph, gladiatorial games were given in 
 the Colosseum. These games afforded an opportunity 
 for the performance of a deed worthy of the loftiest prin- 
 ciples of Christianity. The contest had already begun, 
 when, from the upper row of the spectators' seats, a fig- 
 ure was seen advancing, seat by seat, moving down 
 toward the centre, and finally springing over the balus- 
 trade into the arena itself. There, amidst the breathless 
 silence of the public, the man tried to separate the con- 
 testants. Then, as the multitude realized what he was 
 
166 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 attempting, that he was there to spoil their pleasure, the 
 roar of the human beast burst forth, the man fell dead at 
 the hands of the contestants, and the games proceeded. 
 It was Telemachus, an Eastern monk, who had made 
 this protest against the barbaric past. Christianity 
 might indeed be called upon to respect ancient culture 
 and to learn its lessons; but the new religion was ushering 
 in a new world, in which all was not cruelty, in which 
 the gain in humanity might offset something of the loss 
 of culture. The sacrifice of Telemachus was not in vain, 
 for Honorius shortly after decreed that gladiatorial 
 games should cease. 
 
 The following year (405), Italy suffered from one of 
 those marauding invasions, which are to be distinguished 
 from the more orderly invasions, such as that of Alaric. 
 About two hundred thousand men, under the leadership 
 of a certain Radagaisus, started for Rome, and chose the 
 route through the hills of Tuscany. It was there that 
 Stilicho met and defeated them, and sold as slaves those 
 of their army who were still alive. So numerous were 
 they that they sold for an aureus about fifteen francs 
 apiece; and even then the bargain was a poor one, 
 because the captives were very likely to die, and the 
 purchaser must pay the cost of burial. 
 
 After this brilliant victory of Stilicho, it 'is sad to 
 learn that he was put to death three years later (408) as a 
 traitor. But whether this act was just or not, it brought 
 its own punishment, for there was no one to take his 
 
AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOP 167 
 
 place, when in the same year Alaric began his second 
 invasion of Italy. It was August when Stilicho was put 
 to death at Ravenna, and now in September, Alaric and 
 his army stood outside the walls of Rome ; and the first 
 siege began. Inside there is the story of famine and pes- 
 tilence which was to become so familiar to Rome at in- 
 tervals during more than a century to come. For a mo- 
 ment, like a flash of lightning in the dark, we have a vis- 
 ion of the depths of the popular religious consciousness. 
 There is a renascence of paganism, a harking-back to the 
 old instincts in the time of peril. A great longing arose 
 among the people that certain magic rites should be per- 
 formed by the hams pices. So strong did this feeling 
 grow, that Pope Innocent (the First) gave his consent, 
 adding the quaint reason that "he preferred the safety 
 of the city to his own private opinion." But although 
 the consent was given, there was no one who dared to 
 perform the sacrifice. 
 
 Meantime negotiations for peace were being carried 
 on, but the ambassadors were dealing with a hard task- 
 master, who was so sure of himself that he could afford 
 to jest with them. When they boasted that if Alaric did 
 not make peace they might suddenly attack him with a 
 great multitude, he answered them in a phrase which 
 has become classic, a bit of Teutonic mother-wit, which 
 seems as though it had stepped backwards out of the 
 pages of Shakespeare, "The thicker the grass, the easier 
 it is to mow." 
 
168 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 He demanded all the gold, and all the silver, and all 
 valuable movable property, and all slaves who were of 
 barbarian origin ; and when the Romans asked what they 
 would have left, he answered " Your lives." But finally 
 terms were obtained by which Rome paid five thousand 
 pounds weight of gold, thirty thousand pounds weight 
 of silver, four thousand robes of silk, three thousand 
 hides dyed scarlet, and three thousand pounds of 
 pepper. 
 
 Alaric now consented to retreat to the Danube pro- 
 vinces, there to establish his own kingdom under the 
 nominal protectorate of Rome. We have no time to 
 speculate on the amazing change in subsequent history 
 which the fulfillment of this project would have por- 
 tended. For the proposal was refused by Honorius, who, 
 busied with his poultry farming at Ravenna, had no in- 
 terest in Rome. 
 
 Thus, in the year 409, began the second siege of Rome, 
 and the denouement was very curious. Instead of at- 
 tacking Rome itself, Alaric captured Ostia, and so cut 
 off Rome's supply of grain. The city soon came to terms, 
 and appointed a joint emperor of Romans and Goths 
 in the person of Attalus, who had been prefect of the 
 city. We cannot enter into the fortunes of Attalus. 
 Suffice to say that after a reign as short as it was impu- 
 dent, and a failure which at one time came very close to 
 being a success, he was deprived of his power and Ho- 
 norius was relieved of his rival. But even then Alaric 
 
AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD 169 
 
 could make no peace with Ravenna, and so in 410, for a 
 third time he took up the siege of the long-suffering city 
 of Rome. But on this occasion some of the inhabitants 
 preferred the mildness of Alaric to the inconveniences of 
 a siege, and the Porta Salaria was opened to him during 
 the night. Thus for the first time in eight hundred years, 
 since the Gallic invasion of B.C. 390, Rome was entered 
 by hostile troops. It is by no means easy to reach a de- 
 cision as to the amount of damage done by the Goths. 
 Tradition undoubtedly exaggerated its extent. But with 
 the rise of German scholarship the tendency has all been 
 in the opposite direction, until one is tempted to wonder 
 whether they have not carried the defense of their ances- 
 tors to an unwarranted extent. Thus much is doubtless 
 true, that the destruction of Rome, so far as its monu- 
 ments and buildings are concerned, was not accom- 
 plished by the Goths and Vandals. It was the Renais- 
 sance itself which did most of the destructive work. But, 
 on the other hand, the violent acts committed against 
 persons, and the destruction and confiscation of mov- 
 able property, were probably much greater than our 
 modern authorities are willing to admit. 
 
 At the end of six days, Alaric and his people left Rome, 
 marching southwards. There Alaric himself died in Cala- 
 bria, and was buried under the waters of the river Bu- 
 sento. Then the Visigoths marched northwards, out of 
 Italy and out of our story, except that we may add that 
 they spent three years in Gaul and moved into Spain 
 
170 " RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 in 415, where in the course of the sixth century they re- 
 nounced their Arian heresy and became Catholics, and 
 in 711 were conquered by the Moors. 
 
 In 423 the parody on human life, which Honorius had 
 been acting for thirty-nine years, was brought to a close 
 by a fortunate attack of dropsy, and after a short period 
 of usurpation Valentinian III, Placidia's seven-year-old 
 son, became emperor, but Placidia, the daughter of 
 Theodosius, reigned in his name. 
 
 At the beginning of this chapter we have seen how the 
 Huns came out of Asia, how they settled in Russia, and 
 how they caused the Gothic nation to break into two 
 parts, the East or Ostro-Goths, whom they brought into 
 subjection unto themselves, and the West or Visi-Goths, 
 of whose history we have already briefly treated. The 
 question of exactly who these Huns were has been much 
 disputed. It has been thought that they were identical 
 with the Hiung-Nu, against whom the Chinese built the 
 great wall. Unfortunately the attractiveness of this sug- 
 gestion is greater than its certainty, but it is at least 
 possible. In any case, Ammianus Marcellinus has left 
 us an accurate description of their appearance (xxxi, 
 2):-. 
 
 They have all of them well-knit and strong limbs and 
 fine necks. They are extremely ugly and terrible to behold, 
 so that one would think them two-footed beasts, or like those 
 roughly hewn stakes which are used for bridge railings. And 
 although they do have a certain ugly resemblance to man,they 
 
AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD 171 
 
 are so uncivilized that they do not use fire or flavor their food, 
 but they eat the roots of wild herbs and the half-raw meat of 
 any sort of animal, meat which they warm up by placing it be- 
 tween their legs and the backs of their horses. They have no 
 houses, and they avoid the shelter of roofs as they would 
 the grave. For among them not even a cottage with a roof 
 of reeds can be found. But wandering over the mountains and 
 through the woods from their earliest childhood, they are ac- 
 customed to endure cold and hunger and thirst. And except 
 in the most dire necessity they never go under a roof, and when 
 they are indoors they never feel that they are safe. They wear 
 linen garments or garments sewn together from the skins of 
 field mice, and they have no change of garments, for ex- 
 ample, for the house and for out of doors. But no matter how 
 the color changes, the shirt which has once been put over the 
 neck is not taken off or changed until by along process of de- 
 cay it has fallen into rags. They cover their heads with peaked 
 caps; their hairy legs are clothed with goatskins, and their 
 shoes are so shapeless as to prevent them from walking freely. 
 And for this reason they are not well adapted to encounters on 
 foot, but they perform their customary tasks, as it were, 
 glued to their horses, which are hardy but ugly to look at, 
 and which they sometimes ride woman-fashion. On horseback 
 every man in this nation night and day buys and sells, 
 takes food and drink, and bending over the slender neck of 
 the horse falls into deep sleep and into the changeful pano- 
 rama of dreams. And when a discussion is to take place upon 
 important matters, it is on horseback that they all meet. 
 They hold their discussions uncontrolled by kingly dignity, 
 but, satisfied with the disorderly leadership of their chiefs, 
 they interrupt with whatever comes into their minds. . . 
 No one of them plows or even touches a plow-handle. They 
 all live without fixed abode. They wander abroad without 
 home, without law, and without fixed rules of life, like those 
 who are forever fugitives, together with their wagons in which 
 they live, where their wives prepare for them their filthy 
 
172 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 garments and bear their children, and rear them until they 
 are grown up. And if you ask one of them, he can never tell 
 you where he came from, for he was conceived in one place, 
 born far away from there, and brought up in a place still 
 farther off; ... like senseless animals, they are entirely 
 ignorant of what is proper and improper ; in their talk they are 
 ambiguous and full of mystery. Nor are they ever moved by 
 any regard for religion or superstition, but burning with a 
 boundless passion for gold, they are so changeable and 
 quick to wrath, that several times in the same day they grow 
 angry with their comrades without reason, and make peace 
 again without receiving any satisfaction. 
 
 How different our knowledge of Roman history would 
 be, did Roman historians more often deign to draw such 
 pen pictures. 
 
 In the year 433, after the Huns had been settled in 
 Russia for more than sixty years, they chose Attila as 
 their king, and under him they step into history. It is 
 characteristic of these barbarian peoples that their prom- 
 inence depends entirely upon the greatness of some one 
 individual leader. Thus it is Alaric who leads the Visi- 
 goths into history, and Theodoric who leads the Ostro- 
 goths, and Attila who leads the Huns. 
 
 Thus began a period of terror for Europe, which lasted 
 no less than twenty years. In 451, Attila commenced his 
 westward march. His army has been variously estimated, 
 but it may well have contained several hundred thousand 
 souls. It was indeed not so much an army as an aggrega- 
 tion of tribes and nations. We can follow their wander- 
 ings across the Rhine, to Metz, to Rheims, and so to 
 
AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD 173 
 
 Paris, which was comforted by the assurances of Gen6- 
 vieve, but which really escaped because of its insignifi- 
 cance ; and so on to Orleans, where they met with their 
 first rebuff. Turning eastward again, they found the 
 forces of Western civilization marshaled against them 
 on the Mauriac Plain, near Chcilons-sur-Marne. There 
 the Huns and the Ostrogoths met ^Etius with all the force 
 of Rome, including her allies, and among them the Visi- 
 goths. Thus the Gothic nation was divided against 
 itself, and that part of the nation which was later to 
 attempt so diligently the salvation of Rome was now 
 drawn up against her. 
 
 The battle was largely in favor of the Romans, but 
 they failed to destroy Attila and his forces, who con- 
 tinued the eastward march, which they had begun before 
 the battle. This march led them into Italy, where they 
 besieged Aquileia, and after desperate resistance cap- 
 tured and virtually destroyed the town. Then followed 
 the capture of Milan, and Attila's perpetration of his 
 grim jest. He found in the palace a picture portraying 
 the Emperor of Rome on the throne and the princes of 
 the East bowing before him. Attila did not destroy 
 the picture ; he merely caused the actors to change places 
 so that the throne was occupied by the Eastern ruler, 
 while it was the Emperors of Rome who were bowing 
 before him. 
 
 The projected attack upon the city of Rome was pre- 
 vented, partly by Attila's own superstitions, and partly 
 
174 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 by the intervention of the venerable Pope Leo (the 
 First). It is interesting to note that even at this early 
 date, it is not the Emperor at Ravenna but the Pope at 
 Rome who interests himself in the temporal salvation 
 of the city. 
 
 One more great event must be attributed at least in- 
 directly to Attila, the foundation of Venice. Terrified at 
 his approach, the inhabitants of the villages on the main- 
 land fled out into the marshes, that ,they might escape 
 him. But they did not go out into the islands of the 
 Adriatic, because the ships of the Vandals would have 
 attacked them there. Thus, settling where there was in 
 a sense neither land nor sea, they escaped the perils of 
 both. 
 
 Shortly after this, Attila died, and his people were lost 
 again in the East ; but as he passes out of our picture we 
 must pay him at least this tribute, that no man who ever 
 lived has inspired so much fear in the human race. It 
 was not only the terror of those who knew him when he 
 was alive, but the terror which has radiated from him in 
 his legendary capacity, all the way from Scandinavia 
 to Burgundy. In the legend of Burgundy he is relatively 
 well treated. There he is only the harmless hospitable 
 Etzel of the Niebelungenlied. In Scandinavia he plots 
 and schemes and murders in order to obtain the hidden 
 treasure. But the fullness of his guilt is in the Flagellum 
 Dei, the " Scourge of God," with which ecclesiastical 
 tradition has invested him. 
 
AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD 175 
 
 Thus for centuries Attila lived on, in the anathemas 
 of the pulpit, and in the old-wives' tales of the nursery, 
 while heretics and little children were urged to abandon 
 the naughtiness of their ways in dread of him. 
 
 There remains still one chapter in our necessary his- 
 torical review before we can turn to Augustine. In the 
 fourth century another Teutonic people had been mov- 
 ing across Europe. This is the nation of the Vandals. In 
 the year 330, we find them in Pannonia ; in 406, they are 
 settled in Gaul ; three years later they are in Spain ; and 
 finally, in 428, possibly on the invitation of the traitor 
 Boniface, they enter Africa, in the month of May, under 
 the leadership of their king, Gaiseric. The Vandals, like 
 the Visigoths, were Arians, not Catholics, but they had a 
 religious zeal which the Visigoths lacked, and which 
 caused them to engage in proselytism and religious per- 
 secution. Their conquest of Africa was, therefore, a sort 
 of Holy War. In the year 430, they besieged the town of 
 Hippo. We shall be speaking of this siege again in a few 
 moments, but our interest will be inside rather than out- 
 side the walls. Nine years later they captured Carthage, 
 and it was there that their king, Gaiseric, received the 
 message of the widowed empress, Eudoxia, asking for 
 his aid. They did not wait on the order of their going, 
 and the fleet arrived at Ostia with all possible speed. 
 Then followed the journey up the Tiber, and soon they 
 stood before the gates of Rome. Again the Pope, the 
 same great Leo, interceded in behalf of Rome, and ob- 
 
176 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 tained such guaranties as he might ; and then the pillage 
 began. For fourteen days Rome was plundered, and 
 then the heavily laden galleys sailed away on the home- 
 ward journey to Carthage. It is a melancholy testimony 
 to the wealth of Rome that at this, her third plundering, 
 there was still an abundance of riches left. 
 
 It was necessary that we should spend this time on 
 things that may well seem remote from our subject, in 
 order that we might create at once a background and an 
 atmosphere. If the fourth century had been, in the 
 main, a period of exultant triumph for Christianity, this 
 first half of the fifth century was a period of deep reli- 
 gious depression. The end of the world was coming, but 
 not in the way the early church had hoped for. There 
 was no indication of the Millennium, and the clouds in 
 the sky did not usher in triumphantly the second coming 
 of the Lord ; and the elect were not caught up to be for- 
 ever with him. There were clouds enough in the sky of 
 life, but they were full of the arrows that fly by night, 
 and of the pestilence that stalketh at noonday. Human 
 life had no peace; and, when there were no wars, there 
 were rumors of war. Visigoths, Huns, Vandals, they 
 had all threatened the peace of Rome, and two nations 
 had utterly despoiled her. It was the dark before the 
 dawn of Theodoric, the Ostrogoth, but men had no good 
 reason to expect a dawn. The other way of salvation, 
 the abandonment of this wicked world and the embrace 
 of monasticism, was only at its beginning. The majority 
 
AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD 177 
 
 of men still stayed in the world, but it was a sad place. 
 Above all things, thinking men sought for an explana- 
 tion ; they sought for it with an intensity into which we 
 in our relatively happy world can scarcely enter; an in- 
 tensity that our own world has, however, seen in the per- 
 son of Tolstoy. They had almost all the modern para- 
 phernalia of thought, with the exception of Immanuel 
 Kant. The unsolvable problems of the world are as old 
 as the world itself, and the material for solution grows 
 very little through the centuries. There were still the 
 same three schools of thought that men had used a cen- 
 tury before. Mithraism as a religion was dead, but 
 Manichseanism, the doctrines of the disciples of Mani, 
 was its legitimate successor. Neoplatonism in its serenity 
 was practically unchanged, as it is in a sense even to the 
 present day. Perhaps Christianity alone had been de- 
 veloping, but it had as yet made no great progress. These 
 were the only available solutions to the problem of life. 
 The character which we have chosen, hoping to see, 
 in his inner life, the reflection of the inner life of his age, 
 is Aurelius Augustinus, better known to the world as St. 
 Augustine. I have chosen him, first, because he was a 
 rounded man, drinking in to the full the life of his day, 
 and hence knowing human life as only such a one can ; 
 and secondly, because we are so well informed regarding 
 the events of his inner and his outer life. For the form- 
 ative period of that life, the first thirty-three years, we 
 have one of the greatest of all human documents, his 
 
i;8 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 own Confessions, a book by the love of which we may 
 measure the depth of our life. 
 
 Augustine was born at Tagaste, in Numidia, on the 
 thirteenth of November, 354. His father, Patricius, was 
 a man of some prominence, a Decurio of the town, and a 
 good example of a cheerful, healthy, well-fed pagan ; his 
 mother, Monnica, was all that a good mother should be, 
 and there is no higher place that any woman can hold. 
 If we are at all to appreciate Augustine, we must follow 
 the story of his life from its beginnings as he tells it to us 
 himself. I shall have occasion to quote frequently from 
 the Confessions, and in so doing I shall make use of the 
 translation of Canon Bigg. His translation is so beauti- 
 ful that it would be folly to try to rival it. 
 
 In the opening chapters of the first book we have a 
 most extraordinary series of passages regarding Augus- 
 tine's babyhood. For example (i, 6): 
 
 Yet suffer me to speak before Thy mercy, me who am but 
 dust and ashes. . . . For what is it that I would say, O Lord 
 my God, save that I know not whence I came hither into this 
 dying life, shall I call it, or living death? And the comforts 
 of Thy pity received me, as I have heard from the father and 
 mother of my flesh, from whom and in whom Thou didst 
 fashion me in time : for I do not recollect. And so the comfort 
 of human milk was ready for me. For my mother and my nurses 
 did not fill their own bosoms, but Thou, O Lord, by their in- 
 strumentality gavest me the food of infancy . . . for of a 
 truth all goods come from Thee, O God ; and from my God is 
 all my health. This I learned afterwards, when Thou didst 
 call loudly to me by all Thy benefits, within me and without. 
 
AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD 179 
 
 For in those days I could but suck and feel pleasure and weep 
 at fleshly pain, nothing more. Afterwards I began also to 
 smile, at first in sleep, then awake. For this I have been told 
 and believe, since I see other babies do the same. But I do not 
 recollect how it was with myself. 
 
 And from this quaint touch he turns and cries, not as 
 an inquiring metaphysician, but as a human being long- 
 ing for knowledge: 
 
 Tell me, I beseech Thee, O God . . . tell me whether an- 
 other life of mine died before my infancy began or only that 
 which I spent in the womb of my mother? . . . Even before 
 this, what was there, O my God? Was I anywhere? Was I 
 any one? . . . Whence came so wondrous a creature but 
 from Thee, O Lord? Can any one make himself? Can the 
 stream of being and of life that runs into us derive from any 
 other fountain? No; Thou hast made us, O Lord, whose 
 being and whose life are ever the same, because Thou art no- 
 thing else than supreme being, supreme life. . . . How many 
 days of mine and of my father's have passed through Thy to- 
 day, from Thy eternity received their mode of being and 
 existed after their fashion! 
 
 One of the extraordinary characteristics of the Con- 
 fessions is the ease of transition. We are forever chang- 
 ing altitude, now up, now down, but we feel no shock of 
 abrupt change, and yet in the text itself there are no at- 
 tempts at artificial bridges of transition. The processes 
 of accommodation are in the writer himself, because he is 
 following his own moods; and just because he is able to 
 express himself with absolute naturalness, the reader 
 shares his moods, and thus makes all the changes, not as 
 
i8o RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 a spectator, but as a man of like passions with Augustine, 
 living out with him and in himself the experiences de- 
 scribed for him. Thus, a chapter or two later, we find it 
 quite natural that Augustine should be talking simply 
 of the processes of education, beginning with the baby's 
 attempts to learn to speak (i, 8) : 
 
 Thus gradually I acquired a store of words arranged in sen- 
 tences, and by frequent repetitions, I came to perceive of 
 what things they were the symbols, and by training my mouth 
 to their utterance, I gained the power of verbal expression. 
 So I exchanged with those about me the symbols of meaning, 
 and launched out upon the stormy sea of human fellowship, 
 while still depending upon the authority of parents and the 
 direction of elders. 
 
 His experience of studying the classics is that of many 
 another boy (i, 13) : 
 
 But even now I cannot understand why I hated Greek, 
 which I was taught in my earliest school-days. For I loved 
 Latin the literature, I mean, not the grammar. For the 
 first lessons of the Latin schools, in which one learns to read, 
 write, and multiply, I thought as dull and penal as Greek. 
 
 And again (i, 14) : 
 
 Why did I hate my Greek literature, which was full of such 
 songs? For Homer also weaves these fables with a skillful 
 hand, nor is any vanity so delightful as his. Yet he was dis- 
 tasteful to me as a boy, and so, I think, would Virgil be to 
 Greek boys, if they were compelled to learn him in the same 
 way, that is to say, by dint of drudgery. 
 
 It is this extraordinary humanity which characterized 
 the real Augustine throughout all his life. There is the 
 
'AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD 181 
 
 marvelous chapter on the blessings of boyhood, the sheer 
 physical joy of being a boy (i, 20) : 
 
 O Lord, my God, Thou best and most excellent Creator and 
 Ruler of the world, I should owe Thee thanks, even though 
 Thou hadst wished that I should never be more than a boy. 
 For I was, I was alive, I could feel, I could guard my person- 
 ality, the imprint of that mysterious unity from which my 
 being was derived surely every part of such a creature calls 
 for wonder and praise. But all this is the bounty of my God, 
 and not my own, and all these capacities are good, and I am 
 the sum of them. Truly, then, He who made me is good and 
 very good, and to Him will I give loud thanks for all the good 
 that belonged to me even as a boy. 
 
 In the second book we pass to his youth, that youth 
 which was to mean so much to his later life. And if he 
 seems to brood over the ill-spent years more than we 
 feel they deserve, we should remember that we know 
 Monnica only through him ; and the pain that arose from 
 the thought of the grief which he had caused her is his 
 own pain, that incomparable pain of having caused sor- 
 row to her who bore us. And even if in this mood the 
 stealing of apples seems a proof of original sin, there is a 
 wonderful charm in the psychological analysis (n, 4) : 
 1 ' For I stole what I had in plenty, and much better. What 
 I wanted to enjoy was not the thing I stole, but the 
 actual sin of theft." 
 
 In 371, when he was seventeen, his father, "who was 
 but a poor burgess with a spirit beyond his purse" 
 (n, 3) , managed to afford the expense of sending him to 
 
182 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 Carthage to study to become a rhetorician, to Carthage 
 " where debauchery bubbled like a frying-pan" (in, i) 
 and where he sought something to love, " loving the idee 
 of love, and hating the tranquil path where there are nc 
 mousetraps." It was in Carthage that he " polluted the 
 brook of friendship with the sewage of lust." 
 
 It was at this time that the stage bewitched him 
 "Why," he cries (in, 2), "do men desire to be saddenec 
 by the representations of tragic misfortunes which the} 
 do not in the least desire to suffer? " " Yet the spectato: 
 does desire to be saddened by them, and the sadness ii 
 the very pleasure that he seeks. Surely this is wre tehee 
 folly." We need no more than this to see why Augustint 
 did not love Greek. We are very far from the Aristote 
 lian "Catharsis" of emotion by the exhibition of pas 
 sion. 
 
 It was scarcely to be expected that this modest, intro 
 spective youth would be popular with his fellow stu 
 dents. 
 
 I would take no part [he says (in, 3)] in the wild doing 
 of the "Wreckers," a cruel and devilish name, which wa 
 looked upon as the stamp of the best set. I lived amongs 
 them, feeling a kind of impudent shame, because I could no 
 keep pace with them. I went about with them, and of some c 
 them I made friends ; yet I always disliked their way of goin 
 on, their "wreckings," their wanton attacks upon the shynes 
 of freshmen, and the unprovoked affronts with which the 
 carried on their malignant amusement. Nothing could b 
 more like the conduct of devils, and what name could b 
 fitter for them than "Wreckers"? 
 
AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD 183 
 
 Meantime he was absorbed in his work, in no mechan- 
 ical spirit, but with an ambition for outward success, 
 when he chanced upon Cicero's treatise Hortensius, and 
 the rhetoric was suddenly forgotten in the message of 
 the book itself (in, 4) : 
 
 Among such comrades, in those years of indiscretion, I was 
 studying books of rhetoric, wherein I desired to excel, seeking 
 through the joys of vanity a flashy and reprobate success, and 
 in the usual course I had entered upon a book by one Cicero, 
 whose tongue all men admire though not his heart. It was the 
 Hortensius, a treatise in which he extols the study of philoso- 
 phy. That book changed my mind, changed my very prayers 
 to Thee, O Lord, and altered my wishes and aspirations. From 
 that moment vain hopes ceased to charm, and with a strange 
 and heartfelt passion I began to long for the immortality of 
 wisdom. Thenceforth began my upward way and my return 
 towards Thee. . . . How did I burn, O my God, how did I 
 burn to soar away from earth to Thee. 
 
 Thus Augustine became a philosopher and began his 
 quest of the truth, a quest which occupied more than 
 sixteen years of his life, and led him through the whole 
 circle of ancient religious thought. The great questions, 
 Who am I? Why am I? filled his mind and would not 
 leave him. Again and again he tried in vain to abandon 
 the search. 
 
 As the first step in this search, he fell among the Man- 
 ichees, and became an auditor of their doctrines. The 
 rest of the third book, all of the fourth, and a portion of 
 the fifth, are devoted to a refutation of Manichaeanism, 
 a refutation which was by no means difficult. In 375, 
 
184 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 at the age of twenty-one, he became a teacher of rhetoric 
 in his own native town of Tagaste, and afterwards a 
 teacher of legal rhetoric at Carthage. Of his life in Car- 
 thage he says (iv, 2) : "In these years I lived with one 
 not joined to me in lawful wedlock, upon whom my vaga- 
 bond foolish passion had settled, yet with but one, and I 
 was faithful to her." These were anxious years for Mon- 
 nica, but her faith did not waver. Once she dreamed 
 that she was standing alone, when some one came and 
 stood beside her, and looking up she saw that it was her 
 son. She interpreted her dream to mean that Augustine 
 would become a Christian. He himself accepted the 
 dream, but said that they would be together in belief, 
 when she herself became a Manichee. Then she an- 
 swered, without a moment's hesitation (in, 1 1) : " No, he 
 did not say where he is, you will be, but where you are, 
 he will be" ; an answer at which Augustine confesses him- 
 self more impressed than at the dream itself. There is, 
 too, such a modern note, but modern only because it is 
 eternal, in the bishop's words (in, 12): "It cannot be 
 that the son of these tears should be lost." 
 
 In 383, after eight years of teaching in Africa, and 
 being now twenty-nine years of age, he received a call to 
 a professorship at Rome. The boisterousness of the stu- 
 dents at Carthage, the "Wreckers," with whom he had 
 never sympathized, made him ready to go. 
 
 ... At Carthage [he says (v, 8)], there is a disgraceful li- 
 cense of disorder along the students. They burst shamelessly 
 
AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD 185 
 
 into the room, and with the demeanor of madmen break up 
 the discipline which the teacher has established for the better 
 progress of his pupils. Many things they will do with the ut- 
 most effrontery which are real outrages, punishable by law, if 
 it were not that custom has sanctioned them, a custom which 
 proves them the more unhappy, because it allows them to do 
 what Thy eternal law never will allow. And they think that 
 they act thus with impunity, though the very blindness with 
 which they act is their punishment, and they suffer infinitely 
 more harm than they inflict. So it came to pass, that, as a 
 teacher, I was compelled to endure in others the evil habits 
 which, as a student, I had refused to adopt; and on this 
 account I was glad to remove to a place where, as I was 
 assured by men who knew, such conduct was not tolerated. 
 
 His mother was opposed to his going to Rome, but by 
 a disgraceful ruse he deceived her and set sail. This is 
 one of the few passages where we feel a curious hardness, 
 which may in its turn explain some of his theological 
 views. "Thus I lied to my mother, and such a mother! " 
 But then the thought comforts him that in going to 
 Rome he had been unwittingly going to be converted 
 (v, 8):- 
 
 And what was she beseeching of Thee, O my God, with all 
 these tears, but that Thou wouldst prevent me from sailing? 
 But Thou, in Thy hidden wisdom, didst grant the substance 
 of her desire, yet refuse the thing she prayed for, in order that 
 thou mightest effect in me what she was ever praying for. 
 
 And then, with a touch reminiscent of the -^Eneid : 
 
 The wind blew and filled our sails, and the shore receded 
 from our gaze. There was she in the morning, with wild sor- 
 row, besieging Thine ears with complaints and sighs which 
 
186 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 Thou didst not regard, for by my desires Thou wast drawing 
 me to the place where I should bury my desires and her carnal 
 yearning was being chastened by the scourge of grief. For she 
 loved to keep me with her, as mothers are wont, yes, far more 
 than most mothers, and she knew not what joy Thou wert 
 preparing for her out of my desertion. 
 
 The whole passage is a curious mixture of the theolo- 
 gian and the loving son, and it is only fair to add that 
 this is one of the few passages in the Confessions where 
 the theologian dominates the man. 
 
 But his Roman experiences were not successful. He 
 describes them to us, with admirable frankness (v, 12) : 
 
 I began diligently to apply myself to the object that had 
 brought me to Rome, the teaching of the art of rhetoric. And 
 first I gathered at my house a little company of scholars, to 
 whom and by whom I was beginning to be known ; when, lo, I 
 discovered that there were vexations at Rome from which I 
 had been free in Africa. It was true, as appeared, that young 
 profligates did not practice "wreckings" here, but "all of a 
 sudden," said my friends, "a number of them will enter into a 
 plot to escape paying their fees, and march off to another 
 teacher," breaking their faith and despising justice for love of 
 money. 
 
 And so [he continues (v, 13)], when the Milanese sent to 
 Rome, requesting the Prefect of the city to provide them with 
 a teacher of Rhetoric, and to furnish him for the journey at 
 the public expenses, I made application, through those very 
 Manichaean fanatics, from whom my going was to detach me, 
 though neither they nor I foresaw this result, to Symmachus, 
 who was the Prefect, desiring him that upon due examination, 
 I might have the post. So I came to Milan, where I found the 
 Bishop Ambrose. 
 
AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD 187 
 
 I have gone thus into detail in recounting the his- 
 tory of Augustine's life up to the turning-point, for two 
 reasons. I have wanted you to know him as the marvel- 
 ously human character that he is, and not as the theolo- 
 gian, pure and simple, and in the second place, it seemed 
 worth while to contrast the quiet tenor of his outward 
 life with the events of his day. We think of these years 
 as anything but peaceful. In the year that Augustine 
 was born, Gallus was being entrapped and put to death 
 at Pola, and Julian imprisoned at Milan. While Augus- 
 tine was learning to talk and read, the whole tragedy of 
 Julian's life was being enacted. When he began to study 
 at Carthage, the Huns were breaking into Russia ; in the 
 year when he moved to Rome, the Emperor Gratian 
 was killed ; and now when he reaches Milan, Ambrose is 
 in the midst of his controversy with Justina. 
 
 Next to his relationship to his mother, his relation to 
 Ambrose is the most beautiful thing in Augustine's life. 
 
 So I came to Milan [he says (v, 13)], where I found the 
 Bishop Ambrose, Thy godly servant, known throughout the 
 world as one of the best of men, whose eloquent discourses 
 were at that time diligently supplying to Thy people the fat- 
 ness of Thy wheat, the gladness of Thy oil, and the sober in- 
 toxication of Thy wine. By Thee was I led blindly to him, 
 that by him I might be led with open arms to Thee. That 
 man of God received me as a father, and welcomed the stranger 
 like a true bishop. And I began to love him, not at first as a 
 teacher of the truth, which I despaired of finding in Thy 
 church, but as a fellow creature who was kind to me. I lis- 
 tened attentively to his sermons, not with the right attitude 
 
188 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 of mind, but criticizing his eloquence, whether it was equal 
 to his reputation, whether its stream was broader or narrower 
 than men reported. Thus I hung eagerly upon his expressions, 
 while as regards his subject, I remained a cool and contemptu- 
 ous looker-on, delighted only with the charm of his style. 
 
 We see his love of Ambrose growing as we turn the 
 pages. 
 
 I could not ask him what I wanted, as I wanted, because 
 the shoals of busy people, to whose infirmities he ministered, 
 came between me and his ear and lips. And in the few mo- 
 ments when he was not thus surrounded, he was refreshing 
 either his body with needful food, or his mind with reading. . . . 
 Often when we attended (for the door was open to all, and no 
 one was announced), we saw him reading silently, but never 
 otherwise, and often sitting for some time without speaking 
 (for who would presume to trouble one so occupied?), we went 
 away again. 
 
 It is well for us to remember this picture of the silent 
 scholar and the timid spectator, when we think of Am- 
 brose only as the proud churchman who humbled Theo- 
 dosius, and of Augustine as the theologian of the sinful- 
 ness of infants. 
 
 It was at this time that he and some of his friends con- 
 templated a peaceful life away from the crowd (vi, 14) : 
 
 With a band of friends I had been discussing and deploring 
 the stormy anxieties of human life, and by this time we had 
 almost decided to live a peaceful life away from the crowd. 
 Peace we thought we might obtain by clubbing together 
 whatever means we possessed, and so making one common 
 stock; in the sincerity of friendship there was to be no mine or 
 
AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD 189 
 
 thine, but all were to have one purse and the whole was to be- 
 long to each and all. We thought we might reckon some ten 
 members of the fraternity, of whom some were very wealthy, 
 especially Romanianus, my fellow townsman, whom at this 
 time pressing anxieties of business had brought up to the 
 Bounty Office. From childhood he had been one of my near- 
 est friends. He was the warmest advocate of our project, and 
 his words carried great weight, because his wealth was much 
 greater than that of the others. We had resolved that each 
 year two of us should be managers, and provide all that was 
 needful, while the others enjoyed complete leisure. But as 
 soon as we began to^ask whether the wives, whom some al- 
 ready had, and I hoped to have, would tolerate this, our excel- 
 lent plan burst to pieces in our hands, and was cast aside like 
 a broken thing. 
 
 In these months the hold of Manichaeanism was 
 broken, but as its coarse dualism became more and more 
 repugnant to him, the doctrines of Neoplatonism made a 
 stronger and stronger appeal; and so he begins a com- 
 parative study of Neoplatonism and Christianity. We 
 have already anticipated that study in our chapter on 
 the origins of Christianity, and we need not go into it 
 again. It was the humility of Christianity and its per- 
 sonal note, which made their strong appeal. Of Neopla- 
 tonism he says (vn, 20) : " Where was that charity which 
 buildeth upon the foundation of humility? " And again : 
 "No one there [in Neoplatonism] hearkens to Him that 
 calleth, 'Come unto me all ye that labour.' " 
 
 These were the days when Ambrose was holding the 
 basilica against Justina, and teaching the people the 
 antiphonal chants (ix, 7) : j 
 
RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 The people of God were keeping ward in the church, ready 
 to die with Thy servant, their Bishop. Among them was my 
 mother, living unto prayer, and bearing a chief part in that 
 anxious watch. Even I myself, though as yet untouched by 
 the fire of Thy spirit, shared in the general alarm and distrac- 
 tion. Then it was that the custom arose of singing hymns and 
 psalms, after the use of the Eastern provinces, to save the peo- 
 ple from being utterly worn out by their long and sorrowful 
 vigils. 
 
 His own struggles grow more and more intense until 
 the summit of his anguish is reached one memorable 
 day, when he went out into the garden attached to his 
 lodgings to meditate and pray. Then occurred one of 
 those strange hearings of voices, which are so character- 
 istic of those days, occurring as the stories do in the lives 
 of Alaric, Ambrose, Augustine, and many others. 
 
 Lo, I heard a voice [vm, 12] from a neighboring house. It 
 seemed as if some boy or girl, I knew not which, was repeating 
 in a kind of chant the words, "Take and read, take and read." 
 Immediately, with changed countenance, I began to think in- 
 tently whether there was any kind of game in which children 
 sang those words; but I could not recollect that I had ever 
 heard them. I stemmed the rush of tears and rose to my feet; 
 for I could not think but that it was a divine command to 
 open the Bible and read the first passage I lighted upon. . . . 
 I ran back to the place where Alypius was sitting ; for when I 
 quitted him I had left the volume of the Apostle lying there. 
 I caught it up and opened it, and read in silence the passage 
 on which my eyes first fell, "Not in rioting and drunkenness, 
 not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying; 
 but put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision 
 for the flesh to fulfill the lusts thereof." No further would I 
 
AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD 191 
 
 read, nor was it necessary. As I reached the end of the sen- 
 tence, the light of peace seemed to be shed upon my heart, 
 and every shadow of doubt melted away. 
 
 Thereupon he decided to resign his professorship of 
 rhetoric; but with a laudable desire to escape publicity, 
 he waited until the vintage holidays before carrying out 
 his resolve. Then follows the retreat to the country- 
 house of his friend Verecundus, at Cassicium, until in 
 the next year (387) at Easter, he was baptized by Am- 
 brose at Milan. Then, accompanied by Monnica, he set 
 out to return to Africa. 
 
 As the day drew near [ix, 10] on which she was to depart 
 from this life, Thou knewest it though we did not, it fell out, 
 as I believe, through the secret workings of Thy providence, 
 that she and I were leaning by ourselves on the ledge of a win- 
 dow, from which we looked down on the garden of our house. 
 Yonder it was in Ostia by Tiber, where, away from the crowd, 
 fatigued by the long journey from Milan, we were recruiting 
 ourselves for the sea voyage. Sweet was the converse we held 
 together, as forgetting those things which were behind, and 
 reaching forth unto those things which were before, we asked 
 ourselves in the presence of Thee, the Truth, what will be the 
 manner of that eternal life of the saints, which eye hath not 
 seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of 
 man. 
 
 The picture is beautiful, but not the least beautiful 
 part is its framework, because it is so typically Italian, 
 with its standing by the window, so thoroughly modern 
 in touch. 
 
 Within five days Monnica was " seized by a fever/' 
 
192 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 and as she lay dying, far from her native land of Africa, 
 yet on the point of setting sail for home, she said : j 
 
 Lay this body where you will, and be not anxious about it. 
 Only I beseech you remember me at the altar of God, where- 
 ever you are. . . . Nothing is far from God. There is no fear 
 that at the end of the world He will not know whence to 
 summon me. 
 
 And so we part with the [Confessions, repeating Augus- 
 tine's own prayer (ix, 13) : 
 
 May she rest in peace, therefore, with her husband, her 
 first and only husband, whom she obeyed, bringing forth fruit 
 unto Thee with patience, that she might gain him also unto 
 Thee. And do Thou inspire, O Lord my God, do Thou inspire 
 Thy servants, my brethren, Thy sons, my masters, whom I 
 serve with heart and voice and pen, that whoso reads these 
 pages may remember before Thy altar Monnica, Thy hand- 
 maid, and Patricius, once her husband, through whose flesh 
 Thou didst bring me into this life, I know not how. Let them 
 remember with godly love those who were my parents in this 
 transitory life, those who were my brethren under Thee, our 
 Father, in the Catholic mother, those who are my fellow citi- 
 zens in the Eternal Jerusalem, for which Thy people of pil- 
 grims yearn from their going-out until their coming home 
 again. So shall her dying request- be granted her in richer 
 abundance by the prayers of many through my Confessions 
 rather than through my prayers. 
 
 For the remaining forty-three years of Augustine's 
 life (for he died at the age of seventy-six), we have no 
 such wealth of material, but the main facts are clear. 
 He returned to Africa immediately, and during the next 
 ten years came the actual writing of the Confessions. In 
 
AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD 193 
 
 391, he was made Presbyter of Hippo, and then Bishop, 
 an office which he held for thirty-four years. These 
 years of his bishopric were years of great theological 
 productivity, in which so many streams of later theolo- 
 gical discussion have their rise, that the most diverse 
 sects find to their chagrin that they meet in him. Fortu- 
 nately we have no cause to go into these things, and we 
 can but quote Gibbon : " My personal acquaintance with 
 the Bishop of Hippo does not extend beyond the Con- 
 fessions and the City of God. 1 ' 
 
 In 430, while the Vandals were besieging Hippo, the 
 aged Bishop, knowing that his life was soon to end, and 
 true to his principle that, when possible, a man should 
 spend the closing days of his life in penitence, retired to 
 his room and for ten days meditated upon the peniten- 
 tial psalms of David. Thus died Augustine. 
 
 If the Confessions have taught us to know the man 
 personally, it is the City of God which brings him into 
 our story, and connects him with the general history of 
 Roman religious consciousness. 
 
 We have seen that Christianity came into the world 
 as a religion of the Jews, we have also seen that Paul 
 extended it to include the Gentiles. In a word, it became 
 coterminal with the Roman Empire. When under Con- 
 stantine it became the religion of the Roman state, this 
 national idea of Christianity was emphasized still more 
 strongly. Therefore, in the minds of the great majority 
 of those who lived in the last half of the fourth century 
 
194 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 and in the first half of the fifth century, Christianity was 
 a national religion. Such instincts of patriotism as were 
 still left to them attempted to exercise themselves under 
 Christian forms. But there were great difficulties in 
 finding suitable forms, and the instinct of patriotism 
 found expression much more readily in the old religion 
 which was now prohibited. 
 
 All that was necessary to produce a revival of the old 
 religion was that the national consciousness should re- 
 ceive a severe shock. Such a shock it did receive in the 
 capture of Rome by the Visigoths. After remaining un- 
 conquered for eight hundred years, Rome had been 
 forced to open her gates to the enemy. For seven hun- 
 dred of these years Jupiter Optimus Maximus had pro- 
 tected her successfully ; and now, within a century of the 
 acceptance of the Christian God, she had fallen. Chris- 
 tianity, therefore, as a national religion was a failure. 
 
 And with the fall of Rome, patriotism itself received 
 a stupendous impulse, so that once again men felt that 
 religion was to be judged by its practical effects on the 
 nation. Then it was that Augustine, questioned by some 
 converts, conceived the idea of writing a treatise on The 
 City of God. As often happens when men attempt very 
 great things, the conception is better than the execution ; 
 and in this case the title is much more inspiring than the 
 work itself. It would, indeed, be an easy matter to prove 
 that it was the Romans themselves, and not their gods, 
 who had been the defenders of Rome during these centu- 
 
AUGUSTINE AND THE CITY OF GOD 195 
 
 ries, and now in the moment of weakness it was not God, 
 but the Romans, who had failed. But this is not suffi- 
 cient, nor is it the original feature of the work. Many 
 others before Augustine, for example, Ambrose, had 
 argued after this fashion. 
 
 But his thought goes infinitely higher. Christianity 
 is not a national religion. Its primary object is not the 
 glory and the power of the city of Rome. But there are 
 two cities forever separate: the city of Rome, the city 
 of the world, and the city of God, "cuius fundamenta 
 sunt in montibus sacris." 
 
 Christianity is not dependent on any earthly city. Its 
 duration is not contemporaneous with Rome. Rome 
 may fall, but the city of God abideth forever. This was 
 the answer of Augustine to those who saw in the capture 
 of Rome by the Visigoths the proof of the failure of 
 Christianity. It was not said in any spirit of hostility 
 to Rome ; nay, the whole line of thought was suggested 
 and brought into being by a great love of that city. It 
 was also, if you will, a strange prophecy of the ultimate 
 separation of church and state, a free church in a free 
 state. But for the present it was one of those grand ideas 
 which are so much in advance of their time that they 
 lie dormant for centuries. By the strange vicissitudes 
 of history the repeated humiliation of Rome was to make 
 her par excellence the sacred city of the Western world. 
 For a millennium and a half the city of Rome was to be- 
 come more and more synonymous in men's minds with 
 
196 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 the City of God. From this fact were to come great 
 gains to civilization and religion. And it would not be at 
 all wonderful if even in our own day Rome should re- 
 cover the universality of her dominion. But this is 
 possible only along the line, which Augustine has pointed 
 out, that it is the spiritual city, the City of God, which 
 abideth forever. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 BENEDICT AND THE OSTROGOTHS : THE PROBLEM OF THE 
 SALVATION OF ANCIENT CULTURE 
 
 CHRISTIANITY had stood the shock of the capture of 
 Rome. It was not only the capture by the Visigoths, 
 while Augustine was still alive ; but after his death had 
 come the Vandals. The new religion might therefore 
 feel itself secure, at least in name. Its foes from hence- 
 forth were to be those of its own household. But with 
 ancient culture the problem was not so simple. A cen- 
 tury before, Julian, with a farsightedness for which he 
 has not always been given credit, had divined the prob- 
 lem of the difficulty of conserving ancient culture. From 
 his standpoint culture and religion were inseparable; 
 hence he tried, on the one hand, to restore ancient re- 
 ligion, and, on the other hand, to preserve ancient cul- 
 ture by prohibiting the teaching of pagan literature by 
 Christians. His solution was a failure, but he deserves 
 the credit of having realized the problem. During the 
 century since Julian's death, we find no further attempt 
 made to solve the difficulty. Yet, like many difficult 
 problems, it was growing more difficult with every year 
 of delay. With the beginning of the barbarian invasions 
 a new kind of destructive agency commenced its work. 
 Hitherto this ancient culture had suffered merely by 
 
198 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 neglect, by a negative force, but now it is menaced by 
 the positive force of hostile destruction. 
 
 Fortunately, at the close of the fifth century and at 
 the beginning of the sixth century, the period with which 
 we are to deal in this chapter, two earnest attempts are 
 made to save this precious heritage. One of these at- 
 tempts, which seemed to promise success, proved to be a 
 failure; the other, whose issue seemed doubtful, was 
 centuries later crowned with success. The two leaders 
 of these movements probably never met ; and very prob- 
 ably one of them never heard the name of the other. 
 They are Theodoric and Benedict. 
 
 Theodoric's attempt is involved in the establishment 
 of an Ostrogothic kingdom in Italy, which was to re- 
 spect and preserve the things of Rome; Benedict's at- 
 tempt was the regulation of the already existing tenden- 
 cies to monasticism, so that the monasteries themselves 
 might be the preservers of ancient culture. 
 
 Had Theodoric's attempt succeeded, we should have 
 had a virtually unbroken Roman tradition ; but to offset 
 that, we should have had no Holy Roman Empire, and 
 therefore no centralizing power in the world of Europe. 
 Instead, thanks to Benedict's success, while the tradi- 
 tion was broken in the world at large, it was preserved 
 in the monasteries, and received a universal fruition at 
 the time of the Renaissance. 
 
 Cognizant of much that we have lost, and deeply re- 
 gretting that loss, we still feel that Fate has chosen for 
 
BENEDICT AND THE OSTROGOTHS 199 
 
 us the better part. Our task in this chapter is the consid- 
 eration of these two attempts. 
 
 The possibility of a great Gothic empire in Russia 
 was destroyed by the coming of the Huns. We have 
 seen how the advent of these strange Orientals caused 
 the Gothic empire to break into two parts, a west- 
 ern section, the Visigoths, with whose history we have 
 already dealt, and an eastern section, the Ostrogoths, 
 who form the subject of the first part of our present 
 chapter. 
 
 It was about the year 370 that these Ostrogoths were 
 brought into subjection by the Huns, whom they contin- 
 ued to serve for more than eighty years. We have seen 
 the proof of their devotion or at least of the thoroughness 
 of their subjection, in their participation in the Battle of 
 the Mauriac Plain, where they fought on the side of the 
 Huns against their brethren, the Visigoths. Jordanes, 
 their historian, apologizes for the action of the Ostro- 
 goths on this occasion, excusing it on the ground of their 
 absolute subjection. In the main, however, the yoke 
 of the Huns was relatively light. Nevertheless, after 
 Attila's death, when the Hunnish power had been 
 broken, they succeeded in obtaining their independence 
 by the Battle of Nedao. On the day when the news of 
 this great national victory reached the palace of their 
 king, the queen brought forth a man-child, who was 
 called Theodoric, "Thiuda-Reiks," the "people-ruler." 
 This baby was destined to form a great Gothic king- 
 
200 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 dom, and almost to succeed in the task of preventing 
 the existence of the "Middle Ages." 
 
 When Theodoric was seven years old (461), he was 
 sent as a hostage to Constantinople, where he found favor 
 in the sight of the Emperor Leo, being, as Jordanes says, 
 "puerolus elegans." For ten years he lived at Constan- 
 tinople, participating in the luxuries of the life of a king's 
 son, who was a hostage for his people. But these ten 
 years were not able to sap the strength of his Northern 
 energy, for at the expiration of the time, being now a 
 youth of seventeen, he returned home, and finding his 
 father absent, collected a band of ten thousand young 
 men, the old Teutonic comitatus of which Tacitus speaks, 
 and conducted an expedition against the Sarmatians. 
 Having captured Belgrade, he returned home rejoicing. 
 He had won his spurs and had now a right to sit among 
 the leaders. 
 
 There now follows a difficult period in his life, a long 
 stretch of seventeen years, as long as the span of life 
 which he had already covered, for he was but seventeen. 
 It was a period of vacillation and indecision. Constanti- 
 nople and his own people both called him. Should he be 
 willing to leave his people, an honorable and comfortable 
 career awaited him at Constantinople, but to do this 
 would be in a sense to deny his own royalty. If he abode 
 with his people, he would be indeed their king, but life 
 would be one long struggle against starvation, and the 
 oppression by the Empire. Finally his decision is made. 
 
BENEDICT AND THE OSTROGOTHS 201 
 
 Be the cost never so great, he will stand by his people. 
 Then the suggestion arises that his people might be led 
 into a new land, even the land of Italy. In the vicissi- 
 tudes of the latter half of the fifth century this land of 
 Italy had fallen away from the Empire, and had come 
 into the power of a foreign tyrant, and a band of mer- 
 cenaries. This tyrant was Flavius Odovacar, who with 
 the Herulians had been undisputed master of Italy since 
 476, when he had deposed Romulus Augustulus. There 
 was need that Italy should be recaptured for the Empire. 
 
 It is not exactly clear who originated this idea of in- 
 vading Italy for the purpose of recapturing it for the 
 Empire, but it seems most likely that it came from Theo- 
 doric himself. There is also some uncertainty as to the 
 exact nature of the contract into which Theodoric en- 
 tered with the Emperor Zeno. But the spirit of the con- 
 tract seems to have been that Theodoric was to rule in 
 Italy in case he captured it, but he was to rule in the 
 name of the Emperor. 
 
 Thus, in the late autumn of 488, Theodoric started. 
 We must not conceive of his forces as that of an army in 
 marching trim. They resembled rather a nation, for 
 every man brought his family with him. The women 
 and the children lived in wagons, and the flocks and the 
 herds were driven with them. It has been estimated that 
 there were perhaps two hundred thousand souls in all, 
 but four fifths of these were noncombatants, so that the 
 fighting force would not have exceeded forty thousand. 
 
202 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 For the first three hundred miles their journey was easy. 
 Then they came into the territory of the Gepidae, 
 through whom they had to fight their way, a tedious 
 process, consuming the winter, the spring, and part of 
 the summer of 488-89. The Gepidae were defeated in 
 numerous conflicts, especially in the Battle of Ulca, and 
 in August, 489, they began the descent into Italy, across 
 the Julian Alps, and over the " Birnbaum" Pass. Within 
 two months Theodoric had inflicted two severe defeats 
 on the tyrant Odovacar, one at Isonzo on August 28, 
 and one at Verona on September 30. Odovacar fled for 
 refuge to Ravenna, while Theodoric advanced on Milan. 
 Ennodius, in his Panegyric on Theodoric, recounts an 
 incident which throws light on the personality of Theo- 
 doric at this time. He tells us that before the Battle of 
 Verona, Theodoric addressed his mother and his sister as 
 follows : 
 
 Thou knowest, O mother, that thy fame is spread through- 
 out all the world because of the honor of thine offspring, be- 
 cause on the day of my birth, thou didst bring forth a man- 
 child. And now the time has come when the field of battle shall 
 declare what manner of son thou hast. There is work to be 
 done with the sword, that the glory of my ancestors may lose 
 nothing through me. For how does the glory of our fathers 
 profit us, unless we are aided by our own? There stands before 
 my eyes my father, of whom the fortune of battle never made 
 sport, who made Fortune favorable to him by the might which 
 demanded success. That was, indeed, a leader under whom tc 
 fight! who had no fear of wavering omens, but compellec 
 them to be favorable. Bring forth the embroidered garments 
 
BENEDICT AND THE OSTROGOTHS 203 
 
 the ornaments of the loom. Let me be more finely clad in the 
 line of battle than ever I was on a holiday. Let him who does 
 not know me by my charge, recognize me by my splendor. 
 And let the glory of my garments attract the eyes of the cov- 
 etous, and if I am wounded, let me present a fairer sight. Let 
 him have a reward of his labors, him to whom thou, O For- 
 tune, shall give my throat. And let those who did not have 
 the opportunity of beholding me fighting, gaze wondering 
 upon my splendor as I lie there. 
 
 As Ennodius addressed these words directly to Theo- 
 doric himself, it is scarcely likely that they are the in- 
 vention of Ennodius. Thus they present a marvelous 
 picture of the boastful Northerner, the impetuous Goth ; 
 and at the same time they offer a presage of those medi- 
 aeval days of tournees and embroidered garments, which 
 were so soon to come. 
 
 After this brilliant opening campaign, the progress of 
 Theodoric's conquest became slower. It was almost a 
 year before the next considerable victory, the Battle of 
 the Adda, August n, 490. The war could, however, be 
 ended only by the capture of Ravenna, and the taking 
 prisoner of Odovacar. It was a tedious blockade, and 
 the city did not surrender until February 25, 493, in the 
 fourth year of the siege. In Theodoric's case, as in that 
 of Augustus, the beginning and the end of his career 
 were not free from stain, while the main portion of his 
 reign was unimpeachable; and the murder of Cicero was 
 as ignoble, if not as brutal, an act as the slaying of 
 Odovacar. The revolting feature of it in Theodoric's 
 
204 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 case is the fact that Theodoric's own hand committed 
 the murder, and that Odovacar was his guest at the time. 
 
 In spite of this brutal prolusion and an almost equally 
 bloody epilogue, Theodoric's reign was almost perfect. 
 Conscious that he was ruling over two peoples, Goth 
 and Romans, he established a federation, but avoided 
 the dangers and difficulties of attempts at fusion. Doubt- 
 less he looked forward to the time when such a fusion 
 would be possible, but he realized its impracticability 
 for the present. His great object was the preservation 
 of that which he called CIVILITAS, which was nothing 
 more or less than ancient culture. He strove constantly 
 to be impartial, and, mindful perhaps of the murdered 
 Odovacar, he cultivated self-restraint. This mildness 
 was particularly noticeable in religious matters, where 
 we should have expected him to be otherwise ; for he was 
 an Arian, and not a Catholic, and might well have shared 
 in the Arian's love of persecution. The outward events 
 of his reign are few, just in proportion to the peaceful 
 character of it. His capital he made at Ravenna, which 
 bears even to-day the marks of his residence, especially 
 in its marvelous mosaics; but he loved Pavia and Verona 
 also, though there no monuments of him remain. 
 
 In the year 500, he visited Rome. He came as a Chris- 
 tian, and not as an Arian, for he went first to Saint 
 Peter's and prayed at the Apostle's grave, "with great 
 piety, and as if he were a Catholic, "a chronicler remarks. 
 Then he went over the Ponte S. Angelo, and so into the 
 
BENEDICT AND THE OSTROGOTHS 205 
 
 city. This became the stereotyped route for emperors 
 entering Rome; it was followed three hundred years 
 later by Charlemagne. 
 
 In Rome, Theodoric lodged on the Palatine. The Sen- 
 ate met, and he addressed them, though his pronuncia- 
 tion was doubtless poor. In the Latin of the address, 
 however, he may well have been assisted by his able 
 secretary, Cassiodorus, of whom we shall have some- 
 thing to say later. It is a curious combination, Cassio- 
 dorus, the Last of the Senators, and Theodoric, the First 
 of the Gothic kings. 
 
 During this Roman visit he arranged that two hun- 
 dred pounds weight of gold (somewhat over two hun- 
 dred thousand francs) should be spent every year for the 
 restoration of the Palatine. He was also interested in 
 the draining of the Pontine Marshes, and in the restora- 
 tion of the Appian Way, and a memorial, even if a mis- 
 taken one, of his residence in the Campagna, is the name 
 Palazzo di Teodorico, which is given to the ruins on the 
 cliff above Terracina. Thus he verified what the brick 
 stamps say of him, "Theodoric born for the good of 
 Rome." 
 
 His feelings toward Rome are given us in an edict 
 (Cass. Var. vn, 15), in words which might well be taken 
 to heart by modern Rome: "The glorious buildings of 
 Rome ought to have an expert guardian, that this won- 
 derful forest of walls may be preserved with proper dili- 
 gence, and the modern appearance of the work may be 
 
206 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 conserved with suitable dispositions." . . . Continu- 
 ing, he speaks of the seven wonders of the world, and 
 adds: "But who will think longer of them, when he has 
 beheld so many amazing things in one single city. We 
 give credit to these seven wonders because they belong 
 to an older age, and whatever new thing was done in 
 primitive times has always been rightly considered as 
 excellent. But now it can only be called the truth, if 
 Rome be said to be a miracle." 
 
 Still more remarkable is a passage in which he speaks 
 of the aqueducts, those same aqueducts, which his suc- 
 cessor, another Gothic king, but of a different stamp, 
 was so ruthlessly to cut in the struggle for the capture 
 of Rome. The passage in question was of course written 
 by Cassiodorus, but in the name of the Emperor and 
 with his approval (Cass. Var. vn, 6) : 
 
 One of the extraordinary things about the City of Rome is the 
 remarkable healthfulness of the water, for these streams are 
 brought here, as it were, by the building of mountains. From 
 the solidity of the rock you might well think they were natural 
 channels, because they are able to restrain so strongly for so 
 many centuries such a force of flowing waters. Mountains 
 themselves often cave in and disappear, and the channels of 
 torrents are changed, but this work of the men of old time is 
 not destroyed, provided it be protected with proper diligence. 
 Consider what an ornament to Rome this mass of water pro- 
 vides ! For in what would the beauties of the baths consist if 
 they did not have these sweet waters? There runs the Aqua 
 Virgo, so delightful and pure, and doubtless it received its 
 name for this very reason, because it is denied by no impuri- 
 ties. . . . The Aqua Claudia by a vast construction rises to 
 
BENEDICT AND THE OSTROGOTHS 207 
 
 the top of the Aventine, and when it comes tumbling down 
 from the top, it seems to water alike the tip of the summit and 
 the depths of the valley. . . . The Aqua Claudia in Rome, 
 crossing the dry summits of so many mountains, gives forth 
 from its bosom streams of pure water for washing-pools and 
 for houses, and flows so equally that it never fails when it is 
 wanted. 
 
 The man who had a love of these things saw the vision 
 of a Gothic kingdom in Italy, which should bring to 
 Rome the new blood which she needed, and should take 
 and respect those treasures of the past with which Italy 
 was still so well supplied. But not only did his ideal 
 fail of fulfillment for lack of a capable successor ; but by 
 the closing acts of his life doubt springs up within us as 
 to whether even the best Gothic spirit was capable of 
 holding continuously to this lofty ideal. In almost the 
 last year of Theodoric's reign his religious tolerance 
 gave way under the strain of seeing Catholics in the 
 East persecuting the Arians; and on the charge of con- 
 spiracy, Symmachus and Boethius were put to death after 
 a most unjust trial. It was an unfortunate method of 
 reverencing CIVILITAS, which led Theodoric to put to 
 death two of the finest representatives of ancient Rome. 
 They gave their lives for a philosophical concept, the 
 liberty of Rome, as incorporated in the Senate of Rome. 
 The next year (August 30, 526), Theodoric himself died 
 and was buried in his own mausoleum at Ravenna. 
 
 His ten-year-old grandson, Amalasuntha's boy, Athal- 
 aric, ascended the throne, and for lack of a worthy sue- 
 
208 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 cessor Theodoric's dream of a great Gothic kingdom in 
 Italy was straightway cheated of its fulfillment. For 
 only a quarter of a century more the Gothic kingdom 
 was to struggle along after a certain fashion, and then 
 the Goths themselves were to leave Italy, and the place 
 thereof was to know them no more. 
 
 And so we pass to the second half of our story of the 
 Goths, the account of how Justinian restored Italy to 
 the Eastern Empire. In the year 527, Justinian became 
 Emperor at Constantinople. It is in the main his gen- 
 erals, Belisarius and Narses, who command our respect, 
 and not the Emperor himself, but we cannot forbear a 
 word about his character. He is the extreme type of a 
 great legislator and a poor executive officer, one of 
 those men, who know mankind in theory, but not in 
 practice, who have the skill to legislate for a nation, but 
 are unable to set their own house in order, who are care- 
 ful to bridle luxury and excess, but marry women of 
 low and extravagant tastes. Justinian, as the successor 
 of Gaius, and the ancestor of Blackstone, merits our 
 profound admiration; Justinian, as the consort of the 
 menagerie-keeper's daughter, Theodora, is a pitiful spec- 
 tacle. 
 
 If, however, as is sometimes asserted, greatness con- 
 sists in the ability to find efficient and faithful subordin- 
 ates, Justinian deserves the title of great, because of his 
 two generals, Belisarius and Narses. Our story concerns 
 itself first with Belisarius. 
 
BENEDICT AND THE OSTROGOTHS 209 
 
 In the year 526, when Belisarius was twenty-one 
 years old, he was given the command of Justinian's Per- 
 sian expedition, and within seven years he obtained the 
 Endless Peace" between the Empire and Persia. But 
 Justinian's great ambition was to destroy the Vandal 
 Kingdom, and restore North Africa to the Empire. 
 Thither, then, Belisarius was sent, and within the year 
 his work was completed. It was a fateful work, and preg- 
 nant with far-reaching consequence, for the destruction 
 of the Vandal Kingdom removed from North Africa the 
 one great obstacle in the way of the Moorish invasion 
 which was to follow a century later, and if Belisarius had 
 never lived, there might never have been the Battle of 
 Tours. 
 
 Meantime affairs in Italy had been going badly. The 
 young king, Athalaric, was being brought up in a most 
 unfortunate manner by his mother, Amalasuntha. His 
 education, or rather the ill-advisedness of it, caused his 
 death in 534, after a nominal reign of but eight years. 
 The queen mother, left alone, promptly associated with 
 herself a Gothic noble, by name Theodahad. The rela- 
 tion was merely official, not personal, for her partner 
 was already married. Within a few months, however, 
 Theodahad had accomplished the death of Amalasuntha 
 at the lonely lake of Bolsena, and was reigning alone. > 
 
 Theodahad's bad behavior was Justinian's opportunity 
 to effect the conquest of Italy, and thither the tireless 
 Belisarius was sent. The actual warfare is preceded by 
 
210 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 a strange exhibition of diplomacy, when Theodahad 
 offers to sell his crown to Justinian, and the following 
 correspondence passes. I quote the two letters in Hodg- 
 kin's spirited translation (Italy and Her Invaders, vol. 
 IV, p. 15 ff.). 
 Theodahad to Justinian : 
 
 I am not, O Emperor, a newcomer into the halls of kings. It 
 was my fortune to be born a king's nephew and to be reared 
 in a manner worthy of my race : but I am not altogether well 
 versed in war and its confusions. From the first I have been 
 passionately fond of literature, and have spent my time in the 
 study thereof, and thus it has been till now my lot to be al- 
 ways far from the clash of arms. It seems, therefore, unwise 
 of me to continue to lead a life full of danger for the sake of 
 the royal dignity, when neither danger nor dignity is a thing 
 that I enjoy. Not danger, since that new and strange sensa- 
 tion perturbs my thoughts; not the royal dignity, since pos- 
 session of it has, according to the general law, brought satiety. 
 Therefore, if some landed property could be secured to me, 
 bringing in a yearly income of not less than twelve hundred 
 weight of gold [about a million and a quarter francs] , I should 
 consider that more valuable to me than my kingship; and I 
 am willing on these terms to hand over to thee the sovereignty 
 of the Goths and Italians. I think that I shall thus be happier 
 as a peaceful tiller of the soil than as a king immersed in 
 kingly cares, no sooner out of one danger than into another. 
 Send me, then, as speedily as possible a commissioner to whom 
 I may hand over Italy and all that pertains to my kingship. 
 
 The following is Justinian's reply : 
 
 I heard long ago by common fame that you were a man of 
 high intelligence, and now I find by experience that this is 
 true. You show your wisdom in declining to await the ar- 
 bitrament of war, which has plunged some men, who staked 
 
BENEDICT AND THE OSTROGOTHS 211 
 
 their all upon it, into terrible disasters. You will never have 
 occasion to repent having turned us from an enemy into a 
 friend. You shall receive all the property that you ask for, 
 and, in addition, your name shall be inscribed in the highest 
 rank of Roman nobility. I now send Athanasius and Peter to 
 exchange the needful ratifications, and in a short time Belisa- 
 rius will come to complete the transaction thus settled between 
 us. 
 
 Meantime, Belisarius was pressing on. He passed 
 rapidly from Carthage to Syracuse, thence to Palermo 
 and Messina, and so to the mainland at Reggio. Thence 
 he advanced on Naples and began the siege. In spite of 
 brave resistance, the city was finally captured by the 
 expedient of using the aqueducts as means of approach. 
 Naples having been captured, Belisarius marched on 
 Rome. 
 
 The fall of Naples convinced the Goths of the useless- 
 ness of their king, Theodahad, who, in spite of the diplo- 
 matic negotiations with Justinian, had not as yet re- 
 signed. Accordingly they held a great council on the 
 Pontine Marshes, on a plain not far from Terracina, de- 
 posed Theodahad, and chose Witigis as their king. The 
 first act of Witigis was to kill Theodahad; the second 
 was to abandon Rome, leaving a mere perfunctory gar- 
 rison, and to retreat to Ravenna. 
 
 When Belisarius, therefore, arrived from Naples, com- 
 ing along the Via Latina, he marched in by the Porta 
 Asinaria, while the Gothic garrison abandoned the city 
 by the Porta Flaminia. This error on the part of Witigis 
 
212 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 is an interesting example of the practical value of ideals. 
 Had Witigis been more of an idealist, had he appreciated 
 more truly the sentimental value of Rome, he would 
 not have made the tactical error of abandoning the city. 
 It was true then, as it has been true ever since, that he 
 who holds Rome holds Italy. He soon realized his mis- 
 take, but it was too late, and thus the long siege of Rome 
 began. It was the month of December, 536, when the 
 troops of Belisarius marched into Rome. It was not, 
 however, until the following March that the siege began. 
 During these intervening three months, Belisarius made 
 his preparations. Outside of the city he captured Narni, 
 Spoleto, and Perugia. In the city itself he repaired the 
 old walls of Aurelian, which had been last restored by 
 Honorius a century and a quarter before. 
 
 Meantime the Gothic king, Witigis, had raised at Ra- 
 venna an army which is said to have contained one hun- 
 dred and fifty thousand men, and with this force he now 
 marched southwards, and surrounded the city by seven 
 Gothic camps. The siege, the most memorable that 
 Rome ever suffered, lasted three hundred and seventy- 
 four days. It is full of picturesque incidents, into which 
 we have no time to enter, among them the attack on 
 Hadrian's Mausoleum, which was defended at the cost 
 of hurling the statues down on the Goths. But the 
 most memorable event was the cutting of the aque- 
 ducts by the Goths. The consequences of this action 
 were twofold. The immediate result was that, while the 
 
BENEDICT AND THE OSTROGOTHS 213 
 
 Goths could cut the aqueducts, they could not stay 
 their flow, and the continual outpouring of them changed 
 the Campagna near Rome into a morass, with the con- 
 sequent increase of malaria, so that the Goths were de- 
 cimated and compelled to abandon the siege. Thus the 
 aqueducts gave their life for the salvation of Rome. 
 There was, however, another and much more diastrous 
 result, in that, by the destruction of these aqueducts, 
 the custom of bathing was discontinued. To be sure, the 
 baths were disapproved of by the church, because of 
 their immorality, but had the aqueducts and the baths 
 continued, they would have been purified in time by the 
 church and doubtless finally accepted. Thus the sanc- 
 tion of Christian Rome would have been placed on the 
 habit of bathing, and obedience to Rome and imitation 
 of her would have made the custom universal in the 
 Western world. It is safe to say that, had the Goths not 
 cut the aqueducts, bathing would have been as custom- 
 ary in Europe as it is in Japan. There would have been 
 no need of the renaissance of bathing which the nineteenth 
 century brought. 
 
 Within two years 'Italy was conquered by the Impe- 
 rial troops, and Witigis was carried to "Constantinople 
 where he died in 540. However, the Gothic cause in 
 Italy gradually regained its strength, and in 541 it ob- 
 tained a splendid leader in the person of the newly ap- 
 pointed king Totila. Four years later, in the autumn of 
 545, Totila began the second Gothic siege of Rome. On 
 
214 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 December 17, 546, the Porta Asinaria was treacherously 
 opened to the Goths, and Rome was again captured and 
 sacked. The Roman garrison escaped by the Porta 
 Flaminia, and there were left only a few hundred in- 
 habitants. Then Totila formed the infamous plan of 
 destroying Rome, so entirely had the CIVILITAS of 
 Theodoric been forgotten. But Belisarius remonstrated 
 with him in a very wonderful letter, which Procopius 
 (B. G. in, 22) has preserved to us. Once again I use 
 Hodgkin's translation, for, though it is slightly free, es- 
 pecially toward the end, it gives a splendid impression of 
 the spirit of the letter: 
 
 Fair cities are the glory of the great men who have been 
 their founders, and surely no wise man would wish to be re- 
 membered as the destroyer of any of them. But of all cities 
 under the sun, Rome is confessed to be the greatest and most 
 glorious. No one man, no single century, reared her greatness. 
 A long line of kings and emperors, the united efforts of some of 
 the noblest of men, a vast interval of time, a lavish expendi- 
 ture of wealth, the most costly materials, and the most skillful 
 craftsmen of the world have all united to make Rome. Slowly 
 and gradually has each succeeding age there reared its monu- 
 ments. Any act, therefore, of wanton outrage against this 
 city will be resented as an injustice by the men of all ages, by 
 those who have gone before us, because it effaces the memorials 
 of their greatness, by those who shall come after, since the 
 most wonderful sight in the world will no longer be theirs to 
 look upon. Remember, too, that this war must end either in 
 the Emperor's victory or your own. If you should prove to be 
 the conqueror, how great will be your delight in having pre- 
 served the most precious jewel in your crown. If yours should 
 turn out to be the losing side, great will be the thanks due frorr 
 
BENEDICT AND THE OSTROGOTHS 215 
 
 the conquerors for the preservation of Rome, while its destruc- 
 tion would make every plea for mercy and humanity on your 
 part inadmissible. And, last of all, comes the question, what 
 shall be your eternal record in history, whether you will be 
 remembered as the preserver or the destroyer of the greatest 
 city of the world? 
 
 The city was spared, but Totila abandoned it imme- 
 diately with his army, and for forty days Rome was 
 uninhabited. These forty days are the only break in a 
 sequence of three thousand years of human habitation 
 on this spot. 
 
 At the end of forty days, or thereabouts, Belisarius 
 by a clever cavalry movement recaptured the city, and 
 the Imperial troops remained in possession until 549, 
 when the city fell once again into the hands of Totila. On 
 this occasion Totila showed himself such an entire con- 
 vert to the ideal of Belisarius that now it was not a 
 question of destroying but rather of rebuilding Rome; 
 and once more races were held in the Circus Maximus. 
 But this restoration of Gothic CIVILITAS was shortlived. 
 Justinian's second general, the eunuch, Narses, was sent 
 to Italy, and with his coming, and the "Battle of the 
 Apennines" (552), Totila was defeated and killed. In 
 the next year the Goths moved out of Italy and were 
 lost to history. 
 
 It was less than seventy years since Theodoric had 
 led his nation across the Alps. During these years the 
 great Gothic kingdom in Italy had been established ; and 
 it was only twenty-seven years since its founder had 
 
2i6 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 died. But twenty-seven years, at the hands of Belisa- 
 rius and Narses, sufficed to destroy this kingdom, and 
 with its destruction to render hopeless the ideal of pre- 
 serving Roman culture. Theodoric's solution had failed ; 
 and we must now turn to Benedict. 
 
 To understand, however, what Benedict did, we must 
 first consider for a moment the history of Christianity 
 since Constantine. In the last two centuries of the Ro- 
 man Republic we saw the rise of individualism, in con- 
 nection with the pathological growth of extreme self- 
 consciousness, which arose under conditions of self-in- 
 dulgence. We saw this instinct manifesting itself along 
 religious lines in a morbid concern for personal salva- 
 tion. We saw the attempted solutions of this religious 
 need, first in philosophy, and then in the cults of the 
 Orient. Among these latter cults it was Christianity 
 which offered the most interesting solution, for while it 
 recognized the individualistic tendency, it also strove to 
 correct it by its accentuation of man's responsibilities to 
 those about him. One of its fundamental doctrines was 
 the bearing of one another's burdens ; and those who had 
 ears to hear might realize the hard saying that he that 
 loseth his soul shall find it, and he that findeth his soul 
 shall lose it. But these lofty ideals were not carried out 
 in practice, and a great many adherents of the new relig- 
 ion were primarily concerned with the cultivation and 
 salvation of their individual souls. There was also the 
 Oriental element in Christianity, common to it and all 
 
BENEDICT AND THE OSTROGOTHS 217 
 
 the other religions of the Orient, which caused it to de- 
 spise this present world, and to focus its attention on 
 the life to come. Its lessons of helpfulness and philan- 
 thropy were entirely forgotten in the presence of the 
 pressing need of securing one's own salvation. But this 
 contempt of the present life was not confined to a con- 
 tempt of the world itself ; it included also the individuals 
 in the world. The Christians felt themselves to be elect 
 above their fellows and took supreme satisfaction in this 
 realization. But as the Christian community grew in 
 numbers, so their feeling of superiority was more insuf- 
 ficiently satisfied. Beyond all this, it was doubtless 
 true that, when the masses accepted Christianity, its 
 ideals inevitably suffered, and its demands were lowered. 
 In 340, a church council declared that the Gospel in- 
 junctions about poverty were not intended for the or- 
 dinary Christian. Thus, unconsciously, a double stand- 
 ard was established, that of the ordinary and of the 
 extraordinary Christian; and those men, of whom there 
 are always a certain number in every community, who 
 desired a more perfect way, could find this more perfect 
 way only by leaving the world, and retreating into soli- 
 tude, where their own higher ideals would be uninter- 
 rupted. In this way only could they obtain that feeling 
 of especial electness above their fellows. And thus out 
 of the Ascetic grew the Anchorite, the Hermit. 
 
 There was, however, another and a nobler reason 
 which attracted men to the solitary life. During these 
 

 2i8 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 centuries men of individuality and ability had few 
 chances to lead an active life, a life with a purpose. The 
 cultivation of religion, however, offered such activity. 
 The life of voluntary renunciation gave more fully even 
 of this present life, than could the acceptance of the 
 status of placid nonentity. 
 
 Thus in the great economy of nature, with the break- 
 down of the outer world, there went the building-up of 
 the inner world, "the kingdom of Heaven is within 
 you." On this principle men lost the world in order that 
 they might find it ; and as the inner life grew in reality, 
 the outer life became more and more unreal. We can 
 trace the growth of this movement as early as the end 
 of the second century, when Tertullian declaims against 
 it, asserting that Christians are not SILVICOL^E or 
 EXULES VIT^E. But nevertheless the Solitaries continued 
 to increase. It was Upper Egypt, especially the region 
 near Thebes, which was favored by these Solitaries. 
 There the Hermit Paul (228-341) went into the desert 
 at twenty- three, and lived in solitude for ninety years; 
 and there Antony (251-356) passed the best part of a 
 century. But women as well as men sought the better 
 way; for example, the penitents, Thais and Pelagia. 
 
 But human nature enjoys receiving credit for its vir- 
 tue, and a man in the desert would be of necessity de 
 prived of an audience. Thus altitude was substitutec 
 for latitude and the Stylitae arose, men who lived on the 
 tops of pillars, with their prototype, Simon Stylites o 
 
BENEDICT AND THE OSTROGOTHS 219 
 
 Antioch. Even more grotesque and terrible were those 
 who walled themselves up from the waist down, like a 
 certain enthusiast near Tours. 
 
 But man is by nature a sociable animal, and the her- 
 mit is the exception. Accordingly, when the craze for 
 Anchoritism had subsided, those who still desired to 
 leave this evil world evolved the idea of leaving it in com- 
 panies. They would thus be able to combine solitude and 
 companionship. Thus began monastic life. It is signi- 
 ficant that it, too, began in Egypt, where Pachomius, 
 about the middle of the fourth century, ruled over four- 
 teen hundred brethren, divided into nine communities. 
 The importance of Pachomius is only just beginning to 
 be realized. Born about 285, he began life as a monk of 
 Serapis, and his biographer tells us that he employed his 
 time in raising vegetables and palms for his own use and 
 for the benefit of his neighbors. Being converted to 
 Christianity, he joined a colony of hermits, a sort of in- 
 termediate stage between the solitary hermit and the 
 fully organized monastery. It seems to have been at this 
 time that he recognized the advantages of companion- 
 ship, and conceived the idea of an organized monastic 
 life. What makes his case especially interesting is his 
 early connection with Serapis; for while the Christian 
 monasticism of Egypt is not derived from Serapis, it is 
 possible that Serapis may have influenced it in some 
 minor points, as, for example, in the tonsure. Slightly 
 later, the Hungarian Martin founded a monastery, first 
 
220 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 at Milan, and later at Tours. Thus in the Western Em- 
 pire, and somewhat similarly in the Eastern Empire, 
 Monastic communities were springing up. It is import- 
 ant to realize that these monks were laymen, and proud 
 of their position. In fact, at this time the monks were in 
 dread of being ordained. But there were two dangers to 
 which these monasteries were exposed : there was, on the 
 one hand, the danger that they might grow lawless and 
 uncontrolled, and their inmates therefore idlers and 
 vagabonds; and there was also the danger that they 
 might fall entirely under the domination of the priests. 
 
 Because it satisfied a real human need, the institution 
 of monasticism was destined to grow greater with suc- 
 ceeding centuries, but if it were to be of any profit to the 
 world at large, it must be controlled and put to work. 
 This was the task of Benedict, and if one wishes to esti- 
 mate the value of his accomplishment, one has but to 
 look at the Eastern Empire, where there was a Basil but 
 no Benedict, i.e., no principle of stability and useful 
 occupation. 
 
 Benedict was born about 480, at Norcia, the ancient 
 Nursia, the frigida Nursia of Virgil's JEneid, a small 
 town about twenty miles east of Spoleto. In sharp con- 
 trast to Augustine, we know nothing of his mother. His 
 father, Euprobus, was a Roman of noble birth. For the 
 facts of Benedict's life we are largely dependent on the 
 Vita, written by his disciple, Pope Gregory the Great; 
 for the spirit and personality of the man we may go to 
 
BENEDICT AND THE OSTROGOTHS 221 
 
 Benedict's Rule. The former source of information, 
 Gregory's Vita, is disappointing. It deals largely with 
 the miracles of Benedict, a theme in which Gregory was 
 especially interested, and gives relatively little insight 
 into his character; the latter of our sources, the Rule, is 
 admirable so far as it goes; and a careful study of it 
 brings us much nearer to a knowledge of the man than 
 would at first sight seem possible. 
 
 When at a tender age and while still under the tutelage 
 of a pedagogue, Benedict came to Rome, and to his 
 father's house, which is supposed to have been in Traste- 
 vere on the site of the modern Church of S. Benedetto, 
 in Piscinula. But if we are correctly informed, his stay 
 in Rome was short, and his sensitive youth was so terrified 
 by the wickedness of the city that he straightway went 
 into the desert. For him this desert was not Egypt, but 
 the upper valley of the Anio. It is significant of the devas- 
 tation wrought by the wars and rumors of war, that this 
 region, where once had stood Horace's Sabine farm, with 
 its atmosphere redolent of peace, and Nero's villa, with 
 its gardens and chain of artificial lakes, should be at this 
 time a wilderness. 
 
 The story of Benedict's wandering is a series of beau- 
 tiful pictures, which may easily be called legends, but 
 may equally well, for the major part at least, represent 
 historical facts. There is no profit in approaching these 
 stories in a rationalistic spirit. If we are to enter at all 
 into sympathy with Benedict's life, and into the atmos- 
 
222 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 phere of his age, we must accept these stories without dis- 
 pute and enjoy their beauty. At Subiaco, forty-four 
 miles from Rome, Benedict met a certain Romanus, 
 who showed him a cave in which Benedict dwelt alone 
 for three years. His food was lowered to him from the 
 top of the cliff in a basket, and a terra-cotta bell, such as 
 is still so common in the Abruzzi, tied at the end of a 
 rope, called him from his devotions to partake of his 
 meals. But one day the Devil, observing his method of 
 life, broke the bell by throwing a stone at it, and Bene- 
 dict was in danger of starvation. But a good presbyter 
 was warned of the Lord in a vision, and he took his Easter 
 fare with him in a basket and sought the cave and found 
 Benedict. It was in these years that when tempted by 
 the lust of the flesh, he threw himself into a thicket of 
 thorns to conquer the temptation. This thicket still 
 grows by the mouth of the cave, but it is a rosebush now 
 ever since the visit of the gentle Saint Francis. It is of 
 these years that Benedict is thinking in the first part of 
 his Rule, when he speaks of the life of the Anchorites. 
 
 The second class of monks is that of the Anchorites, that is 
 to say, of the Hermits. These men, not under the influence oi 
 conversion, and with the fervor of the novice, but having hac 
 first a long experience in a monastery, and having been taughl 
 by the aid of many, have learned how to fight the Devil, anc 
 thus, being well instructed by fighting shoulder to shouldei 
 with their brothers, they are able at last, with the aid of God 
 to fight in safety, without the help of others, but by their owr 
 hand and their own arm alone, against the sins of the flest 
 and evil thoughts. 
 
BENEDICT AND THE OSTROGOTHS 223 
 
 Between the lines we can read the recollection full of 
 pity for the young boy who suffered alone in the thicket 
 of thorns. 
 
 At this time the monks of Vicovaro desired to have 
 Benedict as their abbot. It was in one of their reaction- 
 ary moments, when they confused temporary satiety 
 with true repentance. When they came to their truer 
 and worse selves again, they rebelled against him. It is 
 interesting that he, who, as the father of all Western 
 monks, was to rule for centuries after his death, was un- 
 able to control this, his first monastery. Finally they 
 tried to poison him, but he escaped by a miracle and re- 
 turned to the wilderness. He was learning by experience 
 the necessity of a "rule" for monks. Later he estab- 
 lished twelve monasteries in the valley of Subiaco, and 
 was joined by his faithful disciples, Maurus and Placi- 
 dus. But the strife of the communities was so great that 
 he left Subiaco in 528, and proceeded across the moun- 
 tains until he came to the site of an old temple of Apollo 
 on Monte Cassino, where he founded his monastery. 
 
 At Monte Cassino he abode for fifteen years, until his 
 death in 543. It was there that he passed those years 
 which were so troublous for Italy and which we described 
 at the beginning of the chapter, the turmoil of Amal- 
 asuntha, Theodahad, Witigis, and Totila. There from 
 the peace of the mountain-top he could look down on the 
 long stretch of the Via Latina and see the troops 
 marching north and south, now Belisarius, now the 
 
224 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 Ostrogoths. But except for one visit from Totila, he 
 seems to have lived apart from it all. 
 
 Turning now from Benedict to his Rule, we may no- 
 tice that in comparison with the extremes to which 
 monastic discipline was usually carried it was to be an 
 easy rule. The beautiful prologue begins thus : 
 
 Hear, O my son, the teachings of the master, and incline the 
 ear of thy heart, and receive with joy the command of a loving 
 father, and fulfill it industriously, in order that, by the labor 
 of obedience, thou mayest return unto him from whom by the 
 slothfulness of disobedience thou hadst departed. For to thee 
 now my words are directed, whosoever thou art, who givest 
 up thine own sinful desires, and art ready to fight for the Lord 
 Christ, the true king, and to take the strong and noble arms of 
 obedience. . . . We are to establish, therefore, a school for the 
 service of the Lord ; and in this institution we hope that we are 
 not about to prescribe anything which is harsh or burdensome. 
 But if, obeying the dictates of reason and of justice, and for 
 the sake of correcting human faults and preserving charity, 
 we may seem in some things to have been a trifle too strict, 
 do not take fright and flee away from the path of salvation. 
 For the way of salvation must needs have a narrow beginning, 
 but in the progress of spiritual life and of faith, and as our 
 heart grows wider, it is with an indescribable sweetness of love 
 that we run in the way of the commandments of the Lord. 
 Therefore, never departing from his teaching, and living our 
 life in his doctrines in the monastery even unto death, let us in 
 patience share in the Passion of Christ, that we may be worthy 
 to be with Him in his kingdom. 
 
 One of the prime requirements is the principle of 
 STABILITAS. Vagabondage and the bands of itinerant 
 monks are strictly forbidden : "The fourth class of monks 
 
BENEDICT AND THE OSTROGOTHS 225 
 
 are those who are called ' Wanderers/ who throughout 
 their whole life in various provinces abide for three or four 
 days at a time in various cells, always wandering, and 
 never abiding, given over to their own desires and the 
 lusts of the flesh.'* But if monks are to be content to 
 live their lives in one place, they must be kept occupied ; 
 hence the spirit of work which breathes out of the Rule. 
 We see this, for example, in section 48, "Concerning the 
 Daily Work of the Hands": "Idleness is the enemy of 
 the soul. Therefore, at certain times the brothers 
 should occupy themselves with the labor of the hands, 
 and similarly at certain hours with the reading of the 
 Scriptures." Then follows a detailed disposition of the 
 hours of the day, according to the season of the year. 
 The rules for the observance of Lent are especially inter- 
 esting: " In the days of Lent, moreover, from the morn- 
 ing until the end of the third hour, let them give their 
 attention to reading, and from then until the end of the 
 tenth hour, let them labor at that which has been given 
 them to do. In the days of Lent, let them all receive 
 from the library one book apiece and let each one read 
 his book through. These books are to be given at the 
 beginning of Lent. But above all, let there be appointed 
 one or two elders, that, during the hours when the 
 Brethren are occupied with reading, they may pass 
 through the Monastery to see if by any evil chance there 
 be found any brother who is idle or who is gossiping or 
 who is not busy with the reading. For such an one not 
 
226 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 only does evil himself, but also disturbs the others. And 
 if any such idle brother be found may it not be so ! 
 let him be rebuked for the first and the second time; and 
 if he does not mend his ways, let him be subjected to a 
 regular punishment, such that the rest may fear." 
 
 Benedict's motto was " Pax," and no one can read the 
 Rule without a great desire to seek peace and pursue it. 
 The ends to be obtained are goodness and discipline 
 and knowledge. There is a deep reverence in the whole 
 book, as, for example, in the twentieth section, "Con- 
 cerning the Reverence of Prayer" : " If when we wish to 
 obtain a favor from powerful men, we do not presume 
 to ask it except with humility and reverence, how much 
 more should we pray with all humility and pure devo- 
 tion to the Lord God of all. For we know that we are not 
 heard for our much speaking, but according to the purity 
 of our heart and the genuineness of our tears. Thus our 
 prayer should be short and simple, unless perchance, by 
 the inspiration of the Divine Grace, it be prolonged. But 
 when prayer is made in common, it should be short, and 
 at a sign from the Superior all should rise together." 
 
 There is also abundance of hospitality, as many 
 scholars still experience to-day at Monte Cassino. This 
 is laid down in two marvelous paragraphs (53) : 
 
 Let all strangers who come be received as though they were 
 Christ, because one day He will say to you, " I was a stranger, 
 and ye took me in." And let honor be shown to them all, but 
 especially to the servants of the faith and to pilgrims. And as 
 soon as a stranger is announced, let him be met by the Prior 
 
BENEDICT AND THE OSTROGOTHS 227 
 
 or by the Brethren with every loving attention. And let them 
 first pray together, and then let them be united in the kiss of 
 peace. But let not the kiss of peace be given, until prayer has 
 first been made, on account of the machinations of the Devil. 
 And in the salutation of those who come or of those who go, 
 let great humility be shown, and with the body prostrate 
 on the ground, let Christ be adored in them, even as He is 
 received in them. 
 
 Then follow a series of minor rules thought out with 
 loving care : that at the coming of strangers the abbot 
 should break his fast, unless it be one of the major fasts, 
 which must not be broken, but in any case the Brethren 
 should continue fasting ; that they should give them water 
 for their hands, and wash their feet. But above all, 
 especial care and attention should be shown to the poor, 
 " because that in them most particularly Christ is re- 
 ceived." "Let the bedroom for the strangers be under 
 the care of a Brother whose soul is filled with the fear of 
 God, and in this room let there be beds made ready in 
 abundance, and let the house of God be governed wisely. 
 And let no one to whom it is not commanded speak to 
 these strangers, but if he meets them or sees them, let 
 him salute them with humility, as has been said, and, 
 asking their blessing, pass by them, explaining that he is 
 not allowed to speak with them." The sixty-first chap- 
 ter contains special rules for the entertainment of pil- 
 grim monks: "If any pilgrim monk shall come from the 
 far-away provinces, and shall wish to abide as a guest 
 in the monastery, and if he shall be content with the 
 
228 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 habits of the place as he finds it, and shall not disturb 
 the monastery by his presence, but shall show himself 
 content, let him be received for as long a time as he de- 
 sires. If, however, he finds fault or makes criticisms 
 reasonably and with loving humility, let the Abbot give 
 careful attention to his suggestions, for perhaps God 
 may have sent the stranger there for that very purpose." 
 
 It is again this same humility which comes to expres- 
 sion in the beautiful words with which the Rule closes: 
 "And thou, whoever thou art, who art hastening to the 
 Heavenly country, fulfill first with the aid of Christ this 
 little rule of introduction here laid down. So then, with 
 the help of God, thou shalt come to the greater heights 
 of doctrine and of virtue, of which we have spoken 
 above. Amen! Explicit Regula." 
 
 In a moment we shall speak of the effects of the Rule, 
 but first it was necessary that one complementary thing 
 should be added. The organization was there, the re- 
 quirement of mental labor was there, but the actual 
 copying and preservation of manuscripts were not speci- 
 fied. These elements come into existence at the same 
 time, but in two places very far apart in the Western 
 world, at Scyllacaeum, in southern Italy, and at Aries, in 
 southern France. The monastery at Squillace (Scylla- 
 caeum) was founded by Cassiodorus the Senator, the 
 Chancellor of Theodoric the Ostrogoth. Born about the 
 same year as Benedict, he retired from active life about 
 540, when he was sixty years old, having spent forty 
 
BENEDICT AND THE OSTROGOTHS 229 
 
 years in the service of the Gothic Court. Feeling that 
 in a certain sense his life had been wasted, he became 
 a monk and retired to his beloved Calabria, where 
 he turned his ancestral villa into a monastery, famous 
 for its copying-room, and especially for its book-bind- 
 ing, where " the wedding garments" for books were 
 made, and where he labored for thirty- three years, until 
 his death. A similar copying-room was introduced by 
 the Abbess Caesaria at Aries at about this same time or 
 somewhat earlier. 
 
 As for the success of Benedict's Rule it was not in 
 rivalry to any existing rules, but only in completion of 
 them. Hence it met with little or no opposition, and 
 soon became so universal in Western Europe that the 
 Council of Aix (862) proclaimed it the only rule. 
 
 Thus the Benedictines stepped forward into modern 
 Europe. They carried not only the cross and the plow; 
 they carried also the pen. They were not only the great- 
 est missionaries, they were not only the greatest farmers, 
 they were also the scholars and the schoolmasters. 
 They carried Christianity, but they carried it in peace- 
 ful union with ancient culture. In England, Germany, 
 Denmark, Sweden, Poland, Bohemia, they did the work 
 of intellectual pioneers; and during the sixth, seventh, 
 eighth and ninth centuries they not only converted 
 Europe, but they also civilized her. Theirs was not sim- 
 ply the work of copying the classics ; they were also the 
 historians and librarians of Europe. Think only of York 
 
230 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 in the seventh century, and of Farfa in the eleventh. 
 Think of the printing-press at Subiaco, and that at 
 Westminster. Go back again to the tenth century, and 
 see one of the world's great writers, Hrotswitha, the 
 Benedictine abbess of Gandersheim (935-1001); and 
 look in the eleventh century at the renewal of the world 
 which came forth from the monastery of Clairvaux in 
 France, and the abbey of Quedlinburg in Germany. 
 
 The Gothic Kingdom might fail, but the heritage of 
 the past was not to be lost, and the little boy who had fled 
 away from the wickedness of Rome, now grown to be a 
 man, with his companions, on the site of the temple of 
 Apollo, was to do Apollo's bidding as well as Christ's in 
 keeping alive for the world that "sweetness and light" 
 which was no enemy of Him, who came not to destroy 
 but to build up. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 GREGORY AND THE LOMBARDS: THE PREPARATION FOR 
 THE HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE 
 
 WE reach to-day our journey's end. It seems a very 
 short time since we stood at the beginning of that jour- 
 ney, at the other end of the path, and beheld it stretching 
 before us. We were standing then in the midst of a very 
 primitive people, devoid entirely of what we call cul- 
 ture in the larger sense. They were so crude and their 
 faces were so entirely turned to the ground, their con- 
 sciousness was so saturated with purely physical needs, 
 that they had not as yet acquired even a rudimentary 
 sense of patriotism. We have followed these people 
 through the great educational processes which history 
 brought them. We saw them nursed into the religion of 
 patriotism by the Etruscans ; we saw them tutored into 
 the religion of beauty by the Greeks. We admired their 
 power of adaptation in entertaining these foreign ideas, 
 but we saw also the disadvantages which are inevitably 
 connected with such foreign importations. Their simple 
 and practical scheme of religion became entangled by 
 the luxurious overgrowth of superstition, and all that 
 was necessary to turn their over-faith into under-faith 
 - that is, scepticism was an excess of material pros- 
 perity. The Punic Wars brought this prosperity and the 
 decline of faith followed. 
 
232 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 But while prosperity caused faith to decline, it aroused 
 men to a sense of individuality. Thus individualism in 
 other things and also in religion came into the life of 
 Rome. To meet this new religious need, there were 
 present two sources of supply: on the one hand, phil- 
 osophy; on the other, the cults of the Orient. We 
 watched the struggle of these rival ideas, and saw the 
 victory of Christianity. But after this preliminary con- 
 quest, a more intense struggle took place, the struggle 
 between the ancient culture and the new religion. Then 
 Rome began to be divided against herself; Constanti- 
 nople was born and assumed the dignity of the capital. 
 The East became separated from the West. In the West 
 itself, Milan and Ravenna began to surpass Rome. And 
 all the while beneath these divisions there were still other 
 divisions. There was the great schism between the old 
 ideas and the new ; between the old instincts of patri- 
 otism and social solidarity and the new ideas, which, 
 whatever they may have been in theory, were in prac- 
 tice extraordinarily self-centred and anti-social. There 
 was an organized government and a system of laws 
 which, all of it, harked back to paganism, and there was 
 a new religion whose most earnest devotees were inter- 
 ested principally in the saving of their own souls and 
 the flight from the temptations of this present evil world. 
 And lastly, with the weakness of Rome, her borders 
 ceased to be defended, and the Teutonic tribes, which 
 had long been pressing against her gates, broke through 
 
GREGORY AND THE LOMBARDS 233 
 
 and overran Italy. Thus the Visigoth and the Vandal 
 robbed and pillaged Rome, while those who might have 
 been her citizens and her defenders were saving their 
 own souls in the desert and the cloister. Yet so great 
 was the love that ancient culture called forth, and so 
 resistant was she in her struggle for life, that these 
 apparently tender things, these methods of thought, 
 these legal ideas, these literary expressions, were able, 
 at least in great part, to survive this turmoil. They kept 
 their hold on the minds of at least the intellectual 
 fathers of the church, they won the respect of the Ostro- 
 goths, and they gained access even to the monasteries, 
 where man had gone to escape the world. In our last 
 lecture we have seen how, granted the inevitableness 
 of monasticism, Benedict's Rule saved the day for an- 
 cient literature. 
 
 But in our gratitude for the existence of this great 
 salvation, we overlooked the hard fact, that, though the 
 monastery could secure the actual physical preservation 
 of literature, and though its teachings might keep alive 
 a love of the spirit as well as the letter, so that the copy- 
 ist's heart would follow his pen, nevertheless the laws 
 and institutions of the Roman Empire could not be 
 compressed within the limits of a cloister. Greek art 
 and Greek literature have been preserved, but Greece 
 in its atmosphere and in its institutions has been lost. 
 Thus Rome might have been preserved in her literature, 
 and her law books might have been copied to infinity, 
 
234 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 but the living impress of Rome would have been lost. 
 Only an established state could inherit the tradition 
 of a state ; it could live in a government with temporal 
 power; it would die under the cloistered rule of a monas- 
 tery. 
 
 There is, therefore, one chapter still left in our story. 
 In it we are to study the rise of this temporal power, 
 which was to carry on the form of Rome which the 
 monastery could not contain ; while the monastery was 
 to preserve the spirit which this temporal power might 
 or might not preserve. The rise of this power is one oi 
 the most wonderful things in the world's history; in a 
 sense we can scarcely hope to understand it, but we can 
 come near to an understanding by studying the outward 
 phenomena, which are quite clear. To do this, however 
 we must go afield, far to the north, and study the rise 
 and history of the Lombards. 
 
 The Lombards, or Langobardi, whose original name 
 seems to have been the Winili, were settled originally ir 
 Scandinavia. Later they moved to the mouth of th( 
 Elbe, where their presence is attested by the geograph 
 ical name Bardengau, obviously an abbreviation foi 
 Langobardengau. We hear of them, in A.D. 165, a: 
 crossing the Danube, and being defeated by the Roman; 
 and then for three hundred and fifty years they pas: 
 entirely out of history, until the time of Anastasiu 
 (491-518). 
 
 In the reign of their king, Audoin, Justinian made ai 
 
GREGORY AND THE LOMBARDS 235 
 
 alliance with them, and they were permitted to settle in 
 Noricum. But our real interest in them begins with 
 Audoin's son, Alboin, for it was under his leadership 
 that on April 2, 568, they began their invasion of Italy. 
 According to tradition they came by invitation of Jus- 
 tinian's general, Narses. But too much weight should 
 not be attached to such stories of invitations. The Lom- 
 bards seem to have crossed the Alps by way of Villach 
 and the Predil Pass, and thus they overran Venetia, and 
 conquered Vicenza and Verona without difficulty. They 
 then did a thing which none of their predecessors had 
 done, and which was an omen of the fact that they had 
 come to abide in Italy, and not to march away of their 
 own will as the Visigoths had, or to be driven away as 
 were the Ostrogoths. They shut, as it were, the door 
 behind them. This they accomplished by establishing 
 the duchy of Forum Julii, with Gisulf, the king's nephew 
 as first duke, equipping him with a picked body of 
 followers. Within the next three years, Milan and 
 Pavia had both surrendered; and then, suddenly, at 
 the height of his power, Alboin was brutally murdered 
 
 (572). 
 
 After two years of confusion, the Lombards aban- 
 doned the idea of having a king; and Italy was ruled by 
 an oligarchy of the "Thirty-six Lombard Dukes." This 
 arrangement lasted for ten years. Thus were established 
 in Italy thirty-six allied duchies, out of which in the 
 course of time the city-states of the Middle Ages and of 
 
236 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 the Renaissance were to arise. So deep were these divi- 
 sions to be impressed on the popular mind, and so strong 
 was the instinct of the city-state to become, that even 
 to-day, in the presence of the miracle of United Italy 
 men are first of all Milanese or Siennese, and only sec- 
 ondly Italians, and their "country," their real "paese," 
 is the old city-state. 
 
 Thus the Lombards were accomplishing already a 
 great work of differentiation. By their system of duch- 
 ies they were laying the foundations for the rise of the 
 little city-states, which were to give an object for the 
 exercise of that patriotism, which with the best will in 
 the world could no longer cling to the ghost of the Ro- 
 man Empire. Then, too, in this division of Italy was to 
 lie its strength, and the distribution of responsible tasks 
 among relatively few men. was to .produce the many- 
 sided genius of the Renaissance. 
 
 But the Lombard Oligarchy was not only laying the 
 foundations of this distant Italy; it was also preparing 
 the way for the rise of the new Roman Empire, and it 
 was doing this quite unconsciously by the invasion of 
 Gaul, and the harassing of the Franks. For when in the 
 course of time the Franks came to save the Pope from 
 the hands of the unspeakable Lombards, they came, not 
 simply because they were the "most Christian Franks," 
 and because they loved the Pope, but they came even 
 more for hatred of the Lombards. Thus the Lombards 
 by their present invasions were raising against them- 
 
GREGORY AND THE LOMBARDS 237 
 
 selves a hatred which was in the course of time to be 
 turned to the profit of the Papacy. , 
 / The rule of the Oligarchy came to an end in 584, when 
 the Lombards chose Flavius Authari, the son of Cleph, 
 to be their king. In the sixth year of his reign, Authari 
 married Theudelinda, the daughter of Garibaldi, the 
 Duke of the Bavarians. There is a promise of modern 
 Italy in the father's name. In the following year (590) 
 Authari died at Pavia. 
 
 ir; His death brings Theudelinda into the centre of the 
 picture, for the Lombards were so attached to her that 
 they wished her to remain as queen, and promised that 
 he to whom she should give her hand should be the 
 king. She chose a certain Agilulf, the Duke of Turin 
 (dux Taurinatium) , and he was made king at Milan in 
 590, in the presence of all the Lombards. If we may 
 trust the legend, Theudelinda solved in a charming way 
 the difficulty of the position in which a queen is placed 
 who must of necessity choose her own husband. She 
 summoned to herself Agilulf and when he arrived, she 
 met him as was the custom with the cup of welcome. 
 As he took it from her hand, he touched her hand with 
 his lips in sign of homage; but straightway she said to 
 him, "Why should he kiss my hand, who has the right 
 to kiss my lips? " Then the Duke knew that he had been 
 chosen as her husband. 
 
 It was at Monza, near Milan, that Theudelinda caused 
 a palace to be built, and its walls to be decorated with 
 
238 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 the deeds of the Lombards. "And in this painting," 
 says Paul the Deacon, "it is clearly shown in what 
 fashion the Lombards in those days trimmed the hair on 
 their head, and of what fashion their clothing and their 
 garments were. For they left the back of their neck 
 bare, shaving it up to the top of the head, and they let 
 their hair hang down in front as far as the mouth, part- 
 ing it on the forehead. Their clothes were loose-cut and 
 mostly of linen, such as the Saxons are accustomed 
 to wear, and they had borders of various colors. Their 
 boots were open to the end of the great toe, and held 
 together by cross-lacing." We can see them clearly be- 
 fore our eyes, and in them we behold the Dante, and the 
 Anselm, and the Lanfranc with which they were to en- 
 dow Italy. 
 
 But this endowment was yet a long way off. Theude- 
 linda was, however, preparing the way for it, and all 
 because she happened to be Orthodox and not Arian. 
 The single year of her married life with Authari did not 
 suffice to enable her to influence his religion. But with 
 Agilulf she was more successful, for, although he did not 
 abandon the Arian faith of his fathers, he was on terms 
 of friendship with the leaders of the Catholic faith, and 
 even went so far as to permit Theudelinda to have her 
 son baptized a Catholic. Agilulf reigned for twenty-five 
 years (590-615), and it is during his reign that the 
 figure of Gregory comes into prominence. To him we 
 now turn. 
 
GREGORY AND THE LOMBARDS 239 
 
 The best source for Gregory's life is the collection of 
 his own letters in twelve books, but we have also the life 
 which Paul the Deacon wrote of him about 770, a life 
 by John the Deacon a century later (872), a famous 
 chapter in Bede's Ecclesiastical History, and certain 
 passages in Gregory of Tours' History of the Franks. 
 
 The dates of Gregory's life until he was made pope, 
 in 590, are very uncertain. He was born apparently 
 about the year 540, of a noble Roman family. His 
 father, Gordian, was a Regionarius, that is, a lay assist- 
 ant to the deacon who had charge of one of the seven 
 ecclesiastical regions into which the city of Rome had 
 been divided. It was a position of political importance, 
 and in this case its incumbent occupied a palace on the 
 Cselian. 
 
 Gregory's family were involved in the religious fer- 
 vor of the age, and in the tendency to flee from the 
 world. No less than three of his aunts went into con- 
 vents, but in one of them the love of the world was 
 sufficiently strong to cause her to come out again and 
 marry. This healthy love of the world seems also to 
 have been characteristic of Gregory. He had a good 
 education in Latin, but knew no Greek, and seems never 
 to have learned it. This fact is impressive when we 
 recollect that he was later six or seven years in Constan- 
 tinople. It shows us how thoroughly Latin was still the 
 language of the Court. We know very little of his child- 
 hood, but if it were spent in Rome, it must have been 
 
240 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 a troubled one, for these are the years of Totila's re- 
 peated sieges and of the temporary abandonment of the 
 city. 
 
 Almost the first known event in his life dates from 
 about 573, when he was already thirty-three years of 
 age. In that year he held the office of Prefect of the city 
 of Rome. Although with the great decline of Rome, this 
 office must have been deprived of much of its signifi- 
 cance, it is probable that it had not lost much of its 
 magnificence, though the symbols of that magnificence 
 might well have grown threadbare and shabby. The 
 Prefect of Rome was a very great personage. He was 
 President of the Senate, and went about clad in purple 
 and fine linen and wearing a sword. When he drove, it 
 was in a stately carriage drawn by four horses, decked 
 out with silver ornaments. He was in charge of all the 
 phases of the life of the city, from the control of the po- 
 lice to the distribution of the corn. We cannot, of course, 
 tell how much of these glories may have passed away 
 before Gregory's day. In any case he still held the civil 
 power entirely in his hands, while the magister militum 
 had the political and military power. 
 
 In the midst of these years of active and honorable 
 secular life, the call of the other- worldliness came to him, 
 and he became a monk, and, as Paul the Deacon says of 
 him, "He who had been accustomed before to walk 
 through the city clothed in the purple-bordered toga, 
 adorned with glittering jewels and wearing silken rai- 
 
GREGORY AND THE LOMBARDS 241 
 
 ment, was now a poor man ministering to the poor; and 
 clad in a wretched garment." We have no knowledge 
 in his case, as in that of Augustine, as to what inward 
 struggles had taken place in his soul. The passion for 
 the monastic life was very great at this time. Later, 
 when he had become pope, there were more than three 
 thousand nuns in the city of Rome itself who shared in 
 the patrimony of Saint Peter, and the number of monks 
 was of course very much larger still. 
 
 He threw himself entirely into this new life, and be- 
 sides founding and endowing six Benedictine convents 
 in Sicily, he turned his father's house on the Clivus 
 Scaurus into a monastery and dedicated it to the Apostle 
 Andrew. This monastery was perhaps on the site of 
 the present Church of S. Gregorio. The number of 
 monks in Rome had increased greatly because of the 
 attacks which the Lombards were wont to make on 
 lonely monasteries, as, for example, on Monte Cassino, 
 which was attacked just about this time (577) and lay 
 in ruins for one hundred and forty years. 
 
 As for Gregory, having given away all that he had, 
 he became a monk in his own monastery. There he 
 allowed himself only the one luxury of a single piece of 
 plate, a silver dish, in which he ate the food which his 
 mother prepared for him. But one day a shipwrecked 
 sailor came to him and asked him for alms; he came 
 again, and again a third time; and Gregory, having 
 nothing else, gave him the silver dish. 
 
242 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 It was at this time that those things happened to him 
 of which Bede tells in the Ecclesiastical History. The 
 story is old and familiar, and has sometimes been 
 doubted, without sufficient reason ; the word-plays in it 
 are absolutely characteristic of Gregory and his age. 
 I quote the incident in the quaint translation by Giles 
 (Hist.Eccl. n, i): 
 
 It is reported that some merchants, having just arrived at 
 Rome on a certain day, exposed many things for sale in the 
 marketplace, and abundance of people resorted thither to 
 buy: Gregory himself went with the rest, and among other 
 things some boys were set for sale, their bodies white, their 
 countenances beautiful, and their hair very fine. Having 
 viewed them, he asked, as is said, from what country or na- 
 tion were they brought, and was told from the island of Brit- 
 ain, whose inhabitants were of such personal appearance. 
 He again inquired whether those islanders were Christians, or 
 still involved in the errors of paganism, and was informed that 
 they were pagans. Then, fetching a deep sigh from the bot- 
 tom of his heart, "Alas, what pity," said he, "that the author 
 of darkness is possessed of men of such fair countenances ; and 
 that, being remarkable for such graceful aspects, their minds 
 should be void of inward grace." He therefore again asked, 
 what was the name of that nation, and was answered that 
 they were called Angles. " Right," said he, "for they have an 
 angelic face, and it becomes such to be coheirs with the angels 
 in heaven. What is the name," proceeded he, "of the pro- 
 vince from which they are brought?" It was replied that the 
 natives of that province were called Deiri. " Truly are they 
 Deiri," said he, "withdrawn from wrath, and called to the 
 mercy of Christ. How is the king of that province called?" 
 They told him his name was Aella; and he, alluding to the 
 name, said, " Hallelujah, the praise of God, the Creator, must 
 be sung in those parts." 
 
GREGORY AND THE LOMBARDS 243 
 
 It was Gregory himself who started on this mission- 
 ary journey. On the third day, while he and his com- 
 panions were taking their noontide rest, a grasshopper 
 lighted on the pages of the Bible, which Gregory was 
 reading. "Ecce locus ta," said he; "loco sta" (abide in 
 this place), and thus he interpreted the omen to his 
 companions; and shortly afterwards, before they had 
 started again, messengers from Rome overtook them, 
 bearing the commands of the Pope that Gregory should 
 return. Thus ended his missionary journey. The story 
 is probably true, and we have already seen Gregory's 
 fondness for word-plays. This passion was the last 
 estate of the long rhetorical training of the Empire. 
 
 When Gregory returned to Rome, the Pope appointed 
 him "Seventh Deacon/' We do not know exactly what 
 the office of Seventh Deacon was, but it must have had 
 some connection with the seven regions of Rome, each 
 one of which was under the care of a deacon. The Sev- 
 enth Deacon seems to have been the most important of 
 all, and the position may have been regarded as leading 
 to the Papacy. In 578, Pope Benedict (the First) died, 
 and was succeeded by Pelagius the Second (578-90), 
 that pope who restored the Church of S. Lorenzo, and 
 whose name still stands on the triumphal arch. Pelagius 
 seems to have recognized Gregory's ability, for he imme- 
 diately appointed him to one of the two most important 
 diplomatic positions in the church, sending him as 
 Nuncio (Apocrisiarius) to Constantinople. At this time 
 
244 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 the Roman Church had two nuncios, one at Ravenna 
 with the Exarch, and .one at Constantinople with the 
 Emperor. Of these the post at Constantinople was the 
 more important. Gregory continued at Constantinople 
 five or six years, and, while retaining his own interest in 
 Rome as over against the East, and cherishing a con- 
 tempt for Eastern methods and manners, he neverthe- 
 less succeeded in making friendships in the Imperial 
 Court, especially with the Empress Constantina. These 
 years in Constantinople were of great importance in 
 Gregory's life, for it was then that he learned the entire 
 indifference of the Eastern Empire to the affairs of 
 Rome, and the hopeless incompatibility of the Eastern 
 and the Western churches. 
 
 During these years the Empire was so occupied with 
 its wars against the Persians that it had no time to 
 attend to the affairs of Italy. In vain Pope Pelagius 
 wrote to Gregory, urging him to make representations 
 to the Emperor, that without his help "The Republic" 
 could no longer be saved. This harking back of the 
 phrase "The Republic" is almost ghastly in the remi- 
 niscences which it calls up, pictures of those long-ago 
 days when the "Consuls were bidden to see to it that 
 the Republic suffered no ill"; and now this Republic is 
 beseeching an emperor at Constantinople, who has never 
 seen Rome, to grant a magister militum and a dux for 
 their protection. But these messages sent eastward 
 proved of no avail, and so Pelagius shot an arrow west- 
 
GREGORY AND THE LOMBARDS 245 
 
 ward at a venture. Turning to France, he wrote to the 
 Bishop of Auxerre: " For we believe that for no other 
 reason has it been ordained by Divine Providence, that 
 your kings should hold the same orthodox confession of 
 faith as the Roman Empire, save that they might be 
 neighbors and helpers to this city, where this faith 
 arose, and also to the whole of Italy." 
 
 These letters, coming as they do side by side, are of 
 great importance, for they show that the diplomacy 
 which afterwards resulted in the Holy Roman Empire 
 did not grow up in the mind of any one man, but was a 
 natural product of inevitable conditions. 
 
 About 585, Gregory returned to Rome, and became 
 abbot of his own monastery of Saint Andrew. For the 
 next five years we have no accurate knowledge of his 
 life. They were dark and troubled years .for the city of 
 Rome. She was surrounded by the unspeakable Lom- 
 bards, who were constantly pressing closer to her bor- 
 ders, and her territory was almost limited to that of the 
 later Papal States. But war was not her only adversary ; 
 floods and pestilence were in her borders. Gregory of 
 Tours gives us the account of an eye-witness, a deacon, 
 whom he had sent to Rome, and who returned to him, 
 relating that "in the ninth month of the last year (589) 
 the river Tiber so overflowed its banks and covered the 
 city of Rome that the ancient buildings fell in ruins, 
 and even the granaries of the church, and many thou- 
 sand bushels of grain were destroyed.*' He also told 
 
246 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 of a multitude of snakes and a great dragon which 
 passed down the bed of the Tiber, and how the cattle 
 were drowned by a tidal wave and thrown up on the 
 shore. After the flood came the pestilence. This pesti- 
 lence, coming up out of Egypt, had appeared at Con- 
 stantinople a half century before. It caused a terror 
 which can only be likened to that of the Black Death. 
 In 590 it raged in Rome, as it had never raged there 
 before, and threatened to destroy the entire population. 
 In February the Pope Pelagius died of the plague, and 
 the people insisted that Gregory should be his successor. 
 But Gregory refused, and sent a letter to the Emperor 
 Maurice to Constantinople, beseeching him to withhold 
 his confirmation of the election ; for without the approval 
 of the Emperor the Bishop of Rome could not be conse- 
 crated. But this attempt on Gregory's part to escape 
 the office was of no avail; for the Prefect of the city, 
 learning of the matter, sent other letters urging the 
 Emperor to confirm the election, and his messenger 
 overtook the messenger of Gregory and substituted this 
 letter for the one which Gregory had written. 
 
 Meantime, while they were awaiting the answer, 
 Gregory was temporarily intrusted with the duties of 
 pope. The chief concern of the city was the alarming 
 ravages of the pestilence. On August 29, Gregory 
 preached in the Church of Santa Sabina, on the Aven- 
 tine, and his text was Jeremiah iv, 10: "The sword 
 reacheth unto the soul." Amidst the ravages of the pes- 
 
GREGORY AND THE LOMBARDS 247 
 
 tilence, and the oppression of the dog-days, that 
 peculiarly discouraging heat, which only a Roman sum- 
 mer day brings forth, it is no wonder that his words 
 were not forgotten by those who heard them, and that 
 one of the audience, a certain deacon of Tours, remem- 
 bered the discourse so well that when he returned home, 
 he repeated it to his bishop, Gregory of Tours, in whose 
 History of the Franks (x, i) it has been preserved to us, 
 as well as in Gregory's own works. I quote a passage 
 from it, not only because it affords a good illustration of 
 the power of Gregory's style, for he must have been a 
 great orator; but also because it illustrates the continu- 
 ance of the traditions of the classical school of rhetoric. 
 
 Dearly beloved Brethren, the judgments of God, which we 
 have been taught that we ought to fear for the future, are now 
 in our midst and fearfully to be dreaded ; and may grief open 
 up to us the way of repentance, and may the hardness of our 
 hearts be softened by the sufferings which we endure. It 
 was foretold of old by the prophet, "the sword has reached 
 even unto the soul." For behold the whole people is smtiten 
 by the sword of the wrath of God, and one by one they are laid 
 low by sudden death. Languor does not precede death, 
 but, as you see, death itself anticipates lingering languor. For 
 each one, struck down, is snatched away before he can turn 
 to the lamentations of repentance. And what appearance 
 would he make before his judge, the man who has had no 
 chance to repent his deeds? It is not merely some of the in- 
 habitants who are being taken away, but all alike are rushing 
 to destruction. The houses are left empty, fathers behold the 
 funerals of their sons, and one's heirs precede him to the 
 grave. Let each one of us, therefore, take refuge in wailing 
 and penitence, while there is still time to weep, ere we die. Let 
 
248 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 us recall before the eyes of our mind whatever errors we have 
 committed, and let us repent in tears for our evil deeds. Let 
 us come before Him in confession, and, as the prophet com- 
 mands, let us raise our hearts with our hands unto the Lord. 
 For he giveth courage for our prayer, He who cries through 
 the mouth of his prophet, " I have no pleasure in the death of 
 the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live." 
 Moreover, let none of us despair because of the magnitude 
 of his evil deeds. For a three days' penitence purified even the 
 men of Nineveh from their slothful sinfulness. And the thief 
 that repented received the rewards of eternal life, even in the 
 very article of death. Let us, therefore, experience a change of 
 heart and believe that we have already received what we 
 seek. . . . And since the sword of such great punishment is 
 hanging over us, let us beseech him with importunate weeping, 
 for that very importunity which is wont to be displeasing to 
 men finds favor with the judge of truth. The pious and 
 merciful God wishes us to pray to Him for pardon, for He is 
 not willing to be angry with us according to our transgressions. 
 Thus, He speaks through the mouth of the Psalmist: "Call 
 upon me in the day of trouble, I will deliver thee, and thou 
 shalt glorify me." He therefore is a witness unto Himself that 
 He desires to have mercy upon those who call upon Him, be- 
 cause He admonishes us that He would be called upon. There- 
 fore, dearest brethren, with contrite hearts and due repen- 
 tance, and with the mind prepared for tears, come to the 
 Sevenfold Litany on the fourth day of the week at dawn in the 
 following order. Let all the regular clergy, therefore, together 
 with the priests of the sixth region, start from the Church of 
 the blessed martyrs, Cosmas and Damianus [in the Forum]. 
 And let all the abbots, and under each abbot the monks of his 
 monastery, together with the priests of the fourth region, set 
 out from the Church, of the holy martyrs, Protasius and Ger- 
 vasius [on the Quirinal]. Let all the abbesses, and under each 
 abbess her nuns, together with the priests of the first region, 
 start from the Church of the holy martyrs, Marcellinus and 
 
GREGORY AND THE LOMBARDS 249 
 
 Peter [Via Labicana, two miles out]. Let all the children, to- 
 gether with the priests of the second region, set out from the 
 Church of the holy martyrs, John and Paul [on the Cselian]. 
 Let all the laymen, together with the priests of the seventh 
 region, start from the Church of the Holy First Martyr 
 Stephen [near the Lateran]. Let all the widows, together with 
 the priests of the fifth region, set out from the Church of Saint 
 Euphemia [on the Viminal]. And let all the matrons, together 
 with the priests of the third region, start from the Church of 
 the holy martyr, Clement [near the Colosseum.] Proceeding 
 from these various churches, let them gather together at 
 the Basilica of the Blessed Mary, always a Virgin, Mother 
 of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, there praying to God with 
 prayer and wailing, we may prevail to merit pardon for our 
 sins. 
 
 It takes no great effort of the imagination to see these 
 seven choruses wending their way through the streets 
 of Rome, and filling the air with their chants, each after 
 its own fashion, as men, women, and children. And as 
 we watch them slowly approaching Santa Maria Mag- 
 giore, we are reminded of those older Roman proces- 
 sions, especially that one of the year B.C. 207, when in 
 the dread of the Second Punic War, three times nine 
 maidens sang their choruses, and the procession of the 
 people followed them up to the Aventine to the temple 
 of Juno Regina. Then the material greatness of Rome 
 was but beginning, and now it was long past. The glitter 
 of gold and of marble had come and gone, and now 
 there were ruins and broken columns. The physical 
 greatness of Rome had come and gone ; and amidst the 
 ruins the strange idea of spiritual Rome was being 
 
250 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 born, and lamentations and chants were her cradle- 
 song. 
 
 The procession itself afforded an additional proof of 
 the severity of the pestilence, for the same good deacon 
 of Tours, of whom we have already spoken, relates that 
 in one hour eighty of those who were taking part fell 
 dead to the ground. On the last day, the Friday (for 
 the penance had begun on the fourth day of the week, 
 Wednesday, and was to last three days), Gregory was 
 leading the chorus over the Bridge of Hadrian to wor- 
 ship at the tomb of Saint Peter. It was doubtless in the 
 late afternoon, as this prayer at Saint Peter's grave 
 would be a fitting close to the three days' ceremonies. 
 The sun may have been setting as they crossed the 
 bridge, and a golden glory would fill the sky behind the 
 Mausoleum of Hadrian. In that glory Gregory beheld 
 the angel Michael, with a flaming two-edged sword in 
 his hand ; and as he looked, the archangel sheathed the 
 sword. Then Gregory knew that the pestilence was 
 ended; and thenceforth the Mausoleum of Hadrian was 
 called the Castle of S. Angelo. 
 
 This story has, of course, been doubted. It is not men- 
 tioned by Paul the Deacon, or by Bede, and occurs first 
 in the thirteenth century, but if it did not happen, it is a 
 pity it did not ; and in any case it is too beautiful to pass 
 untold. Nor need we, with Gregorovius, suppose that a 
 broken piece of some ancient statue gave the impression 
 of an angel. Who would assert that Gregory did not see 
 
GREGORY AND THE LOMBARDS 251 
 
 an angel, especially if it happened at the sunset, when 
 the heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament 
 showeth his handiwork? 
 
 Shortly after this, the confirmation of Gregory's elec- 
 tion as pope arrived from Constantinople, and on Sep- 
 tember 3, 590, he was consecrated in Saint Peter's. The 
 story of his attempts to escape, by causing himself to be 
 smuggled out of Rome by merchants, is an invention of 
 a later time, but we have one of his own letters in which 
 he expresses his sorrow at the appointment. Historians 
 have been at great pains to analyze his mental condi- 
 tion, with a view to ascertaining his sincerity, but all 
 men of the greatness of Gregory have within them the 
 element of contradiction, and they are entirely sincere 
 in their apparent inconsistencies. It is a part of the 
 price of genius that a man is never entirely happy in 
 accepting or refusing any position in life. 
 
 Thus Gregory, at the age of fifty, began his life as 
 pope, which was to last for fourteen years, and during 
 which he was to lay the foundations of the Holy Roman 
 Empire. If he had in any sense dreaded this life, be- 
 cause of its responsibilities and endless activities, the 
 life itself proved the reasonableness of this dread. 
 
 It is impossible for us here to give more than a mere 
 sketch of Gregory's occupations. They were the mani- 
 fold works which would naturally fall to him who was 
 the greatest man in the community, especially when 
 that community was troubled without and within. It 
 
252 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 was not a question as to whether these were the things 
 which a pope would ordinarily have done or not; they 
 were obviously the things for Gregory to do, because 
 they had to be done, and he was the only man who could 
 do them. No one can accuse him of having sought power, 
 the power was his, and he was compelled almost against 
 his will to use it. 
 
 Let us consider first those things in his life which 
 were the normal functions of the Pope. His most not- 
 able work here was the mission to England. He seems 
 never to have forgotten his own interrupted journey, 
 although it was not until the sixth year of his pontificate 
 that he was able to send his substitute. In that year 
 (596) he sent Augustine, the abbot of his own monastery 
 of Saint Andrew. The story of this journey is intensely 
 human. When Augustine and his companions arrived 
 in Gaul, on their way to Britain, they were so terrified 
 by the account of conditions in Britain, as described to 
 them by the priests whom they met in Gaul, that they 
 returned to Rome. But they were promptly sent back 
 again by Gregory, and this time they went to their 
 journey's end. Thus timidly did Augustine go forth to 
 the immortal fame of being the first Bishop of Canter- 
 bury. The details of this mission do not concern us here, 
 except that it is interesting to note that Gregory recog- 
 nized the fact that the Christian Church already existed 
 in Britain. There is a very beautiful letter of his to 
 Augustine concerning this matter. The letter has been 
 
GREGORY AND THE LOMBARDS 253 
 
 preserved to us by Bede (Hist. EccL, I, 27), and I quote 
 it in Giles's translation. Augustine is asking a series of 
 questions which Gregory is answering: - 
 
 Augustine's second question: "Whereas the faith is one and 
 the same, why are there different customs in different churches 
 and why is one custom of masses observed in the Holy Roman 
 Church, and another in the Gallican Church." 
 
 Pope Gregory answers: "You know, my brother, the cus- 
 tom of the Roman Church in which you remember you were 
 bred up. But it pleases me that if you have found anything, 
 either in the Roman or the Gallican, or any other church, 
 which may be more acceptable to Almighty God, you care- 
 fully make choice of the same, and seduously teach the Church 
 of the English, which as yet is new in the faith, whatsoever 
 you can gather from the several churches. For things are not 
 to be loved for the sake of places, but places for the sake of 
 good things. Choose, therefore, from every church those 
 things that are pious, religious, and upright, and when you 
 have, as it were, made them up into one body, let the minds of 
 the English be accustomed thereto." 
 
 These missionary cares were but a small segment of 
 Gregory's responsibilities. The routine of his daily life 
 was crowded with his duties as steward of the Patrimony 
 of Saint Peter's. We can scarcely realize to ourselves 
 the condition of Rome at this time. The atmosphere 
 was tense with the formal observance of religion. The 
 old pagan festivals had gone, except such of them as 
 lived on under the guise of Christian festivals. The idea 
 of the end of the world was still foremost in men's minds. 
 The tendency toward monastic life was so strong that 
 the Pope in Rome and the Emperor in Constantinople 
 
254 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 both strove to repress it. For those who were not in the 
 cloistered life, there was almost nothing left, except the 
 army, by which they could fill their time and support 
 themselves. Thus the church in Rome had begun to be 
 an asylum for all society, and in a very literal sense the 
 Pope fed the people. 
 
 The organization of this charity partook almost of the 
 nature of an exact science. On the one hand, the Pope 
 was the richest individual in Italy. The church had 
 large possessions in Sicily, Campania, southern Italy, 
 Corsica, Sardinia, Dalmatia, Illyricum, and Gaul. These 
 estates were all managed from Rome, and the amount 
 of correspondence which the Pope himself accomplished 
 can be properly appreciated only by those who examine 
 the letters which Gregory has left behind him. But the 
 collection of the revenues was only a small portion of the 
 task. The distribution was even more arduous. A sort 
 of record seems to have been kept in Rome, an index of 
 all persons and their needs; and so abject was the pov- 
 erty of the times that the book seems to have contained 
 the names of almost all the inhabitants of the city. On 
 the first of each month there was a distribution of meal, 
 clothing, and money. And every day there were sent 
 out from the Papal Palace a large number of cooked 
 rations. We must not think of the arrangements as 
 those of a machine, with which Gregory had nothing 
 to do. So personal was the conduct of affairs that in 
 individual cases he chose especially delicate dishes for 
 
GREGORY AND THE LOMBARDS 255 
 
 those who in their earlier days had been accustomed to 
 finer things. It was Gregory who felt responsible for all 
 these details ; and when it was reported to him one day 
 that a beggar had died of starvation in the streets of 
 Rome, his remorse was terrible. 
 
 But in spite of these activities, and those even more 
 serious ones of which we shall speak in a moment, he 
 found time for the cultivation of music, and remodeled 
 the liturgy, changing the music from the Greek tetra- 
 chord to the octave, and founding two schools of singers, 
 one at the Lateran and one at Saint Peter's. And all 
 this work was accomplished by a man who was phys- 
 ically unfit. The excessive fastings and privations of his 
 life had induced in these latter years gout and dyspepsia ; 
 and much of his work was done lying on his bed. He 
 even conducted choir practice in this position, and by 
 the assistance of a long rod trained the choir-boys in 
 the way they should go. 
 
 But if his life be judged as a whole, all these are seen 
 to be only incidental things. His great work was that 
 which was forced upon him by the political condition of 
 Rome. The isolation of Rome, which had begun even 
 before the founding of Constantinople, had now reached 
 its climax. She was cut off from Constantinople, not 
 only by geographical distance, but also by the indiffer- 
 ence of the Emperor; and she was separated from Ra- 
 venna and the Exarch by the presence of the unspeak- 
 able Lombards. Nor was it any great extent of territory 
 
256 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 which Rome might call her own. The Lombards were 
 certainly at Viterbo, and probably at Narni, and very 
 close to Palestrina and Tivoli ; and they were constantly 
 pressing forward, so that Rome never knew from which 
 quarter the attack might come. 
 
 Thus, in 592, Rome was threatened by Ariulf, the 
 Duke of Spoleto, but in July, Gregory concluded a peace 
 with him, and Rome was for the moment saved. When 
 news of this separate peace reached the Emperor, he 
 was angry, and bade Romanus, the Exarch at Ravenna, 
 march to the defense of Rome. Romanus was very suc- 
 cessful. He recovered from the Lombards several im- 
 portant towns, including Perugia, and then returned 
 again to Ravenna. Thus Gregory's interference had pre- 
 vailed where his petitions had failed. 
 
 Meantime Agilulf, the King, had succeeded in put- 
 ting down the insurrection of the dukes, and he now 
 crossed the river Po, and proceeded with a strong army 
 against Perugia. After a short siege the town surren- 
 dered, and then began the Lombard march on Rome. 
 The news of their coming was heralded to the anxious 
 Romans by the arrival of straggling fugitives, who in 
 several cases had had their arms cut off by the Lom- 
 bards. Then Gregory prepared to defend the city, but 
 for some unknown reason no serious siege was under- 
 taken, and Agilulf led his forces back to Milan. One 
 chronicler tells us that he did this, overcome by the 
 prayers and entreaties of Gregory, who met him on the 
 
GREGORY AND THE LOMBARDS 257 
 
 I steps of Saint Peter's. But whatever the cause was, 
 JAgilulf retreated. 
 
 For five years longer Gregory's life lasted. It was 
 the same sort of life that it had always been, the same 
 activity as steward of the Patrimony of Saint Peter, 
 peacemaker between Lombards, Exarch, and Emperor, 
 and defender of the dignity of his beloved city of Rome. 
 We have no time to enter into his conflicts with the Em- 
 peror Maurice, regarding the questions as to whether 
 soldiers should become monks; or whether the Bishop 
 of Constantinople should be allowed the title of (Ecu- 
 menical or Universal Bishop. We do not need to linger 
 over the sad spectacle of Gregory's congratulation to 
 Phocas, who gained the throne, and thereupon murdered 
 Maurice and his kindred. On March u, 604, his life of 
 action and suffering came to an end. Like Paul, and 
 Augustine, before him, he was doubtless a great saint, 
 but he was unquestionably a still greater Roman. He 
 had not only saved Rome from the Lombards ; he had 
 saved her also from the domination of the Eastern Em- 
 pire. Henceforth Rome and the Bishop of Rome were 
 identical ; and it was only a matter of time till Rome 
 should be free. In point of fact, almost two hundred 
 years elapsed before the coronation of Charlemagne, 
 but an empire which was to last for a thousand years 
 could not spring up overnight. At Gregory's death 
 the principles, which were to make that empire, were 
 already implicitly present. 
 
258 RELIGIOUS LIFE OF ANCIENT ROME 
 
 Thus a body politic was formed in which the body 
 politic of ancient Rome could live on; and thus was 
 fulfilled the last requirement which paganism could well 
 make of Christianity, the preservation, not only of her 
 culture, her content, but also of her outward form. It is 
 very easy to see the evil which the Holy Roman Empire 
 accomplished; it is not so easy to realize the hopeless, 
 helpless void, which its absence would have caused 
 but a discussion of these things would carry us beyond 
 the bounds of our present task. 
 
 Thus our experiment is complete ; and its main result 
 is this. During the millennium and a half, from the 
 foundation of Rome until the death of Gregory the 
 Great, we have observed the presence of two factors : a 
 permanent religious need, and a permanent religious 
 supply. We have seen chronicled the rise of a series of 
 instincts: physical, patriotic, superstitious, individual- 
 istic. We have seen their action and reaction ; we have 
 observed the various beliefs by which they satisfied their 
 spiritual hunger. We have, in a word, recognized the 
 normality of the religious instinct, even though that 
 normal instinct be often, nay, perhaps more often, used 
 abnormally. Above all, we have seen the great r61e 
 which religion of necessity plays in human life. 
 
 We are confronted to-day by a very grave problem, 
 the so-called problem of socialism; but possibly we are 
 confronted by a still more grave problem, that of lead- 
 
GREGORY AND THE LOMBARDS 259 
 
 ng men to the satisfaction of that religious longing, 
 ich is quite as obvious a phenomenon of our present 
 [ay as is social unrest. And in view of all that we have 
 een in these centuries of human experience, which we 
 lave passed in review, it would not be surprising if it 
 hould prove to be the case that these two problems are 
 intimately connected, and that the normal relation of 
 ach man to his brother men or such an approxima- 
 tion to this normal relation as will ever be possible in 
 this present world can be obtained only by establish- 
 ing the normal relation of men to those forces in human 
 life which we subsume under the rubric of religion. 
 
 Nothing but good can ultimately succeed; and the 
 good of socialism lies in what it can teach the individual. 
 It may well prove to be an expensive and painful way of 
 correcting and educating the individual ; but if it is effi- 
 cient, the world can afford it. But we may also find that 
 there are ways of teaching these same lessons which may 
 yet come into being, and may work side by side with the 
 socialistic pedagogy, not eliminating it altogether, but 
 teaching to many the same lessons in a more permanent 
 and less painful and extravagant way. 
 
 For there are religious forces at work in the world, as 
 there always have been ; and these forces are, as always 
 intimately adapted to the needs of the day, our own 
 present day with its own peculiar problems. 
 
INDEX 
 
 
INDEX 
 
 Abraham, 114. 
 
 Abruzzi, 222. 
 
 Adda, Battle of the, 203. 
 
 Adrianople, Battle of, 164. 
 
 Aella, 242. 
 
 ^Esculapius, 42 ff. 
 
 yEterne Rerum Creator, 155. 
 
 /Etius, 173. 
 
 Agilulf, 237, 238, 256. 
 
 Ahriman, 93. 
 
 Ahura Mazda, 93. 
 
 Aix, Council of, 229. 
 
 Alaric, 164, 165, 167 ff., 172. 
 
 Alban Mount, 27. 
 
 Alboin, 235. 
 
 Alemanni, 136. 
 
 Alexander Severus, 114. 
 
 Alsace, 136. 
 
 Altar of Victoria, 152. 
 
 Amalasuntha, 207 ff. 
 
 Ambrogio, S., at Milan, 156. 
 
 Ambrose, 148 ff. 
 
 Ambrosian Chant, 155, 189. 
 
 Ammianus Marcellinus, 1 1 8, 147, 1 70. 
 
 Anastasius, 234. 
 
 Anchorites, 217, 222. 
 
 Andrew, St., 245. 
 
 Angelo, S., 204, 250. 
 
 Animism, 10, 25. 
 
 Anio, 221. 
 
 Anselm, 238. 
 
 Antiochus Epiphanes, 99. 
 
 Antony, 85, 100. 
 
 Antony the Hermit, 218. 
 
 Apennines, Battle of the, 215. 
 
 Apocrisiarius, 243. 
 
 Apollo, 40, 69, 144. 
 
 Apollo on the Palatine, 67. 
 
 Apollo, Pythian, 46. 
 
 Apollonius of Tyana, 76, 122. 
 
 Apologia of Justin Martyr, in, 112. 
 
 Appius Claudius, 37. 
 
 Aqua Claudia, 206 ff. 
 
 Aqua Virgo, 206. 
 
 Aqueducts, 206, 207, 213. 
 
 Aqueducts cut by the Goths, 212. 
 
 Aquileia, 164, 173. 
 
 Ara Maxima, 130. 
 
 Ara Pacis, 67. 
 
 Arcadius, 159. 
 
 Arianism, 154. 
 
 Ariccia, 27. 
 
 Aristotle, 182. 
 
 Ariulf, 256. 
 
 Aries, 228. 
 
 Aries, Council of, 1 1 8. 
 
 Ascetics, 217. 
 
 Assyrians, 99. 
 
 Athalaric, 207 ff. 
 
 Athanasius, Agent of Justinian, 211. 
 
 Attalus, Emperor of Rome, 168. 
 
 Attalus of Pergamon, 46. 
 
 Attila, 172 ff. 
 
 Audoin, 234. 
 
 Augurs, 53, 54. 
 
 Augury, 29 ff. 
 
 Augustine, Bishop of Canterbury, 
 
 252. ^ 
 Augustine, Bishop of Hippo, 58, 
 
 123, 155, 162 ff., 177 ff. 
 Augustus, 65 ff. 
 Aurelian, 80, 81. 
 Aurelian's wall, 165, 212. 
 Autun, 136. 
 
264 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Auxentius, Bishop of Milan, 149. 
 Auxerre, Bishop of, 245. 
 Aventine, 27, 29. 
 Avignon, 165. 
 
 Babylon, 19, 99. 
 
 Bacchanalian Conspiracy, 56, 57. 
 
 Barbarian Invasions, 159. 
 
 Bardengau, 234. 
 
 Bartolommeo S., 42. 
 
 Basil, 220. 
 
 Basilica Julia, 67. 
 
 Baching, 213. 
 
 Battaces, 55. 
 
 Bede's Ecclesiastical History, 239, 
 
 242, 253. 
 
 Belgrade, 164, 200. 
 Belisarius, 208 ff. 
 Bellona, 55. 
 Benedetto, S., 221. 
 Benedict of Nursia, 198 ff., 216 ff. 
 Benedict the First, Pope, 243. 
 Benedictine monks, 221 ff. 
 Biology and History, 95 ff. 
 Blackstone, 208. 
 Boethius, 207. 
 Bologna, 21. 
 Bolsena, Lake of, 209. 
 Boniface, 175. 
 Booth, General, 77. 
 Boulogne, 91. 
 Burgundy, 174. 
 Busento, 169. 
 
 Caelian Hill, 106, 239. 
 
 Caesar, 52. 
 
 Csesaria, Abbess, 229. 
 
 Calabria, 169. 
 
 Calendar, Confusion in the, 54. 
 
 Caligula, 85. 
 
 Campagna, 205, 213. 
 
 Campania, 254. 
 
 Campus Martius, 40, 43, 81. 
 
 Canossa, 157. 
 
 Canterbury, 252. 
 
 Capitoline, 25. 
 
 Cappadocia, 132, 138. 
 
 Caracalla, 28, 79, 113. 
 
 Carmen Saeculare, 43. 
 
 Carnuntum, 89. 
 
 Carthage, 182, 211. 
 
 Cassicium, 191. 
 
 Cassiodorus, 205, 228 ff. 
 
 Castor and Pollux, 39, 40, 130. 
 
 Castra Peregrinorum, 106. 
 
 Catacombs, 113. 
 
 Celsus, no ff. 
 
 Ceres, 41. 
 
 Chaldaeans, 99. 
 
 Chalons-sur-Marne, 173. 
 
 Charlemagne, 205, 257. 
 
 Cicero, Jerome's love of, 146. 
 
 Cicero, Murder of, 203. 
 
 Cicero's Hortensius, 183. 
 
 Cilician Pirates, 50. 
 
 Cimbri, 55. 
 
 Circus Maximus, 41, 215. 
 
 Citizenship, Restrictions on, 79. 
 
 City of God, 193 ff. 
 
 Civilitas, 204. 
 
 Civitel Castellana, 26. 
 
 Clairvaux, 230. 
 
 Claudius, 105. 
 
 Clement, 249. 
 
 Cleopatra, 85. 
 
 Cleph, 237. 
 
 Clivus Scaurus, 241. 
 
 Cologne, 136. 
 
 Colosseum, Last games in the, 165 ff. 
 
 Comitatus, 200. 
 
 Commodus, 92. 
 
 Compos voti, 13. 
 
 Confessions of Augustine, 155, 178. 
 
 Conservatism in Religion, 5. 
 
 Constantina, wife of Gallus, 132. 
 
 Constantina, Empress, 244. 
 
 
INDEX 
 
 265 
 
 Constantine, 115 ff. 
 Constantinople, 116, 160, 244. 
 Constantius, 118, 131 ff. 
 Constantius Chlorus, 115. 
 Census, 12. 
 Corax, 88. 
 Corsica, 165. 
 Cosa, 20. 
 
 Cosmas and Damianus, 248. 
 Cosmopolitanism versus Individu- 
 alism, 73. 
 Crassus, 67. 
 Cumae, 38, 40. . 
 Curiae, n. 
 Cybele, 55. 
 Cynics, 76. 
 
 Dacia, 91. 
 
 Dalmatia, 254. 
 
 Damasus, Pope, 153. 
 
 Dante, 238. 
 
 Darwin, 95. 
 
 Decemviri, 46. 
 
 Decius, Persecution under, 114. 
 
 Deiri, 242. 
 
 Delphi, 46. 
 
 Demeter, 40. 
 
 Deus Creator Omnium, 155. 
 
 Devotio, 13. 
 
 Diana, 27. 
 
 Di Manes, 12. 
 
 Diocletian, 80. 
 
 Diocletian and Mithras, 81, 88. 
 
 Diocletian and the Orient, 71. 
 
 Diocletian's persecution, 115. 
 
 Dionysius, Bishop of Milan, 149. 
 
 Dionysos, 40. 
 
 Dis, 43. 
 
 Disestablishment of Paganism, 151. 
 
 Divus Julius, 68, 71. 
 
 Dolmens, 7. 
 
 Domitian, 106. 
 
 Druids, 8. 
 
 Elagabalus, 8l. 
 
 El Gabal, 81. 
 
 Emperor-worship, 70 ff. 
 
 Ennodius, 202. 
 
 Epictetus, 76. 
 
 Epochs in religious history, 33. 
 
 Etruscans, 16 ff. 
 
 Etzel, 174. t 
 
 Eudoxia, 175. 
 
 Euphemia, 249. 
 
 Eusebia, Empress, 132, 134. 
 
 Eusebius of Nicomedia, 131. 
 
 Falerii, 21, 26. 
 
 Falto, Marcus Valerius, 47. 
 
 Farfa, 230. 
 
 Faunus, 12. 
 
 Felsina, 21. 
 
 Fiesole, 21. 
 
 Flagellum Dei, 174. 
 
 Flamen Dialis, 53. 
 
 Flamen Martialis, 53. 
 
 Flamen Quirinalis, 53. 
 
 Flamines, 53. 
 
 Flavius Authari, 237. 
 
 Flavius Odovacar, 201. 
 
 Forum Boarium, 39, 130. 
 
 Forum Julii, 235. 
 
 Fourth Christian Century, 125. 
 
 Francis, St., 76, 222. 
 
 Franks, 136, 159, 236. 
 
 Gaiseric, 175. 
 
 Gaius, 208. 
 
 Gaius Flaminius, 37. 
 
 Galerius's edict of toleration, 115, 
 
 Gallic Invasion, 36. 
 
 Callus, 131, 132. 
 
 Gandersheim, 230. 
 
 Garibaldi, 237. 
 
 Gaul, 252, 254. 
 
 Gauls, 36. 
 
 Gene vie ve, 173. 
 
266 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Genius, u. 
 
 Genius of the Emperor, 70. 
 
 Gepidae, 202. 
 
 Gibbon's portrayal of Julian, 130 ff . 
 
 Giovanni e^Paolo, 249. 
 
 Gisulf, 235. 
 
 Gordian, 239. 
 
 Goths, 163 ff., 199 ff. 
 
 Gracchi, 52. 
 
 Gratian, 148 ff. 
 
 Gratian and Ambrose, 150 ff. 
 
 Great Mother of the Gods, 45 ff. 
 
 Gregorio, S., 241. 
 
 Gregorovius, 250. 
 
 Gregory of Tours, 239, 247. 
 
 Gregory the Great, 133, 221, 238 ff. 
 
 Gregory the Seventh, 157. 
 
 Gryphus, 88. 
 
 Hadrian, no. 
 
 Hadrian's Mausoleum, 212. 
 
 Hannibal, 37. 
 
 Haruspicina, 30. 
 
 Haruspicina (Babylonian), 19. 
 
 Heddernheim, 89. 
 
 Helena, Mother of Constantine, 
 
 US- 
 
 Helena, Sister of Constantius, 134. 
 Heliodromus, 88. 
 Henry the Eighth, 118. 
 Henry the Fourth, 157. 
 Hercules, 39, 40, 130. 
 Hermes, 41. 
 Hermits, 217. 
 Herod the Great, 100. 
 Herulians, 201. 
 Hippo, 175. 
 Hiung-Nu, 170. 
 Holy Roman Empire, 32, 160, 
 
 245. 
 
 Homer, 180. 
 
 Honorius, 159, 163 ff., 212. 
 Horace, 43, 69, 221. 
 
 Hrotswitha, 230. 
 
 Huns, 159, 164, 170 ff., 199. 
 
 Illyricum, 254. 
 
 Immortality, Early Roman Concep- 
 tion of, 12. 
 
 Immortality, Longing for, 74. 
 
 Individualism, 232. 
 
 Individualism, Rise of, 64 ff. 
 
 Individualism versus Cosmopolitan- 
 ism, 73. 
 
 Innocent the First, Pope, 167. 
 
 Instincts, Permanence of, 64. 
 
 Investment, Problem of, 50 ff. 
 
 Isis, 55, 84 ff. 
 
 Isonzo, Battle of, 202. 
 
 Italic stock, 7 ff. 
 
 Janus, 10, n. 
 
 Japan, Bathing in, 213. 
 
 Jerome, 146. 
 
 Jerusalem, 98 ff. 
 
 Jews, Julian's attitude towards, 143. 
 
 John the Deacon, 239. 
 
 Jordanes, 199, 200. 
 
 Judaea, 98 ff. 
 
 Julia Domna, 122. 
 
 Julian Alps, 202. 
 
 Julian the Apostate, 130 ff. 
 
 Julian's edict against Christian 
 
 teachers, 144 ff. 
 Juno, n, 25. 
 Juno Regina, 68, 249. 
 Jupiter, 25, 26, 71, 144. 
 Jupiter Feretrius, 68. 
 Jupiter Libertas, 68. 
 Jupiter Optimus Maximus, 25, 34. 
 Jupiter Tonans, 68. 
 Jupiter Victor, 34. 
 Justin Martyr, in ff. 
 Justina and Ambrose, 153 ff. 
 Justinian, 208 ff., 234, 235. 
 Juventas, 68. 
 
INDEX 
 
 267 
 
 Kant, 177. 
 Kore, 40. 
 
 Labarum, 116. 
 
 Laibach, 164. 
 
 Lanfranc, 238. 
 
 Langobardi, 234. 
 
 Lares Compitales, 69. 
 
 Lares "in summa sacra via," 68. 
 
 Latin League, 26, 27. 
 
 Latium, 21, 28, 37, 39. 
 
 Legal Aspects of Roman Religion, 
 
 12 ff. 
 
 Leo (Mithraic), 88. 
 Leo the Emperor, 200. 
 Leo the First, Pope, 174, 175. 
 Lex Domitia, 53. 
 Liber, 41. 
 Libera, 41. 
 Livy, 46, 47. 
 
 Lombards, 20, 159, 234 ff., 256. 
 London, 91. 
 Lorenzo, S., 243. 
 Luceres, 22. 
 Lucian, 77. 
 
 Lucretius, 45, 57, 59 ff. 
 Ludi Saeculares, 69. 
 Lupercal, 68. 
 Lydian graves, 18. 
 Lyons, 92. 
 
 Mi, 55- 
 
 Magna Mater, 45 ff., 68, 81, 84 ff., 
 
 130, 162. 
 
 Manichaeism, 177, 183, 189. 
 Mantua, 21. 
 
 Marcellinus and Peter, 248. 
 Marcus Aurelius, 76, 81, no. 
 Mardonius, 131. 
 Maria Maggiore, S., 249. 
 Maria sopra Minerva, S., 86. 
 Marius, 52. 
 Mars Ultor, 67. 
 
 Martin of Hungary, 219. 
 
 Massacre of Thessalonica, 156. 
 
 Mauriac Plain, 173. 
 
 Maurice, Emperor, 257. 
 
 Maurus, 223. 
 
 Maxentius, 116 ff., 142. 
 
 Mediterranean Race, 7. 
 
 Megalesia, 48. 
 
 Melpum, 21. 
 
 Mercury, 41. 
 
 Messiah, 102 ff. 
 
 Messina, 211. 
 
 Metaurus, 46. 
 
 Metz, 173. 
 
 Milan, 149, 154 ff., 165, 173, 186 ff., 
 
 202. 
 
 Miles (Mithraic), 88. 
 Minerva, 25, 26, 68, 144. 
 Mithraism, 120 ff., 139, 177. 
 Mithras, 84, 87 ff., 162. 
 Moesia, 91. 
 Monastery, Benedict's Rule for, 
 
 221 ff. 
 
 Monasticism, Rise of, 219 ff. 
 Monica, 178 ff. 
 Monte Cassino, 223, 241. 
 Monza, 237. 
 Moors, 170. 
 Mysticism in Rome, 60 ff. 
 
 Naples, 91, 211. 
 
 Narni, 212, 2561 
 
 Narses, 208. 
 
 Nauraghi, 7, 18. 
 
 Nedao, Battle of, 199. 
 
 Nemi, 27. 
 
 Neoplatonism, 120 ff., 139, 177, 189. 
 
 Neopythagoreans, 56. 
 
 Neptune, 41. 
 
 Nero, 1 06. 
 
 Neurasthenia, 72 ff. 
 
 Nicaea, Council of, 118. 
 
 Nicsean Creed, 118. 
 
268 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Nicomedia, 80. 
 Niebelungenlied, 174. 
 Nietzsche, 123. 
 Nineveh, 248. 
 Norba, 20. 
 Norcia, 220. 
 Noricum, 91. 
 Numa, Books of, 56. 
 Numidia, 178. 
 Nuncio, 243. 
 Nursia, 220. 
 
 Occidentalizing of Christianity, 104 
 
 &. 
 
 Odovacar, Murder of, 203. 
 Old Testament, 121, 145 ff. 
 Orbetello, 20. 
 Oriental elements in Christianity, 
 
 125 ff. 
 Origen, HI. 
 Orpheus, 114. 
 Orvieto, 21. 
 Osiris, 85 ff. 
 
 Ostia, 47, 89, 91, 130, 168, 175. 
 Ostrogoths, 159, 164, 199, 233. 
 
 Pachomius, 219. 
 
 Palatine, 29, 55, 69, 81, 205. 
 
 Palermo, 92, 211. 
 
 Pales, 12. 
 
 Palestrina, 256. 
 
 Palladium, 81. 
 
 Palmyra, 80. 
 
 Pannonia, 91. 
 
 Paris, 137. 
 
 Pater (Mithraic), 88. 
 
 Patricius, 178. 
 
 Patriotism, Reawakening of, 67. 
 
 Paul, St., 103 ff. 
 
 Paul the Deacon, 238 ff. 
 
 Paul the Hermit, 218. 
 
 Pa via, 204. 
 
 Pax, 226. 
 
 Pear-tree Pass, 164. 
 Pelagia, the Penitent, 218. 
 Pelagius the Second, Pope, 243, 
 
 246. 
 
 Penates, 68. 
 Persephone, 43. 
 Perses (Mithraic), 88. 
 Perugia, 21, 212, 256. 
 Pessinus, 46. 
 
 Peter, agent of Justinian, 211. 
 Peter, St., 106. 
 
 Philosophers, Expulsion of, 56. 
 Philostratus, 122. 
 Pisa, 91. 
 Placidia, 170. 
 Placidus, 223. 
 Plato, 141. 
 Plautus, 38. 
 Pliny, 107 ff. 
 Pluto, 43. 
 Po, 21, 36, 256. 
 Pomerium, 27, 28, 39, 40. 
 Pompey, 50, 52, 100. 
 Ponte S. Angelo, 204, 205. 
 Pontiffs, 53. 
 
 Pontine Marshes, 205, 211. 
 Pontius Pilate, 100. 
 Porta Asinaria, 211, 214. 
 Porta Capena, 22. 
 Porta Flaminia, 211, 214. 
 Porta Ratumenna, 22. 
 Porta Salaria, 169. 
 Portian Basilica in Milan, 154. 
 Poseidon, 41. 
 Predil Pass, 235. 
 Prefect of Rome, 240. 
 Priest, Legal functions of, 14. 
 Priesthoods, Reform of, 140 ff. 
 Prima Porta, 67. 
 Propertius, 67. 
 Proserpina, 43. 
 Protasius and Gervasius, 248. 
 Ptolemies, 99. 
 
INDEX 
 
 269 
 
 Pyrrhus, 37. 
 Pythagoras, 141. 
 
 Quedlinburg, 230. 
 Quindecemviri, 53. 
 Quirinus, 68. 
 
 Radagaisus, 166. 
 
 Ramnes, 22. 
 
 Ravenna, 164, 203 ff., 256. 
 
 Reggio, 211. 
 
 Religio Illicita, 107. 
 
 Religion, Interest in, 95. 
 
 Religion, Revival of, 3. 
 
 Renunciation, Gospel of, 75. 
 
 Repetition in History, 49. 
 
 Rex Sacrorum, 53. 
 
 Rheims, 173. 
 
 Rhine, 173. 
 
 Robigo, 12. 
 
 Rom, 31. 
 
 Roma Sterna, I, 66. 
 
 Romanianus, 189. 
 
 Romanus, Exarch, 256. 
 
 Romanus, Friend of Benedict, 222. 
 
 Rome, Attacks on, 21 ff., 36, 160 ff., 
 
 I75 176, 194, 212, 213. 
 
 Romulia gens, 22. 
 Romulus, 22, 43. 
 Romulus Augustulus, 201. 
 
 Sabina, S., 246. 
 
 Salvation Army, 77. 
 
 Salvation by faith, 64, 82 ff. 
 
 Salvation by knowledge, 64 ff. 
 
 Sardinia, 165, 254. 
 
 Saturn, 12. 
 
 Saul of Tarsus, 102. 
 
 Save, 164. 
 
 Saxa Rubra, 117. 
 
 Saxons, 238. 
 
 Scandinavia, 174. 
 
 Scepticism, 231. 
 
 Sceptics (see Skeptics)/ 
 
 Scipio, Publius Africanus, 46, 47. 
 
 Scyllacaeum, 228. 
 
 Second Triumvirate, 85. 
 
 Seleucidae, 99. 
 
 Senate, Conservatism of, 129. 
 
 Seneca, 75 ff. 
 
 Sens, 136. 
 
 Sentino, 92. 
 
 Separation of East and West, 1 60. 
 
 Septimius Severus, 113. 
 
 Sepulcretum in Forum, 9, 22, 23, 39. 
 
 Serapis, 219. 
 
 Servian Wall, 29, 37. 
 
 Servius Tullius, 22, 24. 
 
 Seventh Deacon, 243. 
 
 Severi, 80, 113. 
 
 Sibylline Oracles, 40 ff., 42, 162. 
 
 Sicily, 254. 
 
 Simon Stylites, 218. 
 
 Skeptics, 141. 
 
 Slave Labor, 51. 
 
 Social instinct in Religion, 9. 
 
 Socialism and Religion, 259. 
 
 Spinoza and Lucretius, 6 1 ff. 
 
 Spoleto, 92, 212. 
 
 Squillace, 228. 
 
 Stabilitas, 224. 
 
 Stephen, 249. 
 
 Stilicho, 162, 163, 166. 
 
 Stoics, 141. 
 
 Strassburg, 136. 
 
 Stylitae, 218. 
 
 Subiaco, 223. 
 
 Suetonius, 105. 
 
 Sulla, 52. 
 
 Superstitio, 45. 
 
 Superstition, Religion of, 33 ff. 
 
 Symmachus, Friend of Augustine, 
 
 152, 153. 186. 
 Symmachus, Friend of Boethius, 
 
 207. 
 Syracuse, 92, 211. 
 
270 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Tacitus, 100. 
 
 Tagaste, 178. 
 
 Tarquin, 23, 24. 
 
 Tarquinii, 20. 
 
 Tarracina (see Terracina). 
 
 Tarsus, 138. 
 
 Taurobolium, 84 ff., 97. 
 
 Telemachus, 166. 
 
 Templum, 19, 30. 
 
 Terence, 38. 
 
 Terracina, 47, 205, 211. 
 
 Teutons, 55. 
 
 Thais, the Penitent, 218. 
 
 Theodahad, 209 ff. 
 
 Theodora, 208. 
 
 Theodoric, 172, 198 ff. 
 
 Theodosius, 156 ff., 161. 
 
 Theudelinda, 237, 238. 
 
 Three-fold Religion, 56. 
 
 Tiber, 8, 22, 42, 47, 245, 246. 
 
 Tiberius, 100. 
 
 Tibullus, 67. 
 
 Tibur, (see Tivoli). 
 
 Tities, 22. 
 
 Tivoli, 39, 256. 
 
 Totila, 213 ff. 
 
 Tours, Battle of, 209. 
 
 Trajan, 32, 106 ff. 
 
 Trastevere, 221. 
 
 Tusculum, 39. 
 
 Tuscus Amnis, 22. 
 
 Ulca, Battle of, 202. 
 Universality of Religion, 82 ff. 
 
 Valens, 164. 
 Valentinian II, 153 ff. 
 Valentinian III, 163, 170. 
 Vandals, 159, 175, 233. 
 
 Varro, 28, 31, 57 ff. 
 
 Vaticani Montes, 87. 
 
 Veii, 20, 36. 
 
 Venetia, 235. 
 
 Veni Redemptor Gentium, 155. 
 
 Venice, Foundation of, 174. 
 
 Verecundus, 191. 
 
 Verona, 202, 235. 
 
 Vesta, 10, 81. 
 
 Vestal Virgins, 151. 
 
 Via Appia, 37, 205. 
 
 Via Flaminia, 37. 
 
 Via Latina, 211, 223. 
 
 Via Salaria, 8, 36. 
 
 Vicenza, 235. 
 
 Vicovaro, 223. 
 
 Victoria, 34. 
 
 Victoria in the Senate, 152. 
 
 Victoria temple on Palatine, 48. 
 
 Villach, 235. 
 
 Virgil, 67, 1 80. 
 
 Visigoths, 159, 163 ff., 194, 233. 
 
 Viterbo, 256. 
 
 Volaterrse, 20. 
 
 Volsinii, 21. 
 
 Votum, 13. 
 
 Vulgate, 146. 
 
 Wales, 91. 
 Walls, 27, 29, 37. 
 Walls, Prehistoric, 20. 
 Westminster, 230. 
 Winili, 234. 
 Witigis, 211 ff. 
 
 York, 91, 229. 
 
 Zeno, the Emperor, 201. 
 Zenobia, 80. 
 
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